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#cal x jackson
april-the-fan-girl · 6 months
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WHERE is all the Cal content? Also am I the only Jackson x Cal shipper?
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articulated-me · 6 months
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Okay I can't find many fanfics for a ship I like - and now I can't seem to find a shipname either!
So is there a shipname for Cal Bowman x Jackson Marchetti from Sex Education?
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apollos-calliope · 1 month
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dally gave me the most brilliant idea for a child of aphrodite!reader “dirty talking” to luke in french but it’s just dumb as shit phrases like “my favorite color is yellow” and he just thinks it’s so hot 😭😭
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lyssaluvs · 2 months
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alrighty i’ve got a few reqs but they probably won’t be out for just a lil while because i’ve got a big week ahead but i promise im COOKING!!!!!!
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feel free to send in more tho :D
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happy easter ^^
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forbescaroline · 2 years
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MELISSA'S 225 FAVORITE SHIPS OF ALL TIME ranked by my followers 217. jackson marchetti and cal bowman - sex education “This is the first time I’ve felt calm in so long. Yeah. It’s quite nice, right?”
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ilikestuff69 · 2 years
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My Top Ten Favorite Ships (as of right now)
10: Flynn Rider (Eugene Fitzherbert) x Rapunzel
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9: Daryl Dixon x Connie
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8: Hiccup x Astrid
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7: Harley Quinn x Poison Ivy
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6: Cal Kestis x Nightsister Merrin
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5: Rey Skywalker x Finn x Poe Dameron
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4: Jake Peralta x Amy Santiago
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3: Peter Quill x Gamora
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2: Percy Jackson x Annabeth Chase
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1: Peter Parker x Michelle ‘MJ’ Jones
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lucy-the-cat · 11 months
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red-riding-wood · 3 months
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Coldfire - Pt. II
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Read Part I here!
Pairing: Jackson Rippner x F! Reader
Fandom: Red Eye (2005)
Summary: Intent on turning you into his plaything, Jackson "takes care" of you after you wake up in his hotel room.
Warnings: SMUT, non-con (prev) and dub-con, sexual violence, kidnapping, power imbalance, oral sex (f receiving), teasing, biting, blood, violence, humiliation, degredation, dirty talk, pet names, hair pulling, dom/sub dynamics. This is a dark!fic and a tad disgusting. Read at your own discretion.
WC: 6511
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Pain. It was the first sensation you felt. The first and, for a moment, the only thing that existed.
Your skull pounded with a dull, resounding ache that seemed to trail down your spine, as if someone taking a sledgehammer to the back of your head. The pain radiated from your spine to your shoulders, your limbs, shot to the core of your stomach and settled between your sticky thighs.
Next, came the soft brush of a pillow against your face, your head lolling against the stuffed fabric, your body weighing so heavy that you thought you might sink into the bed.
The pillow smelled clean as you grasped feebly at the cotton sheets, deciding to ball the fabric in your fists because it grounded you, because it seemed to be one of the only things that were tangible in this half-awake reality of pure, almost numbing pain.
But the spice of the cinnamon that tickled your nose churned hot coals in your gut, stirred a fire deep within your core. Familiar, oh so familiar…
Voices came to you, distant and well-mannered and urgent, drilling themselves through the pockets of pain in your skull.
As a thin, white light began to filter past your haze, you wondered if these were the voices of angels, calling you to Heaven. Were they always this obnoxious?
They were taunting you, more like. That must have been it, you realised as your eyelids peeled back only for white-hot fire to singe your retinas.
Maybe this truly was the punishment for pledging your soul to violence
The light came from a crack between thick, black curtains, haphazardly drawn across a massive window frame. The light bled across your blurred vision, but colours and shapes were beginning to form around it now, and though the voices seemed to heighten in intensity, you could now discern your surroundings as some private room, the overhead blessedly off and the lighting dim.
A hotel, it seemed, as the gleam of white plastic winked at you in the shred of sunlight. A mint, on a pillow.
Your mouth watered, but your lips were dry and your reach clumsy as you tried to swipe up the mint. Your stomach roiled with an empty kind of nausea. 
Candy clutched in quivering hand, your fingers stilled as you undid the wrapper. The voices were clearer, but quieter now.
“... crime scene…” Pain. “… terrorist act ….” Pain. “… killer on the loose…” Crinkling plastic. “… university …” Why was this mint so damned hard to open? “… physicist, Doctor Cal…” Was that the ticking of a clock? “… shot with .380 ACP…” More pain.“… total lockdown…” The mint left a sharp kiss on your tongue.“… chaos...” Your blood ran cold as you recognised the taste, recalled the heat of the breath that had raked across your face…
The voices were interrupted by the click of a lock, and you startled, images of a spinning bathroom and bright, white fireworks racing through your aching skull as you buried the wrapper of the mint beneath one of the pillows, as if you were a child caught with their hand in the candy drawer.
As the door swung open, and a soft whistling filled the room, you rolled your head to the side, glimpsing the time on the alarm clock.
4:13.
For a moment, your muddled brain thought that perhaps he wouldn’t see you; your vision hedged where the skin of his neck came into view. Your breath hitched in your chest and your skull pounded, and you watched as he removed the black blazer as if he were coming home from work, whistle slowly fading from his lungs. A heavy sigh made his chest rise and fall beneath his white dress shirt, the collar stained in red.
The scent of iron, sweat and sandalwood came to you; you had breathed against that collar, you had buried your face in the warmth of his chest and tucked your head beneath the hard line of his jaw.
Your mouth watered around the mint as you recalled the chalky pill he’d placed under your tongue, shushing you and petting your hair and lulling you to sleep with a voice like silk.
The man folded his blazer and tucked it beneath the flashing screen of the TV – the source of the voices, you ascertained – and after rifling through his pockets, he placed upon it a hotel keycard, a bloodied tissue, a Ruger LCP. .380.
The familiar, metal clang of a buckle sounded, and he loosed his belt from its loops, coiling it beside the Ruger. Cold danced along your thighs, and you felt the ghost of a burn along your stinging flesh. You realised you weren’t wearing anything underneath your skirt.
He reached in the pocket of his slacks, leaning slightly as if to fetch something particularly irksome from their depths, and added a lace garment and a loop of dark fabric to the strange pile of items.
Everything dawned on you at once, weighing so heavy on your fatigued limbs that you thought for one moment you really would sink into the bed, slammed against your pounding skull as breath poured into aching lungs and the mint caught just in time between your back molars. You remembered hiding that Ruger and your holster-garter to the toilet-paper dispenser in a bathroom with navy blue stalls. You remembered lace panties behind ripped from your thighs as he shoved you against the bathroom counter.
Your eyes squinted, narrowing against the harsh light of the TV now to see cameras pulling back on footage of the university, cop cars with flashing red and blue lights and squealing sirens, listened to the droning voice of the newscaster announce the harrowing details of the death of the target you’d failed to kill.  
“Oh good, you’re awake.” A perky yet soft tone innerved your aching limbs, and your head stirred against the cinnamon of his shampoo and the cotton of the pillow.
“Fuck,” you groaned.
“And still thinking of the fun we had…” he chuckled as he approached the end of the bed. You wanted to land one good punch to his smug face, knock out his perfect white teeth. Maybe when whatever drugs he’d given you were gone from your system, provided he didn’t kill you before then.
“Does this mean I’m fired?” Your voice came raspy from your dry throat as you shifted, a lightning bolt of pain seeming to bring every neuron alive with white fire as you lifted your head slightly to look at him.
Jackson leaned down, resting the palms of his hands against the bedframe and smiling at you. “That depends,” he said, and you lowered your head back to the pillow as you rolled the dissolving mint on your tongue.
“On?”
“On how well you behave.”
“What do you want from me, Rippner?” You almost whimpered.
He tutted. “I may have to knock points for your lack of professionalism. That’s now how you speak to your boss.”
Your head hurt too much for this childish nonsense.
“And how may I be of service, sir?” You tried to force the sarcasm past your tired tone but you were drained.
“Good girl.” Those two words stirred the coals of that fire within you, making your sticky, cold thighs squirm. And that damned smile disappeared from view as he righted himself, and circled round to your side of the bed.
“I’m here to take care of you,” he told you, and the mattress sank beneath his weight as he took a seat, your nails digging into the fabric of the cover as if to keep yourself from slipping off. “And before you even think of screaming… remember what happened last time.” He brushed a lock of hair from your eyes with a surprising delicateness.
His words seemed oddly nice for a terrorist, but you weren’t fooled. There was a darkness that you could hear now beneath his silk tone. One you cursed yourself for not recognising before.
“What a relief,” you murmured into the pillow. This time, your sarcasm thankfully came through.
Warm fingers peeled at the tops of your stockings, and your knees rose instinctively, but he gave you a warning look that froze you in place – not in fear, but in a strange excitement.
“Don’t you want to feel clean?” he asked, as he peeled the thick fabric from your legs, cold racing along your flesh.
You didn’t think that you’d ever feel clean after being introduced to his sinful touch and piercing stare.
“I just want a hot bath and a very long extension cord.”
“One thing at a time, sweetheart…”
Jackson paused when the stocking rolled down to your heel, and the sharp sound of a zipper met your ears. He slipped the heel and stocking off with gentle fingers. Wisps of chestnut hair fell across his forehead as he admired your bare skin. What was he doing, playing boyfriend with you?
“Where are we?” you asked, wishing to fill the silence that seemed all too comfortable. The news on the TV made it sound like you’d just woken up in your condo, only extremely hungover.  
“A hotel.”
As his fingers rolled the other stocking down, you had the brief urge to kick him with your heel.
“Where is the hotel?”
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” he said, in a half-exasperated, half soothing tone. “Just let me take care of you.” Your heel was cast aside, and the urge was gone.
The mint clicked against your teeth in the silence, and it burned your throat as you swallowed. A hand ran up the bare flesh of your calf, prying your knees slightly apart. Your heart raced in your chest, skull pounding, flashes of heat racing beneath your flesh and icy hooks sinking into the deepest fibres of your being as his gaze met yours between your thighs.
Coldfire.
You wet your lips with your tongue, thinking that for a moment, with his bright eyes and his parted lips and his hair just a little bit messed, he looked almost cute like this. For a terrorist and stalker and serial killer, that was.
Like you were one to talk.
“Careful looking at me like that.” A smirk curled the corner of his lip, and the strange innocence of his expression vanished. “I don’t know if you can handle a Round Two.”
Why did he have to ruin the moment by opening his smarmy fucking mouth, you thought, but the throbbing heat between your legs wished for other things.
And what moment could you have possibly imagined? Fuck, you were delusional.
And before you could fire back with a retort, the smirk fell from his face and icy gaze devoured you. You shivered beneath his touch as he pried your legs apart, coming up between them like a predator, eyes locked on his prey. Like a mouse pierced by snake’s venom, paralysis seeped into every pore.
A hot breath swept across your lashes in the second that he spared your soul from his gaze, twin blues running down your flushed face. Though his movements and touch were gentle, his mouth pressed to yours firmly, pulling a slight moan from your lungs. Your hand reached upwards to curl the fabric of his shirt into a fist, but he forced your wrist down. You shattered a gasp onto his tongue at the sudden, sharp movement, the bed hinges creaking from the force exerted. His fingers wove through yours, curling round your knuckles and squeezing ‘til your flesh turned white. His weight sunk onto the delicate blood vessels of your opposite wrist, your pulse hammering against his palm.
Jackson was quick to force his tongue inside your mouth, and you jolted as the remnants of the mint hit the back of your throat. Unable to do anything about it, you bit down on his lip, hard, and he growled into the kiss. Teeth grazed your tongue as you rolled it forward, and he pulled away, spitting the mint onto the sheets. His icy eyes flashed with hellfire but your body sank with relief into the mattress, tension leaving your body.
“Wouldn’t want you to choke,” he uttered darkly, fingers releasing yours to glide across your neck, shivers running down your throat as his palm once again found your pulse, fingertips brushing the beginnings of your scalp.
“Did I tell you that you could have that?” he demanded, the bright of his eyes chased by the dark.
“It was complimentary.” You sneered up at him.
Hands swept beneath your spine, pulling you upward, and the world teetered on its axis and pressure mounted your skull. Your legs wrapped around his waist, nails seeking purchase in his back to ground yourself, a moan hitching in your chest as your hips rolled forward and your bare pussy sank around the outline in his trousers. The jolt that travelled through you, from bottom to top, was perhaps the only thing that kept you from passing out as you felt the weight of the drugs tug at your limbs. Something peeled off from the back of your skull and you hissed, pawing at blood-crusted locks of hair.
“No, don’t touch that,” he told you, almost concerned. With you now firmly straddling his lap, and his legs folded beneath him, he gently pulled your hand away and replaced it with his own. Eyes narrowed in concentration, and he bit his lip. “The bleeding stopped.” A small, white bandage was pulled away, tape burning your scalp briefly as it tugged at a few threads of your hair, and your eyes tore from his to examine the almost black crimson on the white material.
Was that all? It hurt so much.
Noticing your wince of pain, he sighed, and your arm hooked with desperation round his neck as he leaned forward to reach to the end table, gravity tugging at your spine.  
You jumped, nails scraping his back, as a bottle of pills was tossed in your lap, hollowing your skirt around your thighs, and he righted himself with a glass of water in hand.
You released your hold on him to accept the water between shaking fingers, and he shook out two pills of Advil on his palm. Wedging one between his thumb and forefinger, he pressed it gently to your lips.
“Wash your hands,” you told him as you looked him up and down, at the blood that dappled his white collar and was still smeared slightly at the corner of one dark brow, and he rolled his eyes, forcing the pill past your teeth. He helped tip the glass of water to your lips, and repeated the process with the other pill.
“My pain didn’t seem to stop you before,” you said once he’d put aside the water glass and pills. “Why are you playing so nice, all of sudden?”
One hand landed on the bare flesh of your waist, slipping beneath your shirt, and the other brushed another lock of hair from your eyes.
“I told you I’d take care of you,” he said.
Before you’d the chance to respond, he was tugging your shirt over your arms, and you shut your eyes, the collar passing your lashes and crest of your skull. Lucky for him, you weren’t wearing a bra, and for the first time, his gaze landed on the swell of your breasts, your nipples hardening in the sudden cold. His lips parted and his pupils dilated.
“You have a strange way of doing that,” you remarked, breath coming shallow from your chest. Your fingers traced the collar of his shirt, still slightly damp with blood, and began undoing buttons as a sly smile crossed your face, making it all the way until his shirt came apart and your eyes widened at the sight of the dark line of hair disappearing past the hem of his trousers. Your curiosity would someday kill you if he didn’t.
“Shhh. Just rest, now…” his words confused you as he lowered your spine back to the soft bedding, but his voice melted like honey into every pore, and the mattress welcomed you. Breath pooling at the base of your neck, wet lips placed a kiss to the notch of skin in between your collarbone.
You understood now, and you found yourself with no complains, shutting your eyes and allowing his hot breath to trail down your sternum, arching your back when he reached your stomach. His nails dug into your waist, hands fitting perfectly in the grooves above your hips like you’d been made for him.
You shivered, remembering what he’d felt like inside you.
Lips brushed your navel, nose tickling your soft flesh, and his tongue began to lap at the juices that had dried on your abdomen, tasting you. His fingers hooked in the hem of your skirt. It was the only fabric between you, and even then, it had pulled taut round your spread legs. Another zipper came undone, and the checkered fabric was cast aside, sounding like it landed in a heap somewhere on the floor. Cold swept across the heat of your cunt, and lips slowly ghosted down the length of your pelvis, burying his nose in the crook of your thigh and inhaling deep.  
Your elbow had stirred, fingers coming to rest on the wet streaks his tongue had left across your stomach, though not quite reaching him, for your body still seemed to move slower than the world around you. Yet, he was almost too slow; he was taking his time, and you needed him like you’d never needed anything before. You whined out your disapproval, and he nipped at the pocket of your thigh as if to correct your behaviour.
And instead of finally giving you what you desired, he began to trail kisses down your inner thigh, hands following his movements. Your eyes blinked open in confusion, and you winced slightly in pain as you craned your neck to look down at him. Though the pillows were elevated, you sought a clearer view. What did this bastard think he was doing?
Feeling faint, you sank back into the pillow and succumbed to his teasing, a soft sigh hanging on your lips.
“Beg me for it.” His command came gruff against your skin, his tone akin to that which he’d used when he’d come deep inside you. You could still feel the last of his hot seed dribbling out of you, almost as if innerved by his words.
You chuffed out a laugh, and your head spun. “Yeah, right…” you murmured, but jolted as he placed another nip to your soft flesh. An electric current seemed to flow from his teeth through every fibre of your being, every synapse in your brain. You were too easy, you realised, as you relaxed and huffed out another sigh.
“Oh, please, Mr. Rippner… please take care of me…”
“Mm… what’s that, now? What do you need?”
“You. I need you, fucking Hell,” you breathed as you felt him smile against your thigh, the faint stubble of his jaw scratching the delicate flesh. “Please, I need to feel your tongue against me. I need you inside me… please…”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Take care of me… clean me… fuck me – I don’t care at this point.”
He tutted. “How unprofessional of you, wanting your boss to fuck you. That ought to knock off some points, for sure.”
“Stop being a goddamn tease,” you groaned, rolling your hips against empty air. Your fingers slid down your slicked pelvis to try and sate the itch between your thighs, deciding you’d do it yourself at this point. He swatted your hand away, and your knuckles burned.
“Who’s the boss here?” His breath hissed against your thigh, heat trailing down your flesh with a shiver and his nails digging in again.
“You are.” You pouted your lip, shame creeping in but you didn’t care. 
“Good girl.” The praise, uttered in such a guttural tone, made your core clench around nothingness, and his tongue began to light a trail of fire up your sensitive flesh, until his nose struck the groove of your thigh again and then his hot breath finally huffed against your folds. “So desperate for attention, so wet for your boss you’re wanting to touch yourself already. What a good fucking slut.”
Then why not let me? you thought with bitter longing, but didn’t dare utter the words. His teeth were currently hovering over a part of yourself that you didn’t particularly want bruised.
Though, on second thought…
“Come onnnnn,” you whined. “Get on with it.”
The sting of teeth landed on the lip of your pussy, and you chimed out a giggle as another wave of excitement crashed against you. “You’re so predictable…” you teased, words slurring as the heat of arousal pounded hot in your skull. The pain, you realised, was beginning to slip farther and farther from you, like a red ribbon caught in the vicious wind.
“Hey.” You jolted again as his palm struck your pussy, sensitive flesh stinging but your core clenching again with need. “Look at me.”
Your eyes fluttered open and you looked down at him, the burn of his coldfire eyes igniting something inside you that threatened to spill like lava from every pore, every fibre. You breathed heavy and smiled, admitting, “All right, maybe not so predictable.”
“Remind me, sweetheart, what do you need right now?”
“You.” A whimper was cast to the air like a prayer, and you giggled again, hair spilling around you as you laid back.
He placed a gentle kiss right on the lip of your pussy, as if to make it all better. His nose tickled the slick parting of your cunt, and you trembled.
“Good girl.” The heat of his breath raked your folds, and you nearly lost it, fingers grasping at the fabric of his shoulder.
Finally, the wet swipe of his tongue sent you into overdrive, dragging with a deliberate leisure along your slick parting. Your back arched, shaking, into the sheets, and your fingers sought his hair, threading through the strands as you squirmed under the increasing pressure of his tongue. Not teasing anymore, it was clear he wanted to devour you. And it was clear you wouldn’t last very long.
Like some kind of starved animal, he lapped up your juices, fingers forcing your legs further apart and stirring a squeal from your diaphragm, a noise which only spurred him on, teeth gently grazing your clit and his tongue circling your entrance to draw every last bit of sweet nectar from you. Thick fingers ran along your outer thighs, palms rubbing at your hips as if to encourage you on.
Stopping to catch his breath, he groaned, panting against your trembling folds, “You taste so good with my cum inside you, babygirl.”
“Fuck,” you breathed, hips bucking against his face, the stubble of his jaw lightly burning your skin. A knot tightened deep in your belly, walls clenching. He chuckled at your enthusiasm, which only sent you further over the edge, one hand cupping your ass as his tongue sought the taste of you back out, nose nuzzling into your clit. A myriad of sensations slammed into you all at once.
“Jack…” you moaned, tugging a fistful of his hair.
He stilled just as you felt yourself ready to tumble over that familiar precipice, thighs trembling around him, back fully arched as if to reach for the heavens while hellfire brewed beneath your flesh. Breaths came quick against you, nails sunk deep enough into your skin to well blood around his nails, and he growled, the sound seeming to reverberate through your core.  
“Jackson,” he corrected, tone thick with darkness. Lust. Wrath. All things sinful.
“J – Jackson.” You would say anything if it meant feeling his tongue against you again, if it meant some sort of release from the pain that still lingered beneath the surface of the pleasure he gave you.
“Mm.” Approving, he placed a kiss to your clit. Your nails raked along his scalp and the bucking of your hips became more erratic, so with his hands he pinned your waist down, a huff of fiery breath trailing up the cold of your stomach. You squirmed, desperate for release, as he prodded at your entrance, and you couldn’t take it anymore as his nails dug against your ribcage and his palms flattened against your stomach, and your walls finally clenched around his tongue as it slipped inside. 
You fell limp under him, your head tipping back to the white ceiling, your lips still parted from chanting his name like a sordid prayer, stars exploding across your vision and your skull inundated by a fire that cleansed the pain and brought with it only bliss.
You heard him swallow against a dry throat, and you lifted your starry gaze to watch as he swept his tongue along his upper lip. Bright eyes darkened by lust met yours, and you relaxed your hold on his hair, watching as chestnut locks fell around his face, clung to the sweat of his forehead. A few threads that sprung awry were limned by the blue light of the TV, the carnage that continued its broadcast. His shirt hung open, exposing the bare sheen of his chest. Your juices coated his nose and freckled cheeks, his sharp jaw framed by your thighs as they closed slowly around him. You’d never seen anything more beautiful.
“So, did I get an A?” You huffed out teasingly, and though you hadn’t thought it possible, his eyes darkened another fraction, shards of shattered ice sharpening like knives around the pools of ink black that bled into pale irises. Your sides burned where he dug his nails in, and you added, “A participation award, at least?”
Grabbing hold of your hips, he yanked you forward, your legs hooking over his shoulders and something wicked glittering in those darkened eyes. A brief moment of panic seized you as you were tugged down from your throne of pillows. His flushed lips were parted, a bead of your nectar dribbling down his chin. Looking more akin to a wild animal in that moment than he did a man, you felt the unravelled knot begin to weave into something dangerous in your gut.
“You think this is over?” he demanded, practically snarling, lips pulling in a wide grin round his white teeth. He began placing kisses and nips to your trembling thighs, ghosted a shuddering breath over the heat between them. He already had you moaning from how sensitive you were. “It’s not over ‘til I say it is, sweetheart.”
He’d told you not to scream, so you had to clamp a hand over your mouth, cries muffled by your sticky palm that smelled of mint and saliva and the faint trace of sex. He attacked you, tongue and teeth and all, while you were still coming down from your first orgasm. Yet, your hips still bucked against him, and he kept tugging you closer, grinding the slit of your cunt against his face, suckling and nipping at the delicate folds and finally forcing his tongue back inside you. Your other hand found its way back into his hair, clutching the messy strands as if your life depended on it.
You were quite certain at this point that he was trying to kill you.
Finally, as if in frustration, he hooked a finger inside you, reaching places his tongue couldn’t, and you bit down on your hand, rolling your hips madly against him despite the fatigue that weighed on every limb. Your bliss rolled over you in white-hot waves, in shivers of burning cold that seemed to electrify your skull.
Coldfire.
“Come for me one more time, baby,” he urged you, trailing sloppy, wet kisses up your stomach, gliding his weight over you to witness the look on your face as he worked his finger inside you. The knot in your belly tightened and unravelled in the space of those words alone, and you shuddered out a groan as your toes curled and your thighs closed around him. You became limp again, head spinning and darkness hedging your vision.
“Good girl.” A kiss was placed at the swell of one breast, his nails running up and down your sides. Your legs were still slung over his shoulders, now hooked around the curve of his spine, and the last thing you felt before oblivion took you was the heat of his palms on your flesh, the scrape of his bloodied nails, the graze of his teeth and the softness of his lips as he worshipped your body with little praises.
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The dip of the bed beneath his weight was what woke you, your nose still buried in the cinnamon shampoo of his pillow and your nails clutching the fabric for dear life as the mattress creaked. Pain thudded beneath your skull, but not as intensely as before, and you were able to peek open your eyes, catching a glimpse of the alarm clock.
8:56.
A wicked finger of cold ran down your bare spine as the sensation of his body heat left you, but you remained still, waiting, like an animal playing dead. Maintaining an even breath this time. Shallow, faint.
The soft padding of Jackson’s feet against the carpet disappeared round the corner, along with the low melody of his whistle, and your breath hissed slowly from your teeth. You looked to the TV, now silent, and the blazer he’d folded across the stand. Your deadly affects were gone. Of course. Why would life ever make escaping your kidnapper that easy?
You glanced then to the door, your heart picking up speed in your chest.
But did you really want it to be easy?
Deep down, you couldn’t help but feel like you had something to prove. You’d let this man beat you and best you and had found yourself wrapped around his finger, and worse yet, he’d killed your target. You’d failed your mission.
He must’ve thought you were so pathetic.
The sound of a shower turned on, past the drywall divider of the hotel. The bathroom was located directly behind you, which must have meant the kitchenette was to your right, towards the window side.
8:59.
You had to take a minute to steady yourself against the edge of the bed as you pushed yourself up, the heels of your hands shaking against the mattress. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Head lowered between your legs, your dizziness gradually ebbed, and your toes brushed the carpet.
Legs trembling beneath you, cold washing across your nude form, you slowly crept your way into the kitchen, peering down the hall to the bathroom. Light pooled beneath the doorframe and, by the sound of it, the water still buffeted the porcelain of the tub, nearly masking his idle whistle.
Your scalp itched where you’d been struck, and you resisted the urge to paw at it. You wished desperately to fetch another glass of water to sate your parched tongue. But your eyes caught on the soft glint of knives along a magnetised strip on the wall, and you moved forward, heart pounding so hard in your skull that your breath caught in your chest, for you feared you would not be able to hear your surroundings.
The knife made the scarcest sound as you pulled it from the metal strip, and trembling fingers tightened round its handle, lowering the weapon to a defensive position at your belly. Some semblance of power coursed through your veins, hot and thick and whelming, intoxicating you for one moment as you drew a shaky breath into your lungs.
Until the noise of the shower and the whistling stopped, and your blood ran cold. The drip of water began to time to the mad beating of your heart and the rest was only silence.
Thud, thud, thud, thud…
Turning on your heel, you slipped round the corner of the wall divider and held your breath as the bathroom door swung open. A shiver passed through you in your cold sweat, and though you listened intently, the blood roared too loud in your ears to hear anything more.
“Put the knife down, sweetheart.” His voice came to you just from the other side of the wall, calm and warm, like a man coaxing his lover back from the cruel grip of calamity. You startled, your breath hissing between your teeth, though his words slid over your bare skin like silk.
Jackson emerged from behind the wall, fully clothed, hair not even damp from the shower. His hands rested at his sides, no weapons – he didn’t need them, for that tongue of his was as sharp as your knife and fire raged in those icy eyes.
“You tricked me,” you breathed, collecting yourself, stalling. He was right there in front of you… you could lash out, in one quick motion and allow your blade to meet blood and bone. “You knew I’d wake up and you turned the shower on to see what I’d do.”
“Very astute. Has anyone told you you should be a detective?” he rasped sarcastically, voice darkening. Despite his gentle plea to put aside your weapon, he had that predatory look about him that made your flesh crawl with bitter cold but your insides melt like honey.
In the second he took for his eyes to rake down your nude form, you darted to the left, reckoning you could outrun him better than you could fight him, but his hand caught your ankle and you fell, squirming in his grasp. The rough carpeting scraped your bruised flesh, and kicking at his hands, as you felt his weight clamber on top of you, clutching your knife tight as you attempted to draw it back in to your chest.
“I told you not to play games, sweetheart,” he said, hands gliding over your skin. The heat of his breath raked across the small of your back.
Twisting, you didn’t kick this time, but brought the knife in a wild slash towards him; his hand captured your wrist, squeezing again at the delicate blood vessels beneath your flesh, reminding you briefly of the brush of his lips against yours. The knife slipped between your fingers, landing somewhere beside your head in the sea of hair that spilled beneath you as you stared helplessly up at him.
There was no fear in his gaze. Only darkness.
“You know what happens to bad girls…” His other hand wove its way through your hair, bunching the locks in his fist and tugging at your scalp. Magma consumed your skull, and your lips parted in a breathless cry, the oxygen forced from burning lungs. Your fingers grabbed for his jaw, his throat, but as you tightened your hold, so did he; threads of hair snapped from their roots, and for one blinding second, all you knew was pain.
And without thinking, you screamed.
Jackson’s hand came to clamp around your mouth, frantically loosed from your hair, and instinct brought your hand in a striking blur across the hollow between his jaw and his throat, where you knew you could render him unconscious. His weight teetered over you, eyes widening, a gust of breath burning your eyes as it was forced from his lungs. Blinking wildly and gritting your teeth, you struck him again, until you managed to slip from beneath him. Fingers grasped for the knife, the cool, varnished wood of the handle a welcome comfort in your palm. 
As you made it to your feet, he sent his teetering weight forwards, crashing against you but you held on tight to your blade even as the breath once more escaped your lungs, and your spine hit the wall, jarred but consumed by adrenaline that set your veins alight with fire.
“Fucking bitch,” he snarled, any playfulness of his façade shattering like the icy shards of his wild eyes. From his shift in tone, you knew that there was no going back.
Nails dug into your skin, cruel and unrelenting, and his arm slammed your right wrist into the wall, attempting to disarm you.
Little did he know, you had switched the knife to your left.
The heat of his blood spilled around your knuckles where you clutched the knife, having driven it deep beneath his ribs, and his nails loosened from your flesh, a wheezing cough sputtering against your cheeks. For good measure, and smirking revenge, you wove your fingers through his hair, and brought his skull against the wall.
A trail of crimson smeared across the alabaster-white as you watched him sink to the floor, your chest heaving with ireful breath and his eyelids fluttering, working hard to focus on you as his fingers grasped feebly for the knife you’d left buried in his stomach.
“Feels great, doesn’t it?” You hissed, cocking a brow at him. Standing here, watching as he gasped for his breath and tightened his grip round the knife, unaware he was slicing the flesh of his own fingers on the blade, you felt powerful.
While your adrenaline lasted, you gathered up your clothes – or rather, what remained of them –, shimmying your skirt over your hips and tugging your shirt over your arms. Next, you began searching drawers, yanking them wildly from the TV stand. One clattered to the floor, but at this point, noise was no longer your concern.
You found your belongings and snapped your garter over your thigh, checked the chamber and mag of your Ruger to find he’d been kind enough to load fresh bullets, and hooked a finger over the torn lace panties to bring them up in the low light of the room.
“You can keep them,” you said, tossing them against his face, his eyes still wide and his jaw now clenching. Something like fury passed through the blue of his gaze, but still no fear. Strangely, both unease and a familiar dash of excitement brewed beneath your flesh.
Finally, you made a call to 911 from the room’s phone, telling the operator that there was a man who’d been stabbed and desperately needed medical attention. You hung up just as they asked for your name, bloodied fingers tossing the phone on the bed in your haste. There was no point covering your tracks; your DNA was everywhere, and you knew, from the fury in the man’s eyes, that it wasn’t the law you would need to watch out for.
"Y/N," he wheezed, breath hissed between his clenched teeth, and you paused. "I'm going to fucking ruin you."
"Oh..." you purred, a smile twisting your lips. "I'm counting on it."
And it wasn't from his words, but from the excitement beneath your flesh and the dull ache of your loins that you knew that it would not be the last time you saw Jackson Rippner.
And as you left, door slamming in your wake, you realised,
Maybe you enjoyed your little games.  
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A.N. I'm on the fence about carrying this into a series since I have a lot to work on at the moment, but can definitely consider it if there's a demand!
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hier--soir · 11 months
Text
under the night | four
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pairing: joel miller x f!reader, set in jackson after the end of tlou part I warnings/tags: [18+ only, minors dni] language, sex, angst, jealousy, immature/possessive!joel, canon typical violence [infected feature], violence, injury/blood, vomit, hurt/comfort, and so on and so forth word count: 9k part three | series masterlist | main masterlist
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The patrolmen in Jackson were dedicated. Every morning, on a rotational basis, a group of them ventured out past the gates of the settlement and explored set routes. They took down infected; they searched for essential items like soaps and medicines; but most all, they kept the town safe. Admittedly, when you first heard them called patrolmen you’d rolled your eyes, knowing damn well there were multiple women doing the job. But Tommy had just shrugged amiably, assuring you that those women weren’t bothered with the title.
That morning in particular, Joel and Tommy were scheduled to do a routine sweep of what they called the “south patrol”. Joel had never complained about how quickly he fell into the job upon his arrival in Jackson. It made sense to Tommy and Maria that he would join the team, considering the vast experience and knowledge he’d acquired in his year roaming cross country with Ellie. Never once had he begrudged his brother for being given a job and a place to live, and a warm home to sleep in.
Until, that is, he had to leave you in his bed for the sake of a fucking patrol.
“Fuck Tommy,” Joel grumbled into your neck. You laughed sleepily, pushing him off you.
“Get out of here, Joel,” you mumbled unconvincingly, rolling over to shove your head back into the pillows. It was earlier than you would’ve chosen to wake up, but you knew there was no hope of drifting back to sleep with the way the sun shone through his large bedroom window.  With a huff, he was getting out of bed, and you listened drowsily to the sound of the shower running, and then to the rustling of him pulling his clothes on.
When a silence settled over the room, you risked opening your eyes a crack, only to see Joel watching you from the doorway.  He stared forlornly, his eyes raking over your naked torso before you yanked the blanket back up to cover yourself.
“You’re makin’ this real hard for me you know,” he said, his forearm propped up against the doorframe. 
You cracked a smile, and let your eyes shut slowly, listening to the sounds of his boots padding softly down the stairs.
A week had passed since your first night together, and it was true that you and Joel struggled to spend more than one consecutive night apart. Laying in his bed, surrounded by the smell of him, you remembered the day after like you were experiencing the moment all over again.
The knock at your front door had come after 10pm, and you’d startled at the sound, wondering who would be bothering you so late. Cal had been out at Louisa’s, so you’d tentatively walked over to the door, opening it just a crack to glance out, and then tugging it open swiftly upon seeing Joel standing on your doorstep. 
“Hey there,” he’d offered a tense smile, eyes flicking down to your feet and then back up to hold your gaze.
You gripped Joel’s pillows and remembered the way he’d stepped inside your home, asking if you were alone.
“I can’t stop thinking about it. About the way you sounded… the way you felt. Can���t get you out of my damn head.”
You were drunk on each other, on the intimacy. Both enveloped in these new and devastatingly consuming feelings for one another that you were finally able to express. In the entire week, you’d only spent one night away from one another, because you had stood your ground and admitted you needed to spend some time with Cal.
From Joel’s bed, you listened to the sounds of Ellie messing around downstairs in the kitchen, no doubt trying to make herself something edible for breakfast. After the teenager had caught you leaving the house, you had been shy around her. You didn’t want your relationship to change because things with Joel had. Although Ellie had seemed enthused by the progression, you feared the dynamic would shift between you, so you tried to remain stealthy with your comings and goings from their home.
When you were sure the younger girl had left the house, you took your time with showering, and dressing for the day.
“Walk of shame,” Cal crooned lovingly from the kitchen table when you returned home. You flicked him off with a laugh, hanging up your coat. “Seriously, do you even live here anymore?”
“Fuck off, man,” you rolled your eyes, settling down in the chair opposite him. You accepted a mug of coffee with a grateful nod, and brought the liquid gold to your lips.
He chuckled quietly, pushing his bowl of oats towards you as a peace offering. You stole his spoon and cleared the rest of the food in minutes.
“How are you though?” he asked after a while, his eyes soft and genuine. You admired him, and the way his blonde hair was getting longer, flopping down over his eyes.
“I’m good, Cal,” you assured.
“You look happy,” he squinted at you, the teasing lilt returning to his voice. “You’ve got the glow of someone who’s finally made some fucking friends.”
“Took a leaf out of your book,” you winked.
Your heart felt full. For so many years, you and Cal had been one another’s salvation. You’d relied on each other for survival, for companionship, but amongst it all, there had been stretches of time so dire that you didn’t laugh for weeks at a time. To be sat with him, in your home, somewhere safe like Jackson, and laughing together… even after so many months there, it still struck you sometimes how lucky you were.
It was a few hours later, when you ventured toward the stables to check in on Dot, that you bumped into Tommy and Joel returning from patrol.
The brothers were putting away their saddles when you pushed the gate open.
Tommy greeted you warmly, although his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Your gaze drifted slowly from him to his older brother, trying to gage the tense atmosphere.
“Hey guys,” you wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering from the bitter weather. Joel leaned against the stable wall, fiddling with the bit in his hands, his eyes hard on Tommy. “Who died?” 
Joel’s eyes snapped to you, his expression grim.
“Woah,” you said lowly. “What the fuck, did someone actually die?”
“We found a body out there,” Tommy admitted quietly, stealing a glance over his shoulder to check if anyone else was listening.
“Where?”
His face seemed hesitant, as if he were unsure of sharing much information with you. He rubbed the back of his neck in the same way Joel did when he was trying to find the right words. “A few miles away. A woman. No one from here; we didn’t recognise her.”
“Bitten?” you asked quietly, your breaths short. The idea of anyone being outside those gates made your chest hurt suddenly, as the memories of life out there raced through your brain.
“No,” Joel answered gruffly, and you looked at him. “It must’ve been raiders, but the snowfall last night means there wasn’t much for us to do by means of tracking them.”
“We’re going out again tomorrow,” Tommy butt in firmly, staring at his older brother. “I want this shit figured out.”
You didn’t know what made you say it, but the words tumbled from your mouth. All fear forgotten, you blurted, “Let me come with you.”
“What?” Joel huffed sharply, glaring at you. “Fat chance.”
You scowled in his direction, looking at Tommy. “I lived out in the open for years, I can help you with tracking, even through the snow.”
Joel ground out your name, his eyes flashing with a warning that you couldn’t quite decipher.
“She has a point Joel,” Tommy held his hand up towards his brother, stopping the interruption he knew was coming. “Plus, we could use the extra pair of hands. Someone to watch our six.”
You would have never admitted it, but Tommy was right. The concern you felt for Joel all of a sudden was an unwelcome, painful feeling. After the past week, the idea of him going out past the gates made your throat tighten. You wanted to be out there with them, watching their six – keeping him safe.
“I don’t like it,” is all Joel said, eyes staring at the ground. “We can take Jesse.”
He’d rather have a 19-year-old kid on patrol with them, than you?
“Fuck, Jesse. I’ll be here tomorrow morning at 7,” you told Tommy, who nodded once.
“We should get going,” Joel pushed off the wall, and you looked to him in confusion. “I promised you I’d fix that leaky tap in your kitchen.” You didn’t remember ever having a conversation about your kitchen tap, but you nodded slowly anyways, sparing a glance in Dot’s direction before surmising that you’d check in on the horse properly in a few days.
“Fix her leaky tap my ass,” Tommy muttered, earning him a grunt from Joel. He put his hand on the small of your back and encouraged you out of the stables, leaving Tommy laughing as he finished packing up their equipment. 
Walking down the street in the direction of your house, you braced yourself for Joel’s frustration. You could tell he was tense in the stables, and unhappy with your decision. But you couldn’t help the way anxiety ticked away in your chest. Nothing good comes from wanting. Yet there you were, with Joel so close finally, and a reminder had been served to you that he could be taken away so fucking easily. Letting people in meant opening yourself up to pain, and you were suddenly terrified by how fast things were moving between you two; how much he meant to you after a single week of being anything more than friends.
“Joel,” you started quietly.
“We’ll talk about it later,” he said quickly, squeezing your shoulder before lowering his hand once again to rest on your lower back. You nodded slowly, glancing around the street and noticing Rosie Paulson, a girl around Ellie’s age, staring at the pair of you from her front porch. Instinctively, you brushed off Joel’s hand, putting a wider berth between you.  
“That Paulson girl is staring at us like we’re naked,” you explained under your breath, walking faster.
“Nosy fucking kids,” Joel grunted in response, not even glancing in the girl’s direction.
You remembered the impression you’d gotten of Joel when you first arrived in Jackson; that cold, private person who kept to himself. The other people in the town saw the same in him, and you knew it would’ve been cause for curiosity; for them to suddenly spot him walking around town with you by his side.
Your house came into view, and you started to chuckle. “So, what’s all this leaky tap business, Miller?”
He gave a short laugh and looked at you from the corner of his eye. “Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“Needed an excuse to get you alone.”
You barked out a laugh and led him quickly up the stairs to the front door, unlocking it hastily. Before you were fully inside, his hands were on you, prying the zip of your jacket down.  He kicked the door shut behind him with a slam, and pushed you up against it, his fingers pressing against the skin underneath your shirt. All your anxieties blew away in the wind when you felt his hands on your body.
“Fuck,” you gasped in shock. “Your hands are fucking freezing.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled into your mouth, pressing his lips to your urgently. “Help me warm ‘em up.” 
Putting your hands on his chest, you pushed him off you. “C’mon,” you encouraged, leading him to your bedroom. It was a painful dichotomy; fearing getting so close to him, so quickly, and yet not being able to keep your damn hands off him. When you clicked the bedroom door closed, you turned to find him standing at the edge of your bed, watching you with dark eyes.
“I really didn’t want to leave this morning,” he spoke lowly. “Wanted to stay in those sheets all wrapped up in you.” Through the admission he seemed somewhat shy, a flush still rising in his cheeks when he bared his feelings to you so honestly. Though you’d spent your nights together, no conversation had been had about what exactly you were doing. You’d admitted you liked being near each other, but not much else. And you decided you were okay with not knowing; if it meant you got to have Joel in any capacity.
You hummed, stepping forward to place your hands on his cheeks, and running your fingers through the coarse bristles of his beard. He leaned in and kissed you gently, his tongue swiping along your bottom lip before pressing eagerly into your mouth. You sighed softly, breathing in the scent of him. Your heart still raced like it was the first time.
You stripped each other’s clothes off hastily, until you were clad in nothing but your underwear, and cold fingers didn’t matter anymore because your skin had grown hot with desire. 
You pushed gently on his chest and when the back of his calves hit the bed, he fell onto it with a huff of surprise. He shuffled backward until his head hit the pillows, and you crawled up to straddle him. Your fingertips trailed lightly over his skin and through the soft smattering of hair on his chest.  
His eyes flashed dark with desire, and he grit his teeth. You felt powerful astride him, with your hands pressing down on his shoulders to keep him pinned to your bed.
“This how you want it?” he rasped.
“What can I say,” you smirked. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”
He let out a sharp laugh, but it was cut off by a grunt when you ground down against him. You sighed at the feeling of him pulsing against your core, only two thin pieces of fabric separating you now. His eyes closed involuntarily, face relaxing at the feeling of you rubbing against him. But then they snapped open, trained on you again. You remembered what he’d said during your first time together. I don’t want to miss a single thing.
One of his hands left your waist and drifted between your thighs. He pulled your underwear to the side, and you exhaled heavily as one of his thick fingers dipped between your folds.
“Christ,” he exhaled. “You’re wet already, baby.”
“Can’t help it,” you whimpered, the pet name causing a flood of heat to rip through you. Your stomach tensed as he swirled his fingertip over your entrance, and spread the wetness upward, finally making contact with your pulsing clit.  He drew light circles around it at first, enjoying the way you held your breath at the feeling, and then would sharply gasp for air as he changed his rhythm.
“That feel good?” he asked, watching your expressions.
“So good,” you breathed, eyebrows pulled together tightly as you grinded against his hand.
He slipped a finger inside you, sighing huskily at the feeling of your walls tightening around him. You loved the sounds he made when his hands were on you; as if he would die happy just from having had the chance to touch you. After a moment, he pushed a second digit inside, curling them against your walls and scissoring them, stretching you out for him.
You kissed him messily, teeth nipping at his bottom lip, before running your lips down his jugular. You tried to stop yourself from leaving marks in your wake, although you knew Joel wouldn’t be bothered.
“Fuck Joel,” you huffed, lips pausing on his skin when his fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. “Stop.”
His hand stilled instantly, eyes searching your face in confusion.
“I need to fuck you,” you said firmly, pushing his hand away from your body and leaning back to tug your panties down your legs. Joel followed suit, desperately yanking his briefs down his legs before grabbing your hips to pull you back over him. Unintentionally, when you rested above him, the head of his cock nudged against your folds, and he moaned deeply.
“God,” you sighed, reaching down to grip him in your hand. You pushed his head through your folds, letting your slick coat his already weeping tip.
He groaned your name, fingertips digging into your hipbones. “Love how wet you get for me.”
You whined and couldn’t help but press your entrance down onto his head, longing to feel him inside of you. But common sense flared in the back of your mind, and you reached over desperately to grab a condom from the bedside table. Shuffling down to sit on his thighs, you ripped open the foil with your teeth, enjoying the way he stroked his cock and watched you with hooded eyes.
You knocked his hand away to roll the latex down his length, giving him a firm tug once it was on. Not wasting a second, he lined himself up to your entrance, and you sunk down onto his length.
You gasped, eyes shutting instinctively. For all the nights you’d spent together that week, it was the first time you’d ridden him. The position helped him hit a spot so deep inside that it had you seeing stars behind your eyelids.
“God damn it,” Joel spat, eyes rolling back in his head. One of his hands gripped the blanket, and the other held your waist in a vice grip.
“Shit Joel,” you whimpered. “You’re so deep like this, f-fuck.” Your breathless tone drove him crazy, and he begged you to move.
“You can take it, darlin’,” he encouraged. “Show me how well you can take me.”
You clenched around him, your slick dripping down and coating both of your thighs. Slowly, you lifted up before dropping back down, crying out as he instantly hit that spot inside of you again. Hungry for more, you got to work; lifting up and grinding down in a beautiful rhythm that had him making filthy sounds beneath you, reaching up to pinch and tug on your nipples. 
“Look so fucking good like this,” he grunted, his eyes flicking between your face and the way your tits bounced with every movement.
You grabbed his hands and shoved them into the pillows beside his head, leaning over him so he could suck one of your nipples into his mouth. He moaned into your skin, nipping gently at the painfully tight buds. With your torso bent forward, your clit brushed deliciously against the coarse hair at his base, and you couldn’t help but just grind yourself against him for a moment, letting out soft whines.
“That’s it, baby,” he groaned into your chest. “Fuck yourself against me.”
With the sensation of him deep inside you, and the friction on your clit, an orgasm hit you out of nowhere. You cried out in shock, gripping his shoulders as your body bowed into his chest.
“Fuck,” he yelled into your skin, his hands wrapping around your back to hold you to him. You’d come to learn that your orgasm was often what pushed him over the edge, and could tell he was holding back, waiting.
Your body was shaking as the pleasure rolled through you, and Joel’s mouth sponging kisses across your chest did nothing to lessen the intensity of the moment. As your body relaxed, he began nudging his hips upwards, making you whimper.
“Not done with you yet, baby,” Joel rasped, his fingers dragging down your back as he fucked up into you. He was so thick, so heavy, inside you, and even in the minutes after an orgasm, you had to steel yourself in preparation for another. With all your strength, your pushed herself back into a seated position.
“You’re too far away,” he grunted, attempting to push himself up so you were chest to chest.
“Uh uh,” you tutted breathlessly. Your hands were on his chest, holding him against the bed. “Thought you didn’t wanna miss a thing, Miller? Watch me.”
His eyes flicked down from your face to your chest, your stomach, all the way down to where you were connected. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his neck was flushed red. You could only imagine that you looked the same way, as your chest heaved with exhausted breaths.
“So beautiful,” he breathed out, and your cheeks burned. The moment was almost too intense. Post orgasm, with him deep inside of you, saying words you struggled to accept about yourself.
“Fuck me,” you begged him, and he obliged.  
His grip on your waist was bruising, using his strength to hold you still while he thrust up into you. You were sure there would be fingerprint shaped marks on you the next day, and the thought made you shiver.
“Y’feel so,” he grunted. “So fuckin’ good for me.”
You leaned back and rested your hands on his thighs for leverage, moaning lowly at the new, tighter angle.
“Oh,” you sighed. “Oh, you’re gonna make me cum again, Joel.”
He cursed loudly, his rhythm breaking for a second before starting up again at a faster rate. “C’mon,” he encouraged, dark eyes bearing into yours. Holding his gaze, a shiver ran down your spine as you noted a hint of frustration. Joel was being rough, pounding into you with no mercy, desperate for you to cum again. It seemed the tension from the conversation in the barn hadn’t disappeared entirely.
Choked sobs fell from your mouth involuntarily as he bounced you on top of him. His teeth were gritted as he snarled, “Want to feel you cum all over my cock. I know you can.”
His words were enough to send you over the edge a second time, and a guttural cry tore out of your throat as you toppled into your orgasm. Joel followed close behind, his hips snapping messily into yours over and over again, while he let out rough curses and mumbles of your name.
Heavy breaths filled the air around you as you collapsed onto his chest. You left feather soft kisses along his collarbones, your eyes closed in exhaustion. He gripped your waist and spun you slowly so your back hit the pillows, before pulling himself out of you.
“I meant it,” he said a short while later. You’d cleaned up and were laying in bed, hands stroking each other’s skin absentmindedly. You looked at him in confusion. He reached out and traced a finger along the scar on your cheek. “You’re so beautiful.”
You cringed quickly, tucking your face into the pillow.
“Don’t do that,” he pleaded in a whisper. “Don’t hide from me.”
“It’s hard,” you muttered, still not meeting his eye-line. “This all feels very… intense.”
He nodded slowly, eyes watching you warily. “Is that… bad?”
“It’s not bad,” you rushed out. “It’s just different. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a… a you.”
“Long time for me too,” he said. You stared at each other for a moment, not saying anything. Finally, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
“I need to eat something,” you mumbled into his mouth, eager to change the subject. “Or I’m gonna pass out.”
“Can’t have that. Need you to keep your energy up,” he replied, his palm gripping your ass quickly. “Can’t have you tirin’ out on me.”
You scoffed, jumping off the bed to tug on a pair of underwear and a random singlet.
As you walked down the hallway into the kitchen, he called out, “I’m hungry too!” You replied with a laugh, and a “yeah yeah!”
You rifled through the kitchen cabinets for a few minutes and contemplated heating up a can of soup, until your eyes landed on the bag of oranges you’d picked up a few days beforehand.
You grabbed one with an eager smile, and began pealing the rind over the sink, not noticing the front door opening in your periphery.
“Jesus, aren’t you cold, freak?”
“Shit!” you jumped, almost dropping the fruit. “You scared me.”  
Cal was leaning against the kitchen doorway, staring at you in incredulity.
“Not my fault you’re wandering around in your underwear with your head up in the clouds,” he was laughing.
“Shh, shh,” you hushed him with a snort. “Joel’s here.”
“Oh shit,” Cal said, eyes wide with mischief. “Grumpy old Joel Miller in our house?”
“Give it a rest,” you rolled your eyes, starting up on your peeling again. “How was your day?”
“It was good,” he trailed off, eyes flicking down the hall over your shoulder. You could hear Joel’s footsteps approaching the kitchen, but held focus on the orange, tearing white strands off the juicy flesh. Your cheeks flushed at what the two of you must’ve looked like; half dressed, with messy hair and tired eyes.
“Hey Joel,” Cal nodded politely, raising his hand in a wave.  
Joel settled directly behind you, and your eyes went wide when you felt his bare chest press against your back, and his hand come down to land on your stomach. His long fingers splayed against you, pinkie resting dangerously close to the band of your underwear.
“Howdy,” he said quietly. His thumb toyed with the hem of your singlet, brushing underneath the fabric along your bare skin. You turned your head slightly to see Joel out of the corner of your eye, but he was staring directly at Cal. Your heart started to beat a little faster at the sudden awkward tension in the air. What was he doing?
Joel’s face was devoid of emotion, even the skin between his eyebrows was uncharacteristically smooth. But everything his face hid, his body language screamed. His knee brushed against the back of your leg, and where the contact would normally have made you shiver, you found herself stunned into silence by what you realised was a clear display of possessiveness. Joel was marking his territory in front of Cal, and you wanted no fucking part in it.
“How are you?” Cal asked warily, clearly confused by the dynamic between the two of you.
“I’m grand,” Joel said with a tone of finality, and no indication of wanting to continue the conversation. Your brain flashed back to the first time you’d met him, and what you’d thought; rude motherfucker. The adoration you’d felt for the man only minutes before was long gone, replaced with a burning frustration at his behaviour.
The silence was agonising, but you didn’t know how to break it. Cal fidgeted, eyes glancing at Joel’s hand before looking to the floor uneasily. Your stomach twisted as Joel leaned down a pressed a chaste kiss to the side of your neck. Cal cleared his throat into his elbow and finally muttered something about heading over to Louisa’s. Willing yourself to move, you gripped Joel’s hand and pried it off you. You turned and stalked back towards the bedroom; the orange forgotten on the counter.
When he entered the room behind you, you spun around angrily. “What the hell was that?”
“What?” he asked innocently, hands raised in the air.
“You practically propped your leg up and pissed on me back there,” you grunted. “Like a dog marking your fucking territory.”
He said your name softly, arms lowering.
“Don’t say my name like that,” you said. “What the hell was that?”
“What, I can’t touch you?” he asked defensively.
“Did you see how uncomfortable he was? Your hand was practically up my shirt!”
“Well good,” he growled, and you paused, mouth falling open. “Maybe I wanted to set the record straight.”
“Set the record…” you stared at him wide eyed. “What the fuck are you talking about, Joel?”
His face relaxed suddenly as he realised how appalled you were by him, and he made a quick step toward you. “Okay, look,” he surrendered, hands reaching out to you. “I’m sorry, okay?”
“Why did you do that?” you pushed, stepping back.
He breathed your name again, his eyes darting to stare at the wall. He gripped his hands together in front of him, cracking his fingers roughly. “Look, I-I can’t help but think about you and him living in this house together sometimes… knowing what I kno-“
“Jesus Christ,” you interrupted, pulling a pair of trousers from the chest of drawers, and beginning to tug them up your legs.  
“Now listen,” he said from behind you. “I’m sorry, but-“
“But what, Joel?” you turned back, zipping your pants. “I was honest with you, before any of this started between us. I told you more about my history, including what happened with Cal, than I have with another person, ever. I trusted you, thought you’d take it at face value. But then here you are, on a weird possessive kick, trying to lay some sort of claim on me in front of him? Cal is like my fucking brother, I told you that.”
“I do trust you, but I doubt it’s the fuckin’ same for him,” he ground out, his face reddening. This wasn’t the soft spoken, kind man you had gotten so close with. He was frustrated and angry, and you didn’t like this side to him. “What am I supposed to think? How do I know that he’s not just holdin’ out hope, waitin’ for you to change your mind?”
It was as though all the tension from the past few hours bubbled up inside of you. The stern words in the barn, Joel thinking he could make decisions for you, stop you from coming on patrol. And now this. If anybody else in Jackson dared to do these things, try to tell you what to do, you’d have their fucking tongue for it.
“Because you’re wrong!” you shouted, unable to help yourself. Your chest was heaving with sharp breaths; the situation astounded you. Is he fucking serious? “And you know what Joel, Cal will always be in my life. He’s been with me for a long time before you, and he’ll be with me for a long time after you. And if you can’t fucking handle that, then I don’t know what to tell you.”
Your mouth had moved faster than your brain, and you regret the phrasing as soon as it came out. But it was too late to take it back, so you steeled your shoulders and held your ground. Joel’s face fell quickly, his mouth turning down in dismay.
After you, you’d said. After you.
His hurt expression made your chest ache, but he cleared his throat and covered it up in a second.
“Well then,” he nodded, bending down to yank his clothes off the floor. He dressed in silence, not looking at you again, before turning and walking out of the room. You watched him leave with wide eyes, tears threatening your water line. Left standing alone in the house, you could only wonder what the fuck had just happened. Maybe you’d been right; wanting never brings anything good.
The nightmares returned that night. After a long week of peaceful deep sleep, the fear was paralysing, and somehow, you’d forgotten just how awful it felt. You slept fitfully, drifting in and out with no reprieve from your own mind.
By the time 6am rolled around, you tore out of bed to start the day. Washing your face in the bathroom, you ran your finger along the scar on your cheekbone, glaring at your reflection. No matter what you did, it would serve as a reminder of how weak you’d been made to feel, all those years ago. You weren’t supposed to be beautiful; you were supposed to be strong.  
It was bitterly cold outside. As you trudged towards the stables to meet Joel and Tommy the wind whipped painfully against your skin. Shoving your hands deep in your pockets, you tried to ignore the feelings of regret you had over pushing so hard to come along on the patrol. The argument with Joel rung in your head on a constant loop, and you cringed to think of how tense things were about to be.
His pained expression flashed through your mind, but you willed it away as quickly as it came. You were angry with him. If he’d just told you how he felt, maybe you would have understood, but instead he acted like a child. You rolled your eyes thinking about it. Maybe it was for the best this had happened early on in your... situation with him.
“Oh, hey!” a voice called suddenly, and your head whipped around to spot the newbie jogging in your direction.
“Lincoln,” you nodded at him. “How’re you settling in?”
“Settling in well,” he grinned, his cheeks rosy from the cold. “Surprised to spot anyone else out and about so early.” You gave him a wry smile, doing your best to be polite. It was too early for small talk, and you’d heard from the girls at the stables just how chatty he could be.
“Headed out on patrol,” you said shortly, sighing quietly when he changed his course of direction and fell into step beside you.
“Oh, wow!” he said, too loud for your tired brain. “I thought I’d heard you worked at the stables?”
You could see the barn at the end of the street. So close.
“I normally do, just helping out Tommy this morning.”
“Well,” he stopped walking, and you found yourself pausing too, reminding yourself to be respectful. “I’ll leave you be. Be careful out there. Never know what kind of madness you might come across outside those gates.”
You stared at him for a second, brain struggling to catch up with his shift in tone. Lincoln’s cheery smile was gone, and his face seemed almost solemn as he gave the warning. 
When you didn’t respond for a moment, he spoke again. “You be safe then.”
“Always am,” you quipped, before turning to stalk towards the stables.
Joel and Tommy were already preparing the horses when you arrived. Tommy gave a friendly wave when he spotted you, beckoning you over.
“Morning, you remember how to use one of these?” he held a rifle out to you. 
“Yeah,” you nodded quickly, stealing a glance in Joel’s direction. He was adjusting the saddle on his horse, and didn’t acknowledge your presence. You shouldered the gun and let out a quick huff of exasperation. Fine.
“Joel saddled Dot up for you,” Tommy said. “We’ll head out in a second.”
Your annoyance waned ever so slightly, and you stared at Joel’s back curiously. He still didn’t turn; whatever he was fiddling with on Percy’s saddle must’ve been pretty damn interesting.
“That’s nice,” you muttered.
“Yeah,” Tommy muttered, gaze flitting awkwardly between the two of you when he noted your disingenuous tone. The contrast from when the three of you were last in the stables together was vast, and the younger Miller’s confusion was palpable. 
Joel didn’t say anything as you mounted your horses and rode out of the gates. You hung back, trailing behind their horses while you gained your bearings outside the walls of the settlement.
Large mountains decorated the scene, dusted so beautifully with snow that it would be picturesque if you weren’t so uneasy. It had been so many months since you arrived in Jackson, and being back outside caused your heart rate to kick up a notch. The landscape was vast, and memories of extensive stretches of time spent wandering aimlessly through the country played in your mind. So many cold winters spent hidden in dilapidated buildings, huddled underneath thin blankets, praying you wouldn’t lose your toes to the cold.
“So, we’re going back along the south patrol,” Tommy called back to you. “Same as what we did yesterday. Don’t worry too much about where we’re going, just follow us. Keep your eyes and ears open for anything strange.”
“Roger that,” you called back.
The three of you rode in silence for the first hour. You didn’t mind it much. Your shoulders were tense as you focused on your surroundings. Your ears were sensitive to the smallest of movements, body twitching at the slightest sounds.
“There she is,” you heard Tommy say up ahead, and your breathing hitched. “Fucking hell, the animals must’ve gotten to her.”
Dot trotted into step beside Tommy’s horse, and with a rolling stomach you looked down and spotted the body.
The dead woman was mangled, gory tears in her flesh clear even through the light smattering of snow that had fallen upon her. Animals had clearly gotten to her through the night, and you cringed to see the blood splattered on the bright white ground around her body. Joel was silent.
The three of you tied your horses to a nearby tree and set off on foot, looking for any signs the raiders might have left behind.
“I’m tellin’ you Tommy, we won’t find anything,” you could hear Joel grumbling under his breath up ahead. “She probably just fucking froze.”
“Let’s just be sure, Joel,” Tommy said firmly.
Joel exhaled heavily, and was turning his head to say something else, when you heard it. it was faint, almost too quiet to notice, but your ears pricked up.
Clicking.
Your feet ground to a halt. “Shut up,” you hissed.
“I beg your par-“ Joel turned to look at you for the first time, but stopped speaking when he saw the alarmed expression on your face.
You held a finger to your lips. Listen, you mouthed. Tommy and Joel shared a brief look, before Tommy gripped your jacket collar and hauled you forward to stand in between them.
“I thought they froze out here in the Winter,” you said quietly, eyebrows furrowed.
“Not all of ‘em,” Joel grunted.
“Alright, we move slowly,” Tommy whispered, eyes darting across their surroundings. “As quiet as possible. There shouldn’t be many, so we’ll sort this fucker out and then get back to the gate.”
“We’re gonna kill it?” you asked, eyes wide. Never in your years in the wild had you actively sought out any infected. When you heard clicking, you went the other way. “We should just head back now.”
“It’s part of the patrol. Gotta clear out any infected we come across,” Tommy told you, eyes apologetic. “You’ll be fine.” You refrained from admitting that it wasn’t you that you were worried about. As much as you and Cal had done your best to avoid them, you’d had to kill plenty of infected in your lives. But you were hit with the sudden realisation that you hadn’t even brought a knife with you. Jesus, I’m out of practice. 
Quietly as possible, you checked that your rifle was loaded, and the three of you walked toward the noise with your weapons raised. Your heartbeat thudded rhythmically in your ears, and the ache of anxiety grew in your chest. The clicking grew louder the further you walked, and your heart stuttered when they finally came into view. Not one, but two.
Your palms were sweaty against the rifle, and you cursed quietly, reaching down to wipe your right hand on the thigh of your pants.
“We’re good,” Joel whispered. You could see him watching you, out of the corner of your eye, but your gaze stayed trained on the duo up ahead. They were close together, twitching and writhing underneath a tall tree a few hundred metres ahead.
The way the creatures transformed with time never ceased to amaze you, in a morbid way. Fungal plates grew out of their heads, hues of bright orange and blue. After a year or so of infection, the fungus had solidified their bodies, making them stronger; more impenetrable. These should be the things that haunted your nightmares.
The three of you crept forward, and the infected were unaware of your presence, until a twig snapped painfully loud under your boot. They let out loud screeches, heads snapping in the direction of the sound.  
You grunted as your right side roughly bumped against Joel’s left, and you realised that you’d both moved to step in front of the other. “Get back,” he barked, staring through the scope on his rifle.
“I got the left,” Tommy shouted, all attempts at stealth thrown out the window. A deafening crack rang out as Tommy shot at one of the clickers. Joel took a shot at the one on the right but growled in frustration when the bullet sizzled just past it. He went to empty the bullet casing and swore when his gun jammed.
You could hear Tommy somewhere to your left, warning you that there was a third infected. Stepping forward, you shot at the one running at you and Joel. The bullet lodged solidly in its torso, but it was too close at that point, and within a second it was on you.
“Fuck,” you yelled, the wind getting knocked from your lungs as you landed on you back.
Your hands pushed at its neck, holding its snapping mouth as far from you as you could. It was snarling and screaming in you face, and white noise rushed in your ears. Its arms flailed, hands swiping viciously towards your face. It landed a heavy blow to the side of your head, and you screamed in pain. A thunderous shot rang out, and a wet sensation splashed across your face. Your head smacked back against the ground as you recoiled, the clicker collapsing above you with its head split open.  
The body was heavy on top of you, and a painful buzzing in your left ear had you grimacing in discomfort. You cupped your ears in attempt to soothe the ache. The weight on top of you finally disappeared, and you took the opportunity to roll onto your side. Warm hands were on your back, your arms, grabbing you.
Joel’s urgent voice finally reached you, calling your name, and you opened your eyes. His knees thudded heavily into the snow beside you, hands gripping the lapels of your jacket and dragging you into a seated position.
You stared at him in a wide-eyed daze. His hands ran over your body frantically, tugging your collar away from your neck to touch your skin, and checking your bare hands. He snapped your name, trying to get your attention. “Are you bit?”
Your face was so wet. As you slowly returned to clarity, it was all you could feel. And in a horrifying moment of realisation, it was all you could taste. The smell of metal and rot had invaded your mouth, your nose. You pushed herself back from Joel just in time to empty the contents of your stomach onto the snow between you.
He gripped your hair at the base of your neck, rubbing your back in short, rough circles. Somewhere far off, you thought you could hear speaking, but it was muffled.
“Is she bit, Joel?” Tommy was saying. Your stomach twisted violently, and you vomited again. When you managed to settle, Joel tugged you up onto your feet, his arm wrapping around your waist.
“Joel?" Tommy urged louder.
“She’s not fucking bit!” Joel yelled, his eyes tight with concern as he wiped the blood off your face with a rag. He walked hastily in the direction of the horses, and when you finally reached them, he tried to get you on his horse with him.
“I can ride,” you mumbled, your own voice sounding muffled.
“Just come wit-“
“I can ride on my own,” you asserted, allowing him to help you mount Dot.
The ride back to the gate was long. Joel rode right next to you, not speaking but never letting you out of his sight. The shock was wearing off, but you felt like you had vertigo; dizziness made you grip the reins tighter, and you prayed internally that you wouldn’t fall off. When the gate finally came into view, you could’ve sobbed from relief.
On Maria’s orders, you weren’t allowed to leave the gate check in point until the settlement’s doctor came and gave the all the clear. Tommy and Maria watched you like a hawk, but you paid them no mind. You were sat on the ground, cradling your aching ear, while Joel made futile attempts to clean up your face. He couldn’t do much though, without warm water. No one said anything. 
“You’ve got a perforated eardrum,” Dr Llewellyn told you, after shining a light into your left ear. It was leaking a clear, blood-tinged fluid that made your skin itch. “I’ll give you some antibiotics to help ward off any infection, but it should heal up on its own within a fortnight or so.”
“Okay,” you nodded slowly, accepting a small bottle of pills. “Thank you.” Considering you were covered in blood and brain matter and dirt, you were surprised by how unfazed Llewellyn appeared.
A low whistle rung out and you turned to look at Tommy. “I’m impressed,” he said quietly. “You held your own out there. We could use someone like you on the patrol team.”
“Tommy,” Joel started, but you interrupted him.
“Can you take me home?” His head swung to look at you and he was nodding quickly, gripping you hand to pull you up off the ground.
He was quiet, on the walk back. It wasn’t out of character, but you could sense a unique solemnity to it. One of his hands was on you at all times, and his head darted around constantly to see if there was anyone on the street who would spot you. Your demeanour would definitely cause alarm, and he wanted to avoid it if possible. The hearing in your left ear was almost entirely muted, and you walked in a daze, wincing at the headache pulsing in your skull.
Cal was still out when you got back, and Joel ushered you into the bathroom. He started the shower and helped you strip out of your ruined clothes. When the water was warm, and you were standing naked in the middle of the room, he turned toward the door.
“Joel,” you whispered, tears brimming on your waterline. As the shock wore off fully, you felt panic flare inside of you again. “Please stay.”
“Of course,” he hushed, putting his hand on your shoulder. His face looked tired, eyes and mouth downturned in concern. “Let’s clean you up, okay darlin’?”
You nodded meekly, allowing him to walk you into the shower and underneath the warm spray. He kicked his shoes and socks off, peeling his clothes off quickly before stepping into the stream of water beside you. Red and brown water ran down your body, and you shut your eyes quickly. You hair was matted thickly to your head, dried blood glueing it to your scalp.
Joel’s hands rubbed water into it, gently working out the tangles until it was clean. When the blood and grime was gone, he shampooed and conditioned it, nudging your head back softly to wash the suds out. You kept your eyes closed, tears still welling in them. The sense of failure and shame bubbled painfully in your chest. Why couldn’t you keep yourself safe? Why did you always get hurt? You felt like a fucking liability.
He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, signifying that your hair was clean, and began rubbing soap over your body.
“Joel,” you said his name again urgently, voice thick with unshed tears.
“I’m here,” he soothed.
“I need you to check,” you said, voice so low he almost didn’t hear you.
“Check what?” he asked after a moment, his tone steely. Your eyes opened, and a tear rolled down your cheek as you stared at his blank expression. His hands had stopped moving.
“Please, just,” you gulped. “Check for bites. We might’ve missed something.”
 “You’re not fuckin’ bit,” he ground out.
“Please,” you begged, a sob racking through you body. “What if there’s one and we just haven’t seen it? Please.”
“Okay, okay, I’ve got you,” he acquiesced finally, realising that your panic wouldn’t subside until he did this for you.
With painstaking care, he resumed his ministrations along your body. Dragging the bar of soap along your skin, checking for bites on your neck, your back. His fingers traced the length of your arms, down to your fingers. His knees cracked loudly as he crouched beside you, hands brushing down your legs, checking.
When he stood back up, he wrapped his arms around you and tugged you into his chest. “You’re safe,” he murmured in your ear, grip tightening as you cried. “There’s nothing, you’re safe.”
Joel had you wrapped in a blanket and in front of the burning fire in your living room within the hour. He’d rifled through Cal’s room looking for a beanie, and gently tugged the navy hat on your head when he returned.
“He won’t mind I’m sure,” Joel muttered while dropping down onto the ground on your right side. He stared affectionately at how cosy you looked.
“He won’t. We share clothes all the time,” you said softly, gaging his reaction. He nodded slowly, eyes staring into the fire. The moment reminded you so strongly of the night a few weeks prior, when he’d found you wandering Jackson late at night in search of firewood, with a busted face.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the sincerity in his tone surprising you. His gaze held on the flames, but his hand drifted under the blanket to rest on your knee. “I was out of line, and I acted like a jealous kid. I don’t know what came over me.”
You didn’t speak for a moment, mulling his words over in your head. All the anger you’d felt towards him was so foreign now, after your near death experience, but you knew you had to talk about it. The way he’d held you in the shower, cleaned your skin... you weren’t ready be done with him.
“I suppose I’ve been relying on myself for so long,” he continued. “That I gotta … adjust to having other people in the picture. I had to adjust with Ellie, and now with you… I’m adjusting again. And it’s a good change; I want you in the picture.”
“You do?” you asked, wishing he would look at you. His cheeks were red from the warmth of the fire, and he cleared his throat nervously, nodding.
Finally, he turned his head to meet your eye. “I think I’ve wanted you in it since the first time I met you.”
You rolled your eyes, “That’s bullshit, Joel.”
“Okay,” he laughed quietly. “The fourth time I met you, then.”
You stared at each other. For once, you didn’t feel like hiding as his eyes slid over the features of your face, taking you in.
“Cal’s my family,” is all you said.
“And I won’t get in the way of that,” he held your gaze.
“Are you sure?”
He breathed your name. “It terrifies me to admit it but… I want you in any way I can have you. If Cal is your family, then I’m not going to fuck with that. I trust you.”
“He’s happy, you know,” you started, resting your hand on top of his. You chose your words carefully. “That you’re… in my life. He thinks you’re a good person.”
Joel’s eyes softened further, and he had the good grace to appear embarrassed.
“I need to say something though,” you continued, and his face tightened with alertness, hanging on your every word. “After everything that I’ve been through, the way I’ve lived… being in Jackson has brought order back to my life, Joel. And I need that. I need to feel in control of my life, and my decisions. If I want something, like going on a patrol,” his eyes darkened, but he stayed silent. “then I will. And you need to accept that about me. My decisions are my own.”
“They are,” he said firmly, squeezing your knee.
After a beat of silence, you gripped his hand tighter, and admitted, “I want you too. In my picture.”
He nodded, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours. “I know, darlin’.”
“Gonna have to stay on my right side though, with this bum ear,” you sighed.
“We can handle a perforated ear drum,” Joel chuckled quietly, his nose brushing against yours. “You stay on my left, and I’ll stay on your right. We only need two workin’ ears between us."
And as sweet as it was, the moment was broken by the front door of the house unlocking loudly, and Cal stumbled into the room. He took in the picture quickly, watching you both with a distressed look on his face.
“Cal?” you asked, eyes wide. You figured he'd heard what happened on the patrol and rushed home to see you.
“You okay?” Joel stood, taking in the younger man in confusion.
“Sorry,” he breathed heavily, pushing his snow slicked hair back off his forehead. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Don’t apologise,” Joel said, offering a sheepish smile. Cal watched him warily, and looked to you.
“Someone’s gone missing,” he said, catching you off guard. Your shoulders tensed, and you nodded.
“Milena, right?” you asked. “I heard the other day. I thought she’d just left Jackson.”
“Who?” Cal frowned, his hands shaking. “No, it’s Rebecca, from the patrol group. I just ran into her husband; she didn’t go home last night, and he hasn’t been able to find her today. They’re putting together a search party.”
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part five | series masterlist
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thesaucynomad · 10 months
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Bad Ideas 01
A Captain Syverson x ofc series
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A/N: i know I’m over due for parts on Hour of the wolf as well as No Morals. But I just can’t find the time and enthusiasm for either of them. So here I am reuploading some more stories from way back when. It’s all I can offer y’all at this time. There are more parts sitting in some scrivener folder on my laptop. Will try to post those over next few weeks. 
Part summary: Sy is on leave and looking for a way to relax.
Word count: 3k of Sy’s POV
Warnings: Dirty Sy, sexual language and themes, lots of thinking about sex, lots of talking about sex (you get the idea), dirty flirting, angst. Smut. Not beta’d. Prob Typos. 
Read PART TWO here
Part One : Fuck the pain away
It’s a goddamn travesty, Sy thought.
A damn travesty that he was on a sunny beach in Florida and there wasn’t one woman he wanted to fuck. Not that he wasn’t interested. Because he was. Having just come off a twelve month deployment, he wanted nothing more than to fuck.
Problem was half of him was still overseas. Or hell, maybe he’d left part of him here before the deployment and now that he was back, that part didn’t fit so well anymore. A gust of wind sent up whorls of sand and for a minute he was back in the Sandbox. Surrounded by mud-brick houses; thumping of a gunship overhead. A machine gun opening fire and ripping into the metal bodywork of their Humvee. A .50 cal thundering in return; bullets spraying red hot into an open window…
“How about her?” Jackson pointed at a woman strolling alone along the pier. She made eye contact with Sy and smiled. She couldn’t be older than nineteen.
“No,” Sy said and turned away. “I prefer a woman who can buy her own alcohol.”
“Since when are you so damn picky?” Jackson looked around and spotted another brunette. She looked around Sy’s age; thirty-two. “That one?”
“Better,” Sy conceded. Then he read the slogan on her shirt and took a second look at her. A damn snowflake if there ever was one. “Still a no.”
“Why the hell not?” Jackson asked.
“I’d like to have a conversation with the woman I’m sharing my bed with.”
“Listen to this redneck. Conversation. Since when are you interested in conversing? Sy, you need to lower your standards a bit. If it’s just sex, then you don’t need to like their personality.”
Problem was, he did. He had to like their personality. No greater turn off than taking a woman home and discovering you can’t get hard because your mind objects to the things that come out of her mouth.
Jackson tutted. “What the hell is going on with you? I know you just got back from deployment, but usually by now you’d be tearing up the nearest bar or strip club in Fayetteville. And here I have you on a beach in Florida with women flaunting their tatas all over and you stand there like a statue. Did you lose that one remaining brain cell of yours over in Stanland? Is that what it is? Have you forgotten how to talk?”
Sy turned and took in his friend. His once upon a time battle buddy. The reddish blonde hair was its same short length, and the sun had turned his pale skin lobster red. That garish color clashed with the bright yellow Hawaiian shirt he was wearing. “Fuck you, you buck toothed sister-fucker.”
“Ooh, I declare the dumbass has some fire in him still. But if anyone is the buck toothed sister-fucker around here, it’s you, you southern asshole. Up in Wyoming we only sleep with our cousins.”
Sy laughed. An elderly couple to their left gave them shocked looks. Sy touched a finger to the brim of his cap. “Sir. Ma’am.”
Jackson’s phone rang, and he dug it out of his pocket. Sy glanced at the screen and saw a picture of Paris Hilton and the name Ann. 
“You saved your wife’s number under Paris Hilton’s picture?”
“Hush,” Jackson said as he lifted the phone to his ear. “Don’t you go judging me.” He turned away from Sy. “Why hello love of my life.”
Sy looked up at the sun faded stars and stripes flapping on a flagpole as he tried not to eavesdrop on Jackson. His friend strolled over to the railing and leaned against it. The sun glinted on the prosthetic leg jutting out from the left leg of his shorts.
Yeah, Sy remembered the shitshow that was that tour. Last tour he did before deciding to go up for selection. Jackson’s amputation was the thing that made him want to get out of the infantry and become a doorkicker.
Feeling a surge of anger, he turned away from Jackson and ended up locking eyes with an old man sitting on a bench nearby. A weathered black cap kept the sun at bay.
“I know that look,” the old timer said in a smoke-and-alcohol roughened voice.
Sy had an impulse to slip his sunglasses on to hide his eyes from the old man’s inspection.
“What look?” he asked.
“The I-just-got-back-from-a-shithole-and-want-to-fuck-the-war-out-of-my-head look.”
Sy chewed over those words. “You served?”
“Nam.”
The one-word answer held both an entire generation’s shame and the veteran’s defiant pride. Sy’s spine straightened and he all but stood at attention. This was a man who served. This was his brother.
“An endless parade of faces won’t do it. You find one good girl. Get wrapped up in her before you go back. It’ll help more than having a different one every night.”
“Speaking from experience there?”
The sun-browned face crinkled in amusement. “Son, I got more experience in that arena than I care to admit.”
“How many divorces?” Sy asked.
“Three. You?”
“One divorce. One engagement called off.”
The old veteran nodded. “Can you even call yourself a real military man without at least one failed marriage?”
Sy sighed. Wasn’t that the goddamn truth right there? He stuck out his hand. “Joseph.”
The old man pushed himself to his feet and Sy swore he could hear the creaking of his joints and the grinding of his bones. “Buck,” he said as he shook Sy’s hand.
Buck sat back down slowly. “I’m here most days. Too old to chase girls now but I like the sun on my skin and listening to the gossip of the gulls. You tire of the finer sex you come find me up here.”
“Yes, sir.”
That made the old man smile. “Now get. Before you make me nostalgic. Remember: One good girl.”
Sy nodded and strolled over to Jackson who was pocketing his phone.
“Let’s try the bar.” Jackson suggested. “Might be some military lovers in there. Just flash those dog tags at ‘em and get yourself sorted.”
If Sy wanted to bang tag chasers, he could’ve hit any place in Fayetteville. Being a twenty-minute drive from Fort Bragg, it was tag chaser capital.
“Now listen my wife told me in no uncertain terms that today and tomorrow are the last days she’ll tolerate our little bromance as she calls it. She’ll probably spend tomorrow with her friends. They should show up around noon. So my time as your wingman has an expiration date.”
“Who are these friends of Ann’s?”
“Girls she’s known forever.”
“They alright? Neither of them is going to be in my face about being in the army? Or give me shit about the war?”
Jackson wiped his shades clean with the edge of his shirt. “Give you shit? Naw, they cool. I don’t know Harriet so good but from what I seen she’s okay. Might try to climb into your bed though. According to Ann, she likes to get hers.”
Sy gave Jackson a look. “I’m not fucking Ann’s friend.”
“Good Lord. Whatever you do, don’t do that. Ann will kill you first, and then me. She’ll think I’m the one that suggested it.”
“And the other one?”
“Rowan. Her I do know a bit. Jasmine and Megs’ godmother. If you didn’t miss both baptisms you’d know this.”
“You missed Megs’ baptism too.” Sy pointed out.
“Shit. I don’t need you to remind me of that. My wife does a good job of that whenever we fight. Rowan and Ann are real close. Grew up together, same school, same university. They’re tight, so you especially keep it in around her. Ah, she’s cool. Kinda does her own thing. Can hold her drink like a sailor. Her and Ann. The two of them once drank me under the table.”
“Tinkerbell could drink you under the table. Hold up, if she and Ann grew up together she’s Texan.”
“No.” Jackson stopped walking. “Nuh-uh. Don’t even think about it. You keep your hillbilly jizz away from my babies’ godmother.”
“Allude to me being inbred one more time and I’ll throw that damn leg of yours into the ocean.”
“Fuck you redneck.”
“You watch your goddamn mouth boy.”
“Don’t make me sic my wife on you.”
Sy smiled as he slipped his sunglasses on. “Hell, ain’t a man alive I would wish that on. This Texan friend. She like that too? A little ballbuster?”
“Why are you making ballbuster sound all sexual like that? You stay away from Rowan. I do not need telenovela drama. Promise me you’ll keep it in your pants around her.”
“Relax. I’m too fucking terrified of your wife to go anywhere near her friends. If I did I’m liable to wake up one morning with my balls cut clean off. You still watching those damn soap operas?”
“They are called telenovelas.”
“Is Paris Hilton in them?”
“Don’t be stupid. Shows just how uneducated you are. Did you even take that big body of yours to school or did you flunk out first day when they asked you to recite your ABC’s? But ooh, can you just imagine Miss Paris whipping her hair around being all dramatic in Spanish?”
Sy was aware of someone sneaking up behind them and out of habit he reached for the Beretta that he’d carried closer than a lover for twelve months. Except it wasn’t there. And that noise in the air was only the rustling of palm trees. And he was in Florida. Not Afghanistan. There was no smell of blood or sewage. And there was no enemy sneaking up on him. It was only Jackson’s wife.
“Howdy boys.” Ann squeezed between them and slip her arms around her husband. “We going to Benny’s?” Her shoulder length hair was a deeper shade of red than Jackson’s.
Sy rolled his shoulders and neck in an attempt to get rid of some of the stiffness.
“Oh baby,” Jackson said. “Look at you being our little third wheel.”
Ann pinched his arm and Jackson yelped.  “Jesus woman you got lobster claws for hands. Abusing me like that in broad daylight in front of all these people.” He rubbed at the sore spot. 
Ann ignored her husband and turned to Sy. “How’s that poolhouse been working for you?”
It was tiny and he was sure the roof would leak if it rained but he’d slept in worse places. “It’s fine.”
The good thing about Benny’s was that it had cheap food, good people and was within walking distance of the house they were renting for the month. They got a table near a window and ordered a platter of greasy food to share.  Jackson went to get some drinks from the bar and Sy watched his friend move through the crowded place, making sure he stayed safe. A tall brown haired woman near the bar caught his eye. Skin-tight red sundress and wedge heels. She smiled when she saw him looking.
Sy broke eye contact with the stranger and looked at Jackson’s wife. “Missing your babies?”
“I feel like I’m missing a limb, but lord it’s nice to wake up in your own time in the morning without Jasmine crying or Megs jumping on the bed.”
“Your mother must be real happy to have them with her.”
“For now, until she realizes what little squealin’ demons they can be.”
Sy pulled off his camo cap and tossed it onto the table. “I hear your Texan friend is joining us out here,” he said.
“My Texan friend?” Ann immediatly got her back up.  Suspicion sparked in her blue eyes. She must love this friend of hers like blood-kin. She pointed a finger at him across the table. “You leave her alone Sy. Don’t mess with Ro.”
“I won’t.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you. You might be difficult for other people to read but I’m not them. I know you’ve been trawling for a bed warmer. I don’t know what went down overseas this time but she’s not the one you are going to use to screw it away.”
Now that got Sy’s back up too. “Ann, I respect you. I think you’re a fine woman. I love you like a sister. I adore your two little girls as if they were my own. But I’m not about to let you prescribe me who I can take to bed or not. Don’t act like my mother.”
Jackson returned with the drinks. He sat down and read the situation right quick. “Ann leave the man be.”
“How do you know what we were talking about?”
“Because, my lovely wife, your voice carries like thunder. I could hear you all the way over to the bar.”
“My voice carries like thunder? You do realize that just because we are married doesn’t mean that I can’t withhold sex.”
“Oh baby, I know your vagina belongs to you and to you alone, and that I merely worship at the altar but give it a break already. They are adults. You can’t police them. Besides, him and I have talked. He’ll behave.”
She looked like she would like nothing more than to break a beer bottle over his head but she let it go. Sy excused himself before they got into it again. Ann was like a pitbull, once she had a hold of something there was no letting go. Before she could start up again and everybody lost their temper he excused himself and went up to the bar. 
The leggy brunette gave him a sly look as he settled next to her.
“Ma’am,” he said.
An eyebrow cocked at his accent. “A real life cowboy. My, I am intrigued.”
Sy looked over at Ann and Jackson. They were holding hands as Jackson animatedly told her something that made her snort with laughter. They looked so loved up. He recalled the Vietnam vet’s words. One good girl. Sy pushed them out of his mind. “What you drinking?” he asked the woman.
She trailed long manicured nails along his neckline. “What do you want me to drink?”
“You alone?”
“Depends.” She fished the dog tags out from beneath his shirt.  “I’ve always liked these.”
Sy smiled. He could worry about that one good girl tomorrow. But today…today he just needed to check out a bit.
“What’s your name?”
“Mia.”
“Well, Mia, you wanna go somewhere?”
She licked those full lips and nodded.
*********
Those long manicured nails were dangerous. The woman, Mia, raked them across his skin so hard he swore it would leave welts and scratches.  He caught her hands in his. “Stop that.”
“Don’t like it, baby?” she asked with hooded eyes. “Too rough for you? I thought you army boys liked it a bit rough. Guess I was wrong. Probably a real mama’s boy.”
He fucked her right there on the couch showing her how rough he did like it. He made her come like that with her shoulders pressed down into the cushions, ass in the air. She was still panting when he sat and pulled her on top of him. Sy settled back against the cushions and told her to ride him. ‘Go on, girl. Do it.’
She rolled her hips, grinding, using her leg muscles to move her hips up and down his length. Her mouth was open as she watched him.
“Want to come again?”
She could only nod.
Sy  gave her ass a hard swat before grabbing her by the hips fingers digging into her as he showed her that he wanted it harder and faster. He groaned. ‘You close?’
‘Almost.’ She managed.
Sy smiled. He slapped her butt again as she moved her hips faster losing the rhythm as her climax approached and her movements became more frantic. ‘Go, go , go.’ He reached up and caught her nipples between his fingers and pinched them and wouldn’t let go. 
That was enough to send her over the edge and as soon as she shook atop him that’s when he came undone too. 
She slumped forward. There was a muscle along her inner thigh that wouldn’t stop twitching. He reached between them and rubbed it. Mia lifted her head. “Fuck me. I havent been screwed like that in years.”
She climbed off and collapsed next to him on the couch. A hand stretched out and he felt her run her fingers over a scar on his left hip. It was still new; red and puckered. “What happened here?”
Sy stood, pulling away from her touch and question. He pulled the full condom off his softening cock. “Need a shower?” he asked as he disposed of it.
She watched him with cool eyes. “You fucking army guys. Always so gung-ho before the act but afterwards…” She stood and picked her dress up off the floor. “No, I don’t need a shower. Don’t worry I’m not here to be your girlfriend.” She teetered as she pulled on her heels. Sy reached out to steady her but she slapped his hand away.
At the door she turned. “Thanks for the orgasms, but do me a favor and forget I exist. You’re trouble, and I don’t want to get my heart broken yet another summer.”
Sy spent most of the night sitting by the dark swimming pool trying to ignore the moans and laughter coming from the main house. He was still out there when the sun came up. Sy studied the thin line of molten gold peeking over the horizon. 
Another fucking day in paradise.
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blues-valentine · 6 months
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I am still trying to figure out if I liked the final season of Sex Education because some things felt off. I liked it a little bit more than Season 3 but I still get the feeling it was off. I didn’t feel Otis got any character development because he remained with a lot of his toxics patterns from Season 1 and didn’t apologize for any of them. The finale made it seem like everything was fine again but he was consistently awful all season.
Aimee and Eric had the most consistent arcs since Season 1 and remained till the end the best characters along with Jean. The new characters I liked them because they added new topics of discussions but it was also hard to care about them as a whole. I feel like there were a lot of characters such as Viv, Jackson, Cal and Isaac that that deserved a lot more but I am okay with their ending. Not much to say about Adam, I think his arc was very well done. Ruby (and Ruby x Otis) remains one of their biggest fumbles because they had the biggest potential. I genuinely still find Maeve and Otis one of those couples that the writers insist are show stopping but are just boring to watch.
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argumentativeaxolotl · 8 months
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Uhhh what I think the Cars 1 (humanized) characters listen to/music taste bc I’m tired and out of ideas and I’m bored lol:
Lightning McQueen:
I feel like he’d listen to Taylor Swift. He’s not a Swifty, just likes her music lol. I feel like he’d listen to a lot of 80’s-90’s rock and have the same sort of music taste as Star-Lord from Guardians Of The Galaxy. He probably likes a lot of YouTube songs that aren’t really on the radio.
Chick Hicks:
He 100% listens to rock n roll. I feel like he’d also like 80’s-90’s rock. He’d probably hear some country music and cringe before changing the station and start cringing at the 2000’s music. Chick 100% secretly listens to Kesha and ABBA and I will die on this hill. He appreciates Michael Jackson, worships him even.
Strip Weathers:
Bro is a country guy. I mean… c’mon. Look at him. Also he likes Lil Nas X. I headcanon that he’d enjoy My Chemical Romance though. I just think it would be funny as fuck if he and Cal were just going for a drive and;
Cal: Uncle Strip can we please listen to something other than Old Town Road??? It’s been on repeat for like three hours!
Strip: If it bugs you that much, sure. Let me change the station, kiddo.
*Black Parade Intensifies*
Cal: Emo music? Hard pass— Uncle Strip??
Strip: *gasps* I love this song! 🎶When I was, a young boy, my father took me into the city! To see a marching band!!🎶🎶🎶🗣️🗣️🗣️
Cal:
Cal: What the fuck??? What the actual fuck???
Doc Hudson:
Bro listens to classical music. I feel like he’d use this more as a front than anything or for when he’s working because it helps him focus. Otherwise he’d refuse to talk about or even listen to piano and violins. Idk about you but he gives me the vibes of someone who likes musicals and jingles from movies(Ghost Busters theme or the Jurassic Park main theme). Aside from that, he probably has a very picky taste in music and simply likes certain songs from certain artists.
Sally Carrera:
She likes all music. I feel like she wouldn’t care what plays as long as something is playing. But her favorite music is metal. I think this is funny for the same reason Strip liking MCR is funny.
Tow Mater:
He likes country as well idk what to say lol. I think he’d try to get Lightning into country then quickly find himself liking the same things Lightning does. Mater seems like the type of guy to try and show off the music he likes, fails, then likes everybody else’s music when they show him. He tries.
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apollos-calliope · 2 months
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once again thinking about luke castellan guys i need him so bad
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lyssaluvs · 2 months
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Hiya!
I'm new to tumblr and looking to get into writing, so please send in some requests! I'll write for pretty much any fandom I've seen/read/played, but here are some of my favourites:
Star Wars
Harry Potter
House of the Dragon
PJO
Saltburn
Peaky Blinders
LOTR/The Hobbit
Marvel/DC
Assassin's Creed
I will write pretty much any genre!
Hope to hear from you!
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rollingwheels · 5 months
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How do you think your ships eventually got together/what finally pushed them confess?
A y o- Now we cookin'
Some of these ship names are common and others I'm making up on the spot for the sake of my own consistency- lmaooo-
Here we go!
(Also I'm very sorry it took me so long to complete your ask 😭 finals took it outta me on god)
~~~
Doc Hudson x Sheriff (SherDoc) : It was after a very long day followed by an emotionally draining night. But after venting to each other about each others flaws and admitting their own they confessed in the pitch blackness of the desert with quadrillions of stars watching them. The morning after they agreed to see each other in a more romantic way but kept it on the down low. (The town knew they got togetehr, but that wasn't their business to discuss)
Sarge x Fillmore (SargeMore) : They kissed in a very rare desert rain fall. It was dark, they were in the street, and they shared their first kiss together and officially called themselves a couple on one of the last neon light nights before the town got forgotten.
Darrell x Bob (Barrell) : They finally got together after literal years of pining for each other. It was a quiet night and they, oddly enough, were in a hotel when they privately decided to call it official between them. (Even if the public had thought they were dating before then-)
Mater x Holley (Molley) : Similar to canon, they got together shortly after Team McQueen returned to Radiator Springs after Europe. But nobody really remembers what happened over East so Holley just calmly reminds Mater that they met at one of McQueen's Piston Cup races and by chance saw each other again during the World Grand Prix.
Lightning x Francesco (LightEsco?) : They would probably get together after the WGP race in Italy after Lightning beats Francesco. Of course there was a mild sting to losing in one's home country, but McQueen had for the most part been a good sport about it. And also, Francesco had gone to comfort Lightning after someone in the crowd had started yelling death threats at him.
Strip x Lynda (RoyalWeathers) : They had made a promise to each other at the end of high school that if they ever saw each other again they would get together, mainly because they both had no idea if they would be ready for a commitment after high school. When they did see each other and they went to at least 3 of the others' activities, then they would get together. Which is exactly what they did.
Lightning x Sally (SalQueen) : I think it happened very casually in a privatized setting. Lightning took Sally out to dinner up at the Wheel Well Motel and they talked about where they stood sometime after the events of Cars 1. After they established what they were over dinner, they finally got together.
Cal x Bobby (SwiftWeathers) : They get together after a season or two of pining for each other that everyone can see. After a little bit more encouragement from both team Rust-Ezes and team Dinoco, Bobby is the one to ask Cal out on a date.
Francesco x Lightning x Sally (SalQueenEsco?) : After Lightning and Sally have a very long nights discussion after Radiator Springs hosts the WGP race, they invite Francesco over and properly invite him into their relationship.
Ray x Gale (HamFort) : Ray is the one who asks Gale out for coffee before Jackson's practices. Those coffee dates turn into lunch dates, which turn into fine dinner dates. Eventually, over dinner they both confirm that they are going to pursue a relationship with each other.
Cruz x Natalie (CertainEz) : The confession comes out accidentally on Cruz' part after they had been spending a fair amount of time with each other. To which Natalie quickly covers for Cruz that she liked her too. The day after they went out for a mini golf date and then called themselves official.
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