#you gotta leave a gap! that's where the fear lives!

[dunmeshi]

the biggest pitfall indie online horror creators face is that so many of them don't know not to share everything with their audience

[coryosbaby]

—1-800-ʙᴀɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢᴏᴅꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ !

(Dark! Dbf! Anakin Skywalker x fem! Reader)

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: your parents leave you home alone to tend to the christian faith. It’s a good thing that your daddy’s friend is there to help you atone !

୨୧ Content warning . Dubious consent (reader is naive, but consents), blasphemy & strong religious themes, manipulation, baby trapping? age gap (reader is of in her 20s)// innocence kink, god complex, loss of virginity, size kink, oral, pnv, missionary + full nelson position

Disclaimer: I am not religious, though I do know there are people that are. pls block if it bothers you! This is solely fiction and not meant to offend anyone, and I don’t condone using religion as a way to manipulate or hurt others. Thanks! ⋆｡˚ ⋆

Your parents leaving you alone is honestly a scary experience.

Although it’s fun (having the house to yourself means having the large flat screen tv in the living room), you’ve come to find that at night you’re quite afraid of the dark. And of course, your family has left on an adult-only Christian retreat and has left you home alone.

Sure, you’re more than old enough. But you haven’t been exactly… exposed to the world around you. So the idea of monsters and demons filling the dark corners of your home, it becomes even more prominent.

You try to concentrate on your bible, try to read through the verses where God tells you to fear no evil, but the paranoia is creeping in on your cold spine like a winter’s chill. You try to listen to music, too, to drown out the whispers you hear in the night.

But to no avail.

You decide that you have no choice but to call the only contact that’s available to you.

Anakin is your godfather, in the sense that he’s your father’s best friend. He’s always been around, and he’s always helped you with your studies. Anakin— Ani, as you sometimes call him, lives less than a few blocks away. He always tells you that if you need him, he’ll be there. So it wouldn’t hurt to ring him up, right?

Pressing the dial on your phone, you type in his number with ease. Biting your thumb nail you wait for him to answer. He picks up on the third ring.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?”

You smile at his voice, the one that always gives you that tingly feeling in your stomach. You suspect that it’s because he’s your favorite person.

“Everything’s fine, Ani. Are you at work?”

“It’s a Saturday, isn’t it?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Then I’m off work, sweetheart,” he replies softly, and then you get that tingly feeling again. “Why did you decide to call?”

It’s not in the sense that he’s annoyed— he’s genuinely curious. You nervously rock back and forth on the balls of your feet.

“Well—“ you start, embarrassed. “Mom and dad are out, ‘n— it’s dark.”

“Dark?”

“It’s—“ you can feel tears beginning to form in your eyes as the wind creaks outside. “I don’t like it, Ani. I don’t wanna be alone in here... Please come.”

Anakin’s cock presses against his zipper at the sound of your whiny, desperate voice. He palms his bulge through his slacks.

“Yeah, baby. ‘Course I’ll come,” he pauses. “Just gotta do something first, okay? Then I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

You sniffle, the tears beginning to fall now.

“Okay. ‘M sorry.”

“For what? Don’t apologize to me sweetheart. Just wait there.”

—

A good forty minutes later Anakin is there, and when you open the door for him you latch onto him like a leech— your hands wrap around his waist, your bury your face into his fit chest, and you whimper against him as he coos gentle reassurances to you.

“It’s okay, baby. Ani’s here.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He brings you over to the couch, sitting you on the cushion beside him as he looks down at your pink bible. He notes that you use the wooden cross necklace he had bought you for your nineteenth birthday as a bookmark.

“Been readin’?” He notes, looking down at the opened pages. You’ve been highlighting some verses, and next to this book there’s another: Christianity for Girls.

“Mhm.”

Anakin picks it up with idle hands. He flips to the first chapter.

“C’mere. Want me to read to you?”

“Yes, sir.” You reply, and with a gentle flick to your hair you begin to climb into his lap. It’s not uncommon for you to do this— he’s so comfy and warm. Even though sometimes the things in his pocket tend to poke against your bottom, you don’t mind. It’s worth it if Ani has his big arms wrapped around you.

He grunts as you settle down on him— his cock twitches as he feels your panties hit his lap. Your skirt is covered just enough to not expose you, but it still rides up as you sit down. His hand grips your thigh, and with the other he settles the book in his palm.

“Chapter 1,” he clears his throat. “Rules.”

Well, okay. If you say so.

“Girls should always follow their faith in God.”

Fair enough.

You nod along, as he reads the next.

“Girls should go to church every Sunday.” He smirks, turning to you. “Do you go to church every Sunday?”

“Of course! I love church.”

Anakin chuckles, flipping to the next page and adjusting himself from underneath you.

“Rule number three,” he says. His voice hesitates as he reads the next line, then he awkwardly clears his throat. “No premarital sex.”

Your brows furrow, bottom lip pulling between your teeth. “What’s that?”

He sucks in a breath, his cock beginning to become hard for a second time today.

“Sex? It’s—“

“No, no,” you giggle, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. “I meant— I know what sex is, Ani. Sort of. But.. what is premarital sex?”

“It’s sex before marriage. Doing it with someone you aren’t going to devote yourself to.”

“Oh.” You twiddle your fingers, eyes averting down to look at the ink splattered pages. “But— if you do it with someone you’re going to devote yourself to, without being married anyway, isn’t that still non premarital? I mean, in a way, you are married…sort of.”

Anakin shrugs, resting his head on your shoulder. You try to ignore how the closeness of his breath makes you tingle.

“Dunno, honey. I guess so. Never thought of it that way.”

You nod, wiggling around on his lap to get more comfortable. Anakin’s fingers grab your hips with a firm hand.

“Have you ever done it?” You ask. “Premarital sex, I mean.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle. Something in him is breaking apart, all these years of pent up sexual frustration for you beginning to come to a head as his resolve crumbles.

“Yes. Many times,” he coincides. “With a lot of people I didn’t care about. I shouldn’t of done that. It’s bad.”

Your face fills to the brim with heat, as the tension in the room grows incredibly thick. Your eyes widen when you feel him hump against your clothed cunt.

“What about you, baby?” He whispers against the shell of your ear. “Have you done it?”

You stutter, hesitating, and that’s when Anakin gets his answer.

“Right. ‘Course you haven’t,” and then, quietly, as if to himself, “Too precious for those boys…”

You let out a small sound in the back of your throat, that tingly feeling growing evermore prominent. You don’t know why you’re feeling this way. Maybe it’s the heat in the room, maybe it’s your claustrophobia.

Or maybe, you think, it’s the devil.

White hot heat coils in your private parts, and you try to get off of Anakin to get rid of feeling. He tsks, grabbing your hips and shoving you back into his lap. You whine, hands gripping is in an attempt to get away.

“Ani.. c’mon—“

“Do you touch yourself?” He asks darkly. You let out a little gasp. “Do you touch your princess parts, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, almost too quickly, and can’t help but press your thighs together. Anakin is having none of it.

“Liar,” he hisses. “You have. Don’t lie to me. I know when you’re lying to me.”

“I’m sorry!” You whimper against his harsh grip. “I-I stopped! I did, I really did, and I’ve been meaning to repent and atone for my sins but I haven’t yet…please, Ani.”

Tears of shame begin to fall from your eyes, wet and salty. You let out a little cry. Anakin softens a bit, his grip on you loosening. He wraps his arms around your tummy and quietly shushes you.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, angel, I know you didn’t mean to,” he coos, as your hands move around to rest in the locks of his hair. “Sensitive baby. I know it’s hard not to touch yourself down there. ‘S okay.”

“Promise?” You sniffle, turning your head to look into his eyes. He smiles.

“I promise.”

Your eyes innocently move down to his lips, that feeling growing inside even more.

“Ani..” you whisper. “It’s.. I want to.. to touch myself again. I don’t know how to control it…”

He strokes your hair out of your face with his fingers, cooing again.

“It’s okay,” and then, after a moment, with his cock pressed flush against your cunt, “I can help. Do you want me to?”

“But.. isn’t that premarital sex?”

He presses a kiss against your earlobe.

“You love me, don’t you? And I know I love you. So isn’t that marital sex?”

Your brain has turned into a puddle. Softly, you whisper out, “yes.”

He smiles against your skin, his hands sliding up past the expanse of your thighs.

“There’s something they don’t tell you about sex,” he murmurs. “When you let the man you love inside you, it’s a way to celebrate god. You become one with god.” He quirks a brow, watching you listen closely to him. “And you atone. Don’t you want to atone, baby?”

Your doe eyes look up at him, and you nod. He grins, knowing he’s got you exactly where he wants you. His thumb pulls the flesh of your bottom lip down and he watches it bounce back against your teeth.

“Why don’t you give me a kiss? Hm, pretty?”

And just like that, he’s got you. Your lips, ever so softly, come up to peck his. He smiles.

“Again.”

And you do kiss him again. Only this time, he presses hard into your mouth and it’s not long before his hands are tangling in your hair and he’s rubbing his tongue against your bottom lip. It’s all surreal, this man below you, his cock hard. You don’t know that, of course. Pulling away from him, you have a confused look on your face.

“What’s always in your pocket? ‘S poking me.”

Anakin doesn’t say anything. He just laughs at you, and leans in for more of your kisses. You get too lost in the feeing of his hands massaging your inner thighs to press him for an answer. But you find out soon enough when you feel him push your hand down into the front of his pants. Letting out a small squeak you feel the warm skin of his cock, and something tugs at your lower tummy again.

“Oh.” you say softly, understanding. It was never something in his pocket— it was him.

“Feel what you did to me?” Anakin huffs out, as he guides your hand up and down on his length. “That’s my cock, baby. It’s what happens when I get really excited to see you.”

A small smile grazes your features at the thought of Anakin liking your presence. A whole lot, it seems, because his body is physically reacting. He grunts when you squeeze his length out of curiosity.

“Does it hurt?” You murmur, watching him.

���Not at all,” he coincides, adjusting you on his lap. “Feels good.“

And okay, that’s even better. Now you’re making Anakin feel good. Pride floods your chest. Watching him, you feel his precum drip down your fist.

“Can I see it?”

Your voice surprises him, and he’s nodding so quickly that it seems like he might break his neck.

“‘Course, pretty girl, can watch it all day if you want to…” looking at you hungrily, he mutters in a soft tone, “C’mere, get on your knees.”

Confusion muddles your brain, but not as much as the ache to please him. You crawl off of his lap, and he takes one of the couch pillows and places it on the floor.

“Sit.” He commands, and you rest your knees on the pillow and your small hands on his big thighs.

He unbuttons his fly, then his zipper. His bulge is straining against his briefs, a wet patch on the front from his arousal. Gulping, you watch as he pulls his pants and underwear all the way down and slips them off.

His length springs free, dripping with pre and insanely long. Your eyes widen as you watch it, wondering: where does it go?

Okay. So, you have a vague idea of where it’s supposed to go— somewhere in you, but you don’t know where. But either way, you know for for a fact that wherever that is isn’t adjustable enough for such a big thing. Your face floods with embarrassment.

“Where do I…” you start, quiet. Anakin furrows a brow, grabbing his cock into his palm.

“Where do you what?”

You avoid his gaze.

“Where do I.. put it?”

A smile quirks on the man’s lips, stroking himself to the sight of your pretty face peering at his cock.

“Your mouth, sometimes. But especially where you touch yourself, angel. Your cunt.” He tilts his head, not shaming you but trying to explain. “Do you know what your cunt is?”

You shyly nod, knowing that that’s what some of the boys around town called that spot where you touch yourself. And now, feeling this odd tingle inside you, it all makes perfect sense. It wants Ani inside.

But you frown at him.

“It won’t fit,” you say sadly. “‘S too big”

“It’ll fit, honey. Just have to stretch you first.”

Stretch you? That sounds painful! Fear courses through you.

“Stretch me?” You say worriedly.

Anakin seems amused by your reaction.

“It’ll only hurt a little, then it’ll feel really good,” he explains. “I promise. Don’t you trust me?”

Your head moves up and down, and you know that it’s true. He smiles softly, and then he’s tapping your lip with his finger.

“Open,” he says.

Your parted mouth falls completely open, pink tongue lolling out as he places the tip of his cock on it. It takes you by surprise, and your lashes flutter as his taste evades your senses. It’s an odd flavor— not too bad, but not too good either. Though, the thought of it being from Ani makes it all worth while. He slaps himself against your tongue a few times, the wet muscle making a plopping sound as his stringy precum creates a small puddle in your mouth. He watches, proud, and he praises you in the most gentle tone he can muster.

“Good girl. Such a pretty mouth, can’t wait to cum inside it…”

And that makes your eyes shut tight as you let out a loud whine, knowing that his cum is another delicious fluid that you will happily drink up soon. His cock guides itself even more into your mouth, the cockhead disappearing in between your plush lips. You use your mouth gently, treating his cock with care, not wanting to hurt him. He grunts when you swirl your tongue around him.

“Mmm,” he breathes. “Lick it, baby. Like an ice cream cone… yeahhh. Just like that, sweet girl.”

You hollow your cheeks around his mushroomed head, your brain becoming fuzzy at the feeling of his length moving in and out of your mouth. Suckling him, he’s soft and warm on your tongue.

You do this for quite some time. Anakin’s thrusts speed up, and he makes you take more and more and more. When you choke on him for the first time he tells you that it’s okay— “just get through it, baby, don’t you wanna be good for me?” And of course you do, because it’s Ani, and he’s really handsome and he smells really nice and his hands are so big as they card themselves through your hair. You can’t get enough and you’re almost angry he hadn’t shown you this sooner. Your vision is dizzy as he uses your mouth.

On a particularly harsh thrust that makes your throat spasm around him, Anakin begins to make some very pretty noises. Drool leaks down your chin and chest, your mascara running, his balls slapping against your chin. He groans loudly.

“Gonna cum,” he mutters out. “Gonna fill up your throat. Do you want that, sweet girl?”

You can’t say anything, but you try your hardest to nod around his cock. He gets the message. And with stuttering hips, salty fluid shoots into the wet canal of your mouth. It fills you up until you’re choking, and as Anakin rides out his high his cock practically coats itself in cum as he moves in and out, in and out. He pulls you off of him after a moment, and with a mouth full of spend you gasp out for air. Anakin’s got this possessive stare in his eyes as he looks at you.

“Swallow it.”

You do. You gulp it down excitedly, and with a small “aaaaa” you stick out your tongue so he can see that you’ve consumed it all. Anakin looks down at you with a grin on his face.

“That’s my girl.”

—

“I want you to… to put it in me.”

Your voice speaks softly in the darkness of your room, rain pattering against your window as Anakin sits on your bed across from you. It’s been a week since your last… encounter. Your parents are out once again— and as requested, Anakin had shown up on your doorstep to keep you company. After a mug of hot chocolate, your favorite, you had invited the man into your room. A cross is around his neck, shiny with a silver chain. His hair is messy, his fingers clad in silver metal rings. You want to bite them.

Anakin smiles, pretty teeth shining.

“Do you know the story of the Virgin Mary?” He asks, out of context. Your eyes light up. Mary is your favorite biblical figure.

“Yes!” You reply to him. “She got pregnant by God.”

“And how did she do that?”

“By magic!” You say. “She gave birth to Jesus.”

Anakin chuckles, kissing your forehead softly.

“Such a smart girl. But sweetheart, magic didn’t give her a baby.” At the sight of your confused face, he continues. “Sex did. That’s how all babies are made.”

Heat creeps up your neck, your face puzzled. “So you’ll give me a baby?”

Anakin should be frightened at the thought of getting his best friend’s daughter pregnant, but he isn’t. In fact, he smiles, his touch leaving tingles against your skin.

“If that’s what you want. Just imagine, angel..” his lips brush against your ear, smoothing back a strand of your hair. “A beautiful baby. My nose, my lips.. those pretty eyes of yours.”

You bite your lip, your heart fluttering. Having Anakin’s baby would be your dream! Having a house with him, children running around, Anakin coming home from work everyday…

Oh, but daddy would be so mad.

He would never look at you the same again. He would be ashamed, he would damn you to the deepest pit of hell.

You think these things so incredibly, but once Anakin’s lips press against yours all of those things go away. He kisses you slow, sweet, gentle. His stomach presses against your tummy.

“I can’t wait to see it. Your little belly, all swollen with my baby..”

And daddy is out of your thoughts and replaced with a new, different daddy: Anakin.

It’s not long before he’s got you laid down on your ruffled pink sheets, your baby blue nightgown gone (“cmon, let me see that pretty body”), with Anakin’s lips trailing down your neck. He’s gotten you prepped, used his fingers and tongue in oh so many ways that had made you quiver, used your throbbing cunt for his own meal. When you spread your legs for him this time, it’s so he can rub his incredibly hard length against the lips of your pussy. Delectable and sweet as he remembers, Anakin watches the way your leftover cum and slick coat his length generously.

He’s never seen a cunt so cute, so fat, so swollen and precious. He taps his cockhead against your clit, listens to the desperate little pleas you let out as you look up at him with doe eyes.

“Please, Ani, want your baby.”

“Please, daddy, put it inside me. My cunt’s so tight and wet for you..”

You don’t say that last part, Anakin’s imagination runs wild, but he knows you’re probably thinking that— thinking that as his mushroomed tip pops inside your entrance, stretching, burning. Thinking that as you cry, your salty tears his most delectable meal besides the thing in between your legs. Thinking that as you grimace, give him that pained look as he fully sheathes himself inside.

And then, he begins to move.

It’s like a fire in your gut, at first. Hot, burning, grating. But soon it gives way to something else— something not even his fingers can create, something that’s absolutely out of this world. Your nails dig into his back, leaving red welts along the skin, and you should apologize but you can’t bring yourself to care. Ani’s whispering something in your ear, something dirty, filthy, and deprived; you enjoy it so much, you really do, as he speaks to you like this.

“Good girl, so tight. Daddy’s so happy when he fucks his little princess.”

“Look at that, how red and swollen your little pussy is. Is my cock too big for it?”

After harsh thrusts, skin slapping against skin, and curled toes, Anakin pulls out of you. You almost sob from the loss, but it isn’t long before he lays you on top of him and slips himself back into your sopping hole, pulling your ankles behind your head. This causes your eyes to flutter open again, a small moan leaving you. Anakin brings his hands around to hold your legs and head in a chokehold. He fucks you like that, all twisted and overstimulated.

Looking down, you watch as his length fills you to the brim and moves in and out of you.

“A-Am —“ you sniffle, a pleasured sob racking through your throat. “Am I being good, Ani? Is… Is god inside me now?”

Anakin groans, his hips pressing even harder against your raw fucked pussy.

“Yeah, baby,” He breathes, his hand pressing against the bulge poking out of your lower tummy. “God’s in you. Right in this little tummy.“

You mewl, understanding his words, the blasphemy in them. A blush coats your cheeks as you murmur out, “don’t say that.. ‘s bad. You’re being bad.”

“But I’m making you feel so good. Aren’t I, baby?” He taunts, with a hint of malice in his voice. “Isn’t this what you wanted? A thick, hard cock to fill up this little pussy?”

You shake your head, trying to deny yourself this pleasure you can’t contain. Anakin chuckles.

“Yes, it is. I can tell when you’re lying, little girl... oh, look at you. Little legs are shaking. Poor baby…”

You should feel guilty for all the dirty things leaving his sinful mouth. You should hate him and find him icky and push him away. Hes a dirty, filthy man.

But… he’s your Ani. The man who protects you, hugs you when you’re sad, buys you your favorite lip gloss and stuffed animals. And that cross is dangling in pressing against your back, cold and heavy like a burden but still turning you on and— he smells so good, and although you keep trying to move away from his harsh fucking, you know in your mind that you don’t want him to stop. Little sounds escape your throat with each thrust, moans and whines that sound like a wounded animal. But you are far from wounded— unless you count the soreness you’re probably going to feel tomorrow from Anakin pounding your guts.

Grunting, his arms flex on each side of you as he grasps your body with firm hands.

The man’s cock moves against your walls harshly, slick penetrating the skin of your thighs and making you shake. A smirk glazes his lips as he watches your face contorted in pleasure, and your neck is craned so you can see every facial expression he makes.

You thought you had never seen God. But right now, you might not be so sure.

“Good little angel,” he groans gently. “Such a tight little fuck hole for daddy.”

You want to be disgusted by the name, wanted to be disgusted since the first time he said it, but before you can think too hard the tip of his mushroomed head slams against a certain spot that has you sobbing out, “daddy, daddy!” against your own accord. He moans himself at the sound of your pleasure.

“Good fucking girl. Hittin’ that princess spot so good, yeah? Pussy feelin’ good?”

Your eyes roll back, your body going limp like a rag doll as you relax against his jackhammering thrusts. It all feels too good. The Bible always talks about heaven and you think that this is truly it: Anakin below you, holding you down, humping into you like an animal, as he spews disgusting phrases into your ears.

Maybe he isn’t the devil. Maybe he’s God.

You can feel something building up in your tummy, the familiar butterflies now turning dark like moth wings, scraping against that one spot over and over and over. God grins from below you, and bringing his hand up he forces your mouth open with his big fingers. His spit lands down on your tongue, wet and warm and perfect.

“Swallow.” He commands, and you do it greedily. Your voice moans for more, aches for more, and he does it thrice.

“Do you trust me?” He growls. “Do you trust me, baby?”

“Yes! Yes sir.” You whimper, and you know it’s true when it falls from your lips. He forces his fingers to press even harsher around your head. Your ears ring, a pressure beginning to form in your skull.

“God’s got you,” Anakin growls. “God’s got you and your life in his hands. And you know what?”

You don’t say anything, just shake your head as you try to catch a breath of air.

“He’s not gonna let it go.” He continues. “You’re gonna feel this, honey. You’re gonna get fucked like this all the time—“ your vision is blurring, his words making you spasm. He brings his fingers down to that swollen button on your soaked pussy and rubs in harsh circles. “— When daddy thinks his precious little girl is asleep, when he thinks she’s praying to god, she’s going to be praying to me. Choking on my dick, getting fuckin’ bred. Do you want that? Do you want my cum, you fucking slut?”

You can’t really hear him anymore; your body has gone completely limp, your eyes fluttering shut as you ride out wave upon wave of pleasure. You’re still breathing, you know you are, but you fall unconscious in Anakin’s harsh grasp.

And when he sees you like that, all fucked out and deadweight, he groans and begins to pound you harder.

[seventeenpins]

a slight miscalculation - pt. i

pairing: Joel x F!Reader

word count: 8.3k

summary: Sarah is off to college, and Joel is about to be living in an empty nest. They road trip out together, and as she spends her first night in her new apartment, he's staying in a nearby hotel. Letting go of his inhibitions for the first time in a long time, he tumbles into a one night stand that becomes very complicated, very quickly.

content/warnings: smut, age gap, mycologist!reader, dick sucking, implied pussy eating, fingering, no outbreak au, reader likes to hike, reader also infodumps, joel miller has a big cock, he also has anxiety, reader has anxiety too, and a cat, reader is in early 20s--exact age not established, one (1) use of daddy, alcohol and weed consumption, joel is a diligent condom wearer, set in present day, discussion of girl scout cookies, joel is sweet and soft and hasn't been eviscerated by the death of his daughter

a/n: I'm intending this to be about five parts. This may change, but right now it's looking like five. I've been struggling to write for a while, unable to focus, but I think I'm back at it? as always, your feedback is hugely appreciated, and i'm kissing all likers and commenters and rebloggers deeply and with tongue 🩷

check out pt. ii

For the first time in nineteen years, Joel is completely adrift. Sarah's starting college in just two months.

It's the kind of realization that hits him like a bucket of ice water, a sudden shock and then an unpleasant trickling of anxiety wrapping about him in nasty tendrils. And then he feels guilty, because he's so, so happy for Sarah because he knows that she's thrilled, but fuck she's gonna be two time zones away and now what's Joel meant to do on Thursday movie nights when he's here without her?

It's terrifying, and it's new. And it's not that he's new to anxiety. He's usually anxious, and he has the Sertraline on his bedside stand to prove it. But if his general anxiety baseline usually hovered around a 6.4, where he was at now far surpassed a 10. It felt exponential, and totally exhausting.

When he voices his fears to Tommy, to Joel's horror, Tommy just doubles over in laughter.

"Jesus, Joel," he wheezes, wiping fake tears from his eyes in exaggerated movements, "You looked so serious I thought you were gonna say you'd killed someone."

Joel scowls. "The fuck you laughing for?"

"She's going to college, it's not like she's dying!"

"How'm I gonna be there for her? What if she needs me? What if-"

"Joel-," Tommy pats him gently on the shoulder, "She can always call you, and you can always call her. And we both know she's got a good head on 'er shoulders."

Joel snorts in concession. "Yeah, yeah. Better than yours and mine put together, and then some."

"Exactly." Tommy agrees, "And if there's ever anything that really goes wrong, you got me. We can drive out together and make sure she's okay."

Joel nods and feels the tiniest bit of tension leave him. One step at a time.

Just over nineteen years ago he found out he was about to be a dad. Suddenly, he had a purpose. Having a kid at twenty-two wasn't something he'd ever intended, but somehow he knew he loved his baby girl from the moment he knew she was a possibility. He spent a solid seven months running around, hustling, doing everything he could to get the very best for his kid. He'd take on doubles, working himself to the bone to make sure they had the best crib, and the best stroller, too. He was thrilled and terrified and so, so green.

Now, his heart feels so big he doesn't know how to handle it. His baby girl is an honest-to-god adult, moving out and going to college, and he has no idea what he's gonna do with his time now.

He has work, of course. But beyond that? He's really gotta to widen his circle, he realises, because who's he gonna hang out with? His brother?

He'd only just turned forty-one and had absolutely not come to terms with an empty nest--the few friends from high school he'd kept in touch with were so much further behind than him. The ones that had kids had them later in their twenties and thirties, and now they're raising middle schoolers while Joel's kid is a real fucking person, leaving home and everything. All the scrapping and saving he'd been doing since before Sarah was born–for his little girl to be able to follow any dream she chose–it was finally paying off. The precocious young woman she is, she graduated early and spent nearly a year working retail to save up some cash. She'd applied to colleges all across the country, and a few international ones, too. Joel had been crossing his fingers for months, hoping she'd choose something near Austin, but cheered with her all the same when she got her acceptance letter from Oregon State University. The previous summer, just before she'd started her applications, she and Joel and Tommy spent a miserable, wonderful week hiking round the Pacific Northwest. She fell in love with it, and the university offered a few of the majors she wanted to consider.

Joel didn't know what he'd do with his baby girl so far away, his life, his reason, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna tell her that. He will not clip her wings. His baby's gonna change the world and he's not gonna hold her back. He is, though, gonna require regular phone calls and check-ins and god they grow up so fast.

"Y'all should road trip out there," Tommy suggests one night over the dinner table.

Joel knew the conversation of how Sarah would get to the West Coast would come up, and it oughta be sooner rather than later. He was half afraid that she wanted to head out on her own, that she didn't need her dad anymore. Worried she would say she wanted to get a plane ticket, or take the Amtrak all the way to Corvallis. But he knows he needs to loosen his grip a little, so he braces himself when he turns to her.

"What'dya think, Sarah? You wanna be stuck in a car with your old man for a cross-country trip?"

Sarah rolls her eyes, but her face breaks into a grin. "Can we, Dad?"

This was too good to be true, he knew, but he wasn't gonna give up one last opportunity to spend some time with his girl till winter break.

"Course, baby," he tells her, and that flicker of anxiety quells just the tiniest bit.

The next few weeks fly by, and the knot of anxiety in Joel's chest feels like it's consuming him from the inside out. He's taken some time off, more than Sarah or Tommy can remember, but he's constantly trying to suggest ideas for activities to Sarah. For the most part, she's a good sport, understanding how much it means to her dad. She took pity on him, and let him drag her to places that ideally she would've gone to when she was little, but she humored him and he appreciated her dedication. He did his best to step back when she was heading out to spend time with friends--her time here was limited, after all, and she was always a social butterfly.

There are five weeks till classes start, four weeks, three, two, and in the blink of an eye, they're loading up the truck with all of Sarah's things, and Tommy is hugging Sarah goodbye, teary eyed. He gives Joel a hug, too. Joel would never admit it, but fuck he had really needed that hug.

They would take the scenic route. Make a memorable trip of it. Joel would make sure she settles in safe and sound, and then he'd head home.

6am Sunday.

You wake with a start. It's just over a week before term starts and your entire body aches. Fuck, you think to yourself, definitely overdid it with that last hike.

(The hiking part wasn't itself a problem, but one of the trails had washed out. You thought you'd found your way, but the "easy" three and a half mile hike took about five hours, leaving your calves bruised and your heels blistered.)

You roll over in your hotel room bed and, at the sound of a slight yelp followed by a gentle thud, realise with a sudden start that you just catapulted your cat off the corner.

"Shit, sorry goblin," you tell Spatula, who glares up at you with disdain as he licks at his paw. You reach down and, despite your inadvertent cat launch, he immediately rubs up against your fingertips and lets you scratch behind his ears.

"I'm sorry, baby," you soothe.

He meows, loudly. Howls, really. You take it as an apology accepted.

You sit up properly and look at your phone calendar. Nothing immediate. You don't need to get keys to your new apartment till tomorrow, nor do you meet your roommates till then–they're both moving in today, and moving is already horrible without having to navigate around the belongings of two other people. No, thanks. You can afford one more night at the hotel, and it'll make everything go that little bit more smoothly tomorrow. Besides, you have a bit of reading you'd like to get through, maybe stock up on non-perishables till you have a full-sized fridge, and get to know the city just a little.

You move gingerly, testing the ache in your muscles as you unfold yourself from the position you've been sat in and pull yourself from the bed. It hurts, but not something that won't be fixed with a little movement.

A plan forms. First, a walk, to try and loosen up your tight muscles. Then, errands. You have a whole list, with everything categorised by store, but then you enter IKEA and exit fifteen minutes later, only to find that five and a half hours have passed and it's evening now.

How was it that IKEA harnessed such a malicious power. How could anything harness that?

You need a fucking break. And a goddamn drink.

"Hey Dad," Sarah calls from the adjacent bedroom as Joel sweats, hauling another box towards her. The drive has been good, but it has been long. His legs ache. His back aches. There are parts of him that he didn't know existed that now ache.

"Yeah?" he calls back.

"Are you sure you're okay with me staying here tonight?"

Joel lets out a breath. He wants to be okay with it. And there's no way his nineteen year old would want to hang out with her dad when she could be spending the very first night in her brand new apartment. But he also wishes she wanted to spend one last night, hanging out in a hotel room with her dad. They could watch shitty movies together. Make the most of the final night before this cataclysmic shift.

But no.

That'd just be him being selfish. He can handle a night by himself. He's gotta handle a whole lotta them soon enough.

"O'course baby," he nods, hoping the smile he's plastered on his face looks totally genuine. "But we're still doin' breakfast in the morning, right?"

She nods, vigorous, and then waves her phone around. "I was looking up places! There's a diner called Tommy's," she laughs, "Wanna try that? 9:30?"

"Let's do it," he smiles, and this one is a little less forced.

"How much more do we have?" Sarah asks, nodding towards the box Joel's still holding.

"Last box," he grunts, "What else can I help with?"

He places the box down and lets out a slight, almost silent whimper. Sarah catches it, though.

"Maybe you should take it easy the rest of the day, Dad," she tells him, "We both know you have old man back."

He rolls his eyes but nods. "Guess you're right," he shrugs, "That my cue to take off?"

Sarah blushes but turns to him sheepishly. "Yeah, I-"

"No need to explain," Joel assures, "I know you must wanna get unpacked and settle in, get to know your roommates an' all."

She jumps up and, almost startling him, wraps her arms around him in a bear hug.

"Love you, dad," she grins, and she squeezes just a little tighter than usual.

He squeezes back, and they both pretend there aren't tears in his eyes.

As you step through the doors of the hotel bar, you decide you like it. The lighting is comfortably low. It's not loud, but it's not quiet, either. Colorful bottles line the shelves, the light of the filament bulbs glinting off the glass in rainbow prisms.

You take a seat at the bar and give a nod of thanks as the bartender passes you a small menu. It's unsurprisingly extortionate, hotel bar and all, but it'll do.

"Old fashioned, please," you tell the bartender, who nods in response. A minute later, he hands you a glass, delivered with a twist of orange and a cherry on top.

With your first sip, you feel your shoulders start to relax and some of the tension loosen from your body. The warmth of the burn envelops you and your stress starts to unravel, leaving only the buzz feeling good.

You order a second, and as the glass is handed to you, a voice to your right catches your attention.

"This seat taken?" a man asks.

You shake your head and offer a quick smile, gesturing towards it, "All yours."

"Much obliged," he nods, and slips into the backless stool next to yours.

The bartender comes over and passes him the same menu, but without looking at it he asks, "Could I get an old fashioned?"

You smile and catch his eye, tipping your glass towards him. "An excellent choice," you praise, "Though if you don't have a sweet tooth, I'd recommend asking Jeff there if he can go easy on the simple syrup."

"Oh yeah?" He asks, and then he leans in conspiratorially. "T'tell you the truth, I do have a bit of a sweet tooth."

You raise an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Suddenly, he breaks into a grin and it's dazzling.

"Yeah," he laughs, "I've got cookies stashed in secret locations all through my house."

You raise an eyebrow. "If I keep 'em in my pantry, my brother'll find 'em and eat 'em all," he explains, "But ever since my kid was a girl scout, I always get cravings for girl scout cookies, so I buy an armful o'boxes and try and preserve 'em throughout the year, till I can replenish."

"What's your favorite girl scout cookie?"

"Caramel deLites, hands down."

"Oh yeah?"

"Absolutely," he nods.

The bartender, Jeff, sets the man's drink down with a clink. You catch one another's eye and both erupt into a fit of laughter.

You're not even sure what's funny. Maybe it's just been a long day? Maybe the whiskey was getting to you?

Whatever it is, it feels good.

The man takes a sip of his drink and lets out an aaaahh and it's goofy and charming and then he extends his hand.

"Joel," he tells you, "Joel Miller". You shake his hand, introduce yourself, and then take a sip of your own drink.

"So, tell me about yourself," you smile, "You coming from out of town?"

"Yes ma'am," he nods, "Come up here from Austin."

"Texas?"

Joel nods.

"That's a long trip."

"Yeah," he laughs, "It really is."

"So, you're a nice Southern boy, huh?"

"Well," he swishes his glass and tries to bite back a smile, "I don't know that I'd go quite so far, but my mama did raise me to be a gentleman."

"That so?" you ask and his blush deepens.

"I... have been known to get up to some trouble, but I like to think I've mellowed in my old age." He gestures at the beautiful little smatterings of silver at his temples, and you cackle.

"Okay, that's hot," you tell him and he chokes, but you keep going, "Old age, though? What are you, like, forty?"

He exhales, chagrined. "Forty-one."

You roll your eyes. "That ain't old."

"It feels it sometimes," he smiles, "My kid is grown. My little brother's married with a kid of his own on the way. My back hurts, pretty much all the time."

You snort. You also notice, without trying to look, that he doesn't have a wedding band. Doesn't have a tan line for one, either. Interesting.

"But more than that," he continues, "I guess I feel- I don't know. A little... aimless?"

"Yeah," you nod, and you let the moment sit. "I get that."

He lets out a little breath, and then turns back to you, focused.

"What about you? Where're you from?"

"Oof," you exhale, "All over. Spent a bit of time on the East coast. The Midwest. Lived a few months in the South, even," you tease as you bump your shoulder into his and he laughs. It's a surprisingly familiar gesture, but miraculously comfortable.

"Ever make it to Texas?"

"Naw," you shake your head, "My time in the South was all in Mississippi. After that I moved out to California, and I've been slowly working my way up the West Coast."

"And what have you been enjoying about the West Coast?" Joel asks.

"The mushrooms," you grin, and Joel frowns.

"Like, the kind you get in a little baggy from the dealer down the street, or-?"

"No," you laugh, "Or, well- Okay, sometimes. Gotta say it is great out here for that, too. But I mean fungus as a whole--mushrooms, mold, yeast, lichen. But I'm most interested in mushrooms. They're just really fuckin' cool, and there's so much we don't understand about them. And, they're delicious."

"Huh," Joel ponders, "T'tell you the truth, I've never thought much about mushrooms, besides enjoying 'em as a pizza topping."

"Most people don't," you agree, "But fuck, like-- Okay, so we know there are over five million types of fungi on Earth, but we've identified less than two percent of them. Some fungus aids decomposition. Some fungus is bioluminescent. Some are known worldwide for their delicious flavours, and others are known by the slow, horrible ways they kill you."

Joel raises his eyebrows, and suddenly you feel a little self conscious.

"Sorry, I do this," you laugh, rubbing at the back of your neck, "I get very excited about fungus and manage to alienate everyone around me."

You half expect him to stand up and walk away.

Instead, though, he leans in closer. "Don't apologise," he tells you, "I'm learning something new. Tell me more?"

"No, I should stop. Otherwise I'll never stop talking," you wince.

"How about just one more fungus fact?"

You sit for a minute, pondering. "This is- well, I guess this is one of the reasons I find fungus so fascinating. So, fungus can't photosynthesise the way that plants do--they can't produce their own food from sunshine, and water, and carbon dioxide. Instead, their mycelium-- they're these thread-like networks--they branch out beneath the earth, seeking out food, growing in the direction where it can find the nutrients it needs and breaking down organic material all around them, sometimes living organisms, as a parasite, and sometimes dead organisms as a decomposer, or both. And it's just- It's this hidden world, that exists right beneath the surface even in some of the extreme places on earth, temperature-wise. And most days, we don't even think about it."

You punctuate your thought with a large swallow of your drink, which is half-watered down now that the ice is melted, and doesn't hit quite as hard as you'd hoped, but then you look up at Joel and he's smiling at you, pensive, and--

"That's- That's actually really interesting."

Before you can respond, though, Joel glances at his watch and balks. It is getting late. "Shit," he shakes his head, "I think I oughta call it a night," he says, pulling back. "Early morning tomorrow, and if I stay at the bar I'll just keep drinkin'."

Fuck. That's a dismissal. Of course you went on too much about mushrooms. You'd fucked this up. You'd thought this was going well, but now it felt like a bucket of cold water was dumped over you. "Oh," you nod, matching his posture, and try to swallow down the sudden wave of disappointment. "Of course. Have a good night, Joel."

Joel stands up and then looks you up and down, considering. It's not brazen, but it isn't shy, either. And then understanding flashes across his face.

"Wait- Sorry, that's not how I meant it." He reaches out towards you and you melt into his touch. "I'm messin' this up." He chuckles, but it sounds pained. "Now look, I don't wanna make any presumptions. And I'm really hopin' I'm not coming off as some--dirty old man. Jesus, I haven't done this in a while. But I'm in room 308."

Your eyebrows shoot up. What you'd taken for disinterest was just--nerves?

"I reckon I'll be awake for a while yet. You're welcome to... drop by."

The disappointment melts, making way for a fluttering in your stomach.

"Twenty minutes," you assure him, "308?"

He nods and he brakes into a sheepish grin, shedding what you now realise had been something of an anxious wince. "308."

You watch him leave. When he's out of sight, you toss back the rest of your watery drink and go to pay your tab, but Jeff tells you it was already settled. You thank him and tuck your shaking hands in your pockets. You feel an electricity running through you as you take the elevator up.

When you get back to your room, you hop into the shower, just to freshen up--you keep your hair dry but scrub your body. Once you're clean, you brush your teeth.

Stepping back out of the en suite, you survey the hotel room. Spatula is lounging on the corner of the bed, entirely uninterested in your movements. You top up his dry food bowl and place a kiss between his ears before slipping out.

When you knock at Joel's door, you hear a slight rustle and clatter and then the door swings open, Joel's staring a little wide-eyed, like he didn't actually expect you to show. He's wearing grey sweats and a Johnny Cash t-shirt that looks like it's been around nearly as long as you have. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, an anxious tell that's desperately endearing.

"C'mon in," he smiles, and you step in, closing the door behind you.

You reach out to cup his face, delighting in the feeling of coarse stubble beneath your fingertips. Your first kiss is chaste. You both lean forward and press your lips to one another gently, exploring.

Then, you let out a little moan and Joel shudders. Heat surges between you, and his hands are cradling your head and brushing your cheek and he's pinning you against the closed door. You're kissing again, nothing chaste remaining, learning the taste of him, his rhythm, the crashing waves of give and take between you.

You wrap one leg around him and smirk when he lets out a throaty groan as you grind against his hard cock. You're pretty sure he's not wearing underwear, the thick bulge seemingly unconstrained in his grey sweats, the whole length pressing against your thigh.

Your head falls back and you let out soft, breathy noises as his lips trace along your collarbone, up your throat, and against that tender little spot behind your ear. When he puts your earlobe between his lips and presses his teeth gently against the skin, your knees go weak and he chuckles, strong arms wrapping around you, holding you up.

"Bed?" he asks, and you breathe yes and then, with a yelp and a throaty chuckle, you're lifted up and spun around and both tumbling into the duvet.

You're grasping at each other, desperate to keep your hands on one another. The only times you part is when you undress, and even then, you're helping each other--pulling the hem of his shirt over his lifted arms, pressing into him as he reaches around and moves to unhook your bra, but then he realises you're not wearing one and lets out a groan, his thumbs brushing alongside the tender skin along your ribs, moving gently as if to cup your breasts, but then he pulls back.

Normally you might wait, do this part slowly, draw out the tease just a little bit longer.

Tonight, though, you're ravenous.

As you fiddle with the buttons of your pants, you tug at the drawstring keeping Joel's sweats on his hips. The bow comes loose in one smooth motion, and he lifts his hips and you pull the sweats down.

Your mouth immediately waters seeing him bare, laid out for you. You watch a bead of precum drip down the head and pool on his belly. The coarse hair of his happy trail glistens with it. He's thick, uncut, and looks painfully hard, his cock head ruddy. "Fuck, you're beautiful," you tell him, and his cheeks redden but he grins. It's boyish, the way he grins, and devastatingly charming.

And, what you're saying is true. His body is gorgeous, something you wish you could sketch. Soft flesh over hard muscle, visible tan lines where his chest and shoulders are noticeably lighter than his arms. The muscles and veins along his throat are driving you absolutely fucking insane as he swallows and looks up at you.

He's got freckles on his shoulders, too, and without thinking, you lower yourself down to kiss at his shoulder. He shakes, just a little, and lets out the most beautiful gasp. It's addictive, pulling these noises from him. You follow the curve of him, giving him a taste of his own medicine--tracing feather-light kisses along his collarbone, up the tendons of his neck, behind his ear. You can feel the blood pulse in his veins as your lips brush along him. Joel goes from panting lightly to full on groaning, rutting his hips up towards you and, frustrated, meeting only air.

"Can I taste you?", you ask, and Joel lets out a half-strangled sound and nods, vigorous.

You scoot back, lower yourself, poke out your tongue and, without any preamble, lick at the slit of his head, tasting the salty, tangy precum.

Joel tips his head back and groans and you decide to be kind. You grasp onto his hips and take him in your mouth, slowly sinking down, inch by inch by inch and now you can feel him at the back of your throat, your saliva dripping down the shaft and collecting in the hair between his thighs.

You bob your head up and down, taking him deeper with each thrust, but your throat is full and there are still inches to go. You relax, doing everything you can to take him deeper, and he starts to thrust up gently.

You let him fuck into your mouth but release one of his hips, allowing him to move as freely as he needs and freeing up your hand, which you shove into your underwear, rubbing furiously at your clit.

It doesn't take much to lose yourself in it, to focus only on the sensation. You're so wet, slick coating your fingers, making the glide that much smoother as you touch yourself. Joel tastes so good, too, the intrusion of his cock the most delicious thing, feeling the way he shudders when you moan, the way he moans when you shudder.

"Fuck-" Joel gasps, and then there's a hand guiding you gently off of him.

You raise an eyebrow. "You okay?"

He swallows, hard, and nods. "More than okay. Felt too fuckin' good."

"Oh yeah?" and you lean down, as if to take him back in your mouth, but he chuckles and pulls you back again.

"It's been... a while. For me. And-" He drags his palm down his face, wearing an almost pained expression. "Christ, you just look too fuckin' good down there, mouth stretched 'round me while you touch yourself. An' it feels too fuckin' good, too. I ain't ready for this to be over yet but if you keep lettin' me fuck your throat like that it's gonna be over real quick. And I wanna feel that pretty pussy myself."

You sit back up and he pulls you towards him so you're straddling him.

"You gonna fuck me, Joel?"

"Yes," he breathes, "Yes, baby, please-"

You do an awkward wobble and then stand up, shedding your pants and letting your panties drop, stepping out of them, one foot and then the other, and the way he's watching you is addictive. He watches you with beautiful eyes, drinking all of you in, and suddenly the moment has changed into one of those quiet, intimate moments where you both exhale a laugh.

You straddle him again, and lean down to kiss him, and the electric current surges up. He grabs you by the jaw, meeting your desperation. His lips on yours are exactly the balm you need and you can taste the whiskey on his breath.

"Feels fucking good," you tell Joel as you slide up and down his length. He's not penetrating you, not yet, but the lips of your pussy are spread and you're gliding along him, feeling his head at your clit and thrusting back till you're nearly seated on his balls.

He watches you, nearly unblinking, drinking it all in. Then, he lets out a groan, and half-sits up, suddenly focused.

"Shit," he closes his eyes in frustration, "I don't have any condoms. Shit shit shit-"

You push him back down and kiss him again. Then, you hop off the bed and sift around in your jean pockets.

"Ah-ha!," you exclaim, once you've found your treasure. Joel raises and eyebrow and you wink. "Saw they were selling them in the lobby. Figured it might be a good idea."

"Shit," Joel laughs, and presses his lips just to the side of your mouth. "Clever girl," he tells you, and a shiver goes up your spine.

He leans to help, but you shoo him away and he watches, entranced, as you neatly open the condom wrapper and, with a small amount of difficulty, roll it down his cock.

"Feeling okay?" You ask him, "Shit, I shoulda gotten the Magnums. Is your dick okay? It's not being choked to death by an inappropriately sized rubber, is it?"

Joel snorts. "We'll manage," he says, and then he grips you by the hips, lines himself up. He draws his knuckles along your cunt and groans, "Fuck, so goddamn wet for me-" and, the moment you look at him and nod, he holds the head of his cock against your drooling lips and presses into you.

It's a big stretch as he lowers you down onto him, the intrusion almost painful, but before you can even take a breath, it melts into absolute pleasure. You've fucked people with longer cocks before, and you've fucked people with girthier cocks before, but never have you fucked someone with a cock that's both this long and thick and it feels like you're being split in two and it's perfect and you realise, with a sudden flip of your stomach, he isn't even fully seated inside you yet.

Then, you manage to focus on the words Joel is saying-that had really just been background noise for the past ten seconds or so-and suddenly you're tuning back in for "Tha's it," his voice low and hoarse, surprisingly gentle, "Good girl, takin' this cock so well, look at you."

His brow is furrowed and he's looking at you with such dark eyes, nearly black, the pupils are so blown. "Just a little more, that's it, just one more inch, you can do it, christ, look at you, takin' all of me."

His tone is reverent and it sets a fire through you. You can feel more slickness build and drip out of you, and from the way he moans, you're certain he can feel it too despite the condom.

"So fuckin' wet," he groans, "Soakin' my cock- grippin' me so nice-Fuck--"

He leans towards you and cradles your head in his hand, kissing you hard.

When you both pull back, you know your lips must be kiss swollen and red. His are--they're soft and bright, and you want to eat him whole.

"You're gonna be the death of me, woman."

He's thrusting into you lazily, holding you in place, but you need more, you need all of him.

You push forward and move his hand from your waist to your clit. As you manoeuvre him, his nostrils flare, and you'd wonder if he was angry, if not for the way you felt his cock stiffen even further inside of you. You start to move your hips, to rub up against the thumb on your clit, and to feel every fucking inch of him.

Urged on by the way he groans, you start to ride him, properly. Holding each other close, you fuck down onto him and he leans back, awed.

"Enjoying the show?" you ask.

"Damn- right- I- am-," Joel breathes, every word punctuated with a shuddering breath after you drive back down onto his cock, "Jesus- you- look- so- good- like- that."

You like being watched. Being admired. It sent an extra thrill through you, and your hips stutter, just a little, and now you're following a new, faster rhythm.

"Fuck, that's it, baby-" he praises, "Shit, yes- bounce on it."

You lean forward and kiss his throat, and then he makes this noise, half-strangled and beautiful.

"Shit, honey-- honey, honey, hold on-," he holds you still and you're glad he has, because your brain hadn't quite processed his words.

He's looking at you so earnestly.

"Baby, if you keep ridin' me like this I am gonna blow my load in the next twenty seconds and I don't wanna end this quite so soon."

You hum, a moment of consideration. You stare into his eyes, and part of it is calculated seduction, but another part is getting genuinely lost in the way he looks at you. The crinkles round his eyes. The way he seems able to focus on you, in a way that feels as frightening as it is exhilarating.

"How about this," You smile, "You get yours, and then you can eat me out till I get mine. And if you're ready to go again by the time I've come, we can see where we're at then. Hmm?"

You see a bead of sweat trickle down his temple, and take a moment to appreciate how much he's clearly trying to control himself.

After a moments of avoiding your eye, he looks at you again and he looks utterly wrecked. "You- talkin' like that?" He shakes his head and tries to even his breath. "Fuck, I nearly came right there."

"It's okay," you soothe, and you cup his jaw and resume you movements, riding him like you had before. "You can come if you need to-" your fingertips stroke the stubble of his chin, "You're close, huh? It's okay, daddy, you can let go."

Joel lets out a strangled noise and busts immediately.

You savor the way it feels, the pulse of his cock as he spills into you. No, into the condom, you correct yourself, but you can always pretend-

After his balls relax and you can feel him start to get soft, you hold the condom down as you pull yourself off, and you're nearly unseated when there's a sudden squelch noise that sends you both into tumbles of laughter.

It takes a while to calm down, and you find yourselves heaving, tangled in the sheets, and wrapped up in each other. The condom is hanging limply on Joel's now-soft cock and it's oddly cold and gooey as you accidentally roll against it, and that sends you both off again.

"Fuck," Joel snorts, and tugs at the condom, starting to roll it off his length, "I'd almost forgotten the weird texture of a used condom. Fuckin'... Slug-like."

"That-" you declare, "Is visceral. And I hate it. Thanks."

He snorts, and you suddenly have a question.

"Condoms not making too many appearances in your life?"

"Not many, no."

"What, you usually fuck raw?"

"Just haven't been sleepin' with anyone," he shrugs, nonplussed.

"Well, I gotta say, the good people of Austin have been missing out."

Joel shrugs again, and it comes off as casual, but you notice the way his ears tint pink. "Just- not been something I did. But now, I guess, I can. And with way less guilt."

"Why guilt? Are-" you venture, dread pooling in your stomach, "Are you married?"

His eyes flit up to you sharply, and then soften immediately. He lets out a breath and shakes his head. "No. Nothin' like that. I was married, but I've been divorced nearly twenty years now."

The tightness immediately uncoils and you realise how tense you were only a moment ago. I am not a cog in the machine of a collapsing marriage. Thank fuck.

But now your curiosity is piqued. "So... why the guilt?"

"Sorry, I- I really didn't mean to get into it. I'd rather not get into it. It's- complicated."

"Of course," you shrug, and it isn't a problem because this is just a hot fantasy hookup that you'll remember fondly, and it'll be wonderful masturbation fuel for probably the rest of your life, but you don't wanna make the poor guy go into his life's trauma, especially when he's looking at you so fucking earnestly and you are actually really fucking fascinated but no, you would not let this become a problem.

"Thanks," he says, and then steps out of the room. You hear the clang of the bin as he steps on the pedal, then drops the condom, takes a piss and washes his hands.

"You hungry?" He asks, and you realize very suddenly, you're absolutely famished.

"Yes," you jump up and he laughs when you run, bare-assed and shameless, over to the corner of the room filled with brochures and traveller info and finally, you raise it in triumph when you find it, the list of nearby takeaways.

"Okay," you look at the list, "There's one place at the top of the list here that's apparently highly rated, but I actually have plans there soon and I wanna wait till then to eat there. Hope that's okay."

Joel comes over to you and rests his head on your shoulder. "No problem."

"But... alright," you continue. "There's pizza. Or... more pizza. Or, look--there's a Southern-style place, that'll make you feel right at home!" Joel pokes you in the side and you swat at him as he grunts a laugh.

Suddenly, a warning sound starts playing on loop in your brain. It was dreadfully domestic, wasn't it? This was an absolute stranger you'd just met in a hotel bar? But... it also felt... nice? And it felt nice in ways that you'd never found yourself enjoying before. Even with long-term partners. Maybe because this was so low-stakes, you reasoned, such an inevitably temporary situation, so you weren't putting the same kind of pressure on yourself.

As soon as you think that, the eternal curse of overthinking shows itself and you suddenly feel desperately self conscious. Before you can pull away and make some excuse, though, Joel's arm wraps around you and his thumb starts rubbing little circles into a tender bit of skin between your hip and your tummy. The anxiety spiral you'd been teetering on the edge of suddenly vanishes.

"How about-," he nods at the list, "Pizza?"

After Joel calls in your order, the pizza delivery service tells you to expect your food in about thirty minutes. You remember you have a little box of edibles. You ask Joel if he minds if you take one, and he doesn't. You offer him one, and he automatically declines, but then as he starts to explain, he pauses and pivots, goes "Wait, actually. Yeah. Why not?"

A freckled kid who looks no more than sixteen pulls up with a short stack of pizza boxes and a two liter bottle of root beer. He raps awkwardly on the door after exactly thirty five minutes, and it swings open.

The room looks utterly wrecked, clothing strewn along every surface. Joel answers the door wearing a robe, his entire face smelling of sex, and his moustache still shining with the slick of your release.

"Thanks, kid," Joel nods, and hands him a small wad of cash. The kid eyes him and shrugs. "Keep the change," he tells him, and the door swings back shut.

The edibles have hit beautifully. You're both blissed out, comfortably hazy, lost in the sensation of bare limbs on bedsheets and the flavors of the pizza and it's assorted sauces. You lay together on the bed, paper plates strewn between you. In the background, an X-Files rerun plays.

"Ooh!" You sit up as you catch the premise of the episode, "I love this one! See the goo? There's a giant fungal... entity.. that's working on digesting them, and giving them hallucinations as they die."

"You and mushrooms, huh?" Joel laughs, but then looks back at the episode and contemplates the viscous yellow goo. "Jesus christ," he frowns, and sniffs, now contemplating the mushrooms on his pizza slice.

You spot his glare and snort. "I think you're safe."

He takes another bite and shakes his head as if to clear it.

"I'm getting tired," he admits.

"Me too," you agree.

"No pressure, but in case it wasn't clear, you're welcome to stay the night here."

"That's sweet," you tell him, and think it over. "If I took you up on that, would you be offended if I slip out early?"

Joel raises a brow.

"I have a cat," you explain, "And I'm working on moving into a new place, and meeting a friend for breakfast, and then I need to check out after breakfast because I won't be able to get my keys for the new place until the breakfast but I can't take my cat to a diner-"

You take a breath.

"Basically, I've got a bunch of things I need to do in the morning, but if you don't mind me slipping out around, maybe, 5-ish, then I'd love to stay."

He stares at you.

You regret saying as much as you said. You don't need to over-explain yourself to this actual stranger. He doesn't care. There's no reason for him to care. He's probably in it just for the fuck, and it was fun and if you stay then there's a chance the two of you will wake up at some point in the night, still horny and lustful and you might fuck again and you'd be lying if you said that wasn't part of the draw. You realise, though, you'd also be lying if you said you didn't care what he thought of you. All of a sudden, you are overwhelmed with caring what this man thinks of you.

How fucking inconvenient.

"I wouldn't be offended at all," Joel chews, swallows, wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin and speaks again. "What's your cat's name?"

You don't know what you'd expected he'd say, but it wasn't that. You buffer for a moment. "It's- Spatula."

"Spatula?"

"Yep." You feel foolish.

"Huh. Spatula."

A silent moment between you.

"Got any pictures?"

You weren't expecting that, either. "I... do? Do you want to see them?" He nods. You pull out your phone to scroll through.

Joel, suddenly scrambled around for his phone, too. It was late and he hadn't checked it for hours. Had it been on silent? What if Sarah had called and he'd missed it?

His panic eased when he saw he had only two notifications. Both from Sarah, but neither were bad. He hadn't been neglecting any crises. The first text was a selfie of Sarah and an unfamiliar person, which she'd texted to him with the caption New roomie!! The second contained an address to the place they'd have breakfast tomorrow along with Just wanted you to know I've invited a friend to join us tomorrow morning! Is that okay? Realized I should maybe have checked with you? 😬

There was an ache in his chest. He wanted to keep her to himself, get to spend one last day, just the two of them. It was the start of a whole new chapter, but more than anything, he wished he could hold onto the moment for just a second longer.

But Sarah was stressed, he knew this, so he wasn't gonna make it worse and put this burden on her. He could handle it. He had to handle it. He typed back- No problem, baby. Can't wait to meet your friend.

After a moment, he followed up with another text. Gonna turn in now. Good nite!

The less he texted right now, the better. He did not want Sarah to know anything about the night he was having.

His screen lit up a moment later. Night Dad! He takes a deep breath and wills some of the tension away.

He slips his phone aside and you scoot into bed next to him.

"This," you announce, "Is Spatula."

Joel scrolls thru, his brows raising higher with each image.

With a single nod, he opens his mouth and instead of speaking, he collapses into laughter. It comes out a wheeze- "I-- I know this won't make any sense, but your cat looks just like my goddamn brother."

You're laughing now too, both of you almost hysterical, even though you have no frame of reference. You cherish the absurdity.

Then, Joel pulls up a picture on his phone and shows you, and now you're doubling over again because his brother looks exactly like Spatula.

You don't remember falling asleep. You curse your body's internal clock because you wake up right at 5am, and even though you know you should get up and leave, you wish you could have just a little bit longer.

It's such a comfortable way to wake up. One arm is folded under your pillow, and the other is slung over Joel's hip. He's asleep, snoring softly, and strands of his hair are mussed along his forehead. Your hand is holding his tummy, but you realise there's something pressing against the heel of your hand, and then realise, with a delicious jolt, that he's hard and straining against his boxers.

It's so fucking hard to get out of that bed, but with enough barely-effective reminders--you're gonna fuck up your whole day if you're late, gotta make a good impression, Spatula's gonna be so disappointed if you're late with his breakfast--you manage to bully yourself out of the warm and wonderful bed containing blankets and absolutely fantastic dick, and you tiptoe through the room, dress quickly, and, after making a note and leaving it on his bedside stand, you slip out.

Joel wakes up with a jolt, and then rolls over to see that the alarm clock (which he dared not contemplate the number of times he must have snoozed) was telling him it was 9:13.

He was late. Really fucking late. And then the panic made his brain spin faster and that's when he noticed the note on his bedside table.

I had a really good time If you're in town for a little longer, don't be a stranger?

It's followed with your name and phone number, and a rather detailed mushroom sketch across the page. He wasn't sure what kind of mushroom it was, but it was beautiful, and clearly hand-drawn, and for whatever reason you'd decided to tear it out of, presumably, your sketchbook? And you gave it to him, and he's gonna read that note and replay last night for the rest of his fucking life. It felt incredibly precious. He placed it in a book so it wouldn't get creased or folded. Made sure it was all contained and neat, totally flat in between the pages.

Then, he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower.

After scrubbing the smell of sex off of his entire body, he dresses quickly and checks his watch again. 9:28.

He texts Sarah and lets her know he's a few minutes behind. She responds with an eye roll emoji.

Joel settles in his truck and pulls up directions. It's only a few minutes away. He won't be too late.

When Joel steps into the diner, he's charmed by it. It's old school, with a checkerboard floor and bright red vinyl seats. He scans the room till he spots Sarah in a booth in the corner. She's laughing over a hot chocolate, and her friend must be in the seat opposite her.

He catches Sarah's eye and she grins at him, waving him over.

You've been at the diner about fifteen minutes, and you and Sarah are already getting along beautifully.

You'd met on a university message board and had become fast friends, but meeting someone in person was always a little terrifying. On top of that, you'd already committed to spending at least one (academic) year with this person, so you were damn sure gonna make it work.

Sarah waves over her dad. You can't see him yet, the back of the booth too high.

But then he's standing right there.

You already have a hand outstretched, but when he sees you and you see him, your stomach flips and dread runs through you. All the color drains from his face. He looks like a deer in headlights, and you'd be surprised if you didn't look the same.

Sarah looks between you, not quite concerned, but definitely confused. Sarah smiles and tries to diffuse the situation.

"Hi dad!" She grins, "This is my new roommate! Well, the other new roommate--the one in the picture, their name is Ellie, they weren't able to make it this morning. BUT. Breakfast seemed like a great time to hand off keys!"

Joel is still frozen and white-faced. Your brain whirs, and you know you've just fucking catapulted yourself into a disastrous mess, but you do your very best to save face.

Reaching your hand out further so he can't possibly miss it, he gives into some familiar social instinct, takes it and you shake. You think of his hands, how they dragged along your body last night, touched you, felt you, wrecked you.

You introduce yourself. He nods, avoiding eye contact.

"Joel." He grunts. "Miller."

Sarah frowns at him, but turns back to the menu.

This- was unexpected. Problematic. Arguably, really fucked up. All of those things and more. But it'll be fine.

All throughout breakfast, you repeat that to yourself, letting the words bounce around your head. It will be fine, you repeat your mantra, it will be fine, and you try not to feel too hurt at the way Joel's avoiding eye contact as if simply looking at you will cause him unimaginable disgust.

Everything will be fine.

Note: The fic's premise is loosely based on the book Mistakes Were Made which is a fucking excellent sapphic romance novel that utilises this trope. Would strongly recommend the book if you're into smutty queer stories.

[loveinhawkins]

Thinking about what might’ve happened if Dustin and Eddie both made it through the trailer Gate; if the door held and none of the bats followed them.

-

They get a momentary reprieve, dizzy with relief.

And Hawkins splits open.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie screams, and he throws himself over Dustin as the living room is rent apart, shields him from chunks of the ceiling and trailer roof raining down; after one final shudder, everything goes eerily still.

They breathe.

“Max,” Dustin gasps. Scrabbling out from underneath Eddie, he reaches for his walkie, desperate, “Lucas, do you copy? Lucas! Do you goddamn—”

There’s a click and then the horrible sound of Lucas sobbing—trying and failing to get words out.

Eddie’s stomach plummets.

Through the fear and horror, it dawns on him that he needs to step up to the plate—that he’s in charge—and he has to act now.

“We’ve gotta go,” he says, thinking fast. He pulls Dustin up with him, adds, “Leave the walkie here,” jerking his head up to the grotesquely expanded Gate, “so they’ll have it when they get back.”

He’s thankful beyond words that Steve left the keys in the RV.

It’s a tense, silent ride broken only by Dustin sharply saying, “Watch out,” whenever they get too close to a chasm in the road.

Eddie can hardly comprehend what he’s looking at. He remembers saying the shire is burning. Now it sounds like a prophecy fulfilled.

When they reach the Creel House, he drives up onto the grass until the RV is hidden as best he can manage amongst the bushes and thorns.

Erica’s running out of the house by the time they reach the front steps, a walkie in her hand; Eddie’s eyes land on her skinned knees, and his stomach drops all over again.

“Hey, are you hurt, are you hurt?” he babbles, already knowing the answer—but he means is there more than this? I’m here, I’ll help you, I’ll help you.

His hands land on her shoulders, squeezing tight, and Erica—this sharp-tongued, funny, kind kid—breaks down in tears.

“I called a-an ambulance,” she stutters out.

“Hey, you did great. Shh, you did great.” Eddie hugs her far too briefly, but there’s no time. He presses the keys to the RV into her hand. “It’s hidden, hey, see that bush down there? Lock yourself in, keep radioing for the others. Hey, look at me. It’s gonna be okay.”

She nods, eyes shining.

No-one should have to be this fucking brave, Eddie thinks.

Dustin follows him through the house, up the stairs, jumping over the cracks until—

Max in Lucas’s arms, her eyes closed, blood running down her cheeks.

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat, but he can’t falter now; he pushes back vivid images of Chrissy, of Patrick, and falls to his knees next to Lucas.

“Her—her bones,” Lucas gasps, “I shouldn’t have m-moved her but the ground—Jason, he…”

Eddie follows where Lucas’s eyes darts to, across the cavernous gap in the floor, sees the mangled remains of—

“Jesus.” Eddie swallows through a wave of nausea.

“I hurt—I hurt her,” Lucas whispers.

Eddie puts a hand on his back. “No, you—you did what you had to, man. You saved her, Sinclair, you hear me?” He places two fingers to Max’s throat. Waits. Exhales deeply. “Pulse is still… okay, okay.”

“What?” Lucas tries to check, too. His hand is shaking. “But I—I felt—”

“Trust me, she’s—”

A wail. Sirens, rapidly approaching.

Eddie’s gaze flickers over Lucas and Dustin: their eyes are glassy with horror. It’s not hit them yet, what’s about to happen, and that’s fine. That’s how it should be.

It’s Eddie’s job to know.

The paramedics arrive first.

Eddie moves back. Gives them space.

He doesn’t miss the way their faces pale as they spot him.

“She has a pulse,” he says calmly. “Broken limbs. And her eyes, um, I don’t know what exactly…”

More sirens.

“Eddie,” Dustin says suddenly. Sharp, urgent. “Eddie, what are you doing? You need to go.”

Eddie smiles sadly. Shakes his head.

Footsteps pounding up the stairs. At first it seems to take forever, and then it speeds up all at once; Eddie’s being pulled roughly until he’s standing, handcuffs cutting into his skin, and Dustin is screaming.

“They didn’t know anything,” Eddie finds himself saying. Lucas’s expression shatters; Dustin just looks furious. “I swear, they didn’t—”

“Eddie, stop.” Dustin sounds close to tears. “Stop, stop—” He grabs at Eddie’s arm, only to be pushed aside by an officer. “He didn’t do anything!”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says. He tries to catch Dustin’s eye, but he’s already being dragged out. “It’s okay.”

And it’s funny, just an hour ago and this would’ve been one of his worst fears realised. But now he barely feels it.

A hand clamps over his skull, pushes him into the police car.

The view out the window blurs as they speed away—black cut through with a burning red.

Eddie closes his eyes.

He wishes he could’ve…

He thinks of Steve, Robin, Nancy. Wants them to know he tried to protect their kids for as long as possible. Tried to buy them time. He did his best.

No, Eddie The Banished isn’t a hero, he thinks.

He simply did the only thing he could have done.

[thriftedtchotchkes]

You take my self control

summary: your first act of brutality leaves you reeling, but you’d do it all over again if it meant saving joel’s life. in the aftermath, you realize you’ve started to crave that violence and it terrifies you. joel steps in to satisfy your craving.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, extremely graphic depictions of violence, dark themes, blood and injuries, dead clicker, angst, comfort, ptsd, reader struggles, undefined age gap, established relationship, language, smut, piv, rough sex, oral (female receiving), fingering, minor dom!joel, guided handjob, pet names

word count: 3.4k

a/n: whew, this one is a doozy. the original plan was to write something fluffy, but then i wrote this instead 🥲 based on moments from kill bill vol. 1 and sin city, and the title is from the song self control by laura branigan! please lmk if i missed anything in the warnings and i’ll add it asap. it’s a lot darker than my last fic, but i’ve always wanted to write this story, so i hope you enjoy! as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated 💕

You can’t see. You can’t hear anything at all. Numbness permeates your limbs, and your thoughts are a mishmash of gnashing teeth and nails, sharp and jagged like claws, and so, so much red.

There’s something warm and sticky on your face and hands. It’s up your nose, trickling into your open mouth, and it tastes like salt and iron. Blood…it must be blood. You hope it’s your own but, in the dark recesses of your mind, you know it’s someone else’s. It tastes all wrong, like the fact that you’re tasting it all means you’re alive and you really shouldn’t be.

He’s yelling, or at least you think it’s him. Sound returns to your ears all at once and it’s fucking loud.

Joel, stop, it hurts. 

Everything hurts so much now, and you feel it everywhere—scratches down your arms and legs, your heart slamming an angry beat against your temples.

Fuck, you’re probably bit. Joel sounds frantic and terrified, but you don’t know why. There are massive gaps in your memory and you can’t remember how you got here, knees heavy on the ground, your thighs bracketing the sides of a dead clicker. 

A woman—you think it used to be a woman. It’s hard to tell after the carnage. The fragments of bone and wet chunks of flesh and fungus where her head should be tell a different story now. You desperately wish your sight hadn’t returned at all, but it’s too late and you can’t unsee it. You can’t unsee her.

The muscles in your arms and hands burn something vicious, and when they give out, something hard clangs to the ground. A metal pipe. 

Joel calls out to you again, and he sounds closer this time.

“...go…have to go now…can’t…here…” 

Strong hands tug on your arm and pull you to your feet, and suddenly you’re running. Joel is all but dragging you out of what looks like the living room of a modern, suburban home, and you do your best not to trip on tipped-over furniture. 

You look back over your shoulder and the body is still lying there, lifeless. You’re not sure why you thought it would be chasing you, hungry mouth snapping at your throat; it’s dead. Because you killed it.

You’re exhausted and your legs are sore, but when you start to slow down, Joel’s hand tightens around yours and tugs harder.

“We have to go, baby, we can’t stay here.” Ah, that’s what he was saying before. “I know it hurts, but you gotta keep goin’. Just a little longer, you gotta keep it up for a little bit longer.” He should be out of breath by now, but he’s running on fear and adrenaline, and you let it fuel you, too.

When you make it outside, the sky is a clear, cloudless blue above you and the sun is brighter than you’ve ever seen it. It makes your skin itch, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of the dirt and dried blood matting your hair and caked under your fingernails.

Instinctively, your hand rises to shield your eyes. It’s effective enough that you’re able to take in your surroundings as they fly by and, while they’re familiar, you still can’t remember what you were doing here in the first place.

“Joel, I’m…I-I’m—I can’t. I can’t run anymore, p-please—,” you whimper, chest heaving with exertion. House, driveway, lawn—they repeat over and over and over again. They’re starting to blur together, and your tunneling vision worsens until darkness consumes you. “...Joel…”

And then everything goes black.

You’re…surrounded. By something that feels soft and warm and solid against your aching skin, and it moves steadily against you, rising and falling. Your head tilts to the side and it’s Joel breathing into you, his head at home in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped loosely around you. 

You nuzzle your nose into his graying hair, pressing a kiss there, and a sharp intake of breath follows as he blinks awake blearily.

“Hey, baby,” you murmur. He hums something deep and unintelligible in response, tilting his head back to mouth wetly at the base of your throat. 

You let out a sigh of relief. If Joel’s in bed with you like this, it means you’re not infected. Hurt and in pain, yes, but you’re both alive and that’s all that matters. You saved his life out there and you’d do it all over again, even at the cost of your own.

Your memories are returning quickly now, like waves violently crashing to shore after a storm, and the images are gruesome. What you did to protect Joel was barbaric, but you acted on impulse, out of rage and desperation.

The clicker came out of nowhere. You were searching an abandoned house for supplies when it lunged out of a closet, tackling Joel to the ground. The metal pipe in his hand clattered to the ground at your feet and you picked it up as quickly as it fell.

Then, something inside you snapped and you reacted. It was dead after the second or third blow to the head, but you kept going anyway, angry at it for almost stealing Joel away and destabilized by the fear of losing him. 

Blood sprayed from every artery you severed and after each new crack in its skull, and it showered down like rain, thick and warm against your skin. It made you feel powerful, like you were in control for the first time in your life. You enjoyed it.

Only when you realized the pipe was connecting with wet, dented pieces of floorboard instead of flesh did you finally stop.

You remember everything now.

“I’m not sorry,” you tell him, staring vacantly at the popcorn ceiling of your bedroom. He sighs, and you think he’s about to start lecturing you. You don’t want to hear it. You barely want to talk about it at all. “You could’ve died, Joel. If you think for one second I’d ever let that happen, you’re out of your mind.”

He squeezes you a little tighter, mindful of your injuries, but doesn’t respond. Silence blankets you for a moment, and then it breaks once he realizes you’re trembling and your eyes and cheeks are wet with tears.

You’re not sure when you started crying, but you can’t seem to stop, and the frustration in his eyes lessens with each soft hiccup that escapes your lips.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, thumbing away the tears as they fall. He leaves his hand there, gently cupping your cheek, and you lean into his touch. You can feel the fight leaving his body; it’s just not worth it anymore, not after everything you’ve been through. Sighing, he drops his head to rest on your collarbone. “There’s nothin’ to be sorry for. I shoulda been payin’ more attention, been more cautious. Then, you wouldn’t have had to…you wouldn’t be—” He’s fumbling his words. Joel’s never been good at conversations like these, but he’s trying. “...I’m tryna say it’s not your fault. You did what you had to.”

It’s not his fault, either. In the aftermath of everything, no one’s to blame, but it doesn’t help how much it still hurts. How broken you feel.

“Joel, I—,” the tears flow freely and you struggle to suppress a sob. “I’m a monster. You saw what I did…I just—I couldn’t stop. I know she wasn’t a person anymore, I know that, but…b-but I think I liked it. What does that say about me; what does that make me?” You’re spiraling now. He shifts up the bed to hold you properly and rocks you against his chest for a while, like he’s soothing a child. 

“It makes you human,” he murmurs into your hair, running his hands up and down your sides. Your eyes flutter closed as you focus on the feeling of his warm, calloused fingers on your skin.

“I’m scared, Joel,” you whisper. “Whatever that was, it feels like it’s a part of me now—like…I’ll be fighting it forever.” His eyes darken, even as he kisses the side of your head gently once, then twice. “I close my eyes and she’s there. I can hear her, feel her. I…I feel like I’m losing my mind.” 

That fucking neighborhood. Why the fuck were you even in that neighborhood? There wasn’t even anything useful in any of those houses. You try to tell yourself that all of it could’ve been avoided, if you had just decided to head straight back to Jackson, but it’s a fantasy. In this world, it was inevitable. 

Joel still hasn’t answered you. Instead, he presses his lips to your throat again, this time with teeth, and sucks hard where your neck meets your shoulder. You should be wondering why he’s not responding when you’re so clearly distraught, but the only thing you can think about is the delicious pain blooming under your skin. When he finally speaks, it’s a low hum against the fresh bruise.

“I never wanted this for ya,” he nips at you sharply, his beard dragging roughly against your sensitive skin, and you gasp, burying your fingers in his hair and tugging. He groans, hips stuttering into your thigh, and the need to feel him bare and heavy on top of you is overwhelming. “I tried to protect ya—wanted to save you from this. All of it. But I failed ya.” There’s anger in his voice now, and it feels violent. He’s aggressive in the way he touches you, and though you know he’d never purposely hurt you, you think you want him to. “This world takes and takes and takes, and we’re forced to adapt,” he all but growls. “You’re no more a monster than anyone else.”

Rationally, you know it’s true. The bloodlust you feel—you’ve seen it before, in the eyes of raiders you’ve come across on the outside and in the hungry gaze of infected, all of them desperate to tear into you, to take what they want. Looking into Joel’s eyes now, you see it there, too.

The room feels hotter, somehow, like his body heat suddenly spiked, and it draws you in like a moth to a flame. You press your hand into the soft skin of his stomach and it burns like molten lava, begging you to play with fire. 

He snatches your hand from where it’s splayed beneath his shirt and drags it under the waistband of his sweatpants to cup his hardening cock, and you suck in a harsh breath through your teeth. Fuuuuuck. You’re not in charge here, you realize, not now.

“Tonight, I want you to give in to me, alright? You let me take control. ‘m gonna fix it,” he grits out. “Gonna fix everythin’, just need you to trust me,” and you do. You’ll let yourself go, because even though that dark, horrible part of you doesn’t want to submit to him, your body clearly does. It’s a power struggle you hope you lose.

His hand doesn’t leave yours once it’s wrapped around him and, instead, leads your fingers to grip him tightly as he sets a strong, steady pace. You give him a rough squeeze, and he throbs, leaking a bead of precum onto your fingers that you thumb over his head, digging your nail into the slit.

Joel chokes out a moan, hand releasing yours to bury itself in your hair, and begins to fuck your fist in earnest, each thrust punctuated with a sharp exhale. It’s like gripping steel, hard and smooth and searing.

Or a metal pipe. Fucking hell, he feels so much like that fucking metal pipe and you clench down around nothing, your cunt soaked and devastatingly empty. More precum leaks from the tip, and he’s so wet now, your palm sliding easily up his cock and back down to squeeze the base. 

It makes you see red—viscous, red blood coating your fingers, and you release him, pulling your hand away to suck it off each one. It’s not real. Of course, it’s not real. The creamy liquid on your fingers tastes like Joel, bitter and heady, but still, you can’t get the thought of his blood in your mouth out of your head now.

God, that’s so fucked up. You must look half crazed right now, pupils blown wide as you look up at him through your lashes,  each glistening finger pulling from your mouth with a pop.  But he looks angry at what he sees in your eyes, and suddenly both of his hands are on your hips and he’s slamming you onto your back, pressing you into the mattress with his entire weight. You’re not following his rules.

“Baby…baby,” he moans, finally brushing his lips against yours, soft and wet, and licking a line across the roof of your mouth as he grinds into your aching pussy. “Stop fightin’ me. Just…focus on me, right here. Lemme make you feel good.” You whine pathetically into his mouth as he runs his hands up your sides, fingers catching on your shirt and dragging up until his thumbs brush the underside of your tits. 

Lifting your shirt up just enough to expose your pebbling nipples, he leans back on his heels and looks down at you hungrily, like he wants to devour you whole. And fuck, you need him to. But you also want to take and take and take, itching for the fight. 

His head lolls to the side as he takes you in. “Fuck, baby…,” he mumbles, as he drops a hand to palm himself. “You’re so goddamn beautiful like this. So good for me, my—” He pauses to squeeze his cock, and groans out, “...my brave, strong girl.” 

There’s a massive wet patch on the front of his sweatpants from where you soaked him through your underwear, and his eyes roll back when he feels it, warm and sticky against his fingertips. Your mouth waters and you’re starting to feel a little desperate now that he’s stopped touching you. You don’t even notice the whine that escapes your lips as he continues to jerk himself off through the fabric.

“What, brave girl?” he coos, biting back a growl at the warring emotions on your pretty features. He reaches forward to thumb a nipple, his touch rough and calloused. “I promised I’d make ya feel good, didn’t I?” He tweaks it and you keen, hips canting upward in search of friction. “Feels that good, huh?” he rasps, smug at how your body responds to him.

A strong hand forces your hips back onto the bed, trapping you against the mattress, and you feel a sudden, intense urge to slap him. Heat blooms in your lower belly and you feel yourself gush at the thought. “Joel…fuck, just fucking touch me. Please.” 

The sides of his mouth quirk down and he nods, like he’s thinking it over. Asshole. You know you’re still breaking his rules but, by now, you’re too horny to care. You don’t think sex with Joel has ever been like this, nor do you think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life. Christ, if he doesn’t fuck you soon—

You lurch forward to tug at his pants in a moment of weakness, but he’s quicker than you and snatches your wrists, pinning them above your head. The scratches on your arms are still raw and angry, and the skin pulls painfully as he tightens his hold. It’s another reminder of earlier today, and you muster up all of the strength in your body to rip your arms out of his grip, but he shoves you down by your shoulders. 

“If you keep that up, I’m not gonna give you this,” he warns you, flipping the waistband of his pants down just enough to free his cock, thick and leaking all over itself. Your thighs squeeze together at the sight of it, and you abruptly feel remorseful, ready to beg for it if you have to.

Fuck, he’s powerful. And fuck, his tactic is working. The power struggle you hoped you’d lose—you’re pretty sure you just lost. You can tell the moment Joel recognizes acceptance on your face and, immediately, you’re being yanked onto your hands and knees, ass in the air and face smushed on one side against the mattress. He’s rewarding you.

It’s like his hands are laser-focused and, yet, still everywhere all at once. 

“Brave girl,” he murmurs, mouthing a wet trail down your spine. “That’s my girl—g-good, good girl.” He’s already starting to stutter, his voice breathless and shaky. Joel gets mouthy when he’s pussy-drunk, like he just can’t help but verbalize every filthy, incoherent thought when he’s inside you.

You clench in anticipation as he grinds his painfully hard cock into your ass, precum soaking into your underwear and mixing with your own slick. He slides the offending fabric halfway down your thighs and then stops, and you can feel his breath, hot and humid, against your cunt as he spreads your legs for better access. 

He wastes no time licking a wide stripe up your sopping core before swirling his tongue against your clit and sucking hard. It punches a moan out of your chest and your mind goes blank as you grind back into his mouth. The sound of skin slapping roughly against skin reaches your ears and you realize he’s jerking himself off as he devours you, groaning raggedly as he fucks into you with his tongue. 

What the fuck, you’re so fucking close already. Frantic, you reach out to Joel behind you, managing to tug a fistful of his hair. “J-Joel…ngh, fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you whine pathetically, drooling onto the sheets. “I can’t…I— please, ‘m so empty. Don’t make me c-cum empty, Joel.” 

It happens so fast. Your entire body is thrown forward with the weight of him, as he sheathes himself in your heat to the hilt in one violently powerful thrust, and oh, oh fuck, you’ll never get used to how big Joel is. The stretch is almost painful and you bear down on him, not expecting the sudden intrusion.

“Baby…girl. Squeezin’ me so tight, so f-fucking tight,” he moans helplessly, already starting to babble as he fucks into you. “Fuck, your pussy gets s-so tight when you’re…,” he reaches around to rub circles into your clit and you start to pulse around him, “about—ngh, to cum.” 

With his other hand, he grips the back of your neck, squeezing just enough to remind you who’s in control; of your pleasure, of your safety. The new angle drives his cock directly into that soft, spongy spot inside you that has your jaw dropping, staccatoed moans punched out of your lungs with each thrust. 

“‘m gonna cum. Fuuck, fuck, ‘m cumming…Joel, ‘m—,” your pussy convulses hard, and you soak his cock as you cum with a hoarse shout. Joel growls over your shoulder, slamming into you over and over, your pussy squelching loud and wet.

Your arms and legs give out, and Joel grips your hips with both hands, hovering above your ass as he fucks into you, thrusts harder and more frantic. He’s so close, the telltale signs obvious to you, now. 

He barely has time to choke out a panicked, “where?” and hear you moan, “on my face,” before he’s thrusting once, twice, and pulling out, rolling you over and bracketing your head with his thighs. You rub your hands up and down them as he jerks himself off above you. For a moment, he gazes down at you in wonder, like maybe you’re a beautiful figment of his imagination, and then he’s cumming hard.

Joel sounds wrecked, his groan long and drawn out, as his cock spurts thick ropes across your lips and tongue, dribbling down your chin and onto your chest. Shifting down your body, he kisses you deeply, licking into your mouth and tasting himself on your tongue. He pulls away, cradling your face in his hands.

“I told you I’d fix it.”

And he did. He put your broken pieces back together and overwrote your bad memories. 

Now, all you see, all you can hear is Joel. Your thoughts are a mishmash of searing hot skin, his lips, soft and wet against yours, and mind-numbing pleasure.

Your skin is still warm and sticky with his release, and it tastes so undeniably like him. Woody and salty, and right.

It’s quiet, now—peaceful—and everything doesn’t hurt so much anymore. 

Strong arms pull you close and you sigh, tired and relieved, into his embrace. Joel holds you tighter as you drift off to sleep, murmuring something you don’t quite catch against your cheek, and you feel safe. 

From the monsters beyond the walls and the one in the mirror.

thanks for reading! 💕

[daryldixonfanfiction]

What you fight for! pt.8 - Killer City

Masterlist

summary: Getting ambushed by a vigilante group that wan’t them nothing but dead, Daryl does whatever it takes to protect Julia.

Warnings: Dark-dom!Daryl, protective!Daryl, unaliving, jealous!Daryl, a lot of gun violence, close call, fluff, mutual pining, age gap, Daryl teaches Julia how to use a gun, unrequited love, angst.

wc: 6.9k

Daryl drives them true to the empty city streets of Pittsburgh, brown leaves covering the pavement as compartment buildings pass them by. 

It takes Julia back to the time when she lived with her mother. It made her heart feel heavy and her mind whirled with all the bad memories that still haunted her to this day - and she wished to simply forget and leave her broken childhood behind. But like always she never could.

“Where the fuck is the hospital?” 

“I can’t tell from this,” Julia said, her eyes on the map. “I’m all turned around.”

“Don’t look at the state map,” Daryl scolds. “Look at the inset.”

“I don’t understand that one either.” Julia sighs, growing frustrated with her lack of orientation. “But, I think we’re heading north? Or is it south?”

They continue true the city, dust blows on the empty road. 

It felt so quiet. 

So empty.

“It’s gotta be the right,” Daryl said under his breath. “What the fuck.”  

Compartment buildings on both their sides - and just when Julia turns to look at him she spots one tall building,

“Stop!” Daryl pulls the car into an abrupt halt, “That must be the hospital, right?”

He follows her gaze to the building. She was right, it was the hospital, but something was off. They had missed them, agin. But his strain of thought was stopped when a man suddenly limped towards them. 

“HEY! PLEASE HELP!”

Everything was of, his gut sending warning signals true his body, and he orders - his tone low,

“Put your seatbelt on.”

The unsettling feeling of fear settels in her chest, her heart beating faster when she looks at him, and she asks,

“Aren’t we gonna help him?”

“No.” Daryl said coldly.

Daryl floors the gas, the limping man dashes out of the way. Julia watches as a man on top of a fire escape throws a brick down on them. 

“Daryl!” She shouts.

The windshield cracks and the tires scream in protest. They run over a spike strip on the road, making Daryl lose control over the vehicle. Another man steps forward, firing shots straight at them, hitting the broken windshield.

“Fuck!”

Daryl swerves away from the man with a gun and launches them into a glass door front. The truck hits a wall of washing machines. The hit was hard, but not enough to sustain an injury. There was this throbbing burn across her chest, the seat belt digging to her skin, once again saving her, but leaving a mark. And this was all too familiar, it felt like being in that car all over again. The second of a flashback was interrupted by his voice - urgent, and serious,

“Are you ok?”

“Yah,” Julia resures, disorientedly and she wondered how many more concussions her head could take.

“You’re not hurt?” He looks at her closely, “Nothin’?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Julia resources.

Two more shots hit the truck, they duked as the glass shattered.

“Belt’s off!” Daryl orders. “Fast!” 

Julia grabs her pack off the floor mat and opens her door. They take cover behind the truck as the two men continue to shoot at them from across the street,

“LETS SEE YOU, MOTHERFUCKER!”

Julia could feel herself begin to freeze in place, washing Daryl taking out his pack and weapons from the back seat. It felt like she was disappearing, her body escaping to somewhere else.

“GIVE US YOUR SHIT, YOU MAKE IT THROUGH THIS! WE PROMISE!”

Daryl loads his rifle, his crossbow on his person. Julia blankly looks at his hands working the weapon as she hugs her pack to herself and Daryl looks at her,

“Hey, you see that hole?”

Gunshots ringning.

Julia follows his gaze to the hole in the wall leading to another room. It feels too much like the time he had told her to hide in the closet.

“Can you squeeze through?”

“LAST CHANCE!”

Julia just stares at him, her face turning blank, eyes going far away and she inhaled...Before she could leave herself completely. It was an odd reaction - one she had never experienced before, not to that degree. Leaving her body and having so much trouble returning to it. She supposed it was a coping mechanism, everything that had been done to her finely cashing up, now of all times...Her fight or flight had always been to freeze before the real panic sat in. She didn't like the way she couldn't control when it happened. Julia blinked up at him. She had to get it together, but she found it so difficult to do so inside herself. Then she nods, and Daryl continues,

“When I say go, you crawl to that wall, and you squeeze through, and you don’t come out until I say, okay?”

Julia looks into his eyes. The heart pounding feeling of possibly losing him makes her terribly afraid, every fiber of her being screaming not to leave him. 

They flinch when glass shatters above their heads, and she felt the fear swallow her even more,

“And they’re not gonna hit you. Look at me!” Daryl commands, turning her attention back to him. He shakes his head, “They're not gonna hit you.”

Gunshot.

“You stay down, you stay low, you stay quiet.”

And all she could say was,

“Mm-hmm.”

Daryl looks straight into her eyes and so does Julia. And with trust behind their gaze they agree,

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Daryl gives her a firm nod before he rises to shot, and orders,

“Go!”

Julia throws herself onto the floor, army crawling to the hole in the wall as Daryl begins to shoot behind the truck. It's a tight fit but she squeezed true into the safe space. She rests her back against the wall, shielding her ears from the gun fire.

When Daryl kills one of the men everything becomes quiet. Deathly quiet. 

The crunch of glass beneath the man's shoes cracks as the stranger approaches, Daryl is hiding somewhere. Julia watches from the hole out of view with wide eyes. The man's shadow passes and she pulls herself bak feeling how her heart drums even lowder.

There is this outdrawn early silence - and then it happens.

A gunshot erupts. Sending the man’s lifeless body to the floor and It was quiet once more. When the ringing in her ears subsided she could hear how Daryl was fiddling with the rifle, trying to reload it, but it was stuck by the sound it made.

The back door inside the laundromat swings open, followed by a shoot and grunting between Daryl and another man struggling. Julia washes from the hole, meeting the terrifying sight of the man on top of Daryl, shocking him with a shotgun.

She had to interfere or he would be strangled to death.

Remembering the gun in her pack, she takes it out with shaky hands. She crawls out of the hole and quietly steps towards the man pining Daryl down.

She had to push her thoughts away as she raised her gun with shaking hands, aiming it at the man's back. Her hands trembled so much she feared she wasn't going to be able to shoot. But then she took a breath, the shot fired straight into the man's leg. 

The man yelps in pain and falls to the ground. Daryl coughs, cashing his breath on the floor. Standing with the gun in her hand knowing there was no undoing It makes her feel sick and want to vomit. Her eyes were on the young man's bleeding form. Daryl must have gotten his strength back because he was now standing. Julia stood there staring and staring as he drew closer to her and she was struggling greatly with what had transpired. Everything, everything felt like it was crashing down around her.

What had she done?

The young man leans up, whinnsing in pain. Julia keeps her gun pointed at him, afraid the man would harm the only person she had left. The man was pleading with her to be spared his life, but she couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. It felt like she was disappearing again. Then she lowered the gun. 

She was no killer.

Daryl eyes the gun in her hand. Frowning disapprovingly, he was angry and she felt like she wanted to escape the scolding that threatened to follow. He walked up to her, imposing and calmly, holding his hand out and she gave him her gun, watching him tuck it away in his belt. 

He was beyond pissed and she felt shame and sorry for what she had done.

Daryl turns away from her to face the desperate young man pleading for his life. Julia watches horrifyingly as Daryl uncheats his knife. The large hunting knife he killed walkers and skinned animals was in his hand and her heart sinks. She grabs his arm, looking up at him with pleading eyes, brows pulled downwards, begging him to not do what he is planning to do. 

Julia could feel the heat of anger radiating off him, how his muscles underneath his jacket were rock hard and how his pulse was throbbing underneath. His gaze never left the man as if his fate was already settled. Her face began to crumble…she knew he wasn't going to change his mind, that the anger in his heart had taken over. That he had to do this. Julia tried regardless, to make him calm down with her hand soothing his hold on the knife. In hope to somehow persuade his mind.

Then - Daryl orders, 

“Get back behind the wall,” his voice murderous and could, as if cutting knives and Julia felt fear hearing it. It caused the young man to frantically plead, even begin to whimper knowing his fate was sealed.

Julias face crumbled in defeat. But she stepped back nonetheless, turning to the hole in the wall, escaping the room as quickly as possible. When she made it back to the room she tried to block out the frightened screams for the young man's mother before the dull thump of the knife ended it.

Silence followed, her breath and her heart thumping was the only thing she dared to think of. 

Then…

“Julia, I need to get inside. I can’t fit true.” 

Julia brushed the tears away, then looked around the room,

"There's some stuff against the door.”

“Allright, stay right there, I’m coming.”

Julia helps Daryl move the desk away, blockading the door and Daryl shoves his way inside, then pushes it back against the door.

Daryl was staring at her, but she couldn't find the words. She was relieved she had saved him, but she couldn't help but feel the amount of guilt over the young man's end. Believing he would have been still alive if it wasn't for her.  

Could she ever move past it? She didn't know.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, tilting her chin upwards “You good?”

Her eyes met his, swimming and overwhelmed.

“Come here,” he pulled her into his chest, his hand cradling the back of her head, and she melted into him completely.

Julia was surprised by the contrast. She expected nothing but a scolding of disobeying him. How he could possess such gentleness, the softness in his voice, like last night when she had woken from the dream. She couldn't understand. The viollens that threatened just moments ago. Gone - like it never had existed in the first place.

He pulled back, his hand lingering just a second, making her wish for the moment to last just a bit longer. She held onto it, memorizing every touch he gave to remember every kind gesture, knowing times like these were the only time it almost felt like he felt the same. 

But when the sound of cars incoming they were both pulled back into reality and the danger lurking outside.

They had to leave, and fast.

They move towards the back door. Daryl opens it, shining his flashlight into the dark room, he looks back at her, his voice firm,

"Stay right behind me,” he gives her a serious look. “Got it?" 

“Got it.” Julia nodd’s.

And when he turned around Julia held on to the back of his jacket as he led them out. 

Cars were passing by the alleyway. She followed closely behind as they walked up against a wall of the building. Duking behind an abandoned car on the empty street, two more vehicles passed. 

Daryl peers behind the bumper as the men she assumes must belong to the group attacking them found the bodies they had left behind.

“BODY, BODY! THEY GOT FUCKIN BRYAN!”

Daryl motions for her to stay put, Julia nods. He creeps across the alley, and opens a side door. Julia waits anxiously behind the car. But it only takes a second before he motions for her to move towards him, and they slip into the building.

Inside the abandoned bar, the windows are covered in newspaper, Daryl peaks between gaps in the paper. Washing trucks and army vehicles speed by. Armed men and women patrolls up and down the street, searching properties. Julia stands behind him,

"There not the scientists Marlene told me about and there are not raiders, so who are they?”

“People,” Daryl answered knowingly.

Julias stomach sank, knowing what ‘people’ ment. And she hoped it was not like the people that had tried to harm her. 

“Are we okay in here?”Julia asks anxiously.

“For a little bit, maybe. Looks like they’re checkin’ out the buildings up the road first,” another truck speeds by, “But they’ll be coming through these places soon enough.”

Daryl settles close to the window and loads his crossbow. Julia takes her turn to look outside, the anxiety of the danger making her uneasy. She locates the structure he's been telling her about, 

“There's like a really tall building, like four blocks away.”

“Yeah,” Daryl drawls.

Julia turns to him, “So that’s the one?”

“As soon as we don’t hear a truck, we move. Fast as we can.”

Julia sits across on the floor. Daryl rests his head in his hand and rubs his face. He looked tired, his face drained. It had been a close call for him, close enough for her to interfere. And she knew just how frightening that could be. So she asks, concern lased in her voice,

“Are you okay?"

He meets her gaze -  then looks away before he looks at her again,

“I’m alright. Is’ just…” he sighs and shakes his head. “You shouldn't have to…you know?”

“But you're glad I did, right?”

“You're good,” he hangs his head. “You shouldn't know what it means to-  

“Daryl,” she tries but he continues before she could say more.

“I mean, it was my fault. You shouldn't have had to,” he meets her gaze, with eyes softly looking back at her. “And I’m sorry.”

His apology so sincere it feels almost overwhelming. Her eyes begin to burn and she hugs herself, arms tightly around her knees. She was sorry to, but not for saving him. Never could she regret that.

Daryl stepped forward and Julia scooted back against the wall a little bit while he kneeled in front of her, he set the crossbow aside, reaching out and wiped the tear away trickling down her cheek. She looked at him with eyes that glimmered, face sorrowful and pale. He stared into her eyes for a moment, causing her to break the contact. And she didn't understand how someone could regret something so much then act like this? Teasing her with what she longed for so deeply?

Daryl reaches behind him and pulls out her gun, he then removes the magazine, racks the slide and hands her the gun,

“Show me your grip,” he instructs and Julia taks the gun, perplexed. “Finger of the trigger,” and she does so, looking at him for guidance and Daryl questions, “Now, who taught you that?”

"I have never used a gun before this,” she confessed. 

“Figures.”

He begins to guide her hands with his around the weapon like he had done with the knife, dwarfing hers and instructs, “Your thumb, over your thumb. Left hand…squeezes down on the right. You got it?” He looks at her and she nods. “There ya go,” he praised and Julia felt the warmth in her chest spread true out her cold body.

 “Look it,” Daryl pulls the top of the gun as she holds it firmly, his playfulness drawing out a giggle, the sadness of the tramatik ordeal forgotten. 

Julia smiles and inspects the weapon. Daryl motions with his hand for her gun, she gives it over, watching him load the weapon with skill. He then holds the gun out by the nozzle, she gladly takes it, smiling brightly at him. And she swore she could see the corner of his mouth turn upwards. 

Julia moves to put it in her pocket.

“Uh-uh,” Daryl scolds. “You put it in your pack. You’ll shoot your damn ass off.” 

Julia smiles again and Daryl rises to his feet taking the crossbow with him. He takes a last peek true the papered windows, as he does so Julia is quick to sneak the gun into her coat pocket. Julia's heart swelled in appreciation, and so much so she moved up to him without much thought and gave him a quick peek on the cheek in a silent ‘thank you.’ But when he froze in place and the red creeps up his neck, Julia realizes her mistake and her heart begins to race...And being so close made her blush. Maybe she had crossed the line?

“I’m sorry." She apologized sincerely.

He didn't seem upset, he simply acts as if it never had happened, clearing his throat he said,

"Ready?” his hand on the door handle.

Julia nods and they exit the bar, rushing out and beginning heading down the block.

Sneaking past the danger of people patrolling the streets, it had become dark out and he felt relief when they made it to the building. The door didn't budge and he was left with no other choice than to hoist her into the ventilation shaft, in order for them to get inside. He cups his hands together, leaning down for Julia to place her foot down.

“You’re just gonna put you foot here,” he instructs and counts down to give her a push, “One, two- 

“Daryl I don’t think I can,” Julia begins as she holds onto him.

“Straighten up. I got you.”

He gives her a last big push, and she does so. Successfully climbing inside,

“Okay,” Julia says from the other side. ”I’m in.”

“Take a look around first,“ he tried to remind her but was left with no answer, just her moving stuff from the inside, no answer. “Julia?”

Maybe it was a bad idea, him making her do this on her own? The growing anxiety of her being inside by herself without him protecting her, makes him uncheat his knife as he walks up to the door seconds from forcing it open. The door flies open, and he's met with Julias soft smile. But he couldn't help but frown at her recklessness, even though this had been his idea.

“What?” Julia questions him and he simply shakes his head and secures the door behind them.

He takes the lead inside the apartment building, there flashlights dancing around the corridor. They climb as many flights as they can, stopping at the thirty-third floor. Daryl peeks inside the small apartment making sure it's clear before stepping inside. He then pushes the couch against the dore and Julia organizes cushions on the floor along with blankets to sleep on. 

Daryl takes a look out the window before he places the crossbow down. Then rolls onto his back against the soft blanket Julia had folded, acting as a mattress against the cold floor. 

Daryl seemed relaxed enuff to sleep but Julia couldn't shake the feeling, she tried to move past it, but the events of the past few hours were hanging around her throat, the people they had stumbled upon, and the fact they were still out there frightened her deeply. She sits beside him, the blanket around her bent legs as she begins to wright, because her thoughts are always so loud. 

He stares and she tries not to notice. 

Her mistake from before - when she kissed his cheek was on her mind. Maybe he was angry with her? Why wouldn't he be when he had told her it had been wrong - what they had done that night. And it was hard not to think about it. She still didn't understand why he said that and why he regretted it so deeply. Every now and then his voice telling her it was wrong plays like a broken record, reminding he would never feel the same. 

-

Daryl rubs his stubble. Still feeling her lips there, soft and warm.

He had wanted to tell her that it was okay, that he didn't mind and there was no need to be sorry. But, he had been taken off guard. He wasn't used to such displays of open affection, but if it was her he didn't really mind. He just didn't know how to take it and certainly didn't know what to say, he always messed up his words and got misunderstood, so he did what he always did… ignored when he didn't know what else to do. But now he wished he had said something.

It was much harder said than done. He could not ignore it and his feelings for her were straight up painful, but it could also feel breathtaking, making him nervous at the same time. He didn't know what to do with himself, it felt like he would burst, cease to exist if he continued not to act truly to his heart…or maybe it was just his selfishness? To have her to himself. Not in an owning way, it feels much more like he just…needed her. He didn't know, he didn't know anything anymore. He just had to stay focused and keep her safe, protect her like he had promised. He had to keep her alive, he could not lose her, not her. He had already gotten a taste of that and he could not go true that again, it would break him. She had become far too important, and he had gotten way too comfortable and used to her presence.

He knows he's been staring far too long, but he couldn't help it. His gaze always found a way to her soft features and her curly hair. As if his eyes were drawn by this invisible force, pulling him in. And it felt almost annoying how oblivious she was, how could she not know, see what she was doing to him?

-

Julia wraps up her daily log of the day, closing up the book and puts it back in her pack. She still avoided sleep, sitting up and staring towards the window. It was black outside. But she was terebully tired, her body and mind aching to get some rest.

“Julia, go to sleep.” 

“Don’t we have to keep watch?”

“Wheel be fine for a bit. Get some sleep.”

“Okay,” she agreed softly, finely lying down and pulling the blanket around herself, holding her pack close. But she feels restless being smothered by the night and the quiet. Her body was exhausted after all that had happened. And there was one thing her mind could not put to rest. And she asks him, hoping he’s still awake,

“Daryl?” Julia whispered as not to disturb him in case he was asleep.

There was shuffling - and then,

“Mmh?” Daryl humes in acknowledgement,

Julia fidgets with the soft fabric of her blanket, and she asks,

“That guy who said he was hurt. How did you know it was an ambush?”

Silence, Julia thought he had gone back to sleep, but then his deep voice spoke into the darkness,

“I just knew, I guess.”

Julia digests his answer. There was a clear difference between them. What he thought had been obvious, she didn't. She had clearly believed in the act, thinking the man really did need help. But the man that had looked hurt was the one that had tried to kill him. And she still couldn't get her head around it. How could she not have seen it coming?

“But how, I didn't?”

Dary sighs softly, clearly done with the conversation. But Julia wasn't,

“Daryl?” She turns on her side, facing where she knew he would be in the darkness, “Hey? You still awake?”

“Julia, go to sleep,” he tells her once more and she listens, staring off into the darkness until sleep finally catched up.

They left at first light.

Now finding themself in the suburbs of pittsburgh. Piles of desiccated corpses lay outside buildings. The remains of cleaning up the city, explaining why the streets had been so empty. Something unsettling was going on and the urge to get as far away as possible made them move even faster. 

They sneak inside an office building. The corridor on the upper floor looked to have been some type of makeshift-camp. The remnants of the survivors had turned into walkers, some were dead and others were stuck inside sleeping bags and two tents, wiggling and moving inside as Daryl and Julia began their way across. 

Taking them down one by one, easely with their knives, Daryl without much thought pats them down, looking for anything useful. While Julia couldn't bring herself to do it. To disturbed by the dead and the smell of rotten flesh. 

Pausing in front of the two tents with pretty much weary living walkers moving about inside, Julia couldn't help but stare. The walkers fell over themselves as they hungrily tried to crawl their way out, but it was meaningless. Daryl sighs and shakes his head at the weird sight,

“Some days I don’t know what the hell to think.”

Easely making their way true their first walker encounter sins entering the city, they move inside an office. Daryl peaks inside the room, then motions for her to follow. The office was fancy and clean, neatly furnished with art decorating the space. Julia refills their water supply by the water dispenser, taking a few gulps into her empty stomach. A painting had caught Daryl's eye of a young woman lying in water, surrounded by flowers. Julia couldn't tell if he was simply looking because it was there or if he was admiring the nice peace.

“It’s beautiful,” her brown eyes admiring the art, “Isn't it?” 

“I wouldn't know,” Dartl shrugs. “Bet it cost this rich prick a lot of money tho.” 

Julia steps closer, Daryl watches how she reaches for it, reaching the canvas with her fingers delicately - as if she could see better if touching it. Julia smiles in thought and she tells him,

“My grandma used to take me to art galleries, never the fancy kind because we couldn't afford it. But it didn't matter to me. Money doesn't make something more beautiful, you know. I don’t know what it is but I’ve always just noticed art, the poetry behind the painting. Like, how there's so much said in the unsaid. How the saddest thing can become something so soft, so full of life. It’s just amazing how lifelike, how realistik every detail is. Like-

Daryl was staring down at her, his face unreadable.

"Sorry," she apologizes. “I was talking too much wasn't I?”

A bet of a momen’t passed between them. His face staring, but there was something soft behind his blue eyes - and he breathed,

"Beautiful."

Julia blinked in response, waiting for him to explain further.

“I mean the painting,” he corrected. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah, it is,” she agrees, smiling softly and looking at the painting again. 

The way she talked sounded like a song. She's had an old soul with young eyes, a vintage heart and a beautiful mind. She was beautiful but not like those girls in magazines. She was beautiful for the way she thought. She was beautiful for the sparkle in her eyes as she talked about her affection for something so simple. Because, despite what she had been true she still had that aura about her, like nothing could take her smile away and he found himself admiring that more than anything. 

She wasn't beautiful for something as temporary as her looks, even if she was the most breathtaking woman he'd ever seen. She was beautiful deep down to her soul. And in that moment he wanted to tell all those things that so long had grown into existence. But he would never possess a vocabulary that would do her justice. His words would only fail him and hurt her and that was what he feared the most.

-

Daryl leads them out of the office, continuing their way through the building. Walking up to a chained two way door with enough space to squeeze true, Daryl holds the door open, Julia pushes her pack in front of her and just when she lifts her gaze to stand she freezes. A man with dark hair, in his young twenties aims a rifle in her face making her instinctively put her hands up in surrender. Julia ses how the man looks behind her, and she could feel how she begins to pale in fear, knowing Daryl was crawling his way true,

“Daryl, don’t!”

The man cocked his rifle at them , “Get up,” he commanded. “Hands up, both of you.”

They both stand, Julia looks to Daryl with fear covering her features. He seemed annoyed more than anything, staring the man down, and she noticed Daryl did not comply completely in surrender, his hands as fists on his sides and she prayed for his hot temper not to get the better from him.

The man eyes the weapon in Daryl's hand, “Lay down your crossbow,” he ordered and Julia swallowed nervously.

“You got some sack on you,” Daryl growls in response.

“I just need some weapons,” The young man insisted. “That's it,” and if she heard it right, he sounded almost a bit scared.

Could he really be one of them? He didn't seem as vigilant as the ones they had encountered, who clearly wanted them dead. 

Daryl eyes the man before he surrenders his weapon, reluctantly passing it over on the floor. Julia washes the exchange between the men standing anxiously with her hands still up, the man then cocke’s his rifle at them and orders, threateningly,

“Back up!”

They step back and the man retrieves Daryl's crossbow, hanging it over his shoulder. The man looks between them and Julia feels the pit of her stomach sink when he begins to release the walkers from the tent’s, giving him enough time to escape before they can cash up.

Daryl wastes no time, taking the two walkers down easily with his hunting knife, but rather forcefully so. Julia could see his anger building up, the annoyance of being taken what was rightfully his he did not take too well. It felt like the plan to escape the killer city had become a second priority until he got it back. And Julia chose not to question it. 

The young man had sounded scared and she would have been scared to encounter someone as intimidating as Daryl. It was clear Daryl was tracking him down. It was almost scary how good he was at haunting another humming being, that he would stop at nothing until finding what he was looking for. 

Persistent, just like he had told her.

Heading down another corridor, corpses of walkers littered the floor. Then one not so dead walker could be heard thumping and gurgling. Daryl approaches the sound, finding a walker impaled into the wall. 

A bolt was embedded in its throat. 

“That’s yours?” Julia askes.

“Yah.” Daryl conferms, then drives the machete through its skull, retrieving his bolt.

Suddenly nearby shots from the man's rifle were heard in a nearby corridor making them move that way. The man came out of nowhere and before she knew it a walker was pushed into her. She fell to the ground, with the walker pinning her down. She struggled to reach for her gun, but the struggle was caught short by Daryl's heavy steps and the machete true its skull. And the man ran out of sight yet again. 

Daryl pulled her back on her feet before she could take a breath of relief. His eyes scanned for any injury and when he caught the sight of the fresh bite mark next to her scar she could see the inner panic there, how he froze just for a second. But Julia is quick to pull her sleeve down.

“I’m okay,” she reassures, “It will be fine. Go, go after him.”

Julia can sense the inner struggle behind his eyes, but he does as she tells him.

As Daryl turned around the corner the man jumped Daryl out of nowhere, choking him from behind. But Daryl got the upperhand fast and pinned the man to the floor, his raw strength easely overpowering and began throwing punches to his face. And Julia finds herself washing it all unfold until she notest a young boy in the corner of the room, he couldn't be older than eight.

“Daryl!” Julia shouts urgently, “Daryl STOP!”

Daryl halts and looks to Julia pointing towards the kid, bravely aiming a gun at them, 

“Look.” She says, and Daryl releases the young man.

It turned out Henry (the young man) was trying to escape the city and the reason for needing weapons was to protect his younger brother Sam. They had been part of a bigger group, hoping to find supplies but just like them they had been ambushed. Then when they all got separated Henry just wanted to get away with his brother, now finding themselves here.

The anger within Daryl dissipated the moment he saw Sam and the desperation behind Henry's eyes. Eyes of someone protecting someone else, just like he was protecting her. Then, when incoming cars approached outside the window, Henry led them safely away to his hideout, promising they would talk more there.

-

They snack on food while sitting around a lantern on the floor. Julia looks between the men and decided to break the suffocating silence,

“Thank you for this, we really appreciate it.”

Henry lifts his gaze and smiles kindly, “Don’t mention it, it's the best I can do after pushing that freak on you.” And Julia gives a reassuring smile back, “It’s all forgiven.”

Daryl continues eating in an unsuffering silence. Julia elbows Daryl, “Daryl, say thank you.” He complies, mumbling, “Thanks.” and then sounding no bulleshit, “You said we would talk, so let's talk.”

Julia rolls her eyes at his bluntlynes. Here they were eating food Henry could have saved for his little brother and Daryl was all about business - and of course he was. But at least he didn't seem to no longer have anything against the poor guy. And she knew it had something to do with his most precious belonging being back but, then she thought more and she realized it had to do more with the kid, there was clearly some empathy there. For what all she could tell Henry was a good man, he seemed kind, nothing like the bad people they had encountered so far. He seemed earnest and just wanted to take care of Sam. So she couldn't help but to feel frustrated. Daryl still looked at him, with his eyes narrowed like he tried to find anything that would tell him he was a threat. He obviously wasn't. Not in her eyes.

Henry nods, “Wright, let's talk,” he agrees in a more serious manner, then he looks to his younger brother, his eyes softening and Julia could immediately tell Henry didn't want his brother to listen to this.

“I have a book and some pens,” Julia said, going true her pack. “If it's okay with you, can Sam and I do some drawings in the meantime?”

Henry looks pleasantly surprised with her thoughtfulness and agrees easely, “Shure. Sam do you want to-

“Dragons!” The kid cut his brother off and dragged her towards the table on the opposite side of the room, too eager to finally get to do the much needed kid stuff.

Julia was happy to entertain Sam. He seemed like a bright young boy that she would have loved to take care of when she worked at the cindergarden back in her hometown. Sam told her anything and everything about how awesome dragons were and she couldn't help but to laugh with him at the funny faces he made. And she didn't know if she was the one that was entertaining him or if it was a wise versa.

Henry goes on and explains his plan to Daryl. It wasn't bullet proof, but what other choice did he have, and he felt as desperate as Henry was in need of him. The plan was to wait until night and they would sneak past the guards guarding the perimeter as they were down to a skeleton crew by then. They would head to west side of a residential area, continuing to the embankment on the other side of the houses. Then head down the pedestrian bridge over the river and they would be ‘free as a bird’.

Julia and Sam's giggles fill the air. The two men watch and Henry smiles affectionately at his younger brother, “He hasn't looked that happy sin’s we lost our mother,” Henry said, “I think she reminds him of her.”

And Daryl could see that too. He had seen it before. How kids loved her presence, adored her in every way, making her shine even brighter. He could see the natural instinct there, she would be a perfect mother and he almost wished he could turn into a kid simply to have reason to be with her, making her smile and hear her soft laugh if he said something silly. But he was not a kid, he was a grown man, and above that he was twice her age. And he knew he wouldn't be the right thing for her. She would be better off with someone within her own age, like Henry. But the idea of Julia having any type of relationship with that guy made him feel annoyed more than anything. Or any other man in general pissed him off.

Maybe no one was worthy of her?

Daryl didn't like the way he was looking at her, even though there was no malicious intent behind his gaze, he couldn't help but to feel protective. Making him step in front of him, shielding Julia with his broad figure and questions, 

“So where were you heading?”

Henry didn't seem to cash on his protectiveness, but instead seemed rather eager to share. But the more he talked Daryl began to connect the dots, and the group he was looking for sounded all too familiar, but he didn't say anything about that in order to keep Julia's secret safe.

“They call themselves the Fireflies,” Henry told Daryl.

Daryl gives him an unimpressed look, “And who came up with that.”

"Marlene. She's the leader.”

“Did you say Marlene?” Julia suddenly said, making the men stop talking and look at her.

“Yeah, way?” Henry questioned. 

Julia's eyes brightened up of what Daryl could only describe as hope making him fear what would follow if it was crushed. Then Julia went on,

“Dark hair, brown eyes, doctor, is about this tall and should I have a wound about here?”

“How did you-?” Henry said, baffled. “You know her or something.” 

“I think so,” Then Julia looks at Daryl, “Wright?”

“Maybe,” Daryl shrugged, ever the pessimist.

“I heard you said something about your group calling themselves Fireflies?”

“Yah, that’s right.”

Julia looked to Daryl then showed Henry a symbol she drew on a piece of paper resembling the firefly symbole she had seen from the hospital back in Virginia. Henry takes the picture and looks at it closely, the look of recognition behind his eyes.

“See?” Julia noodges Daryl, “It is them.”

“I still don’t know.” Daryl said and Julia could only feel frustrated with his lack of belief. What did it take for this man to believe in anything?

“It is them,” Julia insisted. “It has to be and he knows Marlene. And that means she's alive”

Henry looked between them -  then pulled out a city map from his back pocket,

“This is us,” Henry points to the marked area, “There's an abandoned military radio station, just outside of the city. Any survivors from our group they’re supposed to meet us there - tomorrow. Come with us,” Henry insists. “It goes down tonight.”

Julia looks to Daryl, practically begging with her eyes for him to agree. Daryl sighs deeply in defeat, even though he feels a bit skeptical about the situation, remembering the last time they saw Marlene she was in a pretty ruff shape. But he could tell Henry was honest, though a bit naive in his ways and he hoped that wouldn't put them in danger, but then again, what better choice did he have?

Pt.9 masterlist

[museumgiftshoperaser]

"You ever play with dolls as a kid?"

Steddie | Rated E | Now on AO3 (please mind the tags!!) After the end of the world, Steve takes care of Eddie.

There are rules for his safekeeping. The curtains stay shut. If Eddie needs Steve he’s not allowed to yell for him. They need to keep their volume down. Inside voices, Steve says.

They do not leave the house. Steve’s parents left for Chicago in the aftermath, so the place is supposed to be empty. The rules are to make sure it looks empty too. The town is still looking for him. They’d kill him if they knew. The big light stays off. It's all to keep him safe.

It's the end of the world and Steve takes care of Eddie.

Eddie wakes up wrapped in leather and freezing cold. Something warm bubbles in his stomach right in the place where nausea usually sits and it’s strong enough to pull him up to the surface. His lips stick together and he swallows hard, not quite ready to open his eyes. He was dreaming of perfect darkness. A deep, endless black where nothing hurt and nothing could stick to him. A body that felt weightless and eyes that didn’t sting. He wants to go back. Here in the real world, his stomach is being stretched in every direction. With every passing second the pain folds in on itself and multiplies. He wants to go back. A warm breath of air ghosts over his face and Eddie’s eyes snap open. A dark silhouette hovers above him and drops its shoulders with another deep breath. “Oh, thank God.” It’s relief and a sharp exhale, whispered in a voice Eddie can’t quite place. Two clammy hands wrap around his shoulders and blunt fingernails dig into his bare skin. Steve. He’s on his knees next to the couch, hunched like a prayer. Eddie’s on a couch. Okay. He tries to make sense of his surroundings, but Steve’s blocking his view. A couch. A living room. A friendly face. He’s safe.

Steve drops his head onto Eddie’s shoulder, landing face first in the gap between his neck and the couch. Eddie doesn’t know what to do with all the closeness. It’s new and strange, but Steve sighs against his skin with a warm familiarity. He smells like lavender and sweat. A soft and familiar shampoo mixed with layers upon layers of fear. “You’ve gotta stop scaring me like that,” he mumbles softly. Small like a child. Pleading. Eddie wasn’t trying to scare him. He wasn’t trying to do anything. He doesn’t even know where he is. “Where am I?” His voice doesn’t even sound like his own. Too scratchy, too high pitched. It’s like he hasn’t spoken in weeks. Steve lifts his head and looks him in the eye for just a moment before his gaze loses focus. He scans Eddie’s body like he’s searching a crowd. It seems he can’t quite find what he’s looking for. His face is pale and there’s a deep cut running from his ear to the corner of his mouth. Most of it is scabbed over, but the part right next to his lip shines with a crust of fresh blood. “You’re safe,” he says finally and the cut stretches awkwardly as he talks. “You’re safe here.” It’s not exactly an answer. “Steve...” he tries again. “Where are we?” Eddie turns his head and scans the living room. The curtains are drawn shut which, combined with his exhaustion, make it hard to see things clearly. Everything looks pixelated and the ceiling light leaves a bright blue after image right in the middle of his vision. A fluorescent phantom. He blinks a few times, but it only makes him aware of his headache. “Is this your house?” Eddie asks. Steve nods quickly, almost erratic. “Yeah. It’s… We’re...” He swallows, takes a deep breath and starts over. “My parents are staying in Chicago. No one’s gonna find you here.” There’s the slightest tremble to his voice, plucked like a guitar string. “But why am I here, Steve?” Steve looks him right in the eye, soft brown eclipsed almost entirely by his dark pupils. “This is the last place anyone would look for you.” Oh. That means it didn’t work. Their plan. Or maybe it did. Or maybe the world has ended and none of this is real. But people are still looking for him. “I can’t even think straight,” Eddie mumbles. “That’s probably the painkillers.” Steve reaches for a white strip of pills on the coffee table. He keeps one hand on Eddie’s shoulder, though. Not letting go completely. “It’s about time you take another dose.” Steve pops out a large, white pill for him without asking. His fingers tremble against the silver underbelly of the packaging. The palm of his hand is stained with dried, brown blood. Maybe Eddie’s, maybe his own. He doesn’t remember taking any painkillers. He doesn’t remember anything. Steve brings the pill to his mouth, resting his fingers against the dip in Eddie’s chin. “Open up.” Steve doesn’t look him in the eye and instead stares right at his mouth. It should be weird, itis weird, but a bit of extra pain killing does sound good right about now. He parts his lips and the pill sticks against his tongue. Dry like bone. Steve cups the back of his head carefully. Against his gentle fingertips, Eddie can feel the knots in his hair and the grease against his scalp. He wants to squirm. It’s too much, too close. But Steve raises a glass of water against his lips. He sips. Swallows. The pill catches in his throat, but he forces it down. Steve’s hand slides down and settles against the back of his neck. He doesn’t let go. Not just yet. Eddie closes his eyes and focuses on the pads of Steve’s fingertips, the soft callouses against the tiny hairs at the nape of his neck. Away from his own body. He swallows around nothing.

First chapter now on AO3! (please mind the tags)

[burningtreebooks]

autumn leaves

She was a crack whore with a heart of gold, at least that's what she would call herself, but I saw her more as a lost soul, a leaf falling from a large tree, an acorn lost in the city. we'd met downtown, near the Coffee Hut; she thought I was a John, and I thought she was a prostitute and after we cleared the air, we decided to get coffee. she had a beautiful face, and a missing tooth; she had a tattoo on her face of something in a Arabic. she had some street in her voice, said things like, you know, it's just cause you gotta go where you gotta go. I was married, had not intention of sleeping with her, but the more I spoke with her, the more her words and her face and her story pulled me into their tragedy. we got a hotel, drank cheap wine, and the sex was sex, somewhere between a workout and a mystery. I had never cheated on my wife before, so I knew this meant I had broken it; I felt sick, but I must have wanted to break it or why do this? I can't remember the woman's name, but saw her a few times downtown riding in the car with my wife on the way to Nordstrom or the Gap. When I finally told my wife about her, it had already been 3 months, and it seemed like a lifetime ago, so much so I wanted to put her in the category of past life loves like all the girls I had slept with before I met my wife, but I knew she deserved the truth. She is an honest, hardworking woman. She has integrity and is fierce to the bone. When I told her, she just stared at me, looking through me, erasing me, until she said only one word, "weak." She was right. I didn't argue. Then, the days passed and I felt this wall growing between us, a wall the erect everywhere we went. I became hard to speak over it. Sometimes I'd try to chip off a brick or dig under it to say something, but she would pretend not to hear. Once in a while, we'd forget the wall was there, and find ourselves touching or laughing or looking in each other's eyes, but then the wall would fall, and it would be all the more painful for remembering. Then she said she was leaving, that this wasn't the life she'd wanted. She said without trust, we're nothing, we're strangers. She was right, but we had always been strangers in my mind. I felt as if she understood only half of me, and though she loved that half with all her heart, she didn't even know the other. I didn't know this then, but after she left, and I lived alone for a few months, it dawned on me how little I missed her, even after all we'd been through. And this is when I began to feel better, and even though I should have been stronger, and found a better way to break it off, I was weak, and that is what weak people do sometimes in order to become strong. Last year she remarried a man that looks just like her; they are a handsome couple. I am happy for her. I am still single, but I ran into the crack whore with a heart of gold last week at the grocery store. She was also with somebody, and gave me a sly smile as if to say I will keep it a secret if you will. But I didn't want to keep it a secret and went home to write this story. I am not sure why. I just wanted to get it out and look at the mess I'd made. I wanted to see if there is anything beautiful to be saved from chaos, and if there is, then we have nothing to fear or regret in this life, ever.

[onmyyan]

A/N: Not edited fully self indulgent, short lmao enjoy

Allow me to tell you the story of a very special woman named (Y/n), but to truly tell her story we must begin with a very bad man.

The land of Frell was a tight knit community. Since the dawn of magic, those who were touched by it, be it elves, or giants, or warlocks, all lived peacefully amongst their mortals neighbors. For centuries it was a lush kingdom. Bountiful harvests blessed by the local witches, giants would help with the local construction, all in all it was a prosperous, accepting land. That is until King Toshinori mysteriously disappeared leaving his seat on the throne up for grabs, and of course the man he’d spent years keeping in check was the one to take it.

Enji Todoroki was the antithesis to everything King Toshinori stood for, while one was warm in his kindness and virtue, the other was a war hardened general turned king, despite being blessed with the strongest fire magic one could have, the man himself was a cold, unforgiving brute, his ruling style shifted the kingdom of Frell drastically, only those he deemed strong could freely practice their magic, anyone who he couldn’t control was banished into the deepest parts of the forest, hidden away from his ever watchful gaze. Overnight the peace that had long since blanketed the kingdom was ripped away. His snobbish ideals and behavior influenced the people of Frell, not all, but most changed with the times in a means to stay afloat, the gap between the commonwealth and the nobles had never felt wider, the people who hadn’t succumbed to his will learned to protest silently, lest they too be sent to the forests. Before he’d taken power and changed the fates of all those around him, a very special woman was brought into the world in a cozy cottage.

(Y/n) was born into a loving family. A beautiful woman bounced the cooing baby against her chest, while she herself wasn’t gifted in the magical arts, she’d always had a love for them, so she filled baby (Y/n)’s ears with the best tales she could, the child’s big eyes were filled with wonder as she listened to her mothers soothing voice. Yu, the house fairy who’d been with the (L/n)’s since she herself was a girl, had stumbled into the room, her eyes squinted in adoration at the loving sight. Wanting to be helpful she thrust her hands towards a baby blanket on the nearby dresser. “Come on you stupid thing- come to mama, that’s right up!” She encouraged the now floating object towards her, eagerly waiting for it to fall in her open palms, only for it to fly into her face. 

“I gotta work on that! Don’t worry I’ll get it next time!” The sweet, but clumsy, woman added cooing over the fussy baby. Her mother, Mera, could only laugh .

The picturesque moment was quickly shattered by the familiar sound of a fairy entering the home. The mischievous voice of Miruko carried throughout the space, “Hellooooo ladies~ coming in hot!”, giving the new mother and her house fairy mere moments before she arrived. 

“Oh gods- she gives the worst gifts.” Mera spoke, fear chipping at her voice, her newborn pressed protectively against her chest. Yu paced the room anxiously, knowing how backwards Miruko’s magic was. “Not if she can’t find her!” The fairy gently took the bundle from her mother, quickly placing her in the closet behind them, and just in time as the rabbit like woman finally made her entrance.

With a flourish of shimmering lights and a sprinkling of glitter, there she stood in all her glory. The eccentric fae wasted no time, bounding over to the new mother with a shark like grin. 

“Miruko here, Fairy Par excellence.” She spoke with a half hearted curtsy. “So Mera, where is the little brat? I’ve come to bless sweet thing as is customary.” Her hand gave a little flourish at the end of her sentence, Mera smiled in gratitude,

”She’s out on a walk.”

“She’s with her grandmother.” Mera and Yu said respectively, they shared a look before Mera corrected, “She’s out with her grandmother, on a walk, but even a visit from a busy guardian like yourself is a gift.” 

The white haired fae gave a knowing look to the pair.

”It’s always so funny watching humans lie, you guys are so bad at it!” She laughed brushing past the two to give the room a once over. All too quickly she noticed the cracked open closet door and was soon holding the baby up. “Ahh so cute, what gift shall we give little (Y/n) today hmm?”  As soon as she touched her, (Y/n) began to cry as hard as her little body could, the tall woman holding her awkwardly bounced the baby, clearly uncomfortable with the upset child. “Hush now. I can’t concentrate with all that fussing now can I?” She spoke at the now bawling baby, frustration growing by the second. “Not a very well behaved little stinker is she?” The large grin she sported only seemed to upset (Y/n) more. 

“(Y/n) of Frell, I give you the gift of Obedience.” She snapped her fingers with a glimmer of light and sighed. “Now go to sleep!” The young (Y/n) instantly fell under, only waking when the fairy command, “Ah, now wake up!” 

The rich skinned woman turned to the pair, proud of her work. “See? Isn’t this the perfect gift for such a sweet thing?” Yu held her face in horror at the sight, angry she couldn’t do more to stop it. “No! That’s terrible. It’s horrid to have to do what you’re told!” Miruko gave her fellow fairy a hard look, red eyes squinting in disbelief. “Take it back.” Yu demanded, holding her ground despite the very real power difference between the two. 

“I have a no return policy. And if you’re feeling ungrateful, I could always just turn her into a rabbit.” Her fingers hovered over the babe in warning, “A rabbit!” Mera exclaimed, on the verge of feinting. “It’s a lovely gift! Wonderful for a baby girl right Mera?” Yu quickly corrected herself, in turn Miruko smiled again, holding the babe out to her mother. “You should be thanking me. I just gave you the perfect child.” 

In spite of the spell (Y/n) grew up of strong mind, her gift made her obedient, but her heart made her kind. 

That kindness would get her in more trouble than her gift it would seem, as she would soon meet the future hero of Frell himself, a vengeful barbarian, a loyal knight, the youngest Royal Prince, A Dragon shifter, a few warlocks and a witch, each dangerous in their own right and horribly smitten with our dear (y/n)

[fictionsmooches]

PORCO X READER X PIECK

Plot: after a small fight with Porco, Pieck helps (y/n) get Porco jealous, while also having fun with her.

Contains: sweating, degradation, Praia, name calling ‘slut’ whore’ ect.ect., oral sex, unprotected sex, thigh riding, lesbian sex, 18+ MDNI

Word count; 3k-ish

Classes had already been out for the day, and with a long weekend around the corner, you were more than ready to get this ‘Porco issue” sorted out. Your whole life felt like it was spent between Pieck and Porco. You three had formed a bond unlike any other. You shared secrets, hopes, and protected each other on and off the battlefield.

“Look (y/n), a small fire lit under his ass wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, he’s been awfully rude to me lately. I wouldn’t mind making him a little jealous myself.” Pieck said.

All week he had been acting funny towards you. A little too funny for your comfort. It all started when you and Pieck decided to hang out without Porco. He had been taking extra lesions from Zeke as of lately, so he wouldn’t come home until late. The dorms were too quiet to be alone. Your thoughts had rang too loud to be left alone with quiet ticks of clocks to keep you company.

Pieck had no roommate since Annie left for Paradis, so you decided to have a sleepover. The two of you spent the night swapping stories of the week and laughing over nothing. It was a well needed pleasant night. However, In the morning when you arrived home you could see the hurt all over Porco’s face. He was sitting up on his bed. He faced the door. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, you knew for a fact he didn’t sleep at all last night.

“Where were you? You know you worried me to death!” he yelled standing up. His loud tone took over the whole room. It was as if nothing else existed apart from you two in this room.

“Oh I'm sorry Pock.. I don’t mean to worry you. I just got lonely waiting here for you to come back so I had a sleepover with Pieck.” you spoke softly as if to sooth him. You really didn't mean to make him worry, that was the last thing you wanted.

“Well the least you could have done was left a note.” he said brushing passed you as he walked through the still open door. His voice was cold and numb. You hated seeing this side of Porco, the cold side of him.

You could deal with his anger outbursts, you could manage the yelling or the cursing when he was upset. You could at least talk him down from that, but you can't help him when he was like this. How could you help somebody who didn't feel nothing? This was the first time he ever acted like this towards you, and it felt horrible.

Sure he yelled at Reiner and even got too snappy with Pieck every now and again- but not you. He made a habit of bragging to everyone that you’d be his wife one day and how beautiful you were whenever you weren’t around. You knew Porco was smitten for you but he never acted on it.

You waited all year for Porco to make the first move but feared he never would. Maybe it was because he wanted to live up to Marcel’s legacy. Maybe he didn’t want to ruin the friendship between you and Pieck. But it looked as though he’d never act on those feelings now.

“Pieck.. what if he never talks to me again?” you spoke as you slipped down onto Pieck’s lap. Her skirt was damp with the tears you’d been crying all day.

“I highly doubt that. You just have to show him that if he doesn’t act fast, he’ll lose you.”

You nodded and sat up. You wiped your last tear away and raised your fist.

“Ok. What’s the plan?”

Pieck slipped her arm around your waist and pulled you closer. Your thighs now touched one another as she closed in the gap between you two. She cupped her free hand over your ear, she whispered softly.

“You want me to do what?! Pieck, we aren’t little girls anymore! We can’t just ‘practice’ like we did when we were little!” you jumped slightly. She pulled you back into her grasp.

“And why not! Am I not your type?” Pieck teased.

“It’s not that” you looked away. “It’s just.. I don’t know.. Embarrassing?”

Pieck couldn’t help but giggle at your shyness. It is true that you two used to practice kissing each other when you were children. You needed to be sure that when the time came, and you married your future spouse, you’d be ready. But you were not children anymore. You couldn’t just kiss her and act like it meant nothing. After all, you had some morals left.

Sure Porco and Pieck fought about who would be the one to marry you- but you never thought anything of it. Why would you? Wasn't it natural to hold hands with your best friends? Your mind ticked and ticked until finally you could form a coherent thought. Was Pieck in love with you? And was Porco as well? How long had they been? Either way, the idea of kissing Pieck didn’t seem so far-fetched anymore.

You could hear Porcos boots clomping in the distance, he had always been so brash with his walking. You often felt bad for the poor wood floors he had walked on.

Just as the door knob turned, Pieck cupped your face and pressed her lips against yours. As soon you were connected, you could feel yourself pooling under your skirt. Pieck had begun rubbing on your thigh, and that definitely didn't help the dampness from collecting. The warmth of her mouth took over your whole body. You couldn’t help but melt into the kiss, your mouth opened slightly as Pieck shoved her tongue into yours.

You knew Porco could walk in at any moment, and the excitement of him catching you made you want to kiss Pieck even more. It felt so dirty to be like this. To have Pieck’s hand up your skirt, and to have Porco possibly see. you wouldn't dream of pulling away. It felt too good to stop now.

The moment the door actually opened, Porco just stood there- eyes wide as he watched Pieck absolutely degrade the mouth he wanted for himself. He had dreamed about parting those lips countless times. He tried to imagine if your mouth felt as good as it did in his wet dreams. His now half hard cock twitched as he watched Pieck pull away from you, a string of saliva still connecting you two.

“Good evening Pock.” she spoke with a smile as if nothing just happened.

He avoided his gaze from the two of you. “Yeah.. whatever” he said, nearly throwing his books on his desk. He took a seat as he covered his face- hoping it would make his blush less noticeable.

Pieck kissed your forehead. “I’ll see you later my sweet (y/n), i’ll be late to class.” she said walking out of your dorm with a wink. You sat breathless at what had just happened. Pieck had unlocked something so sinister in you, and you feared that simple kissing wouldn't be enough for you anymore.

As time went on you wouldnt understand how Pieck could just go along with you like nothing happened. You walked to class together as usual, ate lunch like you usually would- but in the back of your mind the only thing you could think about was Pieck. You craved her touch on your body. You longed for her hands and for her mouth, but you wanted Porco’s gaze upon you just as much.

“Uhh Earth to (y/n)?” Pieck said waving her hand in front of you. You had spaced out at the table you had been studying at. Porco sat at your left and Pieck across from you.

“I’m sorry. I just got lost in thought!” You rubbed the back of your head In embarrassment.

The stuffy room you sat in, had once been dedicated to strategizing wars and battles but the campus had now converted them into study halls for students. You weren’t sure if the weather made the room feel humid or if you had imagined it to distract yourself from forming tension between you three.

Large windows covered the walls of the room, the sunlight coming in gave you a clear view of everything in the room. The tables were old and worn, chairs wobbled ever so slightly, and the books on the shelf were slowly collecting dust as years went by.

“Is it hot in here?” You ask aloud, fanning yourself with your hand.

“I’m sure it is, and these uniforms don’t help out any.” Pieck smiled was she pulled her book away from her face.

Porco slid his hand on your thigh from under the table, he snickered as he turned the page of his book with his other hand.

You gulped quietly.

“Yeah I’m getting tired of all these layers, I wish I could peel off a few, don’t you Pieck?”  Porco said as his hand gilded under your skirt, calloused hands rubbed small circles on your inner thighs. You were being too obvious, you had always been too obvious.

Pieck caught on quickly to the soft movements Porco made under the table and your breath heaving. Her eyes made their way to your warm cheeks with a smirk.

“I understand completely, Porco.” Pieck looked directly in your eyes “It’s almost like I could undress entirely right now.” she began fiddling with the top buttons of her shirt.

You could feel it happening again. The wetness starting to build between your legs was unbearable.

You were practically gasping for air as Porco’s hand slowly started making its way closer and closer to your clothed cunt. Your clit ached with the thought of his touch. All sense of shame was gone at this point. Pieck’s shirt was half way opened at this point. The bits of her lace bra were exposed more and more with every bottom she slowly undid.

You couldn’t tell if your arousal came more from Piecks undressing or from Porcos touch, but at this point it didn't matter, you only knew you needed more. You wished to be laid against Pieck’s chest as Porco bent you over the wooden table, just imagining it made you bucked your hips in desperation for more friction. Porco slowly placed the pad of his middle and ring finger against your clit.

He withdrew his hand entirely as you let out a soft moan.

“It’s almost time for dinner, we gotta get going if we want to beat the crowd.” Porco said, looking at the clock on the wall.

“Right! Best if we leave now.” Pieck said with a devilish smile as she began buttoning up her shirt.

The two left you there panting for air, and longing for hands all over your body. The light of golden hour stained the room with warm hues. Your mind raced with what had just happened, and why you were left hot and bothered. Your legs spread open on the chair you had been sitting it, a small puddle laid under you.

The next day You woke to an empty dorm. Porco had been long gone at training. You knew you would have most of the day to yourself but today your mind raced with thought of Pieck and Porco. At times you shifted your weight to distract yourself from the overwhelming thoughts you craved.

It wasn’t long before a knock at the door sent a shiver up your spine that jolted you to sit up.

“(Y/N)?” Pieck called as she let herself in. “I assume Porcos is training?”

You nodded.

“Ooh so you’re all alone?” Pieck’s tone sounded sultry like she was alluding to something. You felt the heat rising in your face.

She made her way over to your bed. Her foot steps echoed in the room with every step she took. She took a seat on your bed. And leaned over to your ear.

“Have you been thinking of me?”

You avoided looking at her. “Maybe” you answered

“Or have you been thinking of Porco?” She asks nibbling at your ear lobe. Your breath couldn’t help but deepen.

“Maybe” you answer again

Pieck pulled away and repositioned herself. She was now sitting with her back fully against the wall, her legs laid out over the length of the bed.

“Come here (y/n). I want you to show me the way you want to grind on Porcos lap” she lifted her skirt to expose her thighs. She looked so soft from where you sat.

You don’t think twice about straddling her thigh. Your clothed cunt made contact with her soft skin sending a shiver down your spine. Piecks hand found their place on your ass with a squeeze.

“Such a desperate little whore you’ve become. You get one kiss from me and a half assed teasing from Porco, and you’re so eager to do as I say?” She squeezed your ass again only this time more rougher.

You could only moan in response.

Pieck had begun dragging you back and forth on her thigh, pleasure rippled through your body.

“Unbutton your shirt for me”

You hesitated. “What if Porco comes back early?” You whined

“Don’t act like you don’t want him to see you like this. Now unbutton your shirt”

She lifted her leg to make more friction between you and her thigh.

You did as you were told and undid every button to the best of your ability given the circumstances.

“No bra? You really are a whore (y/n)!”

You moaned at her words, your pussy was leaking all over her thigh as you rode her.

Pieck placed your nipple in her mouth and began to suck.

“Fuck-!” You say throwing your head back

She slapped your ass making you moan louder.

Her mouth felt amazing wrapped around the sensitive bud, sending shockwaves through your entire body.

She looked up at you through her eyelashes. She looked as though she was smiling as she sucked on your nipple, she knew what she was doing.

The knot in your stomach had started to tighten.

“Pieck! You’re going to make me cum!”

She pulled away. Without saying anything, she pulled your panties to the side, giving your cunt direct contact with her.

“Cum for me then” she said looking in your eyes.

Your hips moved at a rapid pace as you released on her thigh with a scream.

You were so busy with Pieck that you didn’t even notice Porcos boots clomping down the hallway. By the time you noticed he was already opening the door.

He stepped into the most unexpected but beautiful sight. You say still straddling Piecks thigh, gasping with your tits out. Your cum and sweat covered your body and Piecked thigh, your skirt hiked up over your ass and piecks hands holding on the back of your thighs.

Pieck peered her head to the side “hi Pock!”

You couldn’t help but feel so embarrassed and exposed.

Porcos cock twitched with excitement.

“So this is what you do while I’m off working my ass off?” He says while slicking his hair back more.

You were speechless. When you decided to speak all you could manage to say was “I’m sorry- I couldn’t help myself! I just-“

“Just what? Decided to act like a slut and think I wouldn’t find out?” Porco says.

Your clit jumped with excitement.

Pieck shifted her weight so you lay elbows to the bed with your ass in the air. Pieck guided her hands to your panties and slid them off of you. She spread your ass cheeks and pussy lips for Porcos full view.

“Look Porco, she’s just begging to be filled” Pieck smiled up at you.

You could hear Porco’s zipper being undone behind you.

“She sure is. But I want to hear that from her” he grinned, stroking his cock. The tip was wet with precum already. He stroked as your hole fluttered with excitement.

“Please Porco! Please, I need it!” You said.

“Tell me princess, what do you need?”

Pieck reached her hand underneath to rub your clit.

You gasp nearly being able to talk, “I need you to fuck me Porco! Please fuck me!” You choke out.

“Good girl” he said as he slowly pushed the tip of his hard cock inside. “Mmm.. so fucking wet already” he shoved the enteier length inside you.

You moaned against piecks mouth as she kissed you. Her tongue once again shoving its way into your mouth.

While Porco took his time fucking your tight hole, you slid lower to make contact with Pieck’s lower half. She giggled at the sight of you being so eager to please her. “Here, ill help you.” She said lowering her panties.

You wasted no time lapping up every once of Piecks oozing pussy. She collapsed into the this matress as you attacked her clit.

Piecks moaning caught the attention of Porco. “L-Like what you see Pock? Her mouth feels amazing on my pussy.” Pieck said, smirking.

“I always knew (y/n) would be the perfect little slut.” Porco said speeding up his thrust into your sloppy tight cunt. You moaned against Piecks clit, squeezing down on Porco’s cock in response to his degrading words.

Slowly you added two fingers into Piecks slit.  “Better do a good job (y/n), or I wont let you cum” Porco said slowing his pace. You wasted no time proving at her g-spot. Pieck moaned in delight.

“Good girl.” Pieck said in between moans.

You couldn’t go on much long like this. You needed release and you needed it bad. Porco could tell you where close by the way you began clamping down on his cock.

Pieck was the first to cum as she held a fist full of your hair “(y/n)! You’re gunna make me cum” she exclaimed. She lay breathless on the bed for a moment as Porco kept thrusting into you.

Pieck seized the opportunity to reach under and rub your clit. Pieck’s soft fingertips where enough to send you over the edge. “Porco! I’m coming!” You screamed.

“I’m close (y/n).. where do you want me to finish?” He choked

“Don’t be shy now (y/n) Answer him” Pieck said.

“Inside!” You yelled feeling over stimulated.

“Fuck!” Porco said as he raised inside of you, your pussy drank up every drop of his cum.

You three laid squished against one another, sweat and cum covering your bodies

[imagine-darksiders]

A gentle touch.

[Strife/Reader]

Summary: Set three years after humanity is resurrected. Strife shows up unannounced in your bedroom in the middle of the night, which would have been rude enough without him getting blood all over your cream-coloured carpet.

Tags: Blood, injury, PTSD, knife, protective Strife, whump, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, sharing a bed ;), bandages and cleaning wounds, how not to administer first aid.

-----

You have the apocalypse to thank for turning you into such a light-sleeper. 

Even though the nights of sleeping with one eye open are far behind you and Earth is back on the road to a long and arduous recovery, you'll still jolt awake if your unconscious mind hears something scuttle beneath the floorboards of your freshly-restored home, and God forbid a tree branch should happen to scratch at the bedroom window...

Waking up with the feeling that your heart is three beats from bursting right out of your chest is exhausting, to say the least. And it isn't just you who suffers from the onset of hyper-vigilance.

It was a decidedly cruel consequence that the resurrected humans were able to recall their lives before the end of the world. Crueller still, they woke up to remember exactly how and where they eventually kicked the bucket, and of course, nobody knew that a significant chunk of time had passed at all since the end of the world and its rebirth.

They thought they were still in danger.

In one moment, all they knew was immense and excruciating pain, and then, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, they woke up again, screaming and writhing in the echoes of phantom pain that had occurred almost a century ago.

Three years down the line since ‘The Great Waking,’ and there isn’t a human alive who could claim that they’ve slept through an uninterrupted night.

------

The alarm clock on your bedside table has just ticked over to read '2:36am' when your eyes suddenly snap open and you fling yourself upright in bed, your spine ramrod straight and your ears ringing with a sharp, tinny note.

It isn’t a nightmare that wakes you. At least, not this time.

Worse.

It’s a sound.

An out-of-the-ordinary sound that isn't in keeping with the normal ambiance of your bedroom.

But where...? 

....It's coming from your window.

Tired eyes swivel to the curtains whilst your hand immediately flies out to blindly fumble with the drawer of your bedside table. Once your fingers find the cold, metal handle, you rip it open and plunge your hand inside, rummaging around until you feel the reassuring grip of your most precious possession.

Your trusty bread knife. Serrated edge, nine inch blade, perfect for cutting slices of toast in the morning and for tearing through the toughened hide of a hungry demon.

Peace between the Universe’s species had been declared once humanity was fully introduced to the connected realms, a decision that suited a vast majority of Creation. Hell, however, had offered up a fair amount of opposition to the notion before eventually conceding and agreeing – albeit begrudgingly – to honour the peace treaty alongside angels, makers, undead and the rest.

Even demon-kind knew not to incur the wrath of humanity's strongest and most ferocious protectors, the Horsemen.

But... there are always exceptions to the rule. Some demons just... hadn't gotten the memo.

It wouldn’t be the first time one of them had tried to make an assassination attempt on humanity’s envoy.

Heart in your throat, you grasp the knife securely in your dominant hand and peer through the darkness towards the window. 

Only a sliver of moonlight peeps through a tiny gap in the curtains. In another blink, the light suddenly disappears, and you know better than to assume that the moon has simply ducked behind a cloud. 

Something is standing at your window, blocking out the light.

You think you might actually be sick when you hear the sound again, claws scraping on wood – a sound you know all too well – well enough to send your head spinning into a panic.

Swallowing back the nausea in your throat, you brace yourself, instincts flicking between running for the door and knowing never to turn your back on a demon.

Sadly, the decision is swiftly taken out of your hands. Through the darkness and the deafening roar of blood rushing through your ears, you can make out the distinct sound of your window sliding slowly open.

The knife is a comforting weight in your hand. But it’s less than useless if you don’t calm down and try to remember the lessons that Death has taught you. If the eldest Horseman were here, he’d probably have berated you seven ways to Sunday by now for freezing up and missing an opportunity to better prepare yourself for an attack.

A dark silhouette pushes the fluttering fabric of your curtains aside and pulls itself halfway into your bedroom. 

Whatever it is, it’s big.

Breath catching in your throat, you clasp a handful of your duvet and get ready to fling it at the intruder as a distraction, hoping that it’ll be enough to buy you a precious few seconds to gain the upper hand. You've learned that humans are inherently weaker than demons, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned from Death, it’s that strength isn’t necessarily the deciding factor in any battle. You still have your wits. You only hope the demon has less.

Two luminous, golden eyes turn in your direction and you press yourself backwards into the headboard.

Several seconds drag by in perfect silence.

Then... 

“Hey.”

And just like, that tension leaves your body like a balloon deflating of air and you heave the loudest sigh you can muster, dropping the bread knife into your lap.

“Damn it, Strife! You about gave me a heart attack!”

With a 'whump,' you flop back against your pillows and take a second to breathe whilst one of the Four Horsemen drags himself the rest of the way through your bedroom window.

Strife.

It's only Strife...

Whilst certainly a dangerous being in his own right, you know you have nothing to fear from the Horseman who had all but appointed himself as your friend three, long years ago, all in an attempt to irritate his brother, Death, of course.

At least, at first.

Death was the one who pulled you from the dying Earth and preserved your life-force as you journeyed together on a quest to resurrect humanity, but after he made the jump to introduce you to his 'little' siblings, it had been Strife who'd taken a particular shine to you, and it had everything to do with a compatible, if terrible sense of humour.

That first meeting sparked what was sure to be an interesting friendship between the pair of you.

-----

“So, my brother went and got himself a human, huh?” Strife had teased, pointedly ignoring the withering look he received from Death to add, “Gotta say, I'm impressed, Kid. Didn't think anyone would have the inclination to willingly travel with my brother. But then, I guess...” He trailed off and you could almost see the smirk growing under his mask. “Deathperate times and all that, huh?”

At once, his siblings all groaned out varying noises of disapproval. Fury, the loudest, cocked her hip and shot Strife a frosty glower. “You are singlehandedly ruining our reputation, brother."

“She's right, you know,” you spoke up, trying not to flinch when all eyes snapped onto you once more, “That pun was pretty deadful.”

The brief, startled second of silence was soon blasted apart when Strife threw his head back and barked out a triumphant laugh, while Death slowly turned to look at you, utterly betrayed.

“Ha!” Strife's eyes positively gleamed with mischief, “You're right, human. Guess I should'a considered the reapercussions of a joke like that, huh?”

“I ought to have known introducing you two would be a mistake,” the eldest Horseman grumbled, earning a sympathetic look from War.

“Sorry, Death,” you said with a perfectly straight face, “You want us to get out of your scythe so you don’t have to look at us anymore?”

Strife had howled.

Death, however, merely heaved a long-suffering sigh. Fury's eyes all but rolled into the back of her skull and War just stood there, struggling to keep his lips from twitching at their corners.

And you had looked around at all of them, a little proud and blissfully unaware of what you'd just unwittingly signed yourself up for.

You'd had Strife's attention from that day on.

-----

Shaking off the fond memory, you tiredly will your mind back to the matter at hand.

You reach across your bed and drop the knife back into the drawer before leaning down and skirting your fingers over the wall in search of a switch. The next moment, there's a 'click!' and the room is illuminated by clustered fairy lights that you've draped around your ceiling, forcing you to squint blearily against the intrusion of light as Strife hauls his leg into your room.

“Honestly. How many times have I told you to use the door?”

“S'locked,” he grunts.

You're in the midst of rubbing your eyes to try and stimulate a little life back into your bones, so you miss the way he stumbles a few steps away from the wall and presses a gauntleted hand to his abdomen. 

“Yeah, it’s locked because it's-” You take a quick glance at the clock next to you. “-Two thirty in the morning! Strife, I’m supposed to be up at six to meet Ulthane! What do you need so badly that you'd-... Hey.. Are.. are you okay?”

At last taking a long, hard look, it suddenly occurs to you that the Horseman is... not entirely himself.

He's hunched over, his shoulders pulled in around his neck and his chest rising and falling in long, languid motions. The tattered cowl he wears around his neck hangs loose around his collarbones and it faces the very real threat of slipping off to the floor. At last, your eyes drop to the hand that's clamped over the left side of his abdomen and you blurt out a startled gasp.

In the paltry, pink glow of your fairy lights, you spot an unmistakably crimson liquid dribbling between his fingers, starkly contrasted against the steel-grey colour of his armour.

The next few seconds pass in a blur as you frantically begin kicking off your duvet and scramble out of bed, flying across the room to the Horseman's side.

“Strife! What'd you do!?”

“Oh, that's real sweet,” the Nephilim chuckles wryly whilst he collapses back against the wall and slides down it with a strained grunt, “Why're you – ung... assuming it's something I did?”

Without missing a beat, you snap, “This would hardly be the first time you got hurt because you're a wise-cracking jokester with a big mouth! Now tell me who you pissed off?!”

You drop onto your knees next to him and reach out, fingers hovering tentatively above his stomach. With your focus directed away from his helm, Strife doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes dart from left to right before they settle back on the top of your head.

“Ah, it was... just some demon, caught me slackin', that's all,” he shrugs, letting you carefully grasp his wrist and lift it away from his torso.

At once, fresh blood gushes from a deep gouge cut into in the dark, leather under-skin he wears beneath his cuirass and you yelp, slapping a hand over your mouth in abject horror.

The sound draws Strife's gaze to you and once he spots the shocked despair on your face, he gives himself a mental kick.

He hadn't meant to... He... doesn't like it when you’re scared because of him.

"Hey, no, no – I'm okay!” he rushes to reassure you, “Don't worry about this. I've had worse!”

“That's not the point, Strife!” you argue, dropping his wrist and carding your hands through your hair, “You're hurt now! And I don't – there's so much blood, and you-” Cutting yourself off, you squeeze your eyes shut and inhale deeply through your nose, willing your pulse to ease so that you can rationally address this situation. 

Another lesson Death had taught you - stay calm in a crisis. Panic kills.

Releasing a long, hard breath, you peel your eyes open again and nod, jaw set. “Okay. All right. I need to.. I need water. A-and I need to see the wound.”

The interrogation can come after you've dealt with... this.

“There's a bowl and flannel in my bathroom,” you announce, getting to your unsteady feet and gesturing towards Strife's cuirass, “Think you can get that off so I can have a look?”

Huffing out a breath of laughter, the Horseman winks at you suggestively and drawls, “An' here I was doin' things the hard way to get your attention. You know, you didn't have to wait till I got myself gutted before you asked me to take my armour off in your chambers.”

A wise-cracking flirt with a big mouth.

As exasperating as he is though, you don't mind it in the slightest.

This is your usual rapport, after all. A friendly back and forth interlaced with the occasional, flirtatious comment. At first, Strife had only initiated it because it drove an over-protective Death up the wall. The eldest Horseman had almost threatened to 'remove Strife's libido' until you'd up and flirted right back, distressing the old reaper even further.

It's funny. It's innocent. But right now, it's reassuring, if only somewhat, that Strife is behaving just like his shameless, old self.

Besides, you can give back as much as you get.

“Well, I had to wait for a good enough excuse,” you retort, “Couldn't come on too strong and risk scaring you off, now could I?”

In response, Strife just chuckles fondly and watches you turn and speed away to your ensuite, oblivious to the warm, soft glow radiating from his eyes.

In less than a minute, you're briskly striding back into the room, a dripping flannel in one hand and a bowl in the other, and he suddenly remembers that you'd asked him to remove his cuirass.

Mission failed.

But you don't even bat an eyelid to find it still in place, assuming that the Horseman can't get at the catches on the sides in his current state. 

In one, smooth motion, you drop down beside him once more and set the cloth and bowl nearby. “Here, let me help..”

The Horseman's pulse sputters when your tiny fingers reach around his torso and fumble with the buckles and straps that keep his armour securely in place. It doesn't pass his notice that your hands are trembling.

“Hey,” he calls, catching your eye for a moment before you go right back to fiddling with the cuirass, “This is nothin’, you know that, right?”

You only press your lips together and hum, clearly skeptical.

You're working fast and in almost no time at all, the straps have been released and you carefully take the Nephilim's broad shoulder, giving it a tug, guiding him to lean away from the walls so that you can start to peel the bulky armour off.

“Nng, hang on,” he mutters.

Reluctantly, you sit back to let him tug his chest piece loose before he simply drops it onto the carpet next to his legs with a dull 'clang.'

Exposed to the soft glow of your lights, your eyes are instantly drawn to the gaping wound that stretches in a horizontal line across the left side of his abdomen. It seems that something really has tried - and nearly succeeded - to gut him. Several inches long and goodness knows how deep, even against the iron-grey colour of his skin, the gash is alarmingly obvious and the blood far, far too noticeable for your liking. It still comes as something of a shock to learn that the Horsemen, barring Death, can actually bleed.

Wordlessly, you pick up the flannel and wring it out into the bowl of water, wondering if he'll mind that you didn't wait for the tap to get warm before you soaked it. It shouldn't surprise you that the Horseman doesn't protest or even flinch when you gently press the wet cloth to the bloodied skin around his wound, nowhere near the gash itself, not until you've cleared away some of the mess around it and determined its real depth.

You don't notice that his eyelids flutter closed once you press the cloth to his skin, nor do you see when their golden light fluctuates in contentment as the fingertips of your other hand press gently to his stomach, the pressure barely enough for him to feel, but enough to keep you steady whilst you daub at his drying blood.

It takes a formidable effort to suppress the shudder that nearly races up his spine. This is the first time he's felt your skin against his without a single piece of armour standing between you.

Creator, you're so soft! Just like he always imagined you would be.

“Jeezus, Strife,” you whistle, abruptly snatching his focus away from the soothing strokes of your silky fingers,“You've made a real mess of yourself. Why on Earth didn't you just go straight to Death? I thought he was the best healer in your family.”

The warm skin underneath your fingertips jumps as the Horseman puffs out a quick laugh, gazing dopily at your temple whilst you wipe at the edges of his wound with small, careful touches. 

“He is,” Strife readily agrees, “But the moody bastard wouldn't be nearly as gentle with me as you are.”

You blow an unimpressed huff from your nose and glance up at him in time to catch his lazy wink. “I can always press harder if you like?”

“Nah.” The Horseman settles himself more heavily against the wall, knocking his skull back against it and mumbling, “Just keep touchin' me all gentle like that. S'nice...”

Quite abruptly, the chatty Nephilim goes silent and the glow from his eyes that had illuminated your face only moments ago suddenly disappears.

“Strife?”

He doesn't respond.

“Hey, Cowboy! Don't you fall asleep on me, you hear?”

There's a long stretch of silence, then, “Won't,” he mumbles, cracking one eyelid open to peer down at you.

Harrumphing, you promptly turn back to the gash in his stomach and wipe the last of the dried blood off his skin, still far from clean, but at the very least, better than it had been.

“Right,” you declare, pulling away to stand up and drawing a decidedly petulant whine from the Horseman on your bedroom floor. “I'm gonna go get the first aid kit from downstairs.”

There’s a shift in his expression and something that hinges on alarm suddenly whistles through his blood.

“I won’t be long,” you promise, "Be right – Hey, woah! What're you doing!?”

Darting forwards, you hastily place your hands on each of Strife's broad shoulders, trying to push him back down as he grabs the window sill behind him and begins hauling himself up to his feet.

“What's it look like ‘m doing?” he answers gruffly, slouching forwards as if the weight of his own head is too much to keep aloft, “Comin’ with you”

Sputtering out a few, incredulous noises, you try to make him see sense. “I’ll bring the first aid kit to you! You need to rest! It's bad enough that you already climbed in through my second storey window!”

But Strife, stubborn as a mule and much, much stronger than you, isn't deterred by your protests. Grunting, he curls one arm over his stomach and takes a step forwards, ducking beneath your light fixture and standing to his full, imposing height.

Even with three years of companionship behind you, you’re still frequently taken aback at how effortlessly the Horseman can make you feel small and fragile when you stand close to him.

Knowing full well that you’ll never be able to force him down again, you allow your hands to slip from his shoulders and fall against your sides like lead weights. You aren’t sure why he’s suddenly so hellbent on following you, downstairs, of all places, but you don’t dwell on it, especially given that you’re far more preoccupied with the fresh blood that has already begun trickling out of his wound to replace the stains you’ve painstakingly cleaned away.

Puffing out your cheeks, you raise a hand and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Strife, please sit down?” You aren’t so proud that you won’t resort to begging, tired as you are and exasperated with his obstinate behaviour. “I’m worried about you...”

All at once, the Horseman stiffens. ‘Oh, now she’s fighting dirty,’ he muses to himself.

Gradually, you lift your eyes to meet his and try your very best to glare up at him, pinning him down with all the stern authority you can muster. For several, slow heartbeats, the Nephilim peers right back at you and you’re almost certain that you’ll lose this battle of wills, which is why it comes as such a shock when his fiery gaze falters, wavering slightly before it promptly drops to the floor near your feet.

It's... rare for Strife to be looked at by someone who isn't ashamed to show that they worry about him.

But the way you're looking at him now? Hell, the way you've been looking at him since he clambered through your bedroom window? You're practically broadcasting your concern.

Strife just... isn't used to seeing that. So he glances down instead, finding the fibres of your carpet particularly exhilarating tonight. Slowly, begrudgingly, he sinks down to sit on the edge of your bed, heavy enough that the frame creaks and groans under the weight of a fully grown Nephilim and he has to hold back a contented sigh at the softness beneath his legs.

From the corner of an eye, he can see that your jaw is hanging ajar and remains so until you give yourself a little shake and throw him a satisfied nod. “Thank you,” you huff before turning on your heel and striding purposefully from the room.

Strife listens raptly to your footsteps disappearing down the staircase, unaware that his hands have curled into tight fists around your duvet.

'It's fine,' he assuages the insistent voice at the back of his head, 'She's fine.'

He took care of the threat. That demon asshole isn't coming after his friend.

You’re only downstairs. He can already hear you pushing open the door to your little kitchen whilst the rest of his senses remain trained on the sounds and smells of the night.

It isn't as though something bad might happen just because his eyes aren't fixed upon you...

Frankly, he thinks he’s being more than generous to allow a full, Earth minute to pass as he taps his heel impatiently against the side of your bed.

Didn’t you say you’d be right back?

...

“Fuck it...”

-------

Perhaps, in hindsight, keeping your first aid kit on the top of the fridge hadn’t been one of your brightest ideas, given that you need a chair to reach it. Then again, securing immediate access to bandages and plasters hadn’t exactly been on the forefront of your mind when you were rebuilding your old home from the ruins it had been left in.

With a grunt, you drop your rickety kitchen chair next to the fridge and clamber up onto the seat. “I have got to find a better place for you,” you grumble at an apathetic first aid kit that sits gathering dust near the wall. Stretching your arm out, you manage to snag it by the handle and drag it towards you-

“The hell're you doing!?”

The violent jolt that shoots through you like lightening nearly sends you toppling off the chair. You let out a yelp, just barely catching yourself on the fridge with your free hand before you whip about to see none other than Strife silhouetted in the kitchen doorway.

“Wh- the hell are you doing!?” you retort, knitting your brows into a frown and clutching the first aid kit against your heaving chest, “Why aren’t you upstairs?”

The Horseman’s glowing eyes are fixed unsettlingly on the chair beneath your feet and rather than answer the question, he ducks under the doorframe and thunders towards you in a few, short strides, leaving you with no time to protest before he suddenly sweeps you up off the chair and into his arms, caging you against a solid chest.

At once, you begin to struggle. “Strife! Your wound! Put me down, you'll hurt yourself!”

But the Nephilim is hardly paying attention. His glare lingers on the flimsy, wooden chair legs for a moment before he flicks his gaze towards the large window above your sink, noting with no small degree of distaste that it isn't even shut.

It’s like you’re inviting danger in.

If you had any idea of the fate he and his siblings are currently trying to protect you from, you might just try a little harder to take better care of yourself.

“Hey!” you continue to protest against his hold but manage to refrain from jostling about too much, mindful of his injury. “For god's sake! What's gotten into you?!”

He offers little more than a noncommittal grunt in response and begins trailing back towards the staircase, casting brief glances at the french doors leading out onto your patio.

'Structural weakness,' he registers, 'Perfect point of entry for anything smaller than a Trauma...'

Shaking his head, he turns sideways to fit you through the kitchen door and takes the stairs up to your room.

After a second, he lowers his eyes to meet yours and finds himself meeting a highly unimpressed scowl. “What?” he asks, the very picture of innocence.

Raising your brows, you snap, “Don't you 'what' me! The hell is all this about? I told you to stay put!”

“You were takin' too long,” he shrugs.

“Too long!?” Indignant, you flick your wrist and rap the first aid kit against his collar bone, “I was gone a minute, max! If you were so worried about me taking too long to fix you up, then why are you moving around and making your injury worse!?”

The light of Strife's golden gaze dims and he turns his head away, staring up towards the top of the stairs and your bedroom door beyond. “S'not me m' worried about,” he mumbles.

It's such an about-face from his usual demeanour that you can do little but blink dumbly up at him and fall still against his chest, your mouth hanging agape.

In silence, the Horseman ducks through the door into your room and sidles over to the bed where, hesitantly, he lowers you down until you're sitting safely on the edge.

In the next moment however, just as Strife drops heavily onto the bed next to you, you slip away and settle on the floor instead, placing the first aid kit beside his boots and fumbling with the latches.

Despite blowing out a rough grumble of disapproval that sounds entirely too much like War for his liking, he lets you go.

Chewing on your lip, you stare at the contents for a moment before snatching up a pack of antiseptic wipes, tearing one out and bringing it up to his stomach.

“You want to tell me why you just exacerbated your injury to rescue me from my kitchen chair?” you ask him, adding as an afterthought, “This might sting a bit..”

When he doesn't reply, you glance up and quirk a brow at the underside of his chin, only to catch him peering back at you from behind heavy-lidded eyes. Then, with a weary sigh, he sags forwards and raises a hand to rub at the back of his neck, looking sheepish, of all things.

Unable to dispel your frown, you blindly begin brushing the wipe underneath his bleeding wound.

He doesn't even wince.

Strife tips his helm towards the bedroom window and slumps further backwards into your mattress, seeming so entirely out of place amidst the colourful duvet cover and frilly cushions.

“Okay,” he mutters, “I uh, I got a confession to make.”

Interest piqued, you make an acknowledging sound at the back of your throat and return your attention to his abdomen.

“Death didn't want us to tell you about this,” he continues quietly whilst you toss the now ruined wipe over your shoulder and pull out a fresh one, “And, to be honest, neither did I. We didn't want you to have to worry, y'know?”

You don't know. And you nearly ask him what you should be worrying about, but you soon let your mouth fall shut and settle for humming curiously instead, trusting that he'll tell you soon enough anyway.

There's a long pause, during which you find the courage to bring your fingers close to the edges of his wound and immediately have to withhold a gag when the motion sends another spout of blood oozing from the cut and dribbling down your wrist.

After a moment, Strife huffs and forges ahead, “Course, War and Fury did want to tell you-”

He's stalling, you realise belatedly.

“-War thinks you have every right to know. And Fury said there's nothin' for you to worry about anyway, cause we've got your back.”

“Fury said that?” you ask distractedly, dropping the wipe and rummaging around for a gauze pad. In response, Strife exhales, a tiny, hidden smile creeping onto his lips. “Fury says a lot of stuff about you that you don't know about.”

Gently, you unroll the gauze and press it against his wound. “Wow, you sure that's your sister?  Sounds like she might've been body snatched.”

“Ha!” The Horseman suddenly throws his head back. “Well, if she has been replaced, I sure as shit ain't going lookin' for the original. This Fury is... she's...”

He pauses, tipping his head in thought before eventually settling on, “She's learning.”

You blow out a long, impressed whistle and he nods his agreement, adding, “Yeah, s'weird for all of us too.”

The room lapses into silence once again as you stretch the gauze across Strife's abdomen and mutter, “Hold this,” before your hands are retreating and the Horseman's slide down to keep the bandage in place.

Reaching into the box once more, you take some bandages and begin to unfurl them gingerly over the top of the gauze. “Not hurting you, am I?”

You miss the soft expression he aims at the top of your head. “Never.”

You're more than aware that he probably won't tell you you've hurt him even if you were to stick your fingers in the wound twist them.

“Sooo~....?” you prompt.

Peering down at you, Strife cocks his head to one side and echoes, “Soooo?”

“What did Fury and War think I should know?”

“Oh. Right...” His reluctance is as painfully obvious as a slap to the face but you're slightly more focused on plunging your hand back into the first aid kit and rooting around for a roll of adhesive tape.

He observes you for a moment, growing more and more certain that despite your curiosity, you aren’t actually paying a great deal of attention to his words. Quite abruptly, he asks, “You listening?”

Emitting little more than a vague hum, you finally snag the tape and run your fingernail along the smooth surface, searching for the ever-elusive end.

“You sure?” Strife grunts skeptically, “Kid, this is kind of important.”

Without missing a beat, you nod your chin towards his injury and reply, “Yeah, well, you're kind of important too, buddy.”

Oh.

Oh, that's...

Strife wracks his brain, trying to pluck an appropriate response from amidst his tumbling thoughts. Part of him wants to scoff – of course he's important! He's Strife! The best, damn marksman who ever walked the realms of existence.

But then, there's another part of him that lurks deep behind the walls of hubris and brass he's been building meticulously for centuries, and it gives a little leap at the sound of your words, delighted beyond measure.

Averting his gaze, Strife lets out a chuckle. “You're getting soft.”

“Ah, I've always been soft.”

His heart thrums. “Wasn't talkin' about you, kid.”

You shoot him a smirk as you stick a piece of tape over the bandages covering his injury. “Well, if you're talking about yourself, then you're wrong again. You aren't getting soft. You've always been soft.”

The Horseman mutters something incoherent, but it's his distinct lack of an articulate response that speaks volumes to your ears.

The slight pressure of your fingers as they prod at the tape with tentative care leaves him mourning the centuries he's gone without knowing such a gentle touch. Rolling his eyes down to you, his smile droops and he sighs, sagging forwards to rest his elbows on his knees just as you attempt to place another strip of tape.

“Strife!” you complain, leaning back, “I need to put more tape on!”

He merely blinks at you languidly and says, “Later. I want you concentratin' on me right now.”

“I've been concentrating on you all night,” you huff, though you eventually concede and sit back on your haunches, peering up at the Horseman expectantly.

Studying your face for another moment, he breathes a long sigh and gestures to his stomach. "I told you a demon did this..."

“Uh huh...”

Solemnly, Strife continues, “So more specifically, it was a Shadow Caster. Been on her trail for a couple of weeks now. Finally caught up with her on some farmlands west of the city...” 

“Okay?” you nod, digesting the information, “And why were you on her trail?”

He hesitates, flicking his eyes between you and the window a few times before he quietly admits, “She was comin’ after one of my friends...”

“Who?”

The look he throws you is so pointed, you suddenly feel like a fool for missing the obvious.

“Ah.” Understanding, you slowly nod your head.

“Yup.”

“But, she's dead now, right?” You gesture to his wound. “You came straight here after killing her.”

Strife's eyes darken further and each time they try to land on your face, they seem to slide right off again and drop to the carpet. “Uh, yeah. She's dead.”

You heave a sigh. “She wasn't the only one who's after me.”

“... No..”

“I see.” Inhaling long and slow through your nose, you tip your head back and slap your hands on your thighs, rubbing at them anxiously as you gaze around the room. “So, do we know how many there are?”

The Horseman eyes you for several, silent seconds. Eventually though, he speaks up. “Got wind of a small group of about four of 'em. Demons mostly, one undead. You and I've got a mutual... uh, friend, who's been keeping his ears to the ground, and he reckons they’re aiming to provoke another war between Hell and Earth by killin' the human envoy.”

“Wow. Talk about sore losers,” you scoff humourlessly, “So, who is this mutual friend?”

Some of the tension bleeds out of Strife's posture once he notices that you haven't immediately flown into a panic. “C'mon kid,” he snorts, “You know I can't expose my source. He doesn't want you know that he cares about you. Thinks you might start askin' for discounts if you thought he was getting' soft.”

“Discounts, huh?” Your lips quirk up at their edges and Strife smacks a palm over his mask in mock distress.

“Ah, hell, I gave it away, didn't I?”

“I bet his name rhymes with Shmulgrim, doesn't it?” you laugh.

Chuckling, Strife leans back on his hands again and replies, “Hey, you came to that conclusion on your own. Technically, I never told you who my source was.”

With the atmosphere in your bedroom gradually becoming lighter and lighter, you follow the Horseman's lead and relax backwards onto your hands, stealing a surreptitious glance at the bandages adhered to his torso.

It's no longer as surprising as it used to be that Vulgrim is invested in the well-being of his 'valuable asset.' The Horsemen are perhaps his best clients, hence the vested interest in keeping himself in their good graces by looking out for their human ward.

Shaking your head with a knowing smirk, you push yourself up onto your feet and glance down at yourself, brushing off your pyjama shorts, only to grimace when your hands do nothing but smear Strife's blood all over the fabric.

“Sorry... for the mess.”

You raise your head at the sound of the Horseman's voice and find him glowering down at the stains he's dripped onto your carpet, his eyes hooded and glum.

Heaving a sigh that you hope conveys both exasperation and affection, you reach out and place your comparatively tiny hand on his shoulder to give the pauldron a reassuring squeeze, drawing his gaze back up to your face. “I don't care about the mess, Strife” you tell him matter-of-factly, “The carpet's just here to stop my feet getting cold in the morning. You're my best friend.”

Ever so slowly, his luminous eyes grow wide with wonder and he lets his jaw drop open to speak, but before he manages to utter a soft, 'what?' you give his shoulder a friendly jostle and add, “So long as you're okay, pal, that's the main thing. Now...”

Trailing off, you move back around the bed and let your fingers slide off the Horseman's arm, stepping up to the bedside table containing your pyjamas, oblivious to how swiftly and easily you've just swept the rug out from underneath Strife's feet. He twists himself around on your mattress to watch you, his eyes as wide as than dinner plates.

Did you mean to say... best?

He – well, he always knew that you considered him a friend! Hell, he'd even go so far as to say the two of you are close friends.

But best?

Best implies that there's nobody – nobody – that you hold in higher regard than him...

'How did I miss that!?' his psyche all but screams at him, 'When the Hell did I get so important!?”

You aren't even looking at him, too busy rummaging through your drawers, as if you have no idea that you've just pulled his heart right out of his chest and now you have it cradled in the palms of your hands.

You could crush the life out of him with hardly a word.

“So, you never did say!” you call out to him as you duck into your ensuite bathroom and flick the light on, hiding yourself from view whilst you change, “How does the master of marksmanship get tagged by a Shadowcaster in the first place? You’re not usually the type to get up close and personal. That’s more War’s thing, right?”

All at once, the threats that demon witch had made against you ring like klaxons in Strife’s head and he has to make a conscious effort to ignore his instinct to leap off the bed and barge into the bathroom just to be sure you’re safe. He hears the shuffling of fabric against skin as you pull off the bloodied shorts and begin to pull on the new ones.

Grinding his teeth, he spits out, “She just.. got me mad, is all. Made me wanna have the satisfaction of wringing her neck with my bare hands instead of filling her with bullets.”

“Wait, seriously?” Your silhouette suddenly appears in the bathroom doorway and and strife glances up, briefly enraptured by the halo of light glowing at your back. A fellow human might have likened you to an angel. Strife, however, knows that none of the feathery bastards could hold a candle to you. 

Garbed in clean shorts that smell distinctly of you, and not copper, you step out into your bedroom. “How’d a demon manage to make you mad? You’re like, the champ of not getting mad. It’s like your superpower.”

“Yeah, well..” he mutters, turning his helm away, “This time, she went too far.”

You’re quiet as you flop down onto the bed next to him, your eyes flicking between his downturned head to the fists that are clenched like vices at his sides, metal claws gripping fistfuls of your duvet so tightly, you’re worried he might end up poking holes in the cover.

Whatever had been said to him must have been bad if he’s this riled up.

Biting your lip, you let out a pensive hum and lean backwards, your fingers brushing over a soft lump near the headboard. At once, your eyes grow wide and your lips stretch into a sly grin as your hand closes over something fluffy and familiar.

Strife is still busy stewing when he’s suddenly brought out of his thoughts by a face that’s shoved promptly into his line of sight. He blinks, drawing his head away to properly see what you’re holding up in front of him.

He can’t contain a chuckle once he realises that it’s none other than your old, toy horse, dangling in front of him with its little, black ears flopping forwards to cover a pair of button eyes.

Allowing a smile to grace the edge of his mouth, the Horseman wordlessly relaxes his grasp on your duvet in favour of reaching out to gently take the soft toy out of your hands, lowering it down into his lap.

“I thought David Hasselhoof might make you feel better,” you tell him, bumping your shoulder against his companionably.

The Nephilim simply smiles, stroking his palm over the horse’s fuzzy mane.

“Hey, Strife?” 

“Mmm?”

You fiddle with your fingernail for a moment, dropping your eyes to the bed and taking a breath before you ask, “What did the demon say that made you so angry?”

It isn’t as though you want to pry. But having your friend turn up at your house in the dead of night with his stomach torn open warrants a couple of questions, in your honest opinion.

The Horseman’s brows knit together underneath his helm and he shifts slightly, twisting away from you further until you can’t even see the lights of his eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost dare to say that he looks shy. An impossibility, frankly.

When he speaks, his voice is gentle, a far cry from the normal, strident tone you’re used to hearing. “She, uh, she might’ve made a couple of threats about you.. Bad ones.” 

You wait for him to elaborate, but for some time, he doesn’t utter another word, prompting you to ask, “And?”

You very nearly reel backwards into your headboard when Strife whips around to face you. “And?!” he echoes, incredulous, “The Hell d’you mean ‘and?’ Isn’t that enough of a reason?!”

Taken aback, you lift your hands in a placating gesture and stammer, “Woah! I - I just meant... Well, it’s not like I haven’t been threatened before? Just seems like a weird thing for you to get so angry about.”

Without warning, the enormous Nephilim lurches to his feet, the cuddly horse left to tumble, forgotten out of his lap. “Did you not hear me?” he snaps, “She. Threatened. You!”

“A-and that... made you mad?”

“Did - Of course it did!” he all but howls, his voice cracking as it raises in pitch, “She made me listen to all the god damn, sick things she wanted to do to you when she found you! She said - she said, I’d never see you again!” Roughly, he drags his clawed fingertips through his spiky, black hair and exclaims, “Next thing I know, I’m droppin’ Redemption and Mercy, I’ve got her heart in my fist and I’m... I’m...” 

He trails off, knocked out of stride by his own admission. You remain silent, pressed up against your head board with the blankets clutched to your chest.

When he notices you staring up at him, small and wary amongst the sheets, the frustration saps from him like water circling the drain. “So... so yeah,” he huffs, his shoulders slumping and a great wave of shame crashing over him, “I got a little mad! I got a little pissed off. Cause I didn’t like hearin’ someone say they were gonna hurt my friend.”

And with that, he just... deflates, not unlike a punctured tyre. All the hot air inside him is dispelled with every heave of his mighty chest whilst he peers down at you, feeling the weight of your stare upon him. 

Guilt leaves a sour taste in his mouth, rancid and acidic.

You look so.. 

...scared.

Sometimes Strife forgets that to you, he’s an unassailable figure from biblical legend, a bringer of the end days and an ancient gunman with a body count higher than there are grains of sand on the earth. Of course you’re going to be scared of him when he’s raising his voice at you and towering over you like this. And all because he’d had the life scared out of him in the first place.

“I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to -” The words die on his lips and he sighs, defeatedly casting his eye over towards your bedroom window. He doesn’t want to leave you, not without knowing that his siblings have dealt with the remaining threats to your life. But... “I’ll just.. I’ll go.”

Turning his back on you, the Horseman bends to retrieve his discarded cuirass and takes a step towards the window, but a voice, thin as the cobwebs in the corner of your room, stops him in his tracks.

“Strife.” 

The Horseman doesn’t move. he just stares at the darkness through your curtains.

Minutes pass without another word said between you. He remains stubbornly silent, hardly daring to breathe let alone respond to his name, until eventually, he hears a soft huff and rustling behind him.

Footsteps pad across the room and your scent grows stronger as you draw near, wafting over him like an intoxicating aroma before your hand places itself into his palm and he instinctively curls his fingers around it, shuddering at the feel of your soft skin pressed like silk against his roughened hide.

Your tiny, fragile hand... Creator, he really is just a beast standing next to you, isn’t he? The last time he felt this monstrous was..

No. Strife abruptly slams the shutters of his mind down around any thoughts of the Animus. Now is not the time to let dredge up old memories.

Luckily, your voice breaks through the haze and keeps him grounded. “Come on, big guy. Stay here, please?"

“You want me to stay?” he chokes out a laugh, “Even after I scared you?”

“Scared me? What?” It’s your turn to sound confused. “You didn’t scare me Strife, you shocked me. I’ve never seen you this serious before.” 

The Horseman half turns to face you, giving you a glimpse of his warm, golden eyes. “And, I’ve never had a best friend before.” he admits slowly, hearing a soft intake of breath behind him.

“Wait?... I’m your best friend?”

With your hand still in his, Strife steps around slowly to face you, shooting you a quizzical glance. “Uh, yeah? I mean, I don’t exactly have a plethora of friends to choose from, so the competition isn’t that fie- Oof!”

He’s violently interrupted by a soft, squishy body colliding with his. 

You fling your arms around the stunned Horseman’s waist and bury your face into his chest, momentarily forgetting about his injury. Strife, meanwhile, has to employ every molecule of willpower he owns to refrain from flinching, fearing that you’ll let go if he does. He can’t ignore how high his heart just jumped at the feeling of you pressed against him, nor the way his soul soars after realising that you still trust him enough to get this close. 

It’s something that both he and his siblings are all having to get used to, these impromptu hugs. 

Fury had almost flipped you over her shoulder and onto the ground the first time you came at her with your arms open wide, assuming you were going in for an attack. 

War had pulled the most remarkable face, a mixture of alarm and wary delight that caused Strife to keel over in hysterics when you threw your arms around his broad stomach.

Death... Well, Strife hadn’t been around to witness your first hug with his oldest brother, but he imagines it must have been like hugging a block of cold stone.

And Strife? Well, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the first hug you gave him. It was so tight and comfortable, and for all of a moment, the only things that existed were the two of you. Inside the binding circle of your arms, his troubles couldn’t touch him, the anguish of his sins took a backseat and he became convinced that he could live happily and peacefully until the end of time trapped in your silent embrace.

The sentiment hasn’t dulled with frequency either. Every hug he receives is as powerful and intoxicating as the last. 

This one is no different. 

Strife's large, thickset arms carefully raise to your delicate back and shoulders, where he simply folds himself around you, pushing the nose of his helm into your soft, messy hair and drawing in a long, deep breath, earning your snort of amusement.

“You a big fan of coconut, then?”

“Is that what that smell is?” he mumbles, feeling the world settle around him as his eyes slip shut, “S'different from last time...”

“...Setting aside the fact that you remember what my hair smelled like last time we hugged.. I ran out of apple shampoo.”

“Mmm.” He trails off, humming into your hair, a sound that rumbles straight through you and leaves the top of your head tingling.

It takes your brain another few seconds to recall the injury on his torso.

“Oh, shit,” you hiss, leaning back and instantly finding your progress blocked by the Horseman's sturdy forearms. “I'm sorry, I didn't think -”

“- Eh, s'fine,” he cuts you off.

“It's not! I forgot, you need to be resting it!”

Strife grumbles his displeasure when you suddenly become very wriggly. “Strife, let go. You should be resting, not standing.”

Cracking one eye open, he roves his gaze over towards your bed. “Resting, huh? …. Not a bad idea.”

Without warning, he stoops down, and for the second time tonight, you find yourself suddenly swept up off your feet, bleating out a garbled squawk of alarm. “Stop picking me up! You'll start bleeding again!”

Smirking to himself, the Horseman takes two, loping steps towards your bed and lowers you down amongst the folds of the duvet, taking great pleasure in crawling over the top of you to get to the other side, armour and all. It isn't the first time he's rested in your bed, usually following a long night of playing your video games and catching up on all the human things he's been missing out on, and it likely won't be the last.

The bed springs creak despondently as he lifts his corner of the duvet and flops heavily onto his side next to you, grinning at the unimpressed glare you're shooting him.

“I like your bed,” he announces, burrowing himself deeper beneath the duvet, “You got a lot of pillows. And-”

His hand rustles beneath the covers for a moment before he winks... and slowly draws out David Hasselhoof, wiggling him back and forth in front of your eyes. “There's room for a threesome.”

“Oh my god. Goodnight, Strife!” Your lips quiver until you give in and crack a genuine smile, grabbing a pillow and whapping it softly down onto his helm. You get no resistance from the Horseman at all in retaliation. He merely lays there with his head hidden, black tufts of hair sticking out from behind your pillow as his shoulders bounce around a throaty chuckle.

Leaving him where he is, you roll over, turn off the fairy lights and plunge your bedroom into cozy, unassailable darkness.

A thick silence falls over the two of you, and the back of your neck begins to prickle, sensing without a shadow of a doubt that the Horseman's eyes are open and watching you. Sure enough, you peel your eyelids apart and find that your far wall is faintly illuminated by the golden light that emanates from his gaze.

Rolling your eyes, you resign yourself to a long night of fighting for your covers and kicking a wriggling Horseman back over onto his own side of the bed. And yet... if it's him, if it's Strife, it most likely won’t bother you in the slightest.

The alarm clock on your bedside table steadily ticks over to the three o'clock mark and you finally feel sleep crawl up behind your eyes. Just as you think you might nod off, however, the bed shakes ever so slightly, and behind you, there's the sound of shuffling sheets. It stops just as suddenly as it starts and you snort, chalking it up to a certain, restless Horseman trying to get used to the human-sized bed.

Several more minutes pass.

The shuffling starts up again, then it stops.

The same thing happens again a few more minutes later and your eyes snap open when something cool and solid nudges gently into the back of your head and you hear a quiet sniff before the whole bed shudders as the enormous Horseman laying upon it releases a monstrously low rumble of contentment.

-----

Strife leaves his helm right behind you all night, not that you'd know until the morning however, when you jerk awake to your bedroom door suddenly slamming open and Death thundering inside. He takes one look at his brother laying at your back and promptly begins a lecture that you're fairly certain will be the favoured topic of neighbourhood gossip for some time to come.

[slowly-writing]

Bullying

Natasha Romanoff x Teen!Reader

Word count: 2K

Requested by anon: Can you do an imagine where natashas daughter is being bullied and she finds out?

You have your hands shoved in your pockets, pulling your jacket down and allowing the hood to fall more into your face, blocking you from the harsh stares of your classmates. You should’ve expected your life to turn out like this. You knew what high school was like. Fitting in was the main priority and the mob of insecure students would swarm anything different.

You should’ve known that you’d be the number one target. The adopted teenager living with the most famous heroes in the world. It was dumb to think you’d be able to fly under the radar the way Peter had. The boy had comforted you those days leading up to your freshman year. Having just finished his own he told you that it would be fine. Boy was he wrong.

The freshman hall was far enough away from the sophomores that he never saw your torment, and over the last three years you learned how to make sure he never would. You wouldn’t let the boy who’d always been like an older brother to you get caught in the crossfire. He’d try to stick up for you and blow the only normal thing he had left. You’ve made it to junior year, you can make it the rest of the way.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by a shoulder slamming into yours, sending you stumbling into the lockers.

“Watch it Annie!” A girl called over her shoulder and you frowned at the nickname. Ever since the kids found out you were adopted they started calling you Annie, after the orphan girl, and you hated it. Rather than saying anything you just quickened your pace and slipped into your first class.

“It’s fine that they call me that,” you mumble to yourself, “that way I don’t flinch at the sound of my own name being called. I’d never be able to hide that from Peter. Or Wanda. Especially not from mom.”

You try to rationalize everything as you settle into your desk, pretending not to see the kids pointing at you and laughing as you become the brunt of their joke.

xxxxx

You manage to ignore it for the most part. The words aren’t what hurt. Well they do, whoever said words will never hurt me obviously didn’t know what they were talking about. But that hurt you could cover with a fake smile and an excuse of being stressed over homework or some other thinly veiled excuse. The giant bruise forming on your forehead was harder to hide.

Some girl named Beverly decided it’d be funny to trip you at lunch, sending you head first into the table. Now you had a lovely purple mark and some swelling by your hairline. Thank god you left a beanie in your locker. It should be enough to cover the injury.

“Hey Romanoff!” The call of your name makes your head snap up in panic, you quickly pull on the hat as Peter makes his way towards you.

“Oh hey Pete, what brings you to my neck of the woods?” you ask, a genuine smile on your face for the first time today.

“I’m heading to the tower to do some work with Tony, wanna walk together?” his smile is wide as he asks, completely carefree, and you wish you could feel that way as well.

“Uh, yeah. Sounds good,” you try to sound casual. There’s no way to brush him off without being obvious. You’re waking the exact same route. Luckily the walk home is fairly uneventful. The assholes seem to be warded off by Peter. The late autumn heat has him in a tank top that shows off his arms, and while he’s not the buffest guy in the school, it’s obvious he can hold his own. If only they knew how strong he really was.

You see a few people staring, more like glaring, but you’re able to ignore them pretty easily. Soon enough the two of you are walking into the lobby of the tower incident free.

“I’m gonna head to the labs. You good from here?” Peter’s question feels heavy, almost as if he was intentionally trying to make you feel safer, but you brush the feeling off with a nod and a wave as you head to the elevator. You’re probably overthinking it. A few moments later you're in the common room and you let out a sigh of relief. Finally a safe place. No teasing here, or at least none with any malice behind it.

“Hey, y/n. How was school?” you look up to see Wanda on the couch and you immediately blush.

“Hey Wan, it was alright. How was...whatever it is you do here during the day?” you tease and she rolls her eyes, a matching blush painting her cheeks. Thank god the kids at school don’t know about this...whatever you have with Wanda. They’d tear you to shreds.

“I do online school and I work, thank you very much. I do important stuff here, ya know, like saving the world,” she’s glaring at you as she says it, but you can see something in her eyes. You can’t quite place it, friendship, something more? Whatever it is, it’s so different from the hate you see from the kids at school.

“A bit full of yourself, aren’t you? I feel like that’s all just fancy talk for free loading and laziness. You gotta get out there, get some dirt under your nails. You’re too spoiled, spending all this time in the tower,” you notice yourself leaning closer to her as you talk and your eyes involuntarily flash towards her lips as butterflies take over your stomach.

“And that uh…that fancy private school you spend your time in. That’s gotta be really...tough?” she tries to defend herself but her words come out weak as she inches ever so much closer. you ‘re about to close the gap when you hear a voice from the doorway.

“I thought I heard you come in. How was school?” The two of you spring apart at your mom’s voice.

“It was good,” you squeak out, adjusting your hat to cover your forehead.

“Yeah, learning a lot,” Wanda mumbles as your mom rolls her eyes. She’s well aware of the weird relationship you and Wanda have, and while she’d prefer you didn’t date until you’re well into your thirties she knows if you’re going to, then Wanda is a good choice.

“What’s with the beanie, love? It’s like eighty degrees out,” your mom’s questions has you panicking.

“I uh...like it. It’s cool,” you defend and Wanda rolls her eyes this time, back to her playful self from earlier.

“I’m sweating just looking at you. Let me help!” she teases and you see the red mist around her hands before you feel it.

“No!” you lunge at her, as if you’d be any match for her powers, but before you even reach her your hat is floating in the air and her eyes are wide.

“What the hell happened?” your mom’s voice is harsh and tears are already gathering in your eyes. You look frantically between your mom and Wanda, who seems to take the hint.

“I’ll give you two some space,” Wanda says before hastily leaving the room.

“Y/n, what happened?” she asks again, gentler this time but you still try to get out of it.

“It’s nothing-” the look in her eyes stops you. It’s the look she sent you when you would try to sneak candy after bedtime when you were little, but this time there’s a pain mixed in that you’re not used to seeing. “It’s just some kids at school. They like to pick on me. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“How long has this been going on?” She looks...sad and it kind of scares you. That’s not an emotion you’re used to your mom having. Stoicness, yes especially when she’s working. Happiness, yes; more often since you came around your uncles tell you. Love, confidence, bravery, exasperation, even anger sometimes. But almost never sadness or pain and now she’s shown both of those in a matter of minutes.

“Mom,” you try again but she shakes her head, brushing the tears forming in her eyes.

“How long, love?” she asks again and you sigh.

“Since freshman year.” It’s her turn to sigh. Sitting next to you on the couch and pulling you into her side gently. It’s an odd mix of emotions, you can see on her face that she doesn’t know if she wants to cry or burn your school to the ground. You’re sure Wanda is getting a headache trying to sort through the many emotions coming from this room. You ignore that though. You leave the turmoil to everyone else for once as you finally relax, the weight of your secret finally off your shoulders.

“Friday, call Wanda and Peter in here please,” her voice is calm, and you don’t know if you should be scared.

“Mom? What are you-”

“I just want to talk to them,” she cuts you off, and you don’t have time to argue before the two are entering the room.

“Hey Miss Romanoff, Friday said you wanted to-Oh my god! What happened?” Peter yells as he sees the bruise maring your face, and Wanda is silent behind him as he processes the scene. Her eyes are red, almost like she’s been crying. Was she crying for you?

“By that reaction I’m guessing you didn’t know about this. Maximoff, are those tears of sympathy or fear for your life?” your mom snaps and you glare at her.

“I didn’t know, if that’s what you’re asking. I wouldn’t have sat by while she was being hurt,” there’s an anger behind Wanda’s words that you weren’t expecting. You didn’t think she’d cared this much. It makes sense, though, when you think about how you’d feel if the situation was reversed.

“As much as I wanna walk down to the school guns blazing, I can’t go beat up a bunch of kids, so I’m going to need the two of you to look out for her,” you scoff and stand from the couch at your mom’s words, crossing your arms across your chest.

“Excuse me, I’m right here. I’m not an invalid! And Wanda doesn’t even go to my school.”

“I’m well aware, you and I are starting training as soon as that heals,” she gestures to your forehead, “and Wanda will be enrolling in your school. Tony can have it all set up by tomorrow.”

“What? No! I’m not letting her start school just so she can get beaten up too!” you practically yell, but Wanda’s hand on your arm has you looking to her.

“I’m not letting my…” there’s a heavy pause, one that you know you’ll have to find the right word for soon, “friend get hurt when I could help. Plus, they quite literally can’t hurt me, and I want to be there for you.”

Her words have your resolve cracking, but you don’t want to give in that easy. “You’re a year older. You’ll be gone before me,” you try to argue and Wanda looks away, a blush of embarrassment on her cheeks.

“She also missed a lot of school in Sokovia. She tested in a grade below you,” your mom explains, and it clicks as to why Wanda always did school online. Well one of the reasons at least, she’d be two years older than her classmates.

“Well I could tutor you,” you offer quickly, not wanting Wanda to feel ashamed in front of you. “It seems like we’re gonna be spending most of our time together. Plus you’re miles smarter than me. You’ll be the one teaching me in no time.”

“Then it’s settled. This won’t happen again.” Your mom’s words feel more like a promise and you smile. “And I want the names of the girls that did this to you.”

“Mom! I thought you agreed no beating up kids!” you argue, a smile finding its way back on your face as you try to hold back a laugh.

“I’m not going to beat them up. But I never said anything about some light hacking,” she says with a wink and you roll your eyes, not entirely sure if she’s kidding or not.

tag list: @rvgrsbrns @rororo06 @prizmix-and-friends @worlds-in-words @im-salt-but-not-salty @5aftermidnight @riotmaximoff @xxxtwilightaxelxxx 

Marvel women tag list: @imnotasuperhero 

Natasha Romanoff tag list: @indiavance555

[pthalomars]

Synopsis of Jay's Empire AU⚡⚡

[[Made by me and @culturalmochi ]]

The way it starts out is that Jay goes on a solo mission, finds the hard drive for Prime Empire, and gets trapped in the game.

Nobody knows where he went, so the ninja are desperately trying to find him.

Time in game moves a lot faster than in real life, so a few weeks for the ninja is a few months (close to a year) inside of the game.

Jay met Scott and he showed him the ropes of the game, but tried to subtly warn him about Unagami. Jay spent a lot of time leveling up and grinding so he could get high stats, but later found out that he wasn't able to leave or communicate with the outside world. Enter Unagami.

Unagami tells Jay that he sees potential in him, and that he's impressed with his progress through the game. They begin to have a sort of mentor/mentee kind of relationship.

Once again, time moves much faster in game. So jay starts to miss the real world and tells Unagami that he misses his friends. Unagami tells Jay, "if they were really your friends, they would have come back for you by now, wouldn't they?"

Later on, Jay is approached by none other than the ninja! His dearest friends finally coming back to rescue him and bring him home!

But as he spends more time with them, something feels... wrong. It turns out they're NPC's, and in his mission objective list, it says he has to "discard" them. So he does, and they crumble into little pixelated cubes. He levels up.

This repeats several times, each time the ninja dupes become more rude, indifferent, hateful. At some point they become so far removed from their true counterparts that the only thing in common they share is their appearances.

Then comes the time where Unagami is ready to open the game to the rest of the world. He brings Jay to help him spread the word by broadcasting an advertisement for Prime Empire.

That's when the ninja find out where Jay has been this whole time.

So the real gang enters Prime Empire and find Jay, who looks displeased to see them even if he tries to hide it.

Everyone is so happy to see him and to bring him out of the game, surrounding him with hugs and tears of joy.

But then Jay checks his objectives. "Discard the ninja". It's the same as it's always been, so he goes along with it.

But as Jay journeys with his friends through the game, he slowly comes to the realization that they aren't NPC's.. they're his real friends.

Scott, when he was first sucked in by the game, leveled up really fast and eventually gained the attention of Unagami. Unagami said he saw "great potential" in him and gave him access to the coding of the game. For Scott, this means he can essentially influence and change parts of the game, but not always by his own free will. With him being connected to the coding, that includes his thoughts, emotions, memories, trauma, etc. this connection also gave Unagami a way to keep track of where Scott was and what he was doing at all times. 

so eventually, Unagami wants to bring empire to the physical world, but he needs help getting the world out. he tells Scott his plan and Scott is like "actually, fuck this :)" and escapes from Unagami. in order to keep him from tracking his every move, Scott cuts off his own connection to the game's code. He hunkers down in his hideout and tries to plot a way to a)escape and b)prevent Unagami from taking over the real world. 

so finally, Jay enters the game! Scott finds him running away from red visors and picks him up and takes him to his hideout. Scott explains the general rules of the game, gives him tips on how to survive, glitches, cheats, all of it. but he tries to warn him about Unagami and Jay is too enraptured with the thrall of the game to pay any mind to Scott's warnings. Jay starts leveling up and progressing, very similar to how Scott did, and gained the same kind of attention from Unagami. he saw great potential in him. at that point, Scott says that Jay can't come to the hideout anymore, and Jay asks why. Scott says "i already told you, but you didn't listen to me." and so Jay goes to Unagami. Unagami promises him steep advantages in the game, protection, etc and Jay is going along with it because, to him, its still just a game. the gravity of the situation hasn't quite hit him yet. he doesn't know that he's trapped. 

so now, Jay and Unagami have a sort of mentor/mentee kind of relationship, and Jay very much fits into the role of the teachers pet. the red visors are **VERY** protective of him and will often accompany him wherever he goes unless he tells them to leave (sometimes they listen, sometimes they dont). There is one red visor who is particularly close to Jay. she goes with him everywhere and is the most protective of him compared to the other RV's. Jay tries to talk with her sometimes, and one day he asks her what her name is. her voice glitches out a lot, like something is corrupted in her code. she repeats "four o-oh four-r-r AA e-rror-r four o-o-oh four-r AA" and Jay is like "hmm.. rora? can i call you rora?" and she just nods at him. (Rora becomes important later!!)

so anyways, going back to how Unagami has adopted Jay as his mentee, Jay has the same kind of access to the game's coding that Scott does. including the influence of his memories and past traumas. this manifests in several ways, but one of which is how the NPC clones of the ninja interact with him. Jay has a lot of issues with self esteem and often fears that nobody really cares about him, finds him annoying, etc. so with each iteration of the ninja dupes, they become meaner and meaner until the only resemblance they share to their irl counterparts is their physical appearance. 

Jay (not realizing that Unagami is the one creating the dupes) goes to Unagami to vent about how he misses his friends and wishes they could join him in the game. Unagami tells Jay "if they were really your friends, they would have come for you by now. They probably forgot about you. but it's not you ever needed them anyways. here, you are powerful, loved by everybody, adored by the masses. in here, you are important." gotta love that gaslight gatekeep gameboss moment. eventually, Unagami is ready to bring prime empire to the physical world once he's seen Jay get to the same point that Scott was at. Unagami says that he needs Jays help to deliver the message, and that crossing the line between digital and physical means that Jay can go back to the real world while still maintaining the same power and reputation he has in the game. Jay agrees and works with Unagami to make an advertisement. 

this is the advertisement script: 

[Do you want to join Prime Empire?

“What is Prime Empire?” it’s a fully immersive, futuristic video game experience! Using the latest virtual emulation technology, players are quite literally part of the game. Customize your avatar, meet other players, level up, and compete in tournaments!

“But how do I join?” The answer is simple, silly! Prime Empire can be found in your arcades, in your consoles, even on your phones! You would have to live under a rock to not find your way in.

“How do I win?” Your quest is to seek out the legendary Keytanas. But be warned, there are challenges that you will face. Deadly forests, dangerous races, and more! Will you rise above the rest and claim your rightful victory?

Join today, but don’t delay! Only the first 100 players will get a chance to meet yours truly (winks). In the Super Star Rocking Jay event, I will teach you the ropes of the game, along with exclusive tips that will give you an advantage over other players!

Do you have what it takes? Prove your worth and become part of Prime Empire!] 

however, Scott has caught wind of the ad, and so he hacks into the broadcast and tries to warn everybody to "STAY OUT OF PRIME EMPIRE!!" but once again, his warnings fall on deaf ears. 

however, now the ninja know where Jay has been all this time! they manage to be part of the 1st 100 players in the game and go to the super star rocking Jay event. Kai, Nya, Lloyd, Cole, pixal and zane all get in the game. but due to their own coding, pixal and zane despawn and get plopped back in the real world within the first 10mins of the game. They spend a lot of time outside of prime empire trying to find ways to re-enter the game.

so now we finally get to when the (remaining) ninja meet up with Jay, and he is disappointed at best when he sees them. but when they surround him with love and hugs and tears of joy, it throws him off guard. all of the NPC's were never this kind to him. He checks his objective menu and a new notification shows up. "discard the ninja". same as it's always been. part of the objective has always been to "not let the ninja know that you know they are fakes." but after all of this time, Jay has grown tired and so he doesn't really bother trying to keep up appearances. he won't flat out say that he thinks they're fakes, but his demeanor is completely off. 

the ninja make it to okino and they start going through the forest, the cliffs, and finally the maze of the red dragon. throughout this time, there are several little moments that lead Jay to believe that these might be his real friends. he tries to write them off, but it keeps nagging at him. in the canon scene where Unagami pauses the game and talks to okino, its the same except its Jay that Unagami talks to. "just wanted to check in with you, everything is still going according to plan, correct?" Jay responds with "yes, but these ones are different. none of the other clones have acted so.. so close to my real friends." Unagami scoffs "these ones are just as fake as the others. make sure you complete your objective. we are very close to bridging the gap, and I wouldn't want anybody to hold you back from being at my side when we cross over." Jay agrees and the game resumes. 

Jay has the perfect opportunity to let his friends perish at the hands of the dragon, but something in him screams at him to help them win. he points out the scale on the back of the dragon, they defeat it, and Jay gets the dragon summon. instead of keeping it, he gives it to Cole. "i figure you guys will probably need it more than me. I've got higher stats, i can take care of myself." (that dragon summon becomes important later) so ANYWAY now its time for the speedway 5billion. but they don't have enough credits so they have to get some extra money. the gang goes to the dance battle, but! theres also a karaoke battle they have to participate in. Jay and Cole sing Everybody Wants To Rule The World by Tears for Fears (this song is also important later!) and they win the contest and get enough credits to enter the race. however... 

by this point in time, Jay is pretty sure that this group is his **real** friends, and he doesn't feel like he can go through with his objective anymore. besides, would clones really dance with him? sing his favorite songs with him? watch out for him when danger approaches? smile at him with such kindness and sincerity? clones wouldnt, but his real friends would. once again, his connection to the code means that Unagami is able to track him, and also take peeks into his mind. Unagami senses this realization and pauses the game again to confront him. "Jay, you must not let these clones cloud your judgement. you still have a mission to complete." Jay says "Unagami, these aren't dupes! they're really my friends, and they came back for me! i can't just "discard" them like you want me to. I won't!" "you WILL if you ever want to leave this digital space. if you will not join me in bridging the gap, then you will be left in here for all of eternity. the choice is yours, Jay walker." and with that, the game resumes. 

the ninja are all talking and they realize that Jay has gone silent. "Jay? you good?" Kai asks. Jay snaps out of it and reassures them that he's fine. but thats when he sees *him*. in the crowd of NPC's bustling about the city, he sees nadakhan. staring at him with that evil, calculated grin and begins approaching them. Jay's eyes go wide and his stomach drops. "are you sure you're okay?" Lloyd asks. "we.. we need to get out of here. we need to leave *now*" Jay says with a quiet, wavering voice. Just as he moves to flee, Nya gasps.

It was the scene of Nya dying. She was cradled in Jay's arms, muttering her last words before going completely limp. The master of lightning shook with broken sobs, clinging to his friend as if holding her tight enough could bring her back. That was the day that Jay Walker had lost everything.

And now, that moment was set on an infinite loop, broadcasted on every screen in the capital city of Prime Empire.

Jay was frozen, unable to do anything but succumb to his rising panic.

Nya was in a similar state, feeling the sharp pains of her chest that came from her old wound. She remembered dying, the pain and vulnerability. Now her final moments were in full display.

The rest of them gazed in horror and confusion, unable to comprehend what was going on. Jay thinks he heard Kai yelling, maybe he was asking why his sister was dying over and over again. Cole sounded like he was trying to warn everyone about the approaching assailants. Those of which looked like clones of the Misfortune's crew, including their tyrannical captain.

It was all too much. Jay felt his digital blood freeze in his veins, his air cutting off entirely, and his vision slowly turning to static.

Nadakhan. Nya. Tiger widow venom. Kai. Nadhakan. Nya. Zane. Cole. Nya. Lloyd. Nadakhan. Nya. Nya. Nya. N-

Jay's friends tried to reach for him, to help him, but then it happened.

An explosion of lightning burst from Jay's body, flooding through the city with blue and white pixelated sparks. And once the wave had passed, the city went dark. The screens that were looping that wretched day were now idle. The Misfortune's crew were nowhere to be seen. Jay had fallen unconscious. 

"What are you guys doing here?" Scott asked, his face contorted in concern.

"Scott, it- its Jay. He had this weird power surge and he-" Lloyd stuttered before him and his friends were roughly yanked inside of Scott's hideout.

Cole was carrying Jay's limp body, and followed Scott's instructions to lay him on the workbench. But not before he had thrown all of his tools and blueprints on the ground in a rush.

"What did you say? About a power surge?"

"It was-" Lloyd started again

"It was like he exploded," Kai cut in, "we've never seen his element act like that."

"The city, it went dark." Nya added.

"And there was something going on with the city screens, they were showing-" said Cole.

"My sister dying! Over and over again! That's not part of the game, right?!"

"Guys guys! Chill the fuck out, one at a time." Scott demanded. They all went quiet before Nya spoke up.

"The screens showed one of Jay's memories. One of his most traumatic ones. NPC's started changing into people that.. are related to that memory. They started attacking us from all sides. Jay had gone into a panic attack before he surged. That wave of power blew out the whole city's power and everything went dark. After that he passed out."

Scott looked at her with a look of dread.

"This is worse than I thought.."

"What do you mean worse? Scott, what's wrong with Jay?" Cole asked. Scott sighed.

"He's.. he's become part of the game."

"Like an NPC?" Lloyd said.

"No, not an NPC. His memories, his soul, his life force- it's bleeding into the coding of the game. His emotions and memories are able to affect the behavior of the game. Environments, NPCs, everything."

"How do you know all of that, Scott?" Nya interjected.

"Because he's just like me."

"What??" The ninja said in unison.

"When I first came into the game, Unagami wanted me to bring Prime Empire to the real world. To break out of this digital prison and conquer the rest of the physical world. I agreed to help him because I didn't see any other way out of this hellscape. He granted me access to the code. So I'm just as connected to Prime Empire as Jay is. My memories are there too.

But the thing is, is that I've cut myself off of the code. It's the only way I could hide from Unagami, since I had abandoned ship and didn't want to help him anymore. I'm a threat because I can affect the code.

But if I don't connect to it, I stay hidden.

But Jay, his connection is so strong by this point. Everything he does changes the game.

He's gonna be okay, for now, but I can't guarantee the same for all of you." Scott finished, his eyes sunken and tired.

"Wh- what are we supposed to do then? How can we get Jay out of here?" Kai asked.

"Beat the game. As far as I know, there's no other way out of here."

They all looked at each other, faces grim but determined.

"Well we can't leave here without Jay, can we stay here until he wakes up?" Said Nya.

"Absolutely not." Scott replied.

"What? Why??" Cole butted in.

"The longer you guys stay here, with h i m, the more danger all of us are in. Jay is part of the coding, Unagami can find him. And that means he can find u s."

"Well how do we wake him up? There's gotta be some way!" Lloyd pleaded.

Scott looked at Jay's unconscious form.

"Fuck, okay, let me try something." 

so Scott does the only thing he can think of that might work. he reconnects himself to the game's code in order to "plug in" to Jay and wake him up. when he plugs in, Scott sees Jay in a dark, endless room. he's crouched on the ground, sobbing and shaking

But thrashing from his body is manifestations of his trauma, like a horrible amalgamation that is distorting his physical form and its. Horrifying.

Scott looks at him and tries to approach him without getting hurt

He gets to him and he makes contact with his shoulder and then the surge of energy happens and he gets unplugged and shot across the room, and Jay wakes up with a start, chest heaving and his eyes still wet with tears. Cole is there right next to Jay, and Jay clings onto him like a lifeline. Kai wraps his arms around Jay too and they hold him and comfort him as best they can. Lloyd and Nya go over to Scott to see if he's okay. he groans and sits up, Lloyd and Nya help him stand. "what happened? what was that??" Nya asks. "I woke him up. but its not safe anymore. you guys have to get him out of here, or else Unagami is gonna show up and if he does.. well its safe to assume it'll be game over for all of us." 

"we still have to win the highway 5billion and get the second keytana." Cole says, "and we need cars." Scott sighs at this, "i've got cars you can use, i won't be using them very much anymore anyways." "what does that mean?" Kai asks. "did you not hear me? its game over. you guys have to get Jay out of here." Scott says. "Scott, you know the game better than anyone, we need your help. will you race with us?" Nya pleads. Scott is about to reject when he looks at Jay. Jay is looking at him with a look that breaks his heart. "fine. I'll race with you guys." 

so they fix up the cars and enter the SW5B and Scott is like "i guess if we're going in, i might as well get a new look." so he customizes his avatar (if u check my post with his redesign, thats the avatar he has, the glowing parts of his outfit change colors!) and they start the race! Scott doesn't have his own car, instead he's jumping from vehicle to vehicle and taking out the other drivers so that the ninja can win. he uses his baseball bat as a melee weapon but it can also shoot lasers! Kai still gets that loot box upgrade and has the running mech, and just like in canon, Cole and Kai get cubed. so does Scott, he gets run over lol. now its just Jay, Nya, and Lloyd and they make their way to the temple of madness.

then we have the fight. in canon its Lloyd and harumi, but in this au, Jay enters the arena instead. he gets in and the game picks his fighter. expecting it to be someone he's fought before, he prepares himself. but nothing could have prepared him for who he saw standing in front of him. it was echo zane. 

Nya stares in horror and Lloyd is confused. "who is that? that can't be zane, right? why would he be part of the game?" Lloyd asks. Nya can't say anything, and neither can Jay. Jay wants to give up, he cant fight echo. someone who helped him in the most dire of times, only to be left alone on that island for the rest of eternity. Jay had never gone back for him, and that guilt he felt had just kicked into high gear having to look echo in the eyes. but then echo starts attacking him, and Jay has to defend himself. Jay wins, and sees echo disappear after the final blow. the walls of the arena disappear and Jay falls to his knees. Lloyd and Nya move in immediately to help him up. "seriously, what the hell is going on?? why aren't you guys saying anything??" Lloyd demands. "we can't talk about it right now, Lloyd. we'll have to tell you later." Nya says quietly. her voice is tight and dies in her throat. Lloyd gets the hint and doesn't push it any further. 

so the three of them make it through the sushi restaurant and make it to the gate with the 3 keytanas. Jay, Lloyd, and Nya go to put in the blades and they open the gate. standing in front of them is none other than Unagami. "Jay, you have disappointed me. you were so important, so valued, and you have thrown that away for the sake of your so-called 'friends'. thankfully, there is still a place for you." Unagami says. "i don't WANT a place with you! you've hurt me, you've hurt my friends, you've hurt so many innocent people. all of those cubes? those are REAL PEOPLE! i can't let you do this Unagami. I won't let you get away with this." Jay says defiantly. Unagami sighs, "i was hoping it would not come to this. but if you chose to act this way, you will face the consequences. you will help me bridge this gap, whether you like it or not." and Unagami holds out his hands. an intense blue beam of light bursts from his palms and hits Jay square in the chest. the light is absorbed by his body and his form begins to glitch and spasm violently. mochi and i have called this the Blue Screen of Death. (tw for mild(?) body horror) Jay is overcome by the blue and his body begins to grow and distort, all the while he's screaming and his cries are glitched out and staticky. Lloyd and Nya watch, frozen in fear as their friend begins to grow to massive size, writhing in agony. Jay thrashes and knocks into both of them, sending them off the side of the platform and cubing them. the last two energy cubes join the gate and Jay crawls through. 

(with this scene, in the background, the lorde version of everybody wants to rule the world would be playing, just as a nice parallel to the song from earlier at the karaoke battle)

MEANWHILE, as pixal and zane attempted to find ways to get back into the game, find milton dyer, etc, zane gets captured by the mechanic. everything goes the same as it does in canon where the mechanic hooks zane up to the gate. 

and now, we get a look at where everybody who got cubed resides. Scott, when he was cubed, was greeted by Unagami personally. he criticized him for his actions and expressed his disappointment before ultimately locking him inside of a digital cell. Scott figured that this was how the rest of his life would be, trapped in a cage with no way out and no way to die. but then! Rora shows up. that corruption in her system from the beginning? that was her beginning to break away from her coding and becoming more of a person. she saw what happened to Jay, and she wants to help him. she breaks Scott out and they agree to work together to save Jay. but they're gonna need all the help they can get. together, Scott and rora free the ninja and all of the other cubed players and they make it through the portal. 

and thats where they see Jay, now as tall as the skyscrapers in ninjago city and wreaking havoc on the entire area. 

everyone looks up at him in utter horror and see just how corrupted he's become. he's wailing in pain as he drives his guitar down on building after building. thrashing and flailing, causing the structures around him to crumble and collapse. "how the fuck are we gonna fix this?!" Nya cries. "i can help." Unagami approaches them. everyone gets into fighting stances, ready to beat Unagami into the pavement. "i did not realize that corrupting him would turn out like this. i know how to fix him, but i need your help." "why should we help YOU?" Kai growls. "if you want to save your city and your friend from complete destruction, you *will* help me." and so Unagami explains that if they can lure Jay back through the portal, Unagami can undo his corruption and fix Jays "coding" 

so now the ninja are trying to figure out how to get Jay's attention and bring him back through the portal. it seems like nothing is working, and then Cole gets an idea. he starts singing the lyrics to everybody wants to rule the world. it seems to get Jay's attention, so he keeps singing.

the others hear him and they join in. now they have Jay's attention, and he's closing in on them. that dragon summon from earlier? now thats when that comes in handy. Cole calls the digidragon and rides it so that Jay cant crush him while he lures him back to the portal. low and behold, they manage to get Jay through the portal, Unagami purifies his "coding" and they return to the physical world once again. Unagami gets to have his talk with milton and all of the npcs+pcs that want to come out do, and the others stay in the game. the city is in shambles, the portal closes, and zane+pixal+wu reunite with the others. 

the car ride home is very quiet. everyone is exhausted, Jay is asleep and leaning on Cole's shoulder. they have a lot to talk about, but for now, they just want to sleep through the night. they make it home, go to their separate rooms, and go to bed.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand thats pretty much all of it!! theres a little epilogue that has snippets of what Scott, racer 7, okino, and rora do now that they're outside of the game, but thats just kinda there lol.

[socialwriter]

Simp

**Gif by @rafecameron​**

Idea by @ptersparkers​: the x times rafe/jj is caught being soft and refuses to admit it and the one time he does bc i’m a sucker for that but can someone write it because i want it but i don’t wanna write it 

Part of my week of fluff

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

TW: Soft boi Rafe 

1.5k+

Summary: 3+1 of the three times Rafe didn’t admit he was a softie (simp), and the one time he did

Requests featured: 

@anonymous0writer​: hi bubs. week of fluff: ““I know I’ve kissed you like, ten times, but just like another ten, please.” w soft rafe or topper?? ty bubs

@softstarkey​:  “Would you mind if I kissed you?” w rafe 🥰

anon:  could you maybe write something about being super cuddly with rafe? your one w pope got me🥺🥺🥺

@butgilinsky​:  cooking dinner for rafe😪 or vice versa i’m not picky. also ily💓

A/n: I am now feeling the pressure of having five people’s wants in one fic, but i shall suffer in silence, also this is my first x + 1 fic so I hope it doesn’t suck oop

You and Rafe were both lounging around, your head on his chest and his arms around you when you looked up at him and noticed something you hadn’t before. “Woah, you have long eyelashes.”

He looked down at you, quirking a brow. “Do I? Huh, never noticed.”

“Yea, they just go blond at the end so you can’t see ‘em. You know...I could fix that for you.” You tell him, a devilish glint in your eyes. He furrows his brows, slightly scared as to what you had in mind. “What do you mean…”

You don’t answer his question, instead getting up out of his bed and walking into the joint bathroom, sifting through your makeup bag until eventually you find your mascara. “Aha!”

Rafe sits up, now curious as to what you were planning on doing. “Babe, what are you getting in there?”

You casually walk back into his bedroom, an excited grin plastered on your face as you crawl into bed once more and sit in his lap, wrapping your legs around his torso. “I’m gonna use mascara on you!” You exclaim, showing him the black tube.

His eyes widen, and he shakes his head violently at the very idea of wearing makeup. “Nope, there is absolutely no way I am doing that. You’re tripping babe.”

You pout, jutting out your bottom lip in the way that always got you what you wanted when it came to your boyfriend. “But baby, you’ll look so pretty and it’ll make your beautiful eyes pop even more.”

He frowned, staring at the tube of makeup. “Does it hurt?”

“Not one bit baby.” You assured him, pushing back some of the hair that had fallen in his face.

“Ok alright fine, if you want to do it I’ll do it.” 

You squeal, clapping your hands together and giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “I swear you’ll love it.” You get to work applying the makeup quickly before he has the chance to change his mind. He surprisingly doesn’t flinch much while you’re applying, but that all changes when you’re applying the last bit of mascara and Wheezie walks in.

“Hey Rafe have you seen m-oh my god.” She exclaims, an amused grin forming on her face. “What are you doing.”

“Wheezie get out of here!” He screams, unable to actually get up and push her out so of course, she stays to tease him.

“Wow, Y/n, really gotta hand it to you. You did the impossible and turned Rafe Cameron soft.” 

You giggled, resting your head on Rafe’s shoulder and kissing his jaw. “Thanks Wheezie.”

Rafe scoffs loudly, glaring at his youngest sister. “Both of you shut it! I am not soft!”

You snort in response to his words, giving him a soft kiss on the neck. “Of course not, baby.”

Wheezie giggles, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “Ok ok, you’re not soft. Whatever you say you simp.” With that she leaves Rafe’s room, shutting the door behind her.

“Y/n?”

“Mhm?”

“What does simp mean?”

“Don’t worry about it babe.”

----

“Rafe?” You asked softly, quietly walking into the bedroom of the Cameron household. Kelce and Topper were over, playing video games, but Rafe had promised you cuddles after htey left, which was supposed to be over a half hour ago. 

“Yea babe?” He asked, never tearing his gaze away from the screen. All three boys were very into whatever was happening in the game, muttering insults at each other every once in a while.

“It's getting late, are you almost done?”

“Yea babe, just 5, 10 minutes, tops.”

You pout, crossing your arms over your chest. He had said that 20 minutes ago. An idea pops into your head that if you couldn’t get him upstairs to cuddle with you, then you would have to just cuddle with him down here. You walk around the couch, crawling into his lap and latching onto him like a koala. Both Topper and Kelce glance over for a second, rolling their eyes at the unexpected PDA from the two of you. “Baby I wanna go upstairs.” You mumble against Rafe’s neck, nuzzling your head further into him. 

“I know you do baby, just give a minute to beat these guys and I’m all yours.” He tells you, earning shouts of protest from both boys sitting next to him. “Are you wearing my shirt?” He questions when he glances down at you, to which you nod in response. 

“Your shirt and nothing else babe.” You say, a smirk finding its ways to your lips. He stiffens at your words, taking an audible gulp before quickly turning of the TV

“Hey man!” “What do you think you’re doing!” “Are you serious!” 

“Ok boys, time for you to leave,” Rafe tells the other two who both get up from the couch, grumbling about their game and how they were ‘so winning’. 

“Dude, you are so soft.” Topper tells him, rolling his eyes at the older boy.

“Like seriously, what's happening to you man.” Kelce adds, grabbing his stuff from the floor of the living room. 

“I am not soft, and I suggest you leave before I make you.” Rafe growls, moving to stand up. You, however, do not like this plan, whining and clinging to him tighter, mumbling a soft ‘no’. He listens to you, earning a look from both Topper and Kelce. 

“Dude, seriously, you’re such a simp.” Topper says as both boys leave the house.

“SERIOUSLY WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN.”

----

“Rafe!” You call out for him, having your boyfriend run into the kitchen where you are a minute later. “Yeah babe, whats up?”

“Today, I’m going to teach you how to cook.” You tell him, earning a groan from him “What, why? I like everything you cook so much.”

“Flattery ain’t getting you out of this one. C’mon, we’re starting simple, it's just eggs. It would take an idiot to screw those up.” 

“Idiot at your service.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “You gotta stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” He asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Tearing yourself down. You’re not an idiot, you just never learned how to cook is all. And that’s what I’m here for, to teach you how.”

He gives you an apprehensive look but nods, accepting the fact that he was doing this whether he liked it or not. “Ok so where do you start with eggs?”

“Well, first you’re going to get the eggs.” You tell him, earning a helpless look in response. “They’re in the fridge babe.”

“Right, right, I knew that totally.” He mumbles, going over to the fridge and getting the carton the eggs stored inside. Eventually, you had gotten him through scrambling the eggs and now you were ready for the stove, which he looked at with fear in his eyes. “Babe, maybe you should take over from here.”

“Rafe, you can do this. You’re a master chef, I believe in you. Now use that oven!”

He gave you one more glance before putting the pan of yolks onto the stove you’d already turned on for him. “Make sure you turn it over so it doesn’t burn babe.”

“Can you show me how?”

You nod, grabbing a spatula and placing it in his hand before guiding him through the motions of flipping the eggs. “You’re doing great babe.”

“Yeah?” He asks, grinning at you. You nod at him right as Sarah walks into the kitchen, having to do a double take. 

“What's going on?” She questions, not really believing that her brother is actually cooking a meal.

“I’m teaching Rafe how to cook,” you inform her, turning back to the stove to make sure that you didn’t burn the eggs. 

“Um, Rafe, didn’t you once tell me that you would pay for your own personal chef before you learned how to cook for yourself?”

Rafe’s face turns a bright red as he looks down at the floor. “Well yea...but Y/n wanted me to learn how to cook so I’m doing it.”

Sarah’s mouth was left slightly ajar, shocked by the fact that a girl was able to change Rafe so much. “Wow Rafe, didn’t know you’d gone soft for your girl.”

Rafe pouts, jutting out his bottom lift. “I’m not soft, I'm just a chef.” 

Sarah snorts, raising her brows at her brother. “Sure you simp, if that helps you sleep at night.”

“Why does everyone keep calling me that?!”

----

“Y/n?” Rafe asks, tracing small circles on your hip bone. 

“Mhm?” You respond, not looking up from your phone.

“I love you.” His words cause you to look up from your phone, eyes softening when you see him looking at you with nothing but love and adoration in his eyes.

“I love you too baby.” You say, giving him a soft smile.

“Can I kiss you?” He questions, lips only centimeters away from yours. You don’t respond, instead closing the gap between the two of you and pressing a short and sweet kiss to his lips. He, however, decides that’s not enough, giving you kiss after kiss, causing you to giggle against his lips. “Rafe!”

“I know I’ve kissed you like, ten times, but just like another ten, please.” 

You laugh at his words, shaking your head. “Rafe, you really have gone soft, haven’t you?”

He shrugs his shoulders in response, giving you a grin. “Only for you baby, only for you.”

“Wow, you really are a simp.”

“Aww come on!”

Taglist: @normatural @beth-winchester21 @julialucena5  @drwstrky @brightcosmos @jiaraendgame @copper-boom @sunwardsss @starksweasley @trashmouthpogues @allielozoya @vindictive-hearts @kaitieskidmore1 @teenwaywardasgardian @diverrdown @lynniep @apoguecalledjj @dancer0614 @jjtheangel  @rafecameron @paradigmax @anonymous0writer @x-lulu @futuretaxcheat @olsenholic @jjaybank @starlightstarkey @girlsru1eboysdroo1  @Theyrealldruggy @pit-zuh @tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar @simonsbluee @outerbongs @stfukie @yxseminx @ilovejjmaybank @abbiesthings @captain-molls-of-the-small-world @kikinuke2 @maddymfperez @pogue-writings @rudths @i-love-scott-mccall @strangerthanganfiction713 @jj-iz-bae @sguymon21 @thelocalpogue @rae131415 @goldenhanna @scandalousfemale @obx-direction-sos

Frenz: @sortagaysortahigh​ @ad-infinitums​ @butgilinsky​ @bricksatanakinswindow​ @multifixx​ @drew-starkey​ @downbytheouterbanks​

[nev3rfound]

one of a kind : l.l

with loki having returned to earth, the avengers call upon their newest recruit, an angel to help. only, loki refuses to believe the truth until it’s too late.  (1.9k) 

masterlist / permanent taglist

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved.)

Sighing to himself, Tony walks away from the vault as Steve awaits him outside. “Any luck?” Steve asks, receiving a look that says more than words could. “Well, we’re not out of options yet.” Steve adds, trying his best to remain hopeful as Tony rolls his eyes.

“He still not talking?” Natasha pipes up as the pair return to Tony’s lab where the rest of the team stand, eager for any form of update.

“He won’t budge, thanks for that, Thor.” Tony quips, shooting Thor a look who simply shrugs before placing his hammer down on the metal table with a heavy thud.

“It’s not my fault my brother is so unwilling.” Thor comments, keeping his head down.

“He killed three people and threatened the lives of everyone in this building.” Natasha reminds him, and Thor raises his head meekly.

“He’s adopted?” He weakly states.

“This isn’t enough, I think we gotta bring in the big guns.” Tony rises to his feet, pacing around the room as all eyes turn to him.

Shifting on the spot, Steve clears his throat before speaking up. “Tony, I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Oh, and do you have any better ideas, Cap?” Tony shoots back, frustration rising through him as Loki remains locked up in the vault, tormenting them endlessly. “Didn’t think so.” He mutters under his breath. “Friday, can you send our sunshine a message to meet us in my lab?”

“Of course, Tony. Message sent.” Friday responds, and Steve glances over to Natasha, knowing it’s too soon.

Within a matter of minutes, you tiredly walk through the doors of Tony’s lab, seeing the Avengers all stood around. “Am I crashing some kinda party?” You chuckle, but your laughter isn’t well received based on the solemn expressions. “Tough crowd.”

“How’re you doing, sunshine?” Tony walks toward you, resting his arm over your shoulders.

“I’m better today.” You tell him truthfully. “Healing is taking a bit longer than usual, but I’ll be fine in a few days.”

Tony hums to himself, glancing over his shoulder to the rest of the team. “Listen, Y/n, we’ve got a favour to ask of you, and it might not be easy.” Tony begins and guides you back to face the rest of the Avengers.

Steve holds out a chair for you, noticing your breathing becoming shallow and your eyes drooping. You silently thank him as you sit down, glad to take the weight off your feet.

“How can I help?” You ask, a bright smile on your face.

Despite everything you’ve been through these past few months, you’re still more than willing to help everyone else.

“Well, Thor’s brother decided to pay us an unexpected visit,” Tony trails off as you raise a brow to Thor.

“Loki’s here?” You watch as Thor nods. After hearing countless stories from Thor about his brother, you can’t believe he’s here. “So where is he?”

“In the vault.” Natasha states bluntly as you whip your head around. “Sorry, Y/n. It’s the safest place for him to be.” She adds, and you nod to yourself, knowing it’s probably for the best after what happened last time.

“He’s not talking to anyone, is he?” You knew your goal at that moment as the Avengers nodded in response. “Okay.” You mutter under your breath as you rise to your feet, forcing back a groan as a sharp pain shoots up your side.

Steve’s hands hover naturally toward you, but you push through it. “We’ll be in here, Y/n.” Steve tells you. “If you need us at all, or want out, just say.” He adds.

“Thanks, Steve.” You smile sweetly before carrying on alongside Tony, heading toward the vault that you have only ever entered once.

“We just wanna know what he’s planning, why he’s back and all.” Tony briefly explains what they currently know, and the many gaps in Loki’s story as you stand in front of the doors to the vault.

You watch as two men open the doors, revealing a metal bridge leading to the glass container where Loki is sitting.

Loki lifts his head up, and as you catch his gaze it isn’t what you expected. After hearing countless tales of the past you anticipated seeing someone who radiated evil. But sitting before you is a God weakened by his past, not someone who revels in it.

“We’ll be outside like Cap said.” Tony mutters to you as he glares to Loki who merely smiles back.

“Bye, Tony.” You wave to him as the door is closed, leaving you and Loki in a moment of silence whilst you compose yourself.

“You’re not afraid,” Loki speaks up, now standing as he paces around the cylindrical container, a reinforced version of the previous one. “it’s awfully stupid of you.” He adds, and you can’t help but laugh quietly.

“Why should I be afraid?” You dare to ask as you lean against the railings, heavily relying on them as you make eye contact with Loki. “You’re just a God.”

“Oh my dear,” Loki laughs, shaking his head. “you have no idea who you’re talking to, clearly. You’re a mere mortal, why do you all think you can trick me into telling you anything?”

Sighing to yourself, you push your weight from the railings and step forward. “Perhaps because I’m not a ‘mere mortal’?” You suggest, now catching Loki’s attention. “I grew up with God’s, some, like you and others well,” You trail off. “we don’t talk about those ones.”

“What are you saying? You’re a God?” He coldly asks, but you shake your head in response.

“Oh, Gods no.” You admit. “I’m an Angel.” You state.

“No, you’re not.” Loki bluntly comments, looking you up and down before turning away from you. “Angels don’t exist, they’re a fairytale to keep children calm and believe in an afterlife.” He scoffs.

It’s your turn to scoff as you pause, waiting for him to look back at you. “Some say your kind are fairytales, Loki. Doesn’t mean that you aren’t real.” You explain, nearing the glass. “Why are you adamant that I can’t be an angel?”

Turning on his heels, Loki smirks as he approaches the glass, hovering before it and towers over you. “I would know if angels existed. Now, if you don’t mind I was in the middle of thinking about the thirty different ways I can escape here without the need for a mortal to interrupt me.” Loki states.

“Fair enough.” You shrug your shoulders as you cross your arms over your chest. “However, Loki?” You call out. “There are thirty-seven ways out of here, just so you know.” You chuckle, stepping back and return to the railing, trying to hide the pain in your laugh as it ripples through your spine.

Loki’s lips part to respond, but his eyes focus on your hand clutching your side. “You’re injured, aren’t you?” He asks, watching as you nod. “In the tales of Angels aren’t you supposed to heal within minutes of being injured? The whole ‘immortal’ aspect of being an Angel.” Loki paces around the cell once more, but his eyes never leave you.

“It’s a bit more complex than that.” You tell him through gritted teeth. “When an Angel falls from above or rises from below, our powers are still within us, but they aren’t as effective since we’re in the mortal world.” Your breathing slows down now, and you can’t help but slip down to the ground.

“How did you fall?” Loki kneels behind the glass, focusing on you closely. Yet, your breathing becomes slower, and the curiosity Loki has for you increases. “Tell me!” He yells, slamming his fist to the ground.

“I was sent to guard over a human, something we all do at some point.” You begin to explain, picturing the young boys face as he sat with a bloody nose in the middle of the park as children walked away, leaving him to suffer. “He, well, despite my efforts of guarding him, he didn’t make it.” Tears fill your eyes as you remember the day you fell, the consequences of your actions or lack thereof. “How about you, Loki?” You quickly change the topic of conversation. “Why did you come back to Earth?”

“You think I’m going to simply tell you because you told me a story?” Loki remarks.

“Stranger things have happened in all my years.” You tell him, shifting as you try to rise back to your feet. “And trust me, I’ve had plenty of them.” You joke as you stand back up, firmly gripping onto the railing behind you.

“Nonsense,” Loki mutters. “you’re a mortal, no older than Thor’s beloved Jane.”

You shake your head. “I’ve lived for nearly three hundred years.” You tell him. “It’s all in the eyes, Loki. But you only ever see the fear in them, whereas I see hope.”

“You’re here to envoke hope? That I might somehow change with the help of an ‘angel?’“

“Like I said, Loki.” Your voice quietens as you try to ignore the growing pain searing through your body. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Well, I am truly sorry.” Loki chuckles. “But this has been fun, a great story you’ve construed together I’ll admit.” He laughs softly. “As if a mortal of such a young age could try and tempt me.”

“I wasn’t here to tempt you, Loki.” You state clearly, despite your vision beginning to blur. “As I said, I was here to try and help you. As that’s what I do, it’s what I know.” Your voice softens as words struggle to leave your lips coherently.

“Nice try, mortal. But you’ll never get me to crack.” Loki spits to you, and that’s when you fall to the ground.

Immediately, the doors open and Steve rushes in.

“What did you do to her?!” Steve yells to Loki as you lie unconscious.

“How could I do anything when I’m stuck in here?” Loki holds his hands up in defence.

Steve glares to the God as he tries to pull you into his embrace. “Tony?” Steve calls out, and Tony walks in with Thor behind him, causing Loki to sigh heavily.

With the help of Thor, Steve is able to get you to your feet, but as you stand up your wings appear.

“Careful!” Steve warns the others. “Y/n told me her cloaking doesn’t work if she’s unconscious.”

“Come on then,” Tony mutters as he helps Steve carry you out, minding your large bright wings.

Yet, standing in disbelief, Loki can’t help but rethink his entire conversation with you. He watches as your wings drap across the floor, feathers catching on the metal and he winces as some are left behind.

“Angels are real?” Loki thinks aloud.

“What did you do to her, dear brother?” Thor asks, defeated as he hovers by the glass. “Y/n is nothing but a kind spirit, a real angel, Loki. Couldn’t you see that?”

Lowering his head, Loki remains silent.

Without another word being said, Thor exits the vault, leaving Loki alone as the door is sealed shut once more.

Staring down at the stray feathers you left behind, Loki buries his head in his hands. “I’m sorry.” He mutters under his breath, wishing he could’ve believed you whilst you were here and seen the hope in your eyes, and the fear looking back at them.

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[finn-ray-nal-beads]

peanut butter balls w clyde

A/N: ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE ANGEL... @maybe-your-left I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY WITH YOURSELF! I AM NOW GOING TO UNSUBSCRIBE TO MY OWN BLOG..

Warnings: Voyeurism, BLUE BALLS, tw: pregnancy, tw: breeding kink, cum eating, masturbation, dirty talk, also sweet talk because Clyde is baby, cowgirl style, fondling those BIG BALLS, copious amounts of description of horsecocks, copious amounts of cum (just a swimming pool size full of his cum if you will), just pure fuckin’ smut and fluff because I cannot get off the DadBod train tonight or ever (thank you @in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather I love you forever), tw: mentions of somnophilia, tw: I am back on my bullshit and better than ever bitches! 

The clock read five in the morning as he stared it down menacingly. Having just gotten home from the bar to your sleeping form peacefully huddled against his pillow, inhaling the sweet scent of him while he slaved away at work.

He laid down gingerly, careful not to disturb you as he knew you hadn’t been sleeping too well given the state you had been in over the first few weeks of it all. The vomiting, the tears, the rush of hormones coupled with outbursts of anger and pain from your breasts had all been weighing on you. 

He gave you your space, knowing from his research that the second trimester would be so much different. Hoping the book wasn’t lying to him about that and waiting as patiently as he could for you to come around. 

Those nights he’d find you keeled over the toilet, cursing his name as he stumbled through the door of the trailer. He hated all of it, wishing he could take the ugly parts away for you. But he knew, and so did you, that it was all for the greatest adventure yet, so it was worth the endless tears and heartburn. 

So, on nights like tonight, he’d rub the stray hair from your face, peeking under the covers to place a gentle hand on that growing bump of yours, hoping soon he’d feel a little kick as he teared up thinking about how amazing you were for growing this precious baby. 

He loved you even more than he could count on his fingers and toes, and when you’d both found out, it was both a sigh of relief and joy as you both finally had the thing you’d been afraid wasn’t possible. It was perfect. Except on these nights when he couldn’t sleep. 

When he ached for your luscious cunt enveloping his after a long day’s work. He wouldn’t dare wake you up for it, for fear of the mama bear wrath, but godammit did he wish you were having just as tough a time sleeping as he was. 

He tossed and turned, the light of the clock seemingly getting brighter as he huffed around in the bed. Clad in only his boxers, as he kicked off the sheets in a fit of frustration, his tent very apparent as he adjusted his blue balls in between his thighs, the burning sensation causing a low hiss to leave his mouth. 

“Fuck me,” he whispered, getting up with his good hand to sit his huge frame on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face in it as he let out another heavy sigh. 

He strained up, cracking his back as he meandered to the living room and then the kitchen. Shuffling to the kitchen window, he huffed, looking out into the blackness of the early morning, thinking about making himself something to eat to curb his lack of sleep. 

He padded over to the fridge, grabbing his favorite huckleberry jelly out of the side door, then the pantry to get his bread and peanut butter. Laying out a paper plate as he slowly opened the drawer to grab a knife, making damn sure he didn’t make a peep as he slathered the contents together. He pulled the stool out from the island, straining himself to not scoot it too loud on the tile while he devoured his sandwich in the light of the kitchen. 

He looked around, reaching for some chips you’d left out on the counter earlier, crinkling the bag to get a few out before he became thirsty. He strained back up, the pain in his balls returning with every movement as they hit his meaty thighs. 

“Jesus,” he whispered, gripping them in his hand before he took another step, “I gotta do somethin’ ‘bout this,” gritting out as he got the gallon of juice out of the fridge to cop a swig from it, knowing if you had witnessed it he’d be in the biggest trouble. 

Letting out a huge sigh and a burp, he got back on the stool and finished the rest of his five AM snack, still feeling that dulled pain in his lower half as he tossed the remaining things in the trash and plopping on the couch to turn on the TV as he still didn’t feel tired. 

He mindlessly flipped through the channels, settling on a sitcom before wincing in another sharp pain as he adjusted himself, legs spread wide on the couch. His cock still half-hard knowing your half-naked ass was laying in bed, no doubt the wetness building up from your sleep. He loved surprising you in the morning, feeling that slicked up pussy as he would snake a hand or his tip in between your folds, waking you up in the best way he could think of. 

His dick twitched at the thought, his hand sliding in his briefs as he gripped his thick girth at its base, unveiling it in the brightness of the TV. 

His chest heaved, the sensitivity that had built up over weeks of nothing was too much for him to take at this point. Spitting on his large hand as he spread the slick over himself, his dripping tip mixing with his saliva as he traced his bulged out veins along his shaft. 

Throwing his head back at the feeling, wishing it wasn’t his hand fucking himself, and picturing that pretty mouth of yours covering him from stem to stern. He pumped his hand up and down steadily, setting the scene for himself while he closed his golden eyes.

You were perfect, knelt in between his thick thighs, kitten licking his tip and pecking sweet kisses on his tummy while he begged for you to do more. Your gorgeous eyes boring into his as your lashes fluttered in innocence licking a long stripe from the base to the tip. A beautiful moan escaping your lips as your tits hit his sensitive sac. 

You grip his belly in your delicate hands, kneading and scratching at it for leverage while you shoved your mouth over his length, the gag escaping your chest causing his breath to hitch as he watched you take him like the good girl you were. 

He thrusts on himself sped up, thinking of you bobbing your pretty head on his large cock, the spit, and tears streaming down your cheeks and jawline in a sloppy mess while he pushed up into you. Holding your pretty hair in an iron grip as he lead you down on him more, your one hand snaking down to grip his pained sac and rolling it in your fingers while he exhaled a groan at the sensation. 

“Goddammit baby girl,” he gritted out, feeling the warming of his release creep up slowly as he kept his imagination running on and on. His eyes still closed as he jerked it on the couch, seemingly unaware of how loud he truly was in the moment. 

You had woken up a few minutes after he’d begun, leaning in on the doorframe as you bit your lip looking at your big bear going to town in the living room. His thick cock making the drippage seep out of your bare cunt as you tried to keep as quiet as possible. 

He kept up with his thoughts, blissfully unaware of the mess he was making you feel in the moment. Your lower belly burning for him as you gripped the little bump that had become more apparent as of late. 

Crossing your legs to avoid more leakage, you leaned your head on the frame as well, reveling in the sweet sounds your husband was making on the sofa. His grunts, curses, moans, and groans were enough to make you blush as he repeated your name over and over. 

The strains getting more feral as he neared his orgasm. You inched forward just before he was about to burst, knowing the faces he made so well as you crawled on your hands in knees like a tiger stalking its prey. 

“Holy s-shit, Y/N,” his low baritone muttered out, the speed on his angry cock had picked up as fervently as he could possibly go in the moment, his precious face conjuring up in all signs of pleasure as the sweat dripped from his temples, his teeth gritted while he tried to reach his edge. 

You watched his hand move in tandem with his hips, moving just snuggly in between his tree-trunk thighs as he kept his motions going. Your eyes found those heavy balls of his, watching as they began to twitch from his end. In a fight or flight moment, your hand grabbed them, rolling them so sweetly and delicately as his eyes burst open in terror. 

“Y/N?!” he jumped, the sensation pushing him over to squirt out a thick rope on his belly as you massaged his sac to the end of it all. 

“That’s it, daddy,” you cooed, eyes hungry as he spurt out more and more cum from his tip, his heavy breaths coming in high as he winced more and more of his spend on himself, “cum all over the place big bear,” salivating as you saw the amount that has built up on his stomach. 

“M-mother f-fuck d-darlin’,” he growled out, watching your eyes follow the load as you hunched over his softening cock. 

Your lips touched the warm baby gravy, beginning to lick and suck every drop along with trails of hickeys on his precious tummy while your nails dug into his thighs, the crescents indenting on them as you finished your ministrations on him. 

You lifted your head, licking your lips as you swallowed his whole load, showing your tongue after all was said and done. 

“Where the hell were ya ‘bout five minutes ago?” he chuckled, catching his breaths as he watched you straddle his lap, your precious little bump touching his belly as you closed the gap on him. 

“I was sleepin’ honey,” kissing his lips slowly as you wrapped your arms around his neck, his hand coming to caress your taut skin in your midsection, tracing slow circles as you kissed his forehead, “but I got woken up to a growling bear in the living room,” raising an eyebrow as you leaned back to meet his timid gaze. 

“‘M sorry darlin’,” he whispered, “I jus’ couldn’t sleep an’ I didn’t want ta wake ya up on account a ya not gettin’ that good a sleep lately,” his head bowing down in shame as he continued to avoid eye contact.

“Honey,” you pushed him to meet you again, “I know I ain’t been myself lately, an’ I’m sorry ‘bout that,” the pit in your stomach forming as his pout surfaced on his face, “but if ya needed somethin’ I woulda done it… No matter how late it was,” smiling as you pushed some stray hairs from his sweet face. 

“Psh,” he huffed, rolling his eyes slightly at the thought of waking you from a dead sleep, “baby girl, I ain’t ‘bout ta wake ya up fer ya to suck me off fer ten minutes so I can sleep,” he chuckled. 

“Why not? I know you’d do that fer me in a heartbeat,” cocking your head to the side as you took in his toothy grin. 

“‘Cause I ain’t gonna wake up a mama bear,” laughing out loud as he smoothed a hand on your lower back, “I don’t wanna get bit darlin’!” pulling you into a huge hug as you both laughed. 

“Well,” you got up from the couch, extending a hand to pull your man to bed, “if ya want… This mama bear needs a lil’ lovin’ from her big daddy bear,” winking as you inched him back towards the bedroom, “an’ I got a hankerin’ fer some horsecock right ‘bout now,” pushing him onto the bed while you straddled his hips, removing your t-shirt to reveal your fullness to him. 

His cock straining again under the weight of your slick cunt as it rubbed the length up and down from your grinding on him. 

“Ya like whatcha see daddy?” whining as you lined your entrance with his tip, his groans enough to send you into another stratosphere as you swallowed him inch by painful inch. 

“I love seein’ ma baby girl like this,” he strained again, gripping your hip in his hand as he pushed himself up into to you, “all full a me… It’s ma favorite thing in the world,” gritting out over your purrs for him. 

The sensation was magical. His cock teasing your cervix with every knock as he grunted his motions out while you ground your sloppy pussy over his pubic hair. The movements hitting your engorged clit with every rub and tug from the both of you melting into each other. 

“I love bein’ all full a you big bear,” wailing out as you gripped his huge tits in your hands, your own dangling in front of his face as the sound of wet slaps penetrated the room. 

“Ya?” he growled out, setting an even more punishing pace as he watched your jaw drop and your gorgeous tits bounce, “ya want me ta keep ya like this? Breed ya ‘til ya can’t take it no more?” the words hitting your bud as your spine tingled in your impending orgasm. 

He knew exactly what he was doing. Knew the words and the movements to get his baby whining and moaning like a complete whore under or over him. He may have been a simple country boy, but he knew his way around his wife, and what went straight into her cunt besides his large and in charge dick. 

“G-Good G-God yes daddy!” the tears spilling as you rag-dolled over his large frame, the orgasm spilling over you in an unexpected wave as his words cut to your very core. His motions grew erratic upon feeling your flutters clench around him in the most delicious way. 

He watched your eyes meet his again, the blackout you’d sustained fading away as overstimulation set in. His grip tightened even more as he began to spill into you, his relieved cries reverberating around the room as he felt your warm cunt suck up his spend. 

“J-Jesus baby girl,” he groaned, his balls completely empty as you fell to the side of him in a thud, your breaths coming in tandem with his as he gazed at you. 

“Ya alright mama?” he pet your growing bump with the utmost tenderness, “I didn’t hurt ya ‘er nuthin’ did I?” glancing a look down at your figure in a panic before your hand reached his cheek. 

“Ya didn’t hurt me or the baby at all big bear,” caressing his cheek as you pecked his plush lips, “we’re jus’ fine,” smiling warmly as he exhaled a relieved sigh, his eyes fluttering in his impending tiredness.

“I think daddy needs ta go ta bed, whatchu think baby bear?” giggling slightly as a smile crept over his face in total relaxation, his circles slowing as he stilled his big paw over your baby. 

“Goodnight daddy,” whispering on his forehead as his breath evened out, and his limbs went limp. 

________________

In other news, you ever have a job as a waiter? 

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