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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 7 months

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Good evening lovely! You better believe I’m back with more Carlos asks. Could I request a Carlos x driver!reader where they’re just two peas in a pod until Carlos sees her in a dress for the first time and is like oh shit?? I am in love??? If you feel :) hope you’re well, your writing is beautiful as always

Just Friends - Carlos Sainz

"Hey midget, how you feeling?" Carlos asked, walking into the medical center and locating where you were sat. "A bit sore, but I'll be fine," you told him. You had spun out pretty badly in FP2, but you were fine.

"Good, good. You still up for the gala tonight?" he asked, hoping you'd say you weren't going. It would give him an excuse not to go too, and he really didn't want to. He always found these events boring.

"Yeah, of course. I'm not missing my first gala," you laughed, knowing he didn't want to go. You were quite excited though, because you'd get to show a classier, more elegant side of you that people didn't get to see.

"There's a lot of people outside asking to see you. The interviewers want to make sure you're not dead," he laughed, offering a hand to help you off of your chair. The doctor had said you were free to go, but you just had to take it easy and you weren't driving in FP3 tomorrow.

"You make it sound like they actually care about me," you scoffed, leaning into him as you slowly made your way out of the medical centre. The minute you stepped out of the door, you were bombarded with cameras and questions.

"Y/N! What happened?" one of them yelled as numerous microphones were shoved in your face. "I locked up the rears and spun out, it happens," you shrugged, not wanting to give them anything they could make a story out of.

"Y/N, are you alright? Can you still race on Sunday?" another one collared as flashes emerged from the back of the crowd. "I won't be driving in FP3, but I'll be in qualifying and the race, just like normal. The car just has front wing damage, so it's all good," you smiled, and you were already bored of being interviewed.

"Thank you," you said, pushing past the crowd and out to the paddock. "I need a coffee," you sighed, and Carlos just chuckled as you hobbled over to the Ferrari motorhome. Flopping down on the couch, personnel came to ask how you were feeling and you were glad to tell them you would be fine.

"Carlos, go get me a coffee!" You ordered, pointing towards the kitchen. Carlos just scoffed and rolled his eyes at you, sitting down beside you. "No," he flatly declined, running his hands through his hair.

"Carlos, please," you whined, not wanting to move because of how sore everything felt.

"Get your own coffee, you might be sore, but you're not useless. Well, you're not completely useless," he chuckled.

"Ugh, you're the worst friend I could ever have," you told him, pulling yourself slowly off the couch as he laughed at your struggle.

"Aw, you love me really," he teased, watching as you hobbled over to the kitchen. "Get me one too, yeah?" he asked, and nearly cackled when he heard a 'Fuck off!' come from the kitchen. As you made your coffee, you thought about how much you valued the friendship between you and Carlos.

He had made the transition into driving for one of the top teams easy, and he was a great role-model for you. You'd never forget how much he had helped you, but you'd never tell him how much he really meant to you. His ego was way too big for that.

Finally, you had your precious coffee in hand as you spotted Carlos still sat on the couch. "Oh thanks, midget, you're too kind," he said, holding his hand out for you to put the mug in. "Absolutely not, I made this for myself," you said, wobbling back onto the seat.

"No really, you shouldn't have," he continued, taking the mug off you. You're limbs were aching too much to fight back, and you had to watch as Carlos took a big swig of your coffee. "You're a bitch," you playfully spat, whacking him in the arm with all the strength you had left.

"No, you're a bitch," he jibed, jabbing you in the ribs. It was supposed to be a well-spirited gesture, but it just sent spikes of pain shooting through you. "Carlos, stop it," you told him through gritted teeth, pushing his hand away.

"Shit, sorry, I completely forgot. Are you alright?" he asked, his joking manner completely falling and he became the caring Carlos you got to see every now and then. "Yeah, yeah, just don't do it again. And give me my coffee," you told him, straightening up.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. Here," he apologised again, handing you your coffee mug. He felt really bad, even though it was an accident. It was meant in good fun, but he'd hurt you, and he never liked seeing people he cared about in pain.

You finished off your coffee, and slowly tried to stand up as someone was ready to take you back to the hotel. "Hey, take it slow," he said, wrapping an arm around your waist and helping you up. "Thanks," you smiled, walking out of the building as he helped you.

He took you all the way over to the car, and he heard you wince in pain as you tried clamber in. "Midget, take it easy, I've got you," he affectionately said, lifting you and putting you in the car so you wouldn't have to move all that much.

"Thanks Carlos, I'll see you later," you said, moving your arms out of his way as he leant over you and clicked your seatbelt in place. "No worries, who else likes you enough to look after you?" he teased, still making fun of you, even when he was being nice.

"Funny, Carlos. Real funny," you laughed, closing the door and waving him goodbye as you drove away. He may have teased you, but he really did care about you.

Being around the paddock wasn't all that fun when you weren't there to mess around with, so Carlos just had to keep himself busy until it was his turn to go home. All he could do was go and pester Lando, since he was one of the only other fun people left around.

Meanwhile, you were slowly hobbling up to your hotel room, which happened to be on one of the top floors. Typical. But once you got into your room, you told yourself you weren't allowed to lie on the bed. If you did, there was no chance you had the strength or willpower to get back up.

You figured a shower would be in order, since it might make you a bit less sore. It took longer than expected to peel your clothes off you, and it was a fairly agonising task. You couldn't lift your arms much higher than your shoulders, and bending anything was near on impossible.

You silently spat expletives as you struggled, finally managing to get into the shower. The warm water helped soothe your muscles somewhat, but it still hurt to move. The suds slipped down your body, and you gave up completely when you dropped the soap on the floor. There was no way you were getting it back.

The best you could do was wet your hair, since lifting your arms was undoable, so washing it was out of the question. When you got out of the shower, you wrapped a towel around you and decided to let your hair air dry. Looking in the mirror, you spotted purply-red splotches peppered down your arm, and there were some disappearing past the towel line.

Taking it off, you saw how they spread across your ribs and a few were sprinkled on your hip, only on the side where you made impact with the tyre barrier. Your plan was to wear a dress with the sides cut out, but that didn't seem like a great idea.

Then again, you didn't have anything else that was fit for a gala, since you had had the dress custom made for this exact occasion. You slowly did your makeup, the most unnatural part of it being the red lipstick that matched the dress.

You decorated your ears, neck, wrists and fingers in gold, before shimmying into your dress. The worst part was doing the zip yourself, since you couldn't stretch your arms around to your back. You managed, but you realised you'd be late and the car was already waiting outside.

You ran out of time to cover up the bruises on your right side, so you thought it was fine to just leave it. Giving yourself a final once over in the mirror, you loved what you saw. Your dress hugged your every curve perfectly, and the gold with red screamed Ferrari.

After making your way downstairs, you stumbled into the car and headed off for the gala. Carlos, on the other hand, had just arrived. He looked around, and quickly sussed out that you weren't there. "Hey, mate!" Lando said, pulling him in for a quick hug.

"Hey, are you bored already or is that just me?" Carlos chuckled, taking a glass of champagne off a tray from one of the waiters wandering by. "I was bored the minute I stepped in here, how's Y/N? Have you had a chance to talk to her?" Lando asked.

He was right behind you when you spun out, so he saw the impact that you hit the barrier with. "She's fine, just sore. I'm surprised she's even coming tonight, to be honest," he said, sipping away at the golden liquid.

"She's coming? That's a surprise. I would have taken that as an excuse not to come," Lando said, almost shocked. "So would I, but she is actually really excited, even though I told her how boring they actually are," Carlos laughed, leaning against the wall beside Lando.

"Speaking of Y/N, here she is," Lando said, nodding over to the grand entrance of the hall for the gala. Carlos turned his head, and his heart stopped beating in his chest. "That's not Y/N," he scoffed, looking as people's eyes all simultaneously wandered over to where you were stood.

Your eyes darted around the place, trying to find Carlos. "It is, Carlos, look at her," Lando nudged him, and he couldn't believe it was you. Seeing you stood there, the whole room's eyes on you, in the most stunning red dress made him feel something he had never felt before.

He couldn't take his eyes off you as you slowly walked, still trying to locate him. Suddenly, your eyes lit up as they landed on Carlos and Lando. You had that classic, confident swagger that you had always had, but tonight, it was paired with this elegance he never had seen before.

"Hey guys," you smiled, standing with the two of them. Lando greeted you, and Carlos couldn't form words. The way the dress showed off your figure, the way it showed off your skin, the way it transformed you from a racing driver to a lady. He loved it.

"Carlos? You OK?" you asked, placing a hand on his shoulder to try and snap him out of whatever daydream he was having. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he shook his head, as if he were trying to shake some sense into it, "How are you? Did you manage to get any rest?" he asked, needing to know you were getting better.

"Everything still hurts to move, but it's fine. You get used to the pain," you softly smiled, subconsciously running your hand over the bruises on your arm. "Well no wonder you're stiff, someone did a number on you," Carlos smirked, trying to ignore the butterflies he was feeling.

You were his friend, and you just looked especially good tonight. It was nothing. "Ha ha, very funny," you said, tilting your body so he couldn't look at them. You were trying to forget about them, but it was a given that someone would point them out.

Carlos noticed your slight discomfort, and wanted to take back his comment. He just wanted to be normal and not act like he was really nervous to speak to you. "Hey, in all seriousness, are you sure you're alright? These look like they hurt," he said, gently bringing your arm closer to him so he could inspect the damage.

He spotted the ones that were scattered about your ribs, and he instantly felt worried. He always cared when you were hurt, but this was... Different. It was almost like he could feel the bruises too, he could feel the pain and he so desperately wanted to take it away.

"It's OK, everything hurts and they don't really add to it," you laughed, not wanting him to worry. "They look pretty sick, to be fair," Lando chipped in, feeling oddly like a third wheel. "Yeah, they kind of do. They're my battle wounds," you laughed, striking the best pose you could.

"Exactly, exactly. Max just got here, so I'm going to go and say hi. I'll catch up with you later," Lando waved, walking away from you. "I didn't miss anything while I was gone, did I?" you asked, knowing there were always shenanigans going on around the track.

"No, no. I was just very bored without you," he smiled. It was true, it wasn't the same without you. You just brought laughter with you wherever you went, and he only noticed when you weren't around. "I think you mean you were bored without anyone to bully," you teased.

"Same thing," he smiled, finishing off the last drops of fizz in his flute.

"I'm going to go and get a drink, you want anything?" you asked, gazing at him. He looked handsome tonight, the black suit he was wearing making him look completely different. But in the best way possible.

"Yeah, just another one of these is fine, thanks," he said, and you nodded. He watched as you walked across the hall, as your hips swayed under the light. He observed the way you leant against the bar, and couldn't help but glare at the people whose eyes glossed over you for that second too long.

He felt an unnecessary pang of jealousy ripple through his body, but he didn't know why. You were his friend, and that was it. Again, he put it down to how good you looked tonight. Sure, you were always pretty, but tonight you were beautiful on a whole other level.

He had never felt this way for you before. He had always seen you as one of his best friends, someone who he could gossip with and cause mischief with. But now, he was seeing you as someone he wanted to wake up next to every morning, and fall asleep with every night.

He was completely mesmerised by you. It was like you had bewitched him, enchanted him somehow. You had trapped him under your spell and there was no counter curse. He was doomed to stare at you, as if his eyes were glued to your body for the rest of eternity.

He watched as you sauntered back up to him, handing him a second flute of champagne. "Thanks," he smiled, trying to compose himself. Mentally, he was telling himself to just be normal, but his heart clearly wasn't getting the memo.

"No problem, how long were you here before I was?" you asked, sipping away at your espresso martini. You figured the coffee mixed with the alcohol would wake you up a bit, maybe take the edge off. "Not long, maybe ten minutes? They were the most boring ten minutes of my life," he chuckled.

"Did you just say something nice about me? One glass of bubbly and you're already tipsy? Damn Carlos," you smiled sincerely, nudging him in the ribs.

"If that's how you react, then I'm never being nice to you again," he laughed, leaning back against the wall. As you drank your drinks, he couldn't help but hang onto your every word. He was noticing the little things now that he had previously overlooked.

Like the way you smiled with your teeth when you were properly laughing, or the way your eye slightly twinkled when talking about a topic you were passionate about. It was the way your mannerisms were just so you.

As per usual with every gala, there was soft, mainly classical or smooth jazz music in the background. He had already thought ahead and figured out a way to play this off as a joke, but he hoped it wouldn't have to come to it.

"Dance with me?" He smiled, extending a hand out to you. For a second, you froze, waiting for the punchline. But, you were just met with silence. Carlos thought he had completely messed it up, until you took his hand.

"Sure," you smiled, standing in closer to him. Tentatively, he placed a hand on your waist, careful not to press too hard on your injuries. He hadn't actually thought about the possibility of you saying yes, funnily enough.

You looped an arm around his back instead of over his shoulder, not wanting to lift your arms too much. As the pair of you swayed on the spot, entangled in each other's embrace, Carlos was trying to convince himself he wasn't dreaming.

"You look really nice tonight, I never got the chance to say," you told him, watching the faint beginnings of a blush creep up onto his cheeks. "Thank you, uhm, so do you. You look incredible," he fumbled, preventing himself from speaking anymore, in case he took it too far.

He wanted to tell you that you were absolutely breathtaking, and that he found you unbelievably captivating. He wanted to tell you that he didn't know what had happened, but these feelings had just bombarded him all at once, out of nowhere.

"Thank you," you said. He did allow his fingers to gently trace around the skin of your waist, and you couldn't help but enjoy the gesture. You shuffled in a little closer, slowly lifting your arm to rest around his shoulder.

It was a lot more comfortable in the end, even if it did cause you some slight pain to put it there. "But I really mean it, you're the prettiest girl here," he complimented, unable to stop himself from telling you.

You found it slightly odd at the way he was acting, since Carlos was always so confident - borderline cocky. But now, he was stuttering and blushing. You thought it was sweet to see him in a different light, and this was refreshing to see that even confident people have their nervous moments.

There was something about the way he looked at you, something that wasn't like normal. He always had this mischievous glint in his eyes, but tonight, it had been replaced with something else. It was soft and warm, but you couldn't find a word to define what it was.

It was unusual, but not unwelcome.

The dazzling smile that tugged at the corner of your lips at his compliment sent his heart into a fit of joy. But then, his heart dropped. It was at this point that he realised, in the span of a night, he had fallen in love with his best friend.

And he didn't think there would be an escape, not by any means.

A/N - OK I think this is one of my favourite things I have ever written tbh... I am so willing to do a part 2, so lmk if that's something you'd like to see! If you have any requests, feel free to submit and have a wonderful evening/day. Love you! 💖

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auteurdelabre · 5 months

Text

Code Broken (Series) dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni

summary: "You broke into my house," Joel says moving his gaze from your eyes back down to your mouth as his wide hand grazes his belt buckle. "Moved my shit around. Least you could do is be polite."

You only wanted to pull a silly prank on your neighbor, Joel. Who could have seen it ending up like this?

[AU where Joel Miller ends up in Jackson City by himself.]

warnings/tags: Extremely dubious consent, oral sex [m receiving], rough oral sex, face-fucking, Come shot, Joel is bad at feelings, Mean Joel, Dirty Talk

word count: 6.9k

a/n: Y'all, this whole series is pretty depraved (from my perspective) and much darker than my normal stuff. I wanted it as a challenge and I had a lot of fun doing the series, there's 5 parts so I hope you enjoy it. Comments and the like really make my day. xx

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Chapter 1: Go your Own Way

Joel Miller is the most serious man you've ever seen. The rigidity of his spine when he walks, the dark eyes always darting around in stormy irritation. People still greet him when he goes into the center of town, and he nods politely and makes small talk. But he never looks anything other than bothered.

He terrifies you.

You know his name only because of your friends in the small community of Jackson City. His brother is Tommy, a cheerful man married to Maria with a baby on the way. Tommy is the one that welcomed you into this settlement years ago, the one that settled you into the modest home you now live in on the end of Rancher Street. Larger homes buttress you on either side and yours is dwarfed in comparison but you don’t care. You still can’t believe you have your own house. Your own bed. Your own everything.

You watched the survivors come from all over the globe, watched as the community swelled in number and joy over the years. It was like a slice of heaven in and amongst a hellish landscape of the undead.

And then Joel Miller had entered and everything for you changed.

Tommy and Joel couldn't be more different. Tommy is sweet and polite and likes to ask after people to make sure they're okay. He’s stoic and his dark eyes light up when he laughs or makes a joke.

Joel keeps to himself. He doesn't talk to many people. He answers people with a serious tone in his drawl. He likes horses and he likes music, that's as much as you can tell about what he likes because he rarely does anything else.

When he'd moved into Jackson City he'd been given the home next to yours. Yours was a simple one bedroom, meant for singles, his was a spanning home with a garage. You rarely saw him outside unless he was headed for the stables or communal meals.

Sometimes on nights your window was open to let in the night breeze you heard him playing his guitar in his place. On rare occasions he sang, his voice rasping and mournful under the chords. It made your chest tight and your eyes prick with tears. It made you remember a youth you’d rather forget.

It was actually the music that had inspired your first attempt at an introduction.

You'd been out planting in your garden when you heard the front door to his place creak open. You walked casually over to the fence that separated your properties to see him sitting on the front stoop of his place, a pale blue coffee mug in one hand.

He was looking into the middle distance, his profile strong. You'd leaned on the fence, hoping to catch his attention. As a man always on alert he had, his dark eyes sliding over to you as you greeted him.

"You play really well," you told him enthusiastically, recalling the tune you heard him play late into the night the evening prior. "Was that Fleetwood Mac you were singing yesterday?"

Joel hadn't replied. In fact he'd given you the coldest look you'd ever received, stood up and gone back into his house. You'd stood there looking after him in shock for several moments until going back to your gardening.

When you'd told your friend Trish what happened that following Tuesday during your weekly "book club" (drinking poorly made wine and playing cards) she'd laughed in that annoying way of hers and told you to stop being so sensitive.

Trish told you that Joel Miller was rude to everyone. That the only reason people put up with it was because his brother was Tommy and because Joel himself was one of the few bachelors in the community. Then she’d gotten a soft look in her eyes and sighed that Joel was gorgeous in that sullen, quiet way that made older men mysterious. You hadn’t understood that, having never found poor humor and a bad attitude attractive.

You’d decided it had been a one-off. Maybe Joel was just tired that morning. You tried waving to him if you saw him in the street, one hand usually on the reigns of a horse tugging it gently behind him. He never returned the gesture.

It came to a head when you and Trish had been to a movie night in the square some months later, the summer heat always driving you indoors where it was cooler. They were playing an old science fiction feature and finding seats was near impossible. It was always like this when a popular film was showing. The popcorn lay in big tubs and patrons brought bowls to scoop the kernels into.

The children were hunched in front of the large white blanket that acted as a screen chatting animatedly. Your co-workers waved, observing how busy it was as you scanned the space, seeing an empty chair in the middle row near the back. Trish told you to grab it and that she'd search for another free one.

You'd been so intent on taking the chair that you didn't even realize who was seated next to you until you plopped down, brushing arms with the bare forearm next to you.

You noticed his jeans first, the way they seemed molded to his muscular thighs. Then his forearms, his plaid shirt rolled to the elbows and then finally up his neck to his profile, the full lips, the hawkish nose and the dark eyes that you could clearly see were trying to ignore your presence.

"Hello neighbor," you'd chirped trying not to sound as nervous as you felt. You'd watched as he glanced out the corner of his eyes at you, nodding briefly. Emboldened by this you motioned towards the large white sheet.

“You a big fan of Charlton Heston?”

He’d given a short nod, a grunt of a reply. This had felt like such progress to you and you relaxed a bit into the seat. You saw Trish heading your way with popcorn in hand and your knee bumped into Joel’s as you swivelled in your chair, angling your neck to see if there were any other free seats.

"Do you see any other empty seats? My friend Trish-"

He gave you one sharp look, scanning your body from top to bottom before rolling his eyes and jerking from his seat. Your face went bright red as he sidled past you just as Trish approached with popcorn.

"What was that?" Trish asked, looking after his frame quickly disappearing down the street. You'd shrugged, embarrassment overtaking you.

But the message was clear: Joel Miller can't stand you.

You suppose after that is when you decided on payback. Something innocent, really, silly in hindsight. Something that would irritate him on a daily basis.

The plan was to hide his guitar somewhere within his home. Specifically, in the back of his under his kitchen sink... then the bathtub ... then under his bed.

It's immature, especially at your age. But you'd missed out on so much life during those twenty years of running and hiding that this felt fun.

You could imagine him going insane trying to find it. Shouting angrily when he realized it was misplaced only to find it popping up in random places in his home.

It was an innocuous prank, borne out of boredom and humiliation. And if Joel caught on or accused you and brought you before the sheriff, what could they do? The guitar never left his house. How could it be stealing?

It had seemed like the perfect plan.

But now as you pull the black hooded jacket over dark jeans and look into the night sky this evening, you're wondering if this was really is the best idea.

You've gotten away with it twice before. Once to hide the guitar in his shower. Once under his kitchen sink.

You do this once a month on one of the evenings that everyone is at the movies. After your last experience with Joel, when you started to internally begin cataloguing his movements, you'd noticed that Joel attends every single one. His only habitual act that you can count on.

His visits with Tommy are regular but never scheduled, sometimes they go to the bar, sometimes at Joel's and you assume, sometimes at Tommy's. He's not a big joiner, not found during game nights at the canteen. He rides, that much you've seen and know. He likes to be around the animals.

There’s not much to do in the evenings in Jackson City, and that usually rests easily on the community. After so much violence it’s nice to have quiet, peaceful nights. But the movie nights provide popular and give you enough time to act, a good hour and a half minimum. You could push it to two hours but that seems foolish. It's a perfect time because it's where your neighbors are usually spending their time as well.

The first time you'd navigated from your roof to his, you'd been shocked at how easy it was. Your homes were close together and jumping onto his shingles was nothing more than a gentle leap in the darkness.

The window to his hallway was unlatched, just as yours was, just as most everyone's was. You lived on a glorified compound; no one felt the need to lock up the upper floor windows.

You'd squeezed in, falling gracelessly onto the wood floor. You'd worked quickly, finding the guitar beside the fireplace downstairs and gently placing it into Joel's shower half leaning against the tile.

Then you'd run back, closing the window after you, jumping back onto your roof and throwing yourself back into your bedroom with your heart in your throat. You hadn’t taken time to catch your breath before you'd rushed down your own steps and run to the movies, coming in the back to make it seem like you'd always been there, standing near the far corner with your heart racing, trying not to giggle.

When the lights flickered on and everyone rose to leave you made sure that Joel saw you, brushing past him intentionally. You had to have an alibi. He needed to see that you’d been here the whole night, just as he had.

"Excuse me," you'd said airily, not even put off by the silence of his reply when you ‘bumped’ into him.

The second time in his place you were finding an appropriate hiding spot for his guitar when you'd noticed other things about him. Like the detailed wood carvings that lined the mantle over the fireplace. The paintings of landscapes filled with animals hung around the sparsely decorated home.

You’d taken time to wander around the home, noticing the records, the other guitars hung on the wall. You’d seen the reading glasses on the coffee table in front of the sofa and the woodworking space in the garage. It had been thrilling seeing this interior life, knowing that the impenetrable Joel Miller wore reading glasses and carved wood figurines. There was something beautiful in those small pieces of him.

But tonight as you stand looking at yourself in your mirror you wonder if maybe that's enough. You've had your fun. You've tricked him twice; you've snooped in his home. That's enough.

That should be enough.

But you haven’t seen his bedroom yet. Something holds you back every single time you consider it. You’ve walked by that closed door twice, knowing that solving the mystery of Joel Miller could be even closer if you just walked over the threshold.

You’re broken from these thoughts when you hear his front door open. You creep to your bedroom window, hiding in the shadows to see his tall frame pulling his jacket on, locking his front door and heading to the center of town for the film. His boots crunch the leaves underfoot as he moves and when he turns the corner you know it's time to move.

You traverse across your roof silently, cloaked in the darkness of the night. The neighborhood is mercifully quiet and you take a moment to appreciate the view. Your thankful for the still of the evening, the quiet and you glance up to see the stars dotting the sky.

Then you’re back focusing, leaping onto Joel's roof and hurriedly moving inside. You pass the familiar sights of his closed bedroom door, the creaking wood hallway leading to bathroom. The single red toothbrush that sits sadly in a fogged water glass. You jog quickly downstairs to retrieve the guitar, always in its stand by the fireplace.

It gleams in the moonlight streaming through the window, as if it’s begging you to grab it, to hide it, to play a game. You take it into your hands, always sure to be careful with it. Pulling a prank on him is one thing, willful destruction quite another.

It's your last time doing this, you've decided. So where should you hide it?

The answer comes to you almost immediately - his bedroom. The only room of his house you haven't snooped yet. The only space of his that you haven’t conquered. Excited tingles go through you as you race back up the creaking step to his bedroom, pushing the door open without ceremony before your nerves overtake you.

It's a simple box shaped room, larger but the exactly the same shape as yours, which is exactly the same as the many homes that line these streets. Joel's is much less inviting than yours though.

He has a bed near the window, tan sheets and blue coverlet. The bed is hastily made, as if he'd been in a rush to leave. There is a small nightstand next to his bed holding a pile of books. On one wall is a well built shelf holding a myriad of records, all ones you've heard him play and on the table below it is the record player.

You observe that his closet doors are half open and you pull them smoothly apart, your gaze going hungrily over the contents inside. You’re amazed at how neat and organized it is. Shirts and jackets are hung, hats on shelves, belts strung on hooks.

The familiar green plaid is hanging there dead center, reminding you of that embarrassment at the movies. Despite this your fingers go to the fabric and you find it soft with use and age. Without thinking you dip your face forward, dragging the fabric to your nose and you inhale. It smells like him, or how you imagine he smells. Like the outdoors and fresh laundry and warm cologne. Probably the cologne you saw in his bathroom during your last adventure.

You take the smooth neck of the guitar and place it gently in the far side of the closet floor, next to what looks like a beat-up tan backpack. You close the closet doors with a smile of self satisfaction, imagining what his reaction will be.

You've never actually seen Joel get upset by these pranks but one day working on your garden you did hear him complaining to Tommy over coffee that he must be getting old because he can’t remember where I put my fucking guitar.

You'd giggled yourself silly at that, trying your best not to be heard as you moved the soil under your gloves. It had tickled you immensely to know that your small inconvenience was upsetting him. You felt vindicated for the way he had treated you.

You stand in the center of his bedroom and your eyes drift back to that pile of books and you find yourself curious about what he reads. You traces the spines with your forefinger and your gaze and you're shocked when you find classics by Jane Austen and books on astronomy. You'd expected worn paperbacks of cowboys or travel.

You notice that behind this stack of books there's a framed photo of a smiling Joel and a sweet faced little girl, obviously his daughter at what looks like a carnival. You can see a waving Tommy in the distance. You’re shocked at how different Joel looks when he smiles, his dark eyes crinkling authentically, his smile broad and his face boyish. Perhaps he is sort of attractive, in a brooding way.

You notice the yellow of age in the corner of the photograph and the realization that the photo is over twenty years old. When you look closer you can see Joel is younger, his hair and beard not threaded with grey.

Knowing what that means in this dark world of carnage is what solidifies the realization that you've overstepped.

You need to leave. Fuck the prank. Fuck harassing a guy who clearly has very good reason to not like people. You were so quick to judge, so fast to make it about you when maybe, just maybe, he was just a loner who never got over the loss of his kid.

You even think about taking the guitar back to its place by the fire when you hear the distant jingle of keys hitting the lock to the front door.

What the fuck? He was supposed to be gone at least another hour!

Your heart sinks when you hear him enter his home, tossing the keys onto the kitchen table and moving quickly to the stairs.

Fuck.

Now his footsteps are on the creaking staircase coming your way. If you run for the window in the hallway he'll see you through the gaps in the banister. If you hide under the bed you'll be easily seen.

Panic overtakes you and you do the only thing you can think of and dash into the closet, sure to avoid hitting the guitar with your leg. You close the doors, leaving them open just a hair, just as he had.

You don’t want to arouse suspicion. You'll just stay here a little bit. Wait until he goes back downstairs and then try to sneak back out the window.

"The fuck?"

You hear Joel on the landing and now you realize your fatal mistake when he murmurs something else to himself and you hear the heavy sound of the window being closed.

You left the fucking window open.

He knows someone is inside.

You cover your mouth, muffling the shallow pants of terror that go through you when Joel enters the bedroom. Through the slits between the slightly parted closet doors you can just make him out. He doesn’t turn on the light in the bedroom, so everything is still bathed in a blanket of darkness tinged blue from the moon’s glow.

He’s wearing a flannel, this one tighter around the shoulder, emphasizing the muscles of his back and broad expanse of his upper body. He looks suspiciously around, his face stoic like someone on a deadly mission.

He walks past the closet, his body strong and his movement’s solid in a way that intimidates you. If he wanted he could snap you in half and not break a sweat. He scans the room before slowly dropping to his knees beside the bed, craning his head to see underneath.

When he sees it's clear he stands again and moves out of your view.

You tilt your head, trying to listen for his footfalls but hear nothing but silence. Did he go downstairs? You figure he's gone to check out the other rooms when the closet doors fly open revealing you to him.

Joel is there, his hands on either door as he looks down at your hooded frame hunched in the corner.

"I fucking knew it."

He reaches in and pulls you out of the closet by the arm of your jacket but you stumble out, wrenching out of his grip enough to run into the hallway, your heart pounding.

The window is closed. It'll take too long to open. Your best bet is to run downstairs and out the front door. You think since you're hood is still on he hasn't seen your face properly and there is a chance to make an escape.

You move swiftly down the hallway, your eyes on the nearing stairs but he's immediately there, gripping you by the back of your jacket and tugging harshly. You fall back into his arms before he’s whirled you around to face him.

You give a sharp yelp when he slams you against the nearest wall, his hand around your throat pinning you there.

"Who the fuck are you?"

His voice is loud and echoes in the barren hallway. He sounds furious, not that you're shocked. If you'd come home to a stranger hiding in your closet you likely wouldn't be elated either. You try to hide your face in the hood of your jacket, panic making you feel cold all over. If you could just-

His large hand comes to rip the hood of your head, taking with it a few loose strands of your hair. You give a hiss of pain as your scalp tingles.

You're caught.

Joel's stares down at you with fury in those dark eyes of his that fades abruptly when he recognizes you. "You live next door."

He still has you loosely pinned to the wall by the throat, but now he drops his hand, gliding it down your collar before pulling it from your body. He smooths his palm over his wavy hair, not out of nerves but more out of disbelief at seeing you of all people in his home.

"Did I hurt you?"

You stare up at him in shock. You've broken into his house and he's the one asking if you're hurt? You shake your head. The slam of your back against the wall had shocked you more than anything. He looks confused, his eyes narrowing on your face.

"How'd you get in my house? Why are you here?"

You're both breathing heavily and you can only hope he doesn't see the fear in your eyes.

"I'm sorry," you sputter instead of answering him. "Just a joke, was just-"

"How did you get into my house?" He repeats though this time his voice isn't as hard, more curious.

"I j-just climbed in the window," you explain shakily pointing to the window at the end of the hall. "My roof is close enough to yours that..."

You trail off, not wanting to incriminate yourself further. He's so close to you that you can feel his warm breath falling over your cheeks.

"I've never stolen anything," you assure him just in case that's what's really upsetting him. "Never touched any of your stuff except your guitar. Just hid it a few times and I was really careful with it."

"Why were you doin' that?'

"It was just a joke," you say again weakly, though now under his severe eye line you can't understand why at one time you thought it was so amusing.

He's not responding, not replying, just staring at you with that inscrutable gaze. There is a flutter of panic starting in your belly, the realization that no one knows you’re trapped between Joel Miller and the wall. The knowledge that despite a few interactions, he remains a mystery.

"I should get back home," you whisper, trying to sidle off to the left. "My boyfriend is waiting for m-"

His palm comes to lay flat against the wall just next to you, boxing you in. Its dark in the hallway, but the moon hits you both, silhouetting you and showing you Joel’s expressive eyes.

"You live alone," Joel says with a sigh, as if your lie has disappointed him. "Have for as long as I've been here. Only company you get at your place is on Tuesday nights with that gal of yours."

You gape up at Joel, shocked at how accurate he is. Your brows furrow in confusion. "How do you know that?"

"Same reason you know I go to the movies every other week."

He's been watching you.

Just as you've been watching him. And while you know why you've been following his schedule, noting his arrivals and departures you can't understand why he would be doing the same for you. He just keeps staring at you in that intense way of his that makes you feel warm and tingly all over.

"My friend Trish-"

"No one knows you're here," Joel murmurs, his eyes moving to your mouth and then back to your eyes. His voice is so low, so velvety, so soothing despite the inherent menace in the sentence.

You swallow thickly, the sensation of fear slowly curving the length of your spine. You’re suddenly so aware about how little you know of Joel Miller. For all you know he could be a serial killer.

But that doesn't fit with how he's studying your face. He looks more open, even bordering on amused. But that can't be right, he can't stand you and now he knows you've broken into his house on more than one occasion.

"Had a feeling someone was fucking with me,' Joel observes evenly. "S'why I turned around tonight. Realized the guitar thing only happens when I'm out at the movies."

You remain silent, feeling so stupid. Why had you needed to keep going? Why didn't you just go with your gut instinct and stay home?

"I’ll go," you croak, hoping that Joel will take pity on you and just let you leave. Joel's face remains placid, his hand going to rest where your neck meets your shoulder, stopping you from leaving.

"You broke into my house," Joel says moving his eyes from your eyes back down to your mouth. "Moved my shit around. Least you could do is be polite."

Polite? What is that supposed to mean?

The meaning becomes quite obvious when you feel his heavy hand on your shoulder begin to press, moving you back to slide down the wall until you're on your knees between he and it. The wood floor bites into your denim clad knees, but you remain still.

His eyes stay on your face as realization dawn's on you. His fingertips are ghosting over your shoulder and you watch as his free hand goes to his jeans, undoing the button and bringing down the zipper. You can see his pale boxers underneath and watch his hand flexing.

Your eyes dart back up to his face, seeing the way he towers over you, his breathing elevated only slightly and his eyes fixed on yours.

Why aren't you running?

He reaches and grips your wrist in his fingers. You watch almost detached as he opens your hand with his own and slides it under the waistband of his boxers.

Why aren't you screaming?

His stomach is warm and taut, strangely smooth for a man of his vocation. You hesitate before his hand is forcing yours to continue, wrapping it tightly around his hard cock. You hold in a gasp as your palm hits it, instinctively curling.

"Like that," he murmurs gently.

He's warm and thick and under your exploratory fingers you can feel him twitch which excites as well as terrifies you. He hisses through his teeth softly as you begin to squeeze, your eyes focused on his face. His eyes never leaving yours, the full mouth dropping open as he groans.

You continue slowly, feeling the ridge of his shaft, the pulsing heat of that iron under velvety skin. He has his palm flat on the wall above your head, his forehead moves to rest in the crook of his arm as he gently shifts his hips.

You stare up at him from your spot kneeling on the floor, still in disbelief that this is happening. Usually just the sight of him walking down the same street as you is enough to send you bolting in the other direction.

But now his gaze is soft and half lidded. His mouth isn't curled into a sneer or scowl. Joel Miller is much less intimidating when he's leaning into your stroking hand.

Then with a soft grunt he bats your hand away and brings himself out of his boxers. You hide a sigh at the sight of his broad hand curling around his thick cock. You hadn’t expected beauty in him, a softness of movement inside his rigid edges.

He remains standing there unmoving and watches you stare, breathing shallowly as you drink him in. You think he must like it because you can see droplets of pre-cum gathering on the tip. It's obvious what he wants.

Your heart gallops. "I don't-"

"'Course I could just go down to the sheriff and see what they make of this break in," Joel interrupts tightly. "Whatever you'd prefer."

It's blackmail, plain and simple. And considering how the threat of being tossed into the wild with the ravenous clickers is always an option when it comes to the sheriff, you know your choices are limited.

His large hand has come to slip over the head of his cock, his hips moving to press into his fingers slowly. You seriously consider your chance of survival outside these walls survival when Joel tilts his head slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"I think you want it," he croons, his hand continuing to stroke himself shallowly. "Think you've wanted my cock for a while now, pretty eyes. Just been afraid to ask for it."

You frown, protestations dying on your lips as you consider his words. Had a small part of you been wondering what lay beneath your neighbors rough exterior? Was that why you had been so determined to engage with him in the first place?

Wait, did he call you pretty eyes?

A steady thrum starts between your legs at that, your knees pressing into the wood floor harshly. You feel too warm in your jacket, but you don't dare move. You feel like a trapped animal trying to outwit an apex predator.

"Just a taste," Joel suggests when you don't reply, his hand moving from his cock to cup your cheek. You feel your lips parting subconsciously to take in a sharp breath as you regard him twitching inches from your mouth.

Fuck why are you even considering this? You should be screaming, running away, not on your knees and looking at Joel's hard cock with what feels like a burgeoning anticipation.

No. You're not doing this. It's fucking degrading. You barely know Joel Miller and this is- Your eyes fly open when his hand comes to grip your chin. His eyes are heavy lidded with lust, the pupils blown wide.

"Open up," he commands huskily.

When you don't immediately acquiesce you feel his thumb drag over your lower lip, curling over your bottom teeth and urging your mouth to open for him.

After a moment of consideration your jaw goes slack and you feel your heart leap when Joel gives you a ghost of a smile. There is a brief shadow and you're almost convicted you saw a dimple in his right cheek.

You don't have time to consider this because he's taken his cock in his hand again, stroking the base languidly.

"Mouth open. Tongue out."

You hesitate, wondering how far this is all going to go. He's not actually going to go through with this, is he? You open your mouth a bit, your breathing coming out in hurried puffs. The amusement has fled from his features and he narrows those dark eyes of his on you

"Tongue. Out."

The words are clipped and offer no room for negotiation. With a quiver that goes through your core, you do as instructed, slowly inching your tongue out of your mouth and letting it hang over your lower lip.

He moves slowly, but you're still shocked when his hips shift forward. You turn your head at the last minute, panic overtaking you. Joel gives a grunt and you feel the warmth of his cock pressing against your cheek having just narrowly missed your mouth.

He growls in frustration, his hand coming to grip the back of your head as he drags his cock along your cheek. You feel the pre-cum smearing along your skin to the corner of your mouth like some debauched trail of pleasure but you seal your mouth closed, a small form of rebellion.

"Don't make me ask again."

His voice is low and dangerous. If it hadn't been so intimidating you might have pointed out that he hadn't asked for anything, just demanded. But as it is you’re caught in his home, his hand is wrapped in your hair and he doesn’t look like he’s fucking around.

You tilt your jaw and again stick out your tongue. With cock still in hand, he taps the weeping head onto your flattened tongue before letting it rest there, heavy and pulsing. The salty flavor of him explodes on your tongue, the ridges of his cock pronounced on your sensitive tongue.

Your eyes crack open and move up the length of his body, noting that Joel's breathing picks up when your eyes meet his again.

Without ceremony he slips past your lips, tensing only when you let out a small cry of surprise. When you offer no other protestations his cock inches further into the slick heat of your mouth. He gives a small shudder, his head tilting back and exposing the column of his neck.

Your eyes shutter closed, your mouth working around him, confused as to why you're not fighting this more.

"You deserve this," he says through slow exhales, his hand bracing on the wall behind you. His eyes are closed so you're not sure if he's talking to you or to himself.

His hips snap forward and you whimper, feeling him inch closer to the back of your throat. One of his hands moves down to stroke your hair as he withdraws, his slick cock dragging against your lower lip. You exhale through your nose, catching your breath as you look up at him.

He's breathing heavily, his mouth parted ever so slightly.

"You can take it all," he tells you plainly.

And without another word he's thrust himself back fully into your mouth. So deep that your nose brushes against the wiry hairs at the base of his cock. You feel him hit the back of your throat and it takes everything not to gag or pull back. You have a feeling if you did he'd stop.

But you want to continue. You want to hear what other noises Joel Miller makes when he gets his cock sucked.

Does he do this often? Instruct women like he's done to you this evening? Fuck their mouths? The thought overruns your senses, imagining Joel in the throes of orgasm. Imagining that its you doing it to him. Your tongue swirls on the underside of him and you're rewarded with a shallow gasp.

Joel groans, watching your bob your head along his shaft. His hands are on either side of your jaw, guiding you along his slick member.

"I just know this is makin' you wet," Joel grunts as his hips continue to thrust forward. "Me fucking this sweet mouth of yours."

While you wish you could deny it, he's completely right. You are shocked at how wet you are. You can feel it there, pooling between your legs as you suck him.

His movements increase in tempo, the motions are abrupt and you search for purchase anywhere. Your hands go to the bottom of his t-shirt, gripping it as you urge him to bury himself completely in your mouth.

He growls as he begins to fuck your throat hard, so hard your head jerks back and presses into the wall behind you. He pins your head there and shoves his cock deeper into your throat, giving sharp moans as you whimper and writhe, knowing you can't escape. For a moment all you can feel and see is Joel's cock, slick with your saliva sliding between your lips over and over again. After a few guttural grunts and thrusts his movements slow and he lets his cock simply pulse there, your lips straining to wrap around it.

"Show me those pretty eyes," he murmurs. He doesn't need to ask you twice, you lift your gaze up the length of him, hollowing your cheeks. When your eyes finally meet Joel's you hear a sharp inhale from him.

"You have no idea how fucking gorgeous you look right now," he says, his teeth clenching as you continue to suck him. "F-fuck, those eyes staring up at me.. Your mouth so... So full of my cock... You like it don't you? Having my cock fill your sweet mouth?"

You make a low humming noise of approval. Those words, those filthy, delicious words wrap around your insides. Now your hands are at the base of his cock, stroking him as you swivel your tongue along his shaft.

"So good," he grunts, his hand going to the top of your head. But instead of using it to brace you and push further into your mouth, it just rests there, almost fondly.

It's you who grips the back of his thighs, urging him down your throat. You who moans wantonly not for him but because you're so turned on you can barely function.

You suppose that's what tips him over the edge, your open desire.

Now his movements are erratic and he's fucking into your mouth so harshly you think you might faint. Not from pain but because it feels so fucking good to be used like this. So taboo to have the grouch from next door using your mouth for his pleasure. So fucking heady knowing that he’s going to come because of you.

Your hands fly back to the base of his cock, stroking him as you swivel your tongue along his shaft. He makes a sound that could almost be a whimper if it weren't so low and gravelly. He tilts his chin down, watching you.

"You want my come?" He grunts, pulling your hair back at the nape of your neck, forcing your gaze to his. You nod, your mouth stuffed with him and he makes a noise in the back of his throat as he pulls out from between your lips.

"Say it.” He's visibly shuddering as he takes his cock in his hand and begins stroking.

"I want it," you whimper, your body aflame.

"What do you want?" He asks jerkily, his movements becoming staccato-ed. "You know what I wanna hear."

"Please Joel," you say; drifting forward and licking the reddened head of his straining cock. "I want your come. Please."

He licks his lower lip swiftly.

"Fuck yeah you do," he sighs almost reverently before the fist around his cock increases in speed. "You're gonna take every last drop aren't you?"

Another nod from you and now your tongue is out, flattened and ready for him as you arch. Joel makes a tortured sound in the back of his throat.

"Keep those pretty eyes on me," Joel whispers raggedly. "Don't you dare look away."

Your eyes open just in time to see Joel Miller come undone before you. The face normally contorted into a frown or grimace is replaced by his mouth curved into a disbelieving smile as he looks down at you, his breathing coming out in short little rasps. Then he stills and you watch him spill out over his hand.

Thick ropes of his come erupt over you, landing in warm strips along your cheeks, your lips, your tongue. His hand continues stroking, painting you with him, muttering filth that you can't really hear before he is spent.

Joel's legs tremble a moment, but grow steady as he leans against the wall with his forearm. You go to wipe your face but Joel shakes his head.

"Don't move," Joel demands breathlessly. "I.. I just need to look at you."

You sit there, your face decorated with his seed and your eyes fixed on his face for what feels like forever. He looks at you as if you are art. As if you were designed and molded to be everything he wants.

You want to bathe in the warmth of his eyes forever, but soon his breathing becomes even. He tucks himself back into his boxers and zips up his jeans.

You sit there expectantly, unsure of what to do next. After everything that happened is-

"Get out."

You blink twice as the words sink in. You’re still kneeling there, still staring up at him when Joel pulls back, his gaze hard again. He raises a brow in irritation, a silent question of why are you still here?

Humiliated again by Joel Miller.

You hastily wipe at the cooling seed on your face with the arm of your jacket as you scramble to a stand. Your eyes go to the stairs, thinking of how you'll get back inside your place and you make a motion to go down them. His hand shoots out, holding it in front of you to stop your movement. You notice he doesn’t touch you when he does this.

"You can go the way you came," Joel says without inflection and somehow this option of escape feels like a further sting. He steps back, indicating the hallway window with a tip of his head and you move past him quickly, hot tears pricking the back of your eyes.

You pull open the window with ease, not looking behind you to see if he’s watching. You hope he’s not. You pull yourself over the sill and lower yourself onto the roof. You hate yourself for looking back over your shoulder, hoping he’ll stop you and bring you back inside.

Instead you watch as Joel brings his wide hands to the lip of the window, preparing to shut it the moment he stops speaking.

"Don't ever break into my house again."

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller smut #smut #fanfic #pedro pascal #dad joel miller #fanfiction #dark!joel x reader #dark!joel miller #dark!joel #deaddovedecember2023

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tinycozycomfort · 7 months

Text

moon, a hole of light

pairing: qz!joel miller x f!reader

day one of @pascalisbaby and i's joeltober: dacryphilia -> read her day one here

summary: It makes you feel like a toy, like some misused stuffed animal with loose seams and fur that’s been rubbed to the weft. Your use brings him comfort, his comfort brings you hurt.

warnings/tags: dacryphilia, unprotected piv, substance abuse (joel), age gap (joel is 46 [~10 yrs post outbreak]), reader is not), yearning, dom/sub dynamics, smidge of underwear play, pet names (honey, sweetheart, etc), joel is mean

word count: 2.4k

rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni

a/n: i'm trying so hard to shorten things so forgive me as i navigate this learning curve.

main masterlist

A lot of life is weeping.

In joy. In sorrow. In fury so poignant it makes you wilt. Your body furls in the collapse—u-shaped shoulders that guard your insides, the lock of hard elbows into thigh.

It stings to feel so little, so vulnerable—to let anyone see how ugly emotion’s face can be—yet you let it happen, knowing that this is the only thing that separates you from the rest of them; they’ve spilled out all they had, hollow in the center after nearly a decade of ‘justified action’.

So you cry, and you sob, and you don’t care for their uncomfortable shifting and curled lips. Tess gives her best in the way of comfort, not letting a scoff slip as much when she can help it. Tommy will at least leave the room.

But Joel—Joel will watch. Joel will encourage.

He’s taken the liberty of cycling himself through every shape your hurt takes, the tears pouring over for all of his near-misses and his inability to care for you how he’s meant to. You see the way he grins to find that you cry when you’re happy to see him the same way you do when he insists he should leave.

Part of you thinks he likes it—pushing you to react and then having something to show for it. You think he especially likes when it causes you pain. You cry longer in those moments, working though fits of frustration while he kneels at your feet and watches your face sprout tears like light rain.

He pets you through it—even when he’d been the one to kick you down in the first place—to tell you you were good for sticking around, for being brave enough to have faith in him.

He enjoys having something to come back to, and wounding you is no obstacle in the pursuit of feeling needed.

It makes you feel like a toy, like some mis-used stuffed animal with loose seams and fur that’s been rubbed to the weft. Your use brings him comfort, his comfort brings you hurt.

You know he’s gearing up for another slip-away with the swift shift to kindness; Friday night he caresses you, soothes the ache of something not yet felt, to ease his exit. All pretty words and the affection he so desperately wants to hide, whispered promises of how much better he can be, how he can give you everything you deserve.

Come Saturday morning, you’re discarded.

He’s gone again on another outing, one he persuaded Tommy into joining—if the silence is any indication—even though he needs nothing; that in itself makes you even more sure it has everything to do with wanting. The burn, the desire, is something you see so clearly in the glaze he gets on later nights, the crinkle of soft plastic that trickles out through the open bathroom door. He swears it’s nothing—even to Tess, when she’s around—that he’s not on anything. He throws any excuse he can muster; it’s the wounds and the healing and the aging that make him stumble even in the lit apartment.

Everyone knows what’s actually going on, why the trips outside the QZ are becoming more frequent. It doesn’t get lost on you all the times Tommy complains of Joel disappearing to meet more than one mysterious, unarranged contact who asked for privacy—who wanted Joel alone.

Whatever it is he’s buying keeps him numb, so Tommy lets it slide, and Tess is apathetic towards Joel for reasons you aren’t too willing to know about. You’ve only tagged along so recently, so maybe they pity you, or they feel better about throwing Joel onto someone else—to ruin another thing if only to feel better about having been ruined.

You cry through the weekend in long streams, worried for him, until the hot tears pool and curl the cotton of your t-shirt—forever wet. You stay laid out on the bumpy sofa cushions for hours before your back feels just as knotted and you have to relocate to the bed, only rising again to shower and half-eat and sulk, until you’re too weak to keep track of the seconds.

When he swings in on Monday night, boots knocking as he raises them up on the rack by the door, you’re at the tail-end of another bout, cheeks damp and chest catching where it’s pinned by your shirt against the bed.

Joel walks into the room like he’s done nothing wrong. He walks in alone.

“Where’s Tommy?” you ask, but he ignores you.

Instead, he comes to you with tattered hands, fresh bruises and torn skin, and tugs you up by the creases under your shoulders so you’re seated, kneeling by the bed to level himself with the picture he’s come to love.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, words slow, “What are all those tears for? Me?”

You huff out a few shaky breaths to steady yourself, “Where’s Tommy?”

He sighs, long and hard and uneven, “He left. Why the fuck does it matter?”

He peers up so you’re forced to face him and you can see it now, the film of wet that clouds his eyes, sticky lashes and deep creases of exhaustion purpling the skin where they brush.

“Why did he leave? Because you’re high? It’s too late for him to be out there.”

You already know he didn’t hear anything past the accusation, brought to a boil at the mention of another one of his failures. He gathers up the soft flesh of your cheek in his hand, the blunt curve of his nails digging in to find teeth through the skin. He grips tight to let you know of his anger—that he could easily wring the life out of you like water.

“You’re getting real brave for someone who sits and waits for me like a dog.”

Fire prickles in the tips of your fingers, stretches across the top of your chest in humiliation. You can hear the weight of his words even through his gentle slur, like he means it, twisting away as best you can to speak, “Is that really what you think this is?”

He’s laughing before you even get it all out, the corner of his lips perked up on one side, “No one forced you to, and I certainly don’t remember asking.”

You shove at him then, with force, your hands bending back enough to pinch when he doesn’t budge. He leans into you instead, a challenge.

There’s barely time to choose before he does for you, gathering up your wrists in one hand, the one around your jaw tightening.

So close now, you get a better look at him—his hair stuck to his forehead, cheeks flushed red but with paler lips. His eyes are round, pupils cartoonish and wide. He’s still so pretty, even when dulled by the sheen of his high.

He heaves onto you, shy of livid, and you start to feel like you’re suffocating under his stifling heat, billowing out from where he’s damp with sweat under his denim shirt. The pills work fast, and for longer than they should, so you can tell he’d spent the peak of his high elsewhere, but he’s on a jagged edge of almost coherent.

You slide your thighs together at the whole of him, so strong and honest and invested in you—negative or not—something you usually find him being incapable of. He sees it.

“Oh, but you do it because you like it, don’t you? Couldn’t wait ‘til I came back. Little thing just needs some attention, hm?”

“Joel, I’m serious. Are you high right now? Where’s your brother?”

Joel wedges a thigh up under the crease of your knee, uses the grip he has on your body as leverage to move you further up the bed, climbing up with you pushing himself into the cradle of your body on the way.

“Please. You don’t give a fuck about Tommy,” he snaps, releasing and depositing you so he can make work of your shorts and the buckle holding himself back, “He’s not going to bother us, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You whine as he releases himself, can’t help how you grow wet between your legs, heart throbbing in your throat. He’s not wrong, as mean as he is how he puts it—-you’d die for him if it meant he’d look at you. If you could have him to yourself.

His cock swings free as he shoves his jeans down only enough to be out of the way, not bothering to remove your thin strip of underwear once your bottoms are tugged off. He’s hard for you, another flattery that sends shivers down your spine, the feeling of arousal flashing along your whole body—fingers folding and ankle rolling. You’re excited for him, and this display of joy doesn’t please him as much.

“I didn’t say it was a good thing. You’re pathetic,” he sucks his teeth, hooking a finger in the cotton across your seam, peeling it away from where it's slicked down, knuckle dipping in the place you’re pooling, “But it’s cute. You’re still young enough to have hope.”

He strings the gusset up and away, presses his length against your cunt before replacing it, trapping himself.

“It’s okay that you love me, sweetheart. Don’t be embarrassed. Hang onto that. It might work out for you some day.”

“But not with you,” you whisper, half an offense and half an admission of awareness—he doesn’t love you, hasn’t and can’t and won’t, but you’re willing to take what you can get.

“Cry about it.”

Joel grinds his cock against the wet slip of your cunt in short, tight motions to better catch against you, soaking himself. He presses three fingers against the base of it like a vacuum, holding himself between the two of you, the scalloped edge of your underwear twisting when they roll over his skin. The hard of him on your clit makes you gasp, and his mouth hangs open in a soundless laugh.

And you are crying, sooner than you thought, barely registering it until you feel it falling into the cup of your collarbone, a steady stream that barely burns brighter than the flare in your core.

“You really should be more careful with that little heart of yours. Gonna hurt yourself.” He slides his hand further up his cock to the tip, releasing the pressure and guiding himself to your center. Joel slides himself in to the hilt, leaning down on one forearm to hold himself up.

With his unoccupied hand, he brushes the flesh of your cheek, following its path with kisses—the warning is a genuine one, followed by no punchline or remark, the first time tonight where he’s actually tried to resonate with the predicament he’s put you both in. Earnest.

The give and take of him, flowing freely between unrelenting harshness and the soft comfort of his reassurance should be nauseating, but it shines a beam of light behind your eyes when you close them, white-hot and blinding. You’re sobbing enough to wonder how you haven’t stopped; you can feel your own wetness when he rubs down your chest with his mouth, gathered up from his mapping of your face.

Joel’s knee digs into your side as he hikes you up on his hip, eliminating even the air between your bodies, sweat-soaked and glued together. He’s pushing himself into a place you’ve often found unconsidered, that spongy spot at the back that marks the beginning of your womb. The very center of you, he’s reached, and you start to move in an act of self-preservation, unsure whether you want him to continue forward or exit. You’re mumbling something about Joel, yes-too much-don’t stop-wait-please don’t stop and when he leans back he’s beaming at you, the point of his canines shining in the dim light of the room.

He looks dangerous, like the man you’ve seen hobbling and flighty and inebriated—only ever close to anger—was just the very surface. This is the man that hunted men—that sought conquest and destroyed lives. He’s done the same to you, you realize, and now your being is nestled within the palm of his hand, pliable and willing and fully at his disposal.

You keen for him, thin and high in the channel of your throat, and he pinches your face, sealing his mouth over yours to swallow it. He’s breathing hard into you, the movement of his hips growing shaky, rhythm breaking down a half-step so that you're just swaying against the bed under his weight in little jolts.

“Joel, please. I want to make you come.”

“Keep crying for me just like that and I will. Can you do that?”

You’re so close, the anticipation feeling like warm sand sliding under your fingertips. Joel wrestles a hand into the side of your hip where it’s tightly pressed to his, finding your clit with the pad of his thumb. Your babbling continues, Yes, I promise, I promise, and Joel nods, relenting.

He presses hard against the nub, and shoves himself in that much further, and you start to come undone beneath him, the waves of pleasure coursing through to the ends of your limbs.

He’s still moving above you, talking over you—good girl, good girl—removing his hand so as to not overstimulate you before bringing it up to brush his knuckles over the hinge of your jaw, so careful even as he hammers into you, “So sad, honey. Poor thing.”

You’re still caught up in your own rambling, but you tip your head yes and he picks up his pace again, chasing his own end, “Say it for me. Can’t do it unless you say.” His voice is a little warbled, and you can tell he’s crumbling.

“Please. Come inside me, Joel.”

Joel grunts, the noise catching in his mouth like a hiccup, overtaken with the pleasure of your permission. The heat of him spreading inside your body has your legs shaking and cunt pulsing in response.

You fight to catch your breath, running a hand over your face to snap back into focus.

He falls over to lay on his side, still connected to you, dragging you over with him. He hides his face in the fold of your neck, knocking his forehead into your throat.

“Really sweet of you to wait, honey,” he breathes, sliding out of you with a long drag, a thread of wet spooling out in his wake, “Now get the fuck out.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #pedro pascal characters #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller/reader #joel miller fic #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

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yourtoradorasextendedwarranty · 2 months

Text

So I am a bit ashamed given modern day politics to admit that I'm left leaning at all. Even if I'm a just Left of Center Libertarian.

But the reason why is because of the fact that a huge swath of the left has an issue when it comes to words. Specifically changing the meaning of words until they mean next to nothing at all.

What do I mean by this? Well let's consider, what words have been made to mean nothing by the left:

Gender

Sex

Abortion

Genocide

Nazi

Man

Woman

Child

Family

Capitalism

Communism

Socialism

Fascism

Racism

Sexism

Etc

The list goes on and on and on.

Nazi more or less now means, "I don't like you and you don't agree with me thus forth I will bestow this label on you so as to smear you publicly"

Gender used to mean sex and now it both does and does not mean sex and even is now used to mean "Identity" with that was never what it meant.

Genocide is SUPPOSED to mean the intentional removal of a group of people through killing them or breeding them out by sterilization or intentional delusion of their bloodline. (Example of this is the raping of Uyghur Muslim women by Han chinese men and the sterilization of the Uyghur Muslim men by chemical castration or actual castration). Now it just means, "People dying in war is genocide. People not being allowed to chemically castrate themselves is genocide. People being allowed to eat meat is genocide". IE: It means nothing at all.

And then there's my favorite phrase from the left.

"This is a threat to our Democracy" which actually translates to: This is a threat to the power of Democrats therefore we need to smear and slander anyone pushing whatever is being pushed currently. And we will use weasel words normies use in order to scare them away from whatever this thing being pushed is".

First and foremost, we DO NOT live in a Democracy. We live in a Constitutional Republic. Secondly, when people want power as BADLY as Dems and will lie, cheat, steal, and smear to get there, you should be concerned. I mean for god sake, people consider a very TINY riot at the capital with 99.99% of people unarmed completely, while we also know feds were in the crowd, an "Insurrection"; But then will not consider fire bombing the security office outside the White House, the pushing down of the WH fence, and the burning of a historical church across the street, and the injuring and killing of several Guards and Police the same thing.

So basically, it's a "If we are in power, everything we do, no matter what it is, is fine and reasonable. If you are in power anything we do to try to remove you from power is fine and reasonable.", situation.

That's why I don't like most of the left. Because they think they are gods. Their "Moral" is correct even when it never stops changing. Look at their defense of slavery in the middle east all because, "Those poor oppressed Arabs". I'm sorry but what?! SO slavery is FINE so long as it's non white doing it? That's what I'm hearing right? And sadly a lot of the time it's "YES! That is what you are hearing". If time has taught me anything it's that most of the left is a brainwashed, uneducated cult. They believe EVERYTHING outside of their cult views as evil and thus forth need to lie about it to make everyone else NOT involved or not informed also have the same resentment towards the people they hate.

And it was the last straw when I saw post after post after post of leftists excusing rape. And then people like Hasan Piker calling Kids, "Colonizers" while in the breath before talking about violent removal of people is fine if they are colonizers.

No leftists. You need to understand something very clearly. The "Right" you view as so bad and evil are consistent in most of their morals. But you view everything in bad faith. Thus can't see past your own bias long enough to realize the actual evil ones are you.

And understand. I'm not calling EVERYONE on the left evil. But if you worship the left, you probably are evil. Even if you believe you are doing "The right thing" that doesn't mean you are. And it's about time you realized that.

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romanoffsbish · 9 months

Text

We All Have Scars

Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

Fem!R x GN!OC (Robin)

WandaNat x F!R

Request | WC: 8,088

Warnings: Shitty Partner | Mental Breakdown | Breast Reduction (Insecurities) | Angst -> Fluff (H/C)

Smut: Oral (R) | Fingering (R) | Thigh Riding (R) Enchanted Strap (R receiving / All affected) | Overstimulation | Soft & Dirty

"Did you see Y/N?" You stopped dead in your tracks as you heard your name come from the agency creeps mouth. You were meant to only be passing the break room. Being an Avenger now you hardly ever came to Shield's HQ, but their agents missions would occasionally overlap with more serious affairs, and when they did you were brought here to debrief.

What you didn't expect was to hear people talk about you so casually as if this wasn't still a work environment. Eavesdropping was taboo, but you justified it after hearing your name.

Part of you wished you'd never stayed...

——

"Of course I have Marvin," the familiar voice of your partner startled you, the fact that they'd engage in a conversation with the company sleaze threw you off, but it was their following words that really left you feeling uneasy. "I fuck her dumb on the regular, or did you forget?"

"That's actually why I'm asking," he chuckled, you could just picture the sinister expression as he goes on, "Why would you let a woman like that lessen her greatest asset? Those boobs of hers were once the center of my wet dreams."

You'd felt bile rising, and as they spoke next your mouth was overtaken by a putrid film.

"Let?" They sneered in question, "I begged her not to, but she's stubborn, and didn't listen. Honestly, she'd have been better off for it had she because her chest is all scarred up now. I can't even fuck her without the lights off."

Everything came crumbling down for you in that clarifying moment, the clipboard in your hand tumbling to the ground, and alerting the people to your presence behind the oak door.

You didn't stay long enough for them to see you though, it was purely instinctual the way your legs were taking you to the only place you felt like you could find solace. Running so fast through the place that once employed you, and failing to see the looks of pure concern on your friends faces as you brushed right by them.

Wanda heard snippets of your thoughts as you rushed right by her and Natasha, and her heart absolutely shattered at just how little you thought of yourself. She was desperate to know why, but invasion was never an option for her. So against her hearts desires for understanding she didn't dive deeper, but with the way you were crying so openly, and the emergence of your bewildered looking partner she knew.

The witch shared a look with her girlfriend, and after a moment of eye contact the redhead was bolting it down the hallways in line with the route she knew you'd be taking. It was the only place you felt safe when in such a space.

As Natasha left she knew your, likely to be ex, was in for a world of hurt. They'd been hoping for the dissolution of your arrangement for ages now, but they would never have wanted it to be at the expense of your very wellbeing.

Nonetheless, Wanda would handle them well.

After a minute of sprinting she came to a stop outside of the very oak tree she and Wanda had spent months building a treehouse on for you. The house itself was put together by Natasha and Clint, the retired archer who came around one day and took an instant liking to you, in a similar way as the longtime couple had. But the homey decor was all Wanda's work, as was the enchantment that kept it invisible to others.

Only the Avengers could see it. It was also even more restrictive with entry privileges, as only you, and the couple could enter uninvited.

As the redhead used the sturdy ladder to climb up she could feel her heart hammering in her chest. The adrenaline, spurred on by her need to reach you was quickly wearing off. Her body was begging her to just take a deep breath, but she could hear your distinct, hysterical sobs so she settled on taking in a labored set of breaths as she just continued to overexert her body.

Upon entering she saw you hunched over in a corner of the room with your head in your hands as your body shook uncontrollably. Natasha wanted to hold you, to scoop you up and shield you from the looming darkness but she knew you needed the option to choose.

"Y/N," Natasha cautiously approached you, her hands were reaching out for you but you were hesitant to accept her touch. You knew she was good, that she'd never hurt you, but your gut also reminded you that you thought the same thing about your parents, who used to patch up your "boo-boo's," until they sold you off to Hydra at five once your brothers were born.

They couldn't afford three mouths to feed, and they deemed yours the one worth sacrificing.

Then there was Strucker, the man you'd once called papa before he became the actual devil. One second you're playing with his monocle while perched upon his desk, then the next you're becoming another one of his lab rats. He made the decision to become ruthless with you as soon as you'd turned ten, and were ready to physically undergo the life altering trials.

Your mistrust fully bloomed with that betrayal.

Every time you made a connection, the other person would be shocked at your eagerness to trust in them. Most people pitied you really, so desperate to be loved by another that you'd easily settle for mediocrity. With every single partner you'd give them all of you, and they only ever found new ways to tear you down.

You finally thought you got it right with Robin, but you realized now you didn't. They were just like the rest of them, and you were finding it increasingly hard to cope with another loss.

Robin was a dream, they were the same person who flashed you a warm smile a little over six months ago after a rather exhausting mission. They bought you dinner, and kissed you softly on the cheek before bidding you farewell. As time went by they'd be the one to hold your hand through the countless stormy nights. It never occurred to you that they'd become a nightmare too, the kinda person who would happily humiliate you in front of your peers.

You trusted them; poor, silly girl that you were.

Everyone around you warned you not to date the person in charge of spinning stories. Their literal job came with the responsibility to twist the truth until it looked presentable to people.

It really shouldn't be a shock to you that they'd embarrass you like this, taking your newfound insecurities and broadcasting them even after they'd assured you that you were still beautiful.

As if your former colleagues needed to know about what you looked like beneath your bra.

You were a mess of emotions, but mortified took the prime spot as you envisioned the word spreading like wildfire. Shield was one thing, but the idea that the people you now called family would get an insight into the situation.

Well, that was enough to lead you right here.

To a place that shielded you from the curious looks, and the invasive whispers. It was your only escape, where you thought you'd have at least some time to be alone in your shame, before your saviors would come along. But in your rush to escape you'd forgotten the couple was just as present on the prior mission.

"Detka please," Natasha was desperate in her pleas, she could see you already withdrawing, and it terrified her. It'd been years since she last saw you like this. At the time they were hesitant as well, but after a few hours with you it was clear you were nothing short of docile.

They had placed you into a containment cell after retrieving you from a Hydra facility. You were so incredibly broken, and too easily pliant to be seen as a threat. You were soft spoken, and cooperative, yet you clearly held mistrust.

From the very first day Natasha knew you'd become someone she cared about. With her and Wanda being in charge of training you it wasn't much of a shock that you let them in. They accepted you just the same, but with the distance starting at shield created they never got to have you the way they wanted. Then as you were transitioning to the Avengers you met Robin, and it nearly sent Wanda off the rails.

The brunette knew they were trouble, and she didn't even need her powers to tell her that. But the collective warnings fell on deaf ears as you chose to pursue the apparent dead end.

Natasha knew too, but she held her resentment closer to her heart, and remained the only one capable of keeping Wanda focused on the fact that you weren't theirs to claim. You were not something to be owned, but earned. So, they settled on being a solid base for you, and if they play their cards right now, once you've healed they'll finally get to call you theirs outwardly.

As the redhead caught your shifting gaze she could see your resolve softening, so she settled on the ground before you. There was a good five inches between you though, giving you any space you could want. "Can I hold you detka?"

It was tense, staring into her loving gaze as you weighed out the options. You could either stay where you are, cold and broken, or you could crawl into her awaiting lap, where you knew intimately that it brought warmth, and peace.

After a few minutes of chaotic deliberation you scrambled into her lap. Her arms wrapped around you just as fast, and you cried against her chest as her unyielding love overwhelmed your persistently aching heart. "It's okay sweet girl, I don't know what they did, but I promise you didn't deserve it. They're a dumbass..."

You froze in her embrace, your mind and heart were now at war with one another as you chose to stutter in their defense, "N-no, Natty, don't be mad at them. They were just being —."

"Don't do that," Natasha shook her head, her own lip began to tremble as she really looked into your eyes to see your mind in scattered pieces that required mending. "They don't deserve your forgiveness, don't defend them."

"Th-they didn't mean it, they couldn't have.."

It broke the redhead to see you trying to give Robin the benefit of the doubt, all the while you are trembling in her arms as you tried to process your overwhelming feelings of hurt. Which is why she decided it was best to offer you comfort while being brutally honest.

"Sometimes people are just terrible Y/N, there's no rhyme or reason, and there's no changing that fact no matter how hard we want to. It's easier to pretend they had a valid reason for being so cruel, to bury that intimidating surge of anger and fill the new void left behind with a faux sense of personal accountability."

Natasha's callous thumb softly ran over the wet skin of your cheek, she smiled warmly at you as she let the abrupt silence linger for a moment. Offering you as much comfort as she could while she carefully gathered her thoughts.

"Because facing the truth that they're a vile person that we let in to hurt us is harder than rightfully condemning their behavior." Natasha saw you coming to terms with her words, but it only proved more devastating as more tears streamed down your temples and soaked into the cotton of her hoodie. "So please don't do it, because when you do, you're only masking the hurt instead of feeling it. You have to face the truth detka, feel the betrayal and the hurt long enough to free you from it and to let you heal."

"W-why does this always happen to me Natty?" Natasha firmly pressed her lips to your hairline and took in a shaky breath through her nose as she willed the tears in her eyes not to slip. "I don't know Y/N/N, but you deserve better."

Natasha's voice wavered, she truly didn't get it, because if given the opportunity to have you at their side, she knew that Wanda and her would love you right. You'd never have to question their intentions, or the strength of their love for you because it was true. It would be perfect...

"It hurts so much," your voice was barely above a whisper, but your hands were strong as they clung to her in sheer desperation. "Make it stop Natty, please, I-I can't." You began to shiver, and in an instant her hoodie was slid over your head and within seconds your body calmed.

"Yes you can detka," Natasha shushed you, with a warm smile reserved for you once your bleary eyes had found hers again. "You're strong enough to face it detka, and we're right here. Wanda and I got you now, you're safe."

"I'm safe," you repeated a bit unsure, but as her arms tightened around you it was made clear. You timidly smiled up at Natasha, and she returned it with ease. She saw your exhaustion clear as day with her eyes locked on yours, so she shifted her body, then kept her hold on you firm as she took you both to the grey recliner. She put a playlist Wanda made for you on shuffle, then kissed your cheek. "Now rest."

Natasha enjoyed cradling you, even if her arm had long since gone numb holding up the deadweight of your upper body. With you nuzzled into the cloth of her shirt she could feel your warm breath against her skin exposed by the v-neck of her blouse. Her heart practically leapt out of her chest, she missed having you close ever since you entered your relationship.

They'd nearly had you, but you slipped away, and that had the gravest of consequences...

"How is she?" Natasha looked up to see her girlfriend hovering by the doorway, almost afraid to enter the space you both currently occupied. "Okay for now, did you figure out what that wretched fool did to her?" Wanda shook her head as she approached, her hand gently cupped your face, and she smiled as you leaned into her touch. "I didn't really ask..."

Natasha furrowed her brow in confusion as she peered up at Wanda for clarity, but then she silently understood the witches loving gaze.

It was your story alone to tell.

Wanda handled your ex, and the agent with the easiness of a call to Fury. The matriarch of Shield held no hesitation after he caught wind of what was said. He nipped the spread of the scenario in the butt with a hardened glare. It wasn't enough for Wanda though, so with a flick of her wrist she ensured that the last hour of all of their lives was a muddled memory.

Whatever was said, was forgotten by all except for the guilty parties who were thrown out on their asses. Wanda glared at Robin as they rushed out of HQ, sending a shiver down their spine that let them know to never return.

Natasha was satisfied with the information, but she also knew you'd likely be devastated. To find that you were abandoned again is going to hold you prisoner to thoughts of inadequacy.

All the couple can do is be there for you, and hope that with time you'll be made anew.

"What's in the bags?" Natasha moved the conversation on, and Wanda held the bag out to give sight to the contents. "I made Y/N/N her favorite meal, and I ran to our old Shield rooms to collect some pajama's for all of us."

"We're sleeping here tonight?" Natasha asked with a pout, her back instantly feeling that familiar ache that the air mattress brings.

"Suck it up kotenok," Wanda snorted, "Y/N needs to not be bothered by the guys tonight."

With their chatter above you it wasn't shocking for Wanda to be the first to witness your eyes fluttering open. You looked rather adorable as you tried to piece together how you ended up in her lovers arms, and then she saw clarity wash over you. For a moment you frowned, then you yawned and reached out for her.

Wanda set the bags down on the coffee table with a soft chuckle then she pulled you up and into her warm embrace all as she smiled down at a pouting Nat in a gloating manner. "How does a treehouse sleepover sound sweetie?"

"You guys don't have to do that, I'm okay now," you mumbled into her shirt, she hardly caught your words, but she merely tightened her arms around your waist and swayed your bodies. "Detka, you don't have to pretend with us, you don't need to go through this all alone. So, I am going to get some bowls, and you'll go pick a movie while Natty here sets up the projector."

You knew by her tone that there was no room for debate, so you did as you were told. In the end she was right, you were far from fine, but as you laid between their bodies as the film continued to roll, you knew as long as they were around that the healing was possible.

——

In a years time, you knew with certainty that was true. Wanda and Natasha, your now lovers of three months, had saved you from ruin.

You were a shell of yourself at first, hardly speaking to anyone upon reaching back to the compound, and reverting back to your old ways of solitude in a blink. Always polite, but never forthcoming with your presence or words.

Robin leaving over something so personal to you broke you into shambles. It was never a fair trade, but your mind couldn't help but to regret ever giving into the advice given to you.

When you first joined the Avengers you were given an off planet mission. Thor was not one to go on missions Earth-side often, unless it was the end of times level, but Fury did offer him agents when necessary. Your powers were crucial to Thor, so you found yourself on a planet where fire was the peoples kryptonite.

With one flash of a flame you were able to help him without much of a fight. Their leader knew Thor wouldn't hesitate to let you bring ruin, so they gave into the God who towered over them.

He'd taken you back to Earth, and for your "valiant effort" he took you to a diner, where even though you'd done hardly anything, you were rubbing at your lower back and wincing.

"Lady Y/N, why don't you get your boobs cut into smaller ones?" He'd said, you immediately went to cast an offended glare at the pig of a man, but then you saw into his eyes, and they held an innocence that told you he was only offering a genuine suggestion. "My ex, Jane, has a friend—Darcy. She used to talk our ear off about how reducing hers was the best choice she'd ever made. Her back problems vanished, and her clothes fit more smoothly."

His suggestion seemed fruitless at first, but after a mission a couple weeks later, where you felt the pain increased by your exertions you took it seriously and scheduled a consultation.

Robin said no, but it was never direct. They just teased you, and therefore you believed it to be a tasteless joke. They never said anything to you after, but you could see the way they no longer lit up at the sight of your bareness. It didn't change your sex life though, at least not in the rate at which it happened. Only the way.

Still, you remained naive up until the moment their truth was spewed out like venom. Sinking into you, and holding you captive in your mind.

They had no right to make you feel insecure, it was your choice, and it was meant to be joyous. You made it with your own body in mind, to better your life, and you were ecstatic. It was one of the first ones you'd ever been able to make of your own volition and they tainted it.

For the first month you refused to leave your room unless it was to go on a mission, or to sneak off to the treehouse. Everyone gave you the space, even when the couple didn't want to.

Wanda kept you fed with meals outside your door, and Natasha kept you safe by going on the missions you were still expected to go on. They hovered, but never in a way that was suffocating, only in a way that said they were there and cared. Which eventually paid off because when you did finally show up to movie night you were quick to settle down with them.

It was your first big step towards healing.

Months flew by, and with time you found the ache in your chest was never for Robin, but instead for companionship in general. You wanted a love like Wanda and Natasha's, and after a drunk kiss shared between the three of you it was made clear you just wanted them.

It was a no brainer really, when you woke up with your head on straight you felt the same. They'd breathed out a sigh of relief when you simply smiled at them and snuggled even further into the warmth of their bodies instead of running out of their room screaming.

That night they took you on a date, and swept you off your feet in the most romantic of ways. Literally, Natasha scooped you up, and kissed you beneath the light of the moon, and Wanda danced with you in a field as the stars twinkled.

You felt free; they were the breath of clarity you'd always been searching for, you'd just only ever delved into a sea full of wrong people.

Being with them made you realize that you were never the problem. They loved you so incredibly well, reminded you how beautiful you were everyday, even when you looked like a troll as your arose from your slumber or a hot mess after a grueling mission. It was never a lie, your beauty was more than skin deep.

Still, even with their reassurances, you'd been terrified to give yourself over completely. You knew they'd never treat you like previous partners had, but still, in the back of your mind you were left with the fleeting insecurities.

Every time something would be close to initiated you'd find yourself blocked. Heavy petting and sloppy make outs would progress with ease, then a hand would skim over your heated skin beneath your blouse and you'd bolt up, and excuse yourself. They never questioned you, they gave you your space, and made sure the vibe in the room was tranquil when you would come back in with a guilty expression.

Wanda would cradle your head to her chest, and Natasha would kiss your cheek as if they weren't hot and bothered only an hour prior.

They've been patient, which is only fair, but you also knew that they were sexually driven women. You've shared a wall with them for long enough to know that, but ever since you'd joined their arrangement they've been celibate.

Neither seemed impatient with your pace, they offered you abundant warmth, and stability. It was you that was growing frazzled with need, the pit in your stomach was taut, and after making out with Natasha, with your body pressed against a wall this morning you'd decided that there wasn't any need to wait.

That's why you're in their room, the one that had basically become yours, with only silk a robe layered around your bareness. Against the insecurities of their unknown reactions, you were ready to take a chance on them, and you had faith that they'd love you regardless of the perceivable imperfections. Plus, the source of your greatest insecurities lessened with time.

The once dark, and angry surgical scars had actually faded some, they were still prominent, but nowhere near as noticeable as they were a year prior when you were shamed. On top of that, you'd decided to take a cosmetic approach to distract yourself, and others from the marks.

You took a steadying breath, and shook off the building anxieties. You chose to focus on the potential for a night of bliss. Natasha and Wanda were downstairs finishing mission reports, completely unaware that they were about to stumble upon you. That element of surprise actually made you even more aroused.

It was embarrassing really, the way your slick dripped down your thighs, and cascaded over the slope of your knees as you kneeled on the bed in wait. You'd texted them a simple 'come to your room please,' and smiled when you heard the familiar steps of Nat's combat boots and Wanda's heels in only a minutes time.

"Detka?" Natasha called out, but it was Wanda who first walked into the room, and who felt the colliding of her lovers body as she stilled at the sight of you on their bed. The energy was shifted from inquisitive to sinfully so as the women let their eyes trail over your form.

"What is this?" Wanda's accent was thick, her flushed cheeks and darkened eyes giving way to the carnal second nature of your loving witch. Natasha pushed Wanda forward, hand reaching behind her to shut and lock the door with ease as she spoke huskily, "Yeah, we're not complaining love, but we're seeking clarity."

Without a word you reached out your hands and each of them took one into their own. Natasha linked her fingers with yours, and Wanda held eye contact with you as she brought yours to her lips to kiss your knuckles.

"I'm ready," you spoke with absolute certainty, and allowed them to pull you from the bed. Wanda spun you so that you were facing her, and offered you a gentle, yet questioning smile. Natasha moved her hands to your hips so she could pull your body flush to hers, her lips pressed beneath your ear, hot breath tickled your skin as she whispered: "Are you sure?"

"There's no rush," Wanda added, and you leaned forward to kiss her, it was soft, and she melted into the affection. Then you boldly laid her hand onto the tie of your robe. "I think we have all waited long enough, so take it off."

Both of them pulled away from you, and though you enjoyed the redheads warmth from behind, you found her eagerness to see you in all your naked glory a bit more comforting. Wanda swirled her hand in the air, causing the knot to untwist, and the robe to fall. "Woah."

You chuckled nervously, "Woah? Is that good?"

Wanda smiled as she bit her lip, and beckoned you closer with the crook of her finger, you quickly obliged, settling into her open arms. A sigh left your lips as Natasha once again stood behind you, and pressed you into the witch.

Neither of them answered you with words, but instead you found yourself with your head thrown back as they lavished your body with the most sinful of attention. Nimble hands groped you all over, and brought you to moan as their lips worked you over in tandem.

Natasha and Wanda were honestly floored by the initial sight of you. Their eyes had nearly bulged out of their heads when seeing the way your thighs had glistened for them—they knew without need for vocal confirmation that they get you all worked up. They see the way your thighs harshly clench, and in this moment they could smell you from a few feet away and they were salivating at the idea of being able to finally taste you after all these years in wait.

Then their eyes slowly rose higher, admiring every perfect curve of your body that they'd only had the luxury of seeing beneath clothes. Eventually seas of green reached the holy grail as they froze on your chest, your nipples were pert, and breasts were perfectly rounded.

Sparks of jealousy ignited in their hearts at the realization that someone else was near your body within the last year upon gazing at your fresh tattoo. Just between your breasts sat a gorgeous piece of artwork, it was an intricate array of lines that all came together to create the image of a sturdy castle. It took over the entirety of your upper abdomen, and the tip of the extravagant looking building laid within the valley of your breasts. It was moving.

You'd gotten it to represent the overall concept of conquering fears, to symbolize that no one else could dictate the making of your intricate story, it was yours to write; you were queen.

They also noticed your scars, but it wasn't even a thing they focused in on, neither woman cared about something so inconsequential.

Why would they when they had your body at their disposal to cherish until the sun set?

You were perfect, and they were desperate to have and show you that, to wipe away the insecurities they know you've felt for months.

After a particularly loud moan that Natasha pulled by groping your ass, Wanda had bit down into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. Her fingers drummed against your sides as she steadied her skipping heart, then she pulled her face from the side of your neck as she had caught a whiff of your increased arousal. The need to be between your thighs was no longer something she could ignore, and with how you squirmed about in their hold she knew that the overall need was reciprocated.

"You're fucking breathtaking Y/N," she held onto your hips with a tight grip as she felt her body dizzying from her need for more of you. "I'm so—, please detka, tell me this is all okay, let me know when I can drop to my knees and worship you like the queen that you are."

You gulped when looking into her eyes to find only remnants of green remained. The lust was all consuming for the lot of you, you were all but certain Natasha's eyes were just as wild.

"Come on sweet girl," Natasha rasped against the shell of your ear as her hands slid around to grope your breasts from behind, you gasped and nearly broke down as her thumbs rolled over your nipples. It'd been so long since you felt the hands of another on your body, but more specifically your chest and you were overwhelmed with settling grief and pleasure.

"Let us take care of you like you deserve," she continued with an urgency in her tone that sounded close to a whine, it was as if she was in pain being made to wait, "Fuck, you're just so perfect Y/N, sat here patiently waiting for us."

Wanda was already on her knees when your eyes had finally fluttered back open, you locked gazes with her, and offered her a reassuring smile that made her heart flutter wildly, and once your head nodded she surged forward.

Normally they'd ask you to speak, but there was no doubt with the urgency of your nod.

Natasha held your body firmly in place by your hips as the other woman flicked her tongue through your folds. It excited her to no end when you tried to squirm away, but found yourself incapable of doing so with her bruising hold. You were gripping onto her neck with your arm thrown back for stability while your other hand fell and twisted into fiery locks of auburn so that you could keep them close.

Wanda hummed against your clit just as one of Natasha's hands slipped downwards from your hip, and just as her fingers slid inside of your cunt she was prepared with her plump lips on yours to catch your throat scratching moans. With only a few strokes and a harsh suckling of your swollen bundle of nerves you fell apart.

The redheads arm wrapped around your waist as your body tried to slump forward, because it'd been so long since you felt this intense of a release, and Wanda didn't even stop to breathe. It was no wonder your knees buckled as her tongue continued to lap at your center, and her fingers harshly dug into your quivering thighs.

Natasha aided her in her attempt to pull more from you before ever making it to the bed as her fingers buried themselves back inside of you and moved with a vigorous effort to do so. It was a pleasure you'd never felt before, her long fingers reached into your greatest depths, making your stomach burn as you were built back up, and tears collected in the divots of your neck as you cried from the pleasure.

"I-I'm gonna cum," you got out before an ear piercing moan left your throat, "O-oh shit!" You could feel the coil tethering with each harsh thrust, and it finally unraveled as the redhead curled her fingers and pressed them into your g-spot. "I, oh fuck, fuck, fuck..."

Your slick came gushing out, and soaking Wanda's face while your walls pulled your other lovers fingers in even deeper and held onto them for dear life as they continued to spasm uncontrollably from the pleasure. It took a few minutes for your cunt to relinquish its hold, and as soon as she slid her fingers from you Wanda was there to replace them.

"What a good girl," Natasha purred against the skin of your neck. "I bet you taste so sweet, hm. I mean look at Wanda, she's already addicted and you're just letting her devour your pussy."

Wanda grinned against your thigh after she finally pulled away from your sensitive walls, and if the look she sent her lover wasn't enough the confirmation she got when she sucked your slick from her fingers was enough to prove it.

"A real fucking delicacy she is," Wanda mused, accent thick with her Sokovian roots as she felt and stored the entirety of her lust in her chest. "Those mission reports will be defaulting."

Natasha chuckled, "Oh, yes they will..."

Wanda stood to her feet, and kissed Natasha over your shoulder while you came back down. Their tongues danced harmoniously, and you felt the warmth blossom in your core again at the sounds of their altered salivas swapping.

Fortunately for you they handled your tired body once they were satisfied with parting. Their main focus was on taking care of you, and making love to you until you couldn't take it anymore, they wanted to hear you plead with them to stop, then bring you over the edge a final time just to see you writhe all over again.

When your mind caught up to your body you could hear the choked up moans that left you as Wanda slid your cunt against Natasha's bare thigh. Her nipples brushed against your back and you internally screamed at the feel of them bare against you. Your eyes were screwed shut, but you willed them open so you could see them, even if you were restricted in many ways.

The swell of Natasha's breasts was enough to make your body tingle with excitement and for your thighs to try to clamp shut, but the tight grip of Wanda's hands, and obstacle of Nat's leg kept you spread wide open, and in bliss.

The redhead smirked, "Like what you see?" You smiled bashfully, and stuttered out a quiet yes that made the women share a humored glance. "Feel free to suck on them then detka." The permission granted and way that she hotly winked at you had your walls clenching around nothing, and at the feel of your cunt pulsing she knowingly flexed her thigh, and as Wanda harshly pressed you into the muscle you fell into Natasha's shoulder with rushed pants to indicate what the slick on her thigh already did.

You came, again, and fuck were you feeling it.

Never in your life had a partner made you cum more than twice, you'd believed it to be an impossibility at this point, so the fact that they'd even managed a third time was actually insane to you. Your teeth had sunk into the skin of the redheads supple breast, and latched on tight, for a brief bout of comfort it seemed as your lower half went momentarily numb. It was a foreign sensation, the way your vision had spotted over, and your muscles ached.

Your body was obviously spent, you were sure to fall over soon, but they weren't even done with you. Something you realized after the witch lifted you up, then spun you around. They left you over Natasha's lap, with you on your knees, keeping your legs spread wide over Natasha's. The sight of a strap made your eyes widen just as much, and Wanda smiled wide.

"You like it detka?" You visibly gulped, but nonetheless nodded along rather dumbly. "It's enchanted, so when I fuck it into your pretty little cunt, Natty will feel it too, and I will get to feel as you clench around me with every inch I slip inside you. Oh my, I can't fucking wait..."

Wanda's words were a warning you didn't read, so when the tip pressed inside you seconds later you weren't prepared, but your pussy was. It swallowed the thick silicone up, and left you with your mouth agape as it stretched you out.

Natasha panted wildly against your neck as she felt the phantom strokes of the enchanted strap as it slid in and out of your slicked up walls. That alone nearly sent you spiraling over into another climax, but you managed to keep it at bay for a bit longer to ensure both woman got to fall over with you. "I'm so close, please..."

"Just a few more minutes detka," Wanda grunted as her hips continued their relentless pace in the race to bring you all over the edge. "I'm close too, I want to cum with you love."

Natasha squeaked, "Me too," as her entire body felt like it was on fire. Every nerve ending she had was on high alert as she felt every single pleasurable pressure that you did with Wanda rutting into you like a woman gone mad. The pleasure melded into pain from time to time for you, but it faded out fast enough to derive an even deeper, appreciative overall pleasure.

It was driving her wild, finally having you in the way they'd always dreamed of. Spread out, and dumbed down. It had her teetering, and she knew with absolute certainty she'd fall soon, especially when you or Natasha would moan right in tandem with her soft grunts.

As the witches pace steadily increased it became near impossible for any of you to bare. With every thrust into your g-spot you'd flutter around the silicone, which would cause a firm sensation to be felt against Wanda's very own.

Natasha's upper body gave out, causing her to fall back into a low pile of pillows, and with her your body followed. Wanda didn't take this new vantage point for granted either, her eyes first focused on the way your tits bounced with every single thrust, and then they moved on to gawking at your glistening, puffy cunt that took her thick, veiny strap without any resistance.

"Fuck, look at this Nat," she groaned, then in an instance both yours and Natasha's minds were overtaken by the live image of your cunt being rutted into without any reprieve in sight. Natasha cried out against your cheek, her thighs trembled beneath your ass, and even in your blissed out state you managed to smile.

Wanda found your triumphant smile adorable, you knew just what you were doing to them, it was a cocky, yet sweet little expression. You soon whimpered as she lifted your thighs up into Natasha's hands so that she could fuck into you even deeper. Her plans to wipe the smile off your face a success as she worked to remind you that they were the ones in charge.

Her body lurched forward so that she could lavish your upper body with attention, her tongue swirled around your nipples, making you gasp out at the unexpected touch. Then she began to press shaky kisses all over the ridged skin around the curve of your breasts as she grew overwhelmed by the way that the harness pressed firmly into her clit with each thrust.

Wanda wanted to see you coming undone, so she stretched her torso and brought her face to hover over yours as she kept her hips pace up. While she stared into your eyes she noted the way your pupils contracted ever so slightly, there was a haze that heavily overlayed them, and she felt her chest swell with pride at the effect their ministrations were having on you.

Then she frowned as they soon shut. "Open your eyes pretty girl," she coaxed, her lips pressed to yours briefly, and she beamed when you listened to her gentle command. "Keep them open for us, we wanna see you let go."

Natasha softly cursed in Russian from beneath you, her hot air coasting over your skin, and you imagined Wanda was sharing in the sight.

"I need," you choked on your words as she applied a firm pressure to your engorged clit, the touch was too much and everything all at once. "Please, let me cum, I can't take it anymore... I need to..." You words cut off once again as she had slammed her lips to yours, and whispered, "Cum with us detka, let go..."

You came with a scream of their names in between slurred curse words, and Natasha followed suit within seconds, screaming in line with your own before she bit into your shoulder to suppress her insanely loud noises of bliss.

It was a glorious sight for the witch, Natasha's skin was flushed and her eyes were drooped, and when she focused back in on you she about died at the alluring sight that followed along with you cumming. Her hips came to an abrupt stop as she was blinded by her own orgasm, holding eye contact with you as you came down was rather dizzying. Like an intimate fireworks show on display for just her with the way the swirls of lust exploded within your irises.

Wanda’s body collapsed atop yours, she softly kissed the skin of your neck, and smiled when your arms lazily wrapped around her body. The three of you remained like that for awhile, breathing out of sync on the come down, and exchanging the sweetest of touches up until Natasha ruined it with a gravely whine, “I can’t feel anymore, I’m paralyzed beneath you two.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, then you squealed as she did the same with your bodies. “Fine, but don’t complain about missing our warmth.”

“Ah yes, because that’s what I’m getting,” she teased further, “You’re just so warm Wands.”

“Careful now, or I’ll tell Fury to send you off.”

Natasha chuckled, then looked over to see your face was nuzzled into the witches chest, and the other was smiling like an idiot. Her heart was near to bursting at the seams with just how much love she harbored for the both of you.

“Share the detka,” Natasha whined, no longer content with being alone after sixty seconds. Wanda smirked, then taunted her, “I warned you, yet you still chose your silly freedom.”

“I didn’t want to lose my limbs!”

You giggled tiredly against Wanda’s bare chest, and she smiled widely at Natasha who was already wearing an adoring smile of her own.

“How are you feeling love?” Wanda whispered, and with the help of Nat she’d rolled you onto your back. For a moment you’d gathered the post sex confidence to speak, hut then piercing orbs of emerald stared down expectantly and the pure deepness of the green in them gave the allusion as if she was staring into your soul.

"I-I," you paused, taking in a massive inhale to steady your rapidly beating heart. The after effects of your multiple orgasms not helping your mind to process either. Natasha's cocky smirk hovering over your face wasn't helping, but Wanda's nails scratching over your side was. "What's on your mind there pretty girl?"

"Thank you."

Natasha frowned, and your brows turned down at the sight of her disappointed expression.

"Why are you thanking us?" Wanda asked the question on both of their minds. Suddenly you felt the weight of your former insecurities crashing back down on you, and for the first time since it happened you decided to be more open with them. "For being patient with me..."

"Oh sweetheart, that's not worthy of thanks," Wanda negated with a deep sigh. "You deserve nothing less than the bare minimum, and that is exactly what respecting your autonomy is."

You felt the warmth swarming around in your stomach, as if a case of butterflies had been released within you. The ability to be honest with them only furthered as you saw the loving look in their eyes that screamed of safety.

"And for," you paused momentarily, pouting your lips as you got your thoughts together. "For not making me feel bad for the ugly scars beneath my chest. Robin, they, um —..."

Neither women needed further explanation, it made both of them irate to think that the pain you felt last year, that nearly cost them you for good, was over something so grotesque.

"I'll kill them," Natasha growled, and you were not foolish enough to leave that unchecked. "Natty, I think that it's time we all move on. Robin is a thing of the past, and I'd like to keep them that way. I much prefer our future."

Our future rang out in all of your heads, and you smiled reassuringly up at them in truth.

Natasha settled on her side beside you, her arm crooked to hold her head up, and she reached out to grab your hand. She pulled it to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your fingertips before she was taking it lower. You quirked a brow, thinking this was a fast turn around into a round two, but then she settled your hand on her lower abdomen. You frowned at the feel of her mostly smooth skin being tarnished by the familiar ridges. Hers were a bit more faded, but the raise of the skin never planned to go away.

“We all have scars detka,” she spoke with a great sadness in her tone, but her smile reflected the hope that lived on inside her chest. “Some of ours we wear outside,” as she paused, Wanda turned your face to hers, and you held intimate eye contact as Nat finished, “Some of ours live in our souls, and for the three of us we’ve got a mix of both. They don’t define us detka, they’re just a piece of a story.”

“You’re beautiful now, just as you were then,” Wanda carried on the topic of discussion. She took a momentary reprieve so she could kiss your lips while her thumbs wiped away at the once budding tears that had began to fall. “We always saw you Y/N, when you were in that cell we just knew you were special, and every day since you’ve gotten out you’ve proven us right.”

“I love you guys so much,” you cried, and rolled into Natasha’s chest to hide your face. “We love you so much more Y/N,” Wanda challenged, and in a gentle sway she maneuvered herself behind you, and wrapped you up in her love. Natasha mirrored her exact sentiments with a contrast in approach as she pecked your tear stained cheeks, and ran a comforting hand up and down your side. “Now rest up angel..”

Wanda chuckled tiredly into her pillow then kissed your neck “We’re far from done detka…”

——

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nerdpoe · 1 year

Text

Of Kindness and Empathy 5

First, Second, Third, Fourth, AO3

Discrimination Hidden in Fantastical Law?

Is our government taking away the rights of Metas by pretending they aren’t Metas at all?

Lois Lane . Daily Planet . Updated 15th of April 20XX

Recently brought to light, the Anti-Ecto Acts are rife with controversy. They appear to be centered on one young teenage Meta Hero, Phantom, and mandate reporting others ‘like him’ to the ‘correct authorities’ for mandatory study and testing.

But the definition of ‘like him’ is open ended, and under current interpretation even Superman or The Flash could fall under that. Is this another attempt by Lex Luthor? The answer may surprise many, but the answer to that is no.

The Laws appear to have been backed by a billionaire named Vlad Masters, who sells inventions oddly specific to tormenting the teenage meta trying to save his small town.

Why is Masters so against this child? What is the end-game of the Anti-Ecto Acts? Is this another attempt to enslave or discriminate against Metas?

We went to the scene of Phantom’s rise to Heroics and got the story from those who were there first-hand, and to potentially find answers for why Masters is behind those Acts.

“Oh, those laws are flim flam, and everybody knows it,” one concerned citizen is quoted as saying, who’s name will not be disclosed for their safety, “Boxy here is the best sorter I’ve ever had, my warehouse has never been so organized! Who cares if he floats a little?”

…

“Phantom is the best,” a local high school student said, “Better than Superman! I bet if they got in a fight Phantom would lay him out!”

…

“Oh, Phantom? No, I have no intention of turning in my co-Hero,” Red Huntress, the other town hero, said, “those laws were just passed because the government wants to make deadlier weapons, and Phantom and his species are pretty much power houses.”

…

The members of the so called ‘Ghost Investigation Ward’ stated that they had no comment.

…

The Drs. Fenton are the loudest proponents that Phantom is dangerous. However after sitting down with them and running through the Anti-Ecto Acts and how they affect other Metas, and that Phantom was likely just a Meta trying to help, they admit that perhaps they forgot the humanity required for science.

“We just want our baby boy and little princess to be safe,” Dr Jack Fenton said, “but I guess we got so caught up in it that we forgot about everything else. We do that a lot, just look at us, blathering on about ghosts. Hey, do you want to see a portal to another dimension?”

Down in the basement there is, indeed, a portal to another dimension. This reporter stood outside of it and, after they prepared their RV, took a small tour as well.

Which leads to even more questions for these laws. Are they meant to target aliens instead? Would this dimension attempt to go to war with ours for these Acts?

The Drs graciously allowed us to search for a ‘Ghost’ to ask.

“Our King is not bothered by weaklings such as you,” Ghost Entity ‘Fright Knight’ said, “Your foolish laws could not begin to interfere with our Realm. They are but an annoyance that you greatly exaggerate to feel that you are more important than you are. Leave, mortal, lest our patience wear thin.”

Other ‘Ghosts’ reported that their King was likely not to seek war at all, and was a more peaceful sort who tended to avoid conflict if it was unnecessary.

They did assure us, however, that he was fun to spar against.

We declined invitations to ‘test our mettle’.

“Baby Bop is a pretty great King,” Ghost Entity ‘Ember’ said, “He’s not all snobby or self-important, and he lets us govern ourselves pretty much. It’s actually pretty nice. You’d know if he was angry, don’t worry; he’d just crack your planet open like an egg.”

…

In conclusion, these Laws that were passed were done so by corruption and bribes. Why would the government need ‘deadlier’ weapons? Do they intend to go back on the many intergalactic treaties we have thanks to the Justice League?

Next issue, we at the Daily Planet will do a deeper dive to find the corrupted politicians responsible for passing such an Act.

@spooky-fm @markus209 @osnii @samgirl98 @skulld3mort-1fan @gabrielandjackthenephilim @suppengott @glow-worms-are-believers @zeldomnyo @everest-nightshade @learning-to-fly-on-my-own @spoopyspoony @deatlive @hnymp @latheevening226 @roseinbloom02 @tsukihimeyfan @arsonpotato @wanderingrutabaga @nanepet @bjurnberg @mentalcarebear @amuseofminds @fire-glass @thewondersoflebanon @ascetic-orange @botwadtict @notforyoucloudheads @idfk-man10 @leftmiraclechaos @midnightenigma

@dannyisababyking @oliocelottafanfics @redafi @distractedducky @aconitewolfsbane @onyxlightdragon @blankliferain @theywontletmeusetheoneiwant @thedragonqueen1998 @bitchydragonninja @u-a-wizard-jamie @dodekakophonie @ashenfairytale @reach-for-the-horizon @quirky-gardener @thegatorsgoose @sknerd101 @stargirl1331 @andreaissy @leap-ing @plotwholls

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #phanfic #danny phantom #lois lane #daily planet #fright knight #ember (danny phantom)#vlad masters #maddie fenton #jack fenton

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sweetiesicheng · 5 months

Text

woozi - royalty

word count : 1,088

oh hey it’s been awhile

"i'll be back soon!" you announced as you left your home.

you lived in a large village, but your home was close to the outskirts of town. there was a river nearby and that was where you washed clothes and sheets. you walked over with a bag in hand and made it to the riverbank after a few minutes.

once you made it to your usual spot, you started washing everything you had brought with you.

as you cleaned, you started to hear someone singing, which made you look up. you looked around and noticed someone walking on the other side of the river, but you didn't mind them and continued washing everything.

"excuse me?"

you looked up and noticed the person no longer walking. he was staring at you with his hands in his pockets.

"hello," you greeted him with a smile.

"do you live around here?" he asked, seemingly curious.

"my family runs the tailor shop nearby. i'm sure you've seen it," you replied to him and looked down again.

"actually...i haven't," he mentioned. you looked back at him.

"are you new to town?" you asked him.

"i live in the center of the kingdom. i don't come out often," he mentioned. "just venturing out."

you smiled and looked down again, "the center. is it nice over there?" you asked.

"you've never been?" he immediately asked you.

"most of us around here stay here unless if it's to make deliveries. people traveling in usually go to the harbors, so we don't attract much attention," you shortly explained to him and put one of the sheets you had into a bucket. "i'll be off now," you mentioned, "nice to meet you."

"you as well."

—

"did you hear? the king announced that they'll be looking for someone to marry the prince."

"to who would the prince marry? the neighboring towns don't have any heirs to marry off yet."

"oh! maybe he's marrying a commoner."

"i highly doubt it. he'll probably marry someone rich.”

“the prince is so talented, he would need someone with the same level of talent."

you listened to people talk as you cleaned outside of the store. there was always gossip littering the town, and sometimes it was very interesting to listen to. after sweeping, you set up a sign and headed back inside to look at who was picking up orders today.

"y/n, we'll be back tonight," your mother said to you. they were picking up new materials that came from overseas from one of the towns with harbors.

"make sure to lock up tonight," your father instructed you.

"i will. travel safely!" you replied to them as they left.

after a bit, a few customers came in and you helped them before another worker arrived and took over for you.

"excuse me?"

you looked up and saw the man you had seen a few days prior.

"oh, hello again," you greeted. "what can i help you with?"

he placed down a jacket on the counter. you immediately noticed how nice the jacket was but also noticed a tear on one of the sleeves.

"do you think you could fix this?" he asked, lifting up the portion to show you the tear. "normally, this would be thrown out, but i like this jacket," he mentioned.

"this looks very expensive. would you like me to use expensive materials?" you said while examining it.

"i’ll be happy with whatever will stop it from tearing again," he replied. you nodded.

"we can have this ready for you the day after next," you said to him and gently took the jacket from him. "you must have a lot of money to afford something this beautiful," you said to him while looking at the jacket. you gently folded it and put it in a basket that was on a shelf.

"i'm grateful that i was gifted it," he replied. "should i make a payment now?"

"you can pay when it's done. i need to look for materials first," you answered. "what's your name?"

"jihoon. lee jihoon."

"jihoon? nice to meet you, i'm y/n."

—

after finding suitable materials, you finished working on the jacket that jihoon had brought to you. you were surprised that your parents let you work on such an expensive piece, but it meant more practice with expensive materials for you.

as you were about to open the store for the day, you heard the front door open. you stopped walking and saw jihoon walk in, closing the door behind him.

"oh, good morning!" you greeted him with a smile, "you're here early."

he grinned, "kind of in a rush," he mentioned.

"then let me get your jacket," you said to him and turned around. you walked behind the counter and grabbed the jacket from its spot. you placed it on the counter and noticed that jihoon had walked up to the counter. "does it look fine?" you asked as he started to examine it.

"i...i can't notice anything wrong," he replied after a few seconds. "wow."

you smiled from his response, "just doing my job. i'm glad you don't notice anything off."

jihoon placed a small cloth pouch onto the counter, and you could hear coins clashing together. "here, take this," he instructed you and opened the pouch. you noticed a bunch of coins in there, making you panic.

"what? no! this is way too much, even if i used more expensive materials," you said to him and pushed the pouch closer to him.

he shook his head at you. "please, just take it.”

"but i can't," you said to him. just then, the door opened and someone peeked their head inside. "oh, hello," you awkwardly greeted.

"uh...your highness, we need to leave. now," the person spoke before closing the door again.

you raised an eyebrow in confusion and looked at jihoon.

"did he just—"

jihoon picked his jacket up from the counter and put it on. it fit him perfectly.

"don't let anyone else know," he instructed. "when we first spoke, it was nice not being noticed," he said to you and headed to the door.

"are you the prince?" you asked him.

jihoon looked back at you and smiled at you. he brought his finger to his lips before chuckling and opening the door. "have a lovely day, y/n," he said before leaving, closing the door behind him.

you stood there with a smile and in disbelief at the information you just learned. "have a lovely day, jihoon."

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the-lonelybarricade · 4 months

Text

if you ever think you got it wrong - Feysand Oneshot

Summary: Feyre returns to her home town and is forced to confront a drunken night that's gone unaddressed for four years.

@shallyne ho, ho, hello there!

I'm not the secret santa you were originally assigned for the @acotargiftexchange, but I did go back and check your previous asks to see what you might be interested in! I saw you mention you like the friends to lovers trope and that you'd happy with a slight touch of angst and maybe some Feyre/Cassian/Mor friendship moments? I tried my best to add a pinch of all that goodness in this modern AU oneshot and I really hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

Illyria hadn’t changed since the last time Feyre left it.

Four years made a lot of difference on a person, but not so much an isolated mountain town, so reserved that if its residents needed something outside of the one dedicated grocery store and smattering of local mom-and-pop businesses, they would need to drive two hours through the mountain pass to find the nearest outlet shopping center.

She never minded the quiet, but there was something unnerving about returning to a place that hadn’t changed. Those four years away had weathered her edges, and now she was a rounded shape being pushed through a square hole. She fit, but not the way that she used to.

Mountain air was fresher—thinner. And it was no wonder that she always felt out of breath, always caught off guard as she ran into old classmates and teachers and people who she recognized, but whose lives were now foreign to her. She’d forgotten that in Illyria, you couldn’t step outside the house without running into a familiar face.

The inability to run to the store without being caught ill-composed for being perceived by the public was excruciating enough. For Feyre, it was worsened by the constant, exaggerated surprise that she hadn’t disappeared off the face of the Earth, despite what her radio-silent social media might have conveyed. And that always meant questions—unbearable, irritating questions.

“How’s your husband?”

Feyre stared pathetically at her carton of oat milk, wondering if averting any stomach issues from using her father’s whole milk was worth explaining to her freshman English teacher that she was now a divorcee.

With no other tool of escape in her arsenal, she forced a bland smile and opted out of the conversation as quickly as possible by offering a flat, “He’s great!”

Because did it really matter? She was only here for a short time, and she could let the town speculate in her absence. Maybe that absence would last another four years. Maybe she would never come back.

“Are you enjoying city life?”

“It’s wonderful,” she said, shifting weight from one foot to the other as she glanced at the single cashier working the registers and the full conveyor belt he was working through. “Everything you need is at your doorstep.”

Including a grocery store with a self-checkout aisle. Things were always excruciatingly slow to change here. Across the street was a 50s-themed diner that had actually been built in the 50s and had resisted change long enough for its interior to become nostalgic.

“I’m sure you miss the mountains, though,” her old teacher said, pressing a hand to her chest in heartfelt emotion. “I know your father misses you girls.”

Sure he did. They had been the ones to take care of him growing up, meanwhile parenting themselves and each other. Her sisters, Nesta and Elain, decided not to come this Christmas, and Feyre certainly couldn’t blame them. They had families now, and the only reason she’d decided to come was because Tamin—

It was better than staying in her empty apartment.

“Well, it was great catching up with you, Feyre,” her teacher said pleasantly, gathering bags of groceries into her arms.

Feyre thought she was sincere, though she doubted that there’d be rumors any time soon that Feyre Archeron was back as an excellent conversationalist. Then again, the goal was that she appeared so dull there was no cause for rumor at all.

“Likewise,” Feyre said, handing the teenage cashier her single carton of oat milk.

Then she was shuffling out the front doors, grimacing against the whipping sting of winter that the insulated skyscrapers of the Hewn City kept largely at bay. Once, she’d been hardened to the winter and the endless heaps of snow that dominated six months of the year at this altitude. Now, she shoved the carton into her elbow and stuffed her hands into her coat pockets, willing warmth back into her fingertips.

She’d forgotten so many things—like the importance of wearing shoes with traction. And how to spot black ice. Her foot slipped under her, and the next thing she knew, she was facing the crystal blue sky. A pair of steady hands grasped her beneath the shoulders before she could slam into the unforgiving concrete.

They were strong hands, warm and broad.

“Careful,” warned a deep, sensual male voice that shivered awake every hair on her arms. He raised her upright and added with a soft laugh, “I never thought I’d see the day Feyre Archeron fell for me.”

“Rhys.” She turned, and there he was. The thin air made her breathless again. “I didn’t…” she blinked. “I thought you’d be in Velaris.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, and her chest ached at the familiar gesture. In four years, he hadn’t changed much. His violet stare was just as piercing as it’d been the last time she’d seen it, when she’d hugged him goodbye and offered a lingering kiss on his cheek. She’d been engaged to Tamlin then. And she thought Rhys might have begged her not to go, but he hadn’t said anything.

The following summer, she’d gotten married. Rhys had been invited, though he hadn’t responded to her invitation or spoken to her since.

“I always come here for Christmas,” he said. “To be with my family.”

Right—Mor, Cassian, and Azriel. She thought they would have all gone to Velaris now that he’d announced his engagement to a pretty redheaded woman who looked like she’d never seen a suburb in her life. Besides, Rhys didn’t have the same roots here that she did. His parents owned a vacation home in Illyria, a pretty log cabin where his family had stayed during every winter holiday growing up. Not quite a local, not quite a rich tourist, but something in between.

An old wound was tugging loose. Feyre crossed her arms like that would do anything to stop the bleeding. “It’s nice,” she said. “That you all still do that.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here, though,” Rhys said, shoulders straightening more than was casual. “I thought your fiance didn’t enjoy winter. What was his name again—Tarquin?”

“Tamlin,” she said, a little too sharp.

He smirked, the insufferable prick. “Ah, that was it.”

“I’m here to spend Christmas with my dad.”

Rhysand’s expression softened a bit. “How is he?”

“Fine.”

“I missed our one-worded conversations,” he said with a mocking purr that made Feyre want to hurl the carton of oat milk at his head. “Why don’t you come by the cabin? It’d be great to catch up with you—I’m sure Mor would be pleased to know you’re still alive.”

She weighed the implications on her heart. It would be nice to see Mor. It would be earth-shattering to spend an evening with Rhys’s family. Each new story would be a splinter in her heart, four years of moments she’d missed, tales of how Rhys had met the mystery red-haired woman from the Instagram she’d tried, and failed, not to stalk. God, his fiance would probably be there, integrated into his family like a piece they’d never known was missing.

Rhys knew her too well, could see she was hesitating. He said, voice strained, “You can bring Tamlin along.”

All he’d done was add another layer of embarrassment to the would-be evening. Explaining to him, to all of them, that her relationship with Tamlin had collapsed sounded almost as painful as meeting Rhysand’s fiancé.

“I should spend time with my dad,” she said. “Have a good Christmas, Rhys.”

“Wait.” Rhys drew a hand from his pocket to reach into the space between them.

Feyre stared at that hand, recalling how it had held her hair back four winters ago when she’d been hunched over a toilet, hurling her guts out. He’d stayed with her for hours, curled together on the bathroom floor, practically in his lap while he raked her fingers across her scalp and down her spine, insisting he stay no matter how many times she told him he should go. Cassian found them the next morning, still clinging to each other.

And then she’d left on a plane and never saw him again.

“I’m sorry for forgetting his name,” he said, as if either of them believed it was an accident. “I still think you should come. Mor’s making her famous eggnog.”

Feyre didn’t think she’d be able to stomach that eggnog ever again after she’d spent a night puking it up. Rhys would know that as a witness to that disastrous evening, but maybe… maybe he was deliberately trying to remind her of that night and all the unsaid things they’d left in its wake.

She sucked in a short breath, the air sharp against her teeth and tongue. Even just being in this town was suffocating her.

Rhysand’s hand dropped. So did his shoulders, already sensing her answer but keeping any emotion from showing on his face as she said, “I’ll think about it, Rhys.”

Thinking about it became much more difficult when Mor and Cassian arrived at her father’s house the following evening.

“I’d hug you, but I’m afraid those bones are going to stab me,” Cassian said.

Mor, of course, had no reservations in hurling herself at Feyre, who nearly tumbled backward through the doorway as she gripped her friend in turn.

“Oh, I missed you!” Mor retreated just enough for her ringed-adorned fingers to dig into Feyre’s shoulders. “Ignore Cassian, you look amazing.”

Cassian was right, though. Feyre knew she’d lost weight, and from the frown on Mor’s red lips as she studied Feyre’s face, she knew her friend was thinking the same, even if she was too polite to say so.

Yes, she was a little more frail, was still healing in ways more than physical, but it didn’t leave her fragile.

She raised her brows at Cassian. “From all those knives you like to play with, I didn’t think you’d be so scared of a sharp elbow.”

“Scared of crushing you, more like,” Cassian said. He opened his arms all the same, and Mor stepped aside so he could sweep Feyre into a hug that was indeed bone-crushing. Feyre wheezed, but was grateful that he didn’t hold back.

“Rhys told us we’re to abduct you for the night,” Mor said, arching onto her toes to meet Feyre’s eyes over Cassian’s hulking shoulder.

Of course Rhys had sent them, the meddling prick.

Feyre said lightly, “I’m pretty sure that’s a felony.”

She could feel the words rumble through Cassian’s chest before he said, “That’s never stopped the bastard before. Now, should I set you down so you can grab your things and come with us, or do I actually need to carry you into the car?”

Feyre knew there was no getting out of this without hurting Mor and Cassian’s feelings, so she heaved a sigh that was defeated enough for Cassian to set her back down, a triumphant grin spreading over his face.

A few minutes later, she sat in the backseat of a familiar jeep, staring out at the serene winter forest as their vehicle climbed higher and higher into the mountains.

“It’s freezing,” she complained, watching her breath cloud in front of her face. “Could you put the heat on?”

“You and Rhys are the same,” Cassian said, reaching for the dashboard to adjust the temperature. “Living at sea level has changed you.”

“I take it you’re still living as a ski bum, then,” Feyre teased.

Mor angled herself so that she was facing Feyre from the passenger seat. “You wouldn’t believe it, but Rhys actually managed to coax Cassian out of the Illyrian Mountains. He has to wear a tie to work now.”

“A tie?” Feyre repeated, feigning scandal. In the years she’d known Cassian, she rarely saw him outside of a jacket and snowboard boots. She met his hazel eyes in the rearview mirror. “I didn’t think you knew what that was. Does Rhysie have to tie it for you in the mornings?”

“Of course not,” Cassian said with a scoff. “Azriel is way better at tying them than Rhys.”

She grinned at the mental image of stoic Azriel devotedly adjusting his best friend’s tie every morning, likely with the same methodical precision he exacted on all things. Soon that grin split into a laugh, and Cassian’s eyes creased with a warmth she could feel spreading into her chest.

Cresting on that feeling, Feyre joked, “I find I’m much better at untying them, myself.”

There was a stagnant beat in which Cassian and Mor glanced at each other, and Feyre wondered if she’d said something wrong.

Then Mor said, gaze flicking to Feyre’s hand. “I’m sure Tamlin is delighted by that skillset.”

Oh. At the current altitude, there wasn’t enough air to replenish the breath that rushed out of her. Feyre followed Mor’s stare, dread cracking through her like compromised glass, moments from shattering, as she confronted the faint pale line on her ring finger. The only evidence that a ring had ever sat there.

“I didn’t see him at your dad’s house,” Cassian said, keeping his voice a little too casual. “Did he stay in the Hewn City?”

Feyre didn’t see any reason to prolong the truth. Might as well rip the bandage off as quickly as possible. “I wouldn’t know,” she said. Swallowed. “We’re not together anymore.”

Every second that stretched over the resulting silence tempted Feyre to pry open the car door and risk tumbling down the mountainside.

“I’m sorry,” Mor said. “We didn’t… we had no idea.”

“It’s okay.” But a dark, aching pit was yawning open in Feyre’s chest. She began uselessly chucking words into it, desperate to bridge herself back to the Feyre from a moment ago, who’d laughed without needing to force it. “We separated at the beginning of the year, and it all became official last month. He—it was a mistake to begin with.”

He’s wrong for you, Mor had said four years ago, a hard crease forming between her brows as she’d stared absently into her eggnog, thinking far more than she was saying—even drunk.

Is there even such a thing as someone who’s ‘right’? I don’t think there’s anyone who’s ever going to be perfect for me.

That was where things always got a little more blurry in Feyre’s memory, but she thought that Mor might have glanced over their shoulders on the sofa, to where the boys were playing a festive game of reinbeer pong, and said quietly, I think someone like that does exist for you.

If Mor recalled the same thing, there was no I-told-you-so’s—no triumph. There was genuine sadness in her eyes as she reached behind to squeeze Feyre on the knee. “We wanted it to work out for you.”

Feyre considered touching Mor’s hand, squeezing it back. But they might have been trembling, and it was easier to shrug her shoulders than make up a pathetic excuse about the cold. “Maybe it still could,” she said, grasping at a cheer that wasn’t yet tangible. But they’d all pretend it was, for her sake. “My story isn’t over, and this might just be the right step towards something better.”

Cassian put the car in park and turned to beam at her. “Exactly!”

He wasn’t making any effort to sound upset at her divorce, and she couldn’t say she blamed him.

“Come on,” Mor said. “I think a bottle of wine is in order.”

“One of the nice ones,” Cass added with a savage grin towards Feyre.

They used to sneak into the cellar and grab as many of the old bottles as they could get away with, to Rhysand’s chagrin.

Speaking of—

“Oh, good,” Rhys crooned from where he leaned in the doorway of the log cabin. He was dressed casually, in a cable sweater and a familiar knit scarf—one that stopped Feyre dead in their tracks. “I was worried they wouldn’t be able to convince you to come.”

“There might have been some threats of physical force,” Feyre said, resisting the urge to wrap her arms protectively around herself as Rhys assessed her, again and again. “That can be fairly persuasive.”

“I was a perfect gentleman,” Cassian protested.

“You poor thing,” Rhys said to Feyre, clicking his tongue. “The last time Cassian said that, he was banned from the entire city of Adriata.”

Cassian sidled up to Feyre and offered his elbow. “Would you like me to escort you past the prick?”

Rhys raised his brows, and Feyre wasted no time looping her elbow through Cassian’s, purring, “That would be very kind of you.”

The aforementioned prick didn’t bother to move out of the way as Feyre and Cassian squeezed past, forcing Feyre to endure the brush of Rhysand’s chest against her shoulder. An ordinary person felt butterflies from that sort of grazing touch, but Feyre had never felt that way touching Rhys. It was something far more brutal, more demanding, like a swarm of wasps digging their stingers beneath her skin. She clenched her teeth not to hiss. It was always mortifying how viscerally her body reacted to him—worse that he held her stare the entire time, watching her grow flustered until she whipped her head and practically begged Cassian to take her into the cellar.

Usually Rhys would protest, but he didn’t say a word as they made a b-line towards the stairs. There was no sign of Azriel or Rhysand’s fiance, and she hoped the cellar would give her time to prepare for that mortal blow.

“Rhys,” Mor called, running to catch up after locking the jeep. Whatever she needed to share with her cousin was lost to the shutting door and the creaking stairs.

Cold, stagnant air coiled over her ankles as Feyre and Cassian sunk into the old stone cellar. Cassian, more diplomatic than she gave him credit for, didn’t comment on her red cheeks or how she wrapped her arms around her body to ward off more than the chill. He took his time assessing each bottle, paying their labels far more attention than she knew he ordinarily would have.

He was giving her time to reign herself in. She didn’t know how to thank him for that kindness besides making the most of it. Feyre took a deep breath. Another.

Then she steeled her nerves just enough to broach the topic. “Is she nice?”

Cassian didn’t look up from the bottle of red vintage he was holding. “Who?”

Feyre shut her eyes. That way, she could pretend Cassian was still reading the wine label, disinterested and oblivious, even as her voice wavered. “Rhys’s fiancé.”

She had no right to say it that way, like she hated the taste of those words. Not when she had walked away first, gotten married, left this town and their friendship behind.

A sharp noise rang through the too-small space, glass rapping against metal, and she opened her eyes while the sound reverberated through the hollow void in her chest. Cassian had set the wine down a touch too forcefully. She had never known him to be careless with his strength.

His head was bent—a necessity if he didn’t want to smack his head against the low ceiling—and his face was angled toward her, brows drawn tight. Like her words held some hidden meaning he was trying to puzzle together.

Feyre couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, always a touch too-perceptive. He had a gift for disarming people. A few sharp grins and light-hearted jokes and those clever eyes could dress someone down right to their bones. Her body tensed beneath his assessment, unprepared for what he might uncover. Feyre took a step back unintentionally. Started opening her mouth to blurt something stupid, and Cassian was already shaking his head, realizing he’d stumbled over something too raw—

“I hope you two aren’t stealing all my best wine.”

They both snapped their heads to Rhys standing on the top step. He also needed to duck his head, and there was something so endearing about the way a piece of his hair spilled onto his forehead that she thought she might very well try her chances at hurling down the mountain.

Feyre knew she must have looked like a caged animal, her eyes too wide, cheeks too flushed. So much for taking a moment to reign herself in.

“All okay?” Rhys said, weighing her expression before he flicked his eyes to Cassian—narrowed, like he thought his friend might be responsible for making her uncomfortable.

“We’re fine.” She grabbed blindly at a bottle of wine, producing it with more enthusiasm than she could muster in her smile. “Let’s go drink—I’m excited to find out if Azriel is still the prettiest of you three.”

Rhys clutched his chest in mock hurt as he led them out of the cellar. “I hate to disappoint you, Feyre darling, but I think this might be one such occasion.”

She was relieved that much hadn’t changed about him—his refusal to pressure her, humoring the deflection though she knew her performance was less than convincing. Rhys placed a hand at her back to guide her towards the kitchen. A casual touch to him, but to Feyre, every inch of contact felt scalding. She swore that when she took off her sweater later, she’d find a red handprint branded into her skin.

“Don’t worry,” she said to him as they stepped into the kitchen, where they found Mor, wine glass limply in hand, perched on the counter beside Azriel. “I haven’t been disappointed in the least.”

Azriel looked up from the large, steaming pot he was stirring and offered a reserved smile in greeting. Feyre offered one back, bold and just suggestive enough for Rhys to nudge her with his elbow.

“You wound me,” he whispered.

“Oh good! You brought more wine!” In a deft motion, Mor lept from the counter and breezed up to Feyre, easing the bottle from her hands. “A great choice, too. You always did have good taste.”

It was a bald lie, one that the group might have contested four years ago when they used to make a game of volleying good-natured teasing back and forth. Maybe they were more careful with her now, not quite sure where she fit in after all this time. After hurting Rhys.

Though, out of everyone, he seemed the most comfortable having her here again. He dropped his hand from her back in pursuit of fetching more wine glasses, and once he was finished, he carried a full glass to Feyre with a carefree smile. As if no time separated them at all.

Feyre wished she could summon some of that ease. Everything felt mechanic, from curling her fingers over the chilled glass, to raising the rim to her lips and taking a controlled sip. All she’d been doing in the last year was wading through the wreckage of her life, struggling to piece together what she had left while making sense of where it had all gone so horribly wrong.

The pieces always led her back to this cabin. Silver-rimmed violet eyes and tingling lips. That night he’d told her, I think you could be happy here. With me. For years, she wondered how differently her life would have turned out if she’d been brave enough to leave it all behind and see if he was right.

All this time, she’d assumed the silence between them was angry, or at least a little bit wounded, that she’d left him behind and went through with her engagement. Now, it occurred to her that it might have been something infinitely worse—apathy. That Rhys had simply moved on, and she was the only one still stuck on that moment she’d kissed him goodbye.

It was better than resentment, she told herself. That didn’t stop her from finishing her wine glass too quickly.

“Careful,” Rhys chided when she set it down, empty. “As much as I love tradition, it’d be a shame for you to spend the night curled over a toilet.”

She glared at him, but Cassian added, “Don’t forget it goes to your head faster at this altitude.”

“Only because of Mor’s generous pour,” Feyre deflected, sending a wink towards Mor, who snagged Feyre’s glass with a conspiratorial smirk.

“Oh, lighten up, you two!” Mor smacked Rhysand’s chest with the empty glass. “If Feyre gets sick again, then I promise to be the one looking after her this time.”

Then, with that, Mor sashayed back to the wine bottle to refill Feyre’s glass. The alcohol must have loosened some of her restraint because Feyre let her gaze drift back to Rhys. Who’s to say what he was remembering when their eyes met, but Feyre… she remembered how, between bouts of hurling her guts out, he’d pulled her into his lap and laid her head against his chest, claiming that his heartbeat soothed her. Somehow, she doubted Mor’s heartbeat would have the same effect.

Mor snapped Feyre away from the memory by handing her another full glass. Feyre promised herself that she’d take her time on the second drink, only because she didn’t think she’d be able to survive another earth-shattering night like that one.

“Tell us how you’ve been,” Mor said. “What’s life like in the infamous Hewn City?”

“It’s…”

Lonely. Crowded. Expensive.

“It’s great.” Feyre forced herself to nod like she meant it. “But I’d much rather hear about how you have been—all of you.”

“Well,” Mor intoned in a way that suggested she was about to unveil drama. “Wouldn’t you believe it, but Rhysand has found himself centered in quite the business scandal.”

Cassian groaned. “Not this again.”

“Mor.” Rhys sent his cousin a warning glance.

She only grinned, continuing, “He recently backed out of a conglomerate merger with Hybern and caused quite the uproar when he publicly accused them of fraud.”

He raised his brows. “Accused implies it wasn’t later proven when Amarantha—”

“Amarantha?” Feyre repeated, blinking as she realized she recognized that name. “Your fiance?”

Cassian sputtered his wine across the counter. Azriel turned away from the stove to slap him firmly on the back as he coughed. Feyre wasn’t certain if Mor’s laugh was at her expense or Cassian’s, but either way, she deserted the conversation to grab a roll of paper towels and begin cleaning up the spilled wine.

“No,” Rhys said, ignoring the chaos at his back. His face was tight. “Definitely not my fiance.”

Feyre shook her head. She was certain Amarantha was the name of the girl she’d been stalking for… an embarrassingly long time. From the moment Rhys announced their proposal.

“She was a prospective business partner,” Rhys clarified, studying her with a discomfiting level of scrutiny. “Never—” he actually looked a little disgusted. “Never anything romantic.”

She said slowly, “You’re not engaged.”

Rhysand’s lips pressed into a thin line. “No.”

Oh my god. Her hands began to tremble, and she set down the wine glass so he wouldn’t hear the sploshing liquid. “You had an Instagram post,” she said, mortified. “It said something about announcing a proposal. That there was going to be a marriage—”

“Between our business firms,” he said. “Before I backed out.”

“Oh my god.” She didn’t mean to say it out loud. Feyre knew this wasn’t a normal reaction. This was just a small misunderstanding—totally minor, if not a little humorous. “I need to… I just need a moment.”

Then she rushed for the bathroom, locking the door as if that would do anything to keep out the embarrassment flooding over her wave after impenetrable wave. Feyre cringed when she glimpsed her reflection. Red blotches were blooming over her chest and up her throat. She was shaking so violently she barely had the necessary motor skills to turn the tap. Once it was running, she let the cold water pool in her cupped hands before she splashed it against her heated skin.

“Feyre,” called a velvet voice at the door, followed by a soft knock.

“I just need a moment, Rhys.”

Silence. She knew better than to think he returned to the kitchen, but he was at least giving her that moment. She counted to ten, forwards and backwards and forwards again, trying to remember her grounding lessons.

Find something green—the plastic toothbrush sitting upright in its ceramic holder.

Find something blue—the towels, lovingly folded and hanging elegantly over the heated drying rack.

Find something red—her eyes drifted toward the mirror. No. Not her cheeks, not her skin. It had to be something external from this meltdown. Feyre turned, searching the small space until she found a glint of red hidden in the folds of the white shower curtain.

She froze.

Something to remember me by, she’d slurred to him four years ago, after proudly removing her ruby earring and piercing it into the curtain.

Rhys had laughed. I could never forget you, Feyre. Not until my dying breath.

I want you to remember me every time you come in here. Even while you’re taking a shit.

Not exactly romantic. But four years later, it was still there. That stupid piece of plastic costume jewelry, which she’d worn only in a half-hearted attempt to be festive. She knew that curtain had to have been cleaned in the years since, and wondered if that silly earring had been removed and repinned each time. Why hadn’t he thrown it away?

“Feyre,” Rhys called again through the door. Softer now.

She unlocked it.

A moment later, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

“Hi,” she said, knowing there were tears in her eyes and that, from his perspective, she must have looked hysterical.

He was searching her face. “What’s wrong?”

Her voice cracked a little. “Everything.”

“Tell me.”

Feyre raised her hands to cover her face as she started somewhere inane. “You’re wearing the scarf I knitted for you.”

Even concerned, his voice possessed a dry humor as he asked, “Do you not want me to wear it?”

“I don’t understand why you’re wearing it.”

“It’s winter,” he said plainly. “This scarf is warm. And soft.”

A sob was working its way up her throat. He gently wrapped his fingers over her wrists and lowered her hands from her face.

His voice dropped lower, a secret shared between them: “Most importantly, it reminds me of you.”

“I thought you hated me,” she croaked, flinching inwardly at how pathetic it sounded.

With no barrier to deter him, Rhys pressed his palm to her cheek and chased away one of her tears. “I could never hate you, Feyre.”

“We haven’t talked to each other in years,” she said. “You’ve ignored all of my calls and messages.”

“Because I blocked your number.” Feyre flinched. She suspected as much when her calls started going immediately to voicemail. But now there was no mask on Rhysand’s face, nothing to hide the hurt in his expression as he swallowed thickly and added, “Like you asked me to.”

“I—” Feyre felt like she was in a high-speed vehicle that had suddenly slammed on its brakes. “What? I didn’t ask you to…”

Oh no.

A fresh wave of tears stung the backs of her eyes. Feyre blinked them away as she begged, “Tell me what happened.”

“You left.” The words creaked out of him like shifting weight on an old wooden floorboard. She felt the accusation groan through her chest. “You were going to get married to him, and I knew I couldn’t let you without at least telling you how I felt. You know what happened from there.”

“Tell me anyway,” she said, barely holding back her horror.

Rhys took a deep breath. “I got rip-roaring drunk with Cassian, and I sent you a stupid, poorly thought-out message. And you told me off, as I deserved.”

“What did your message say?” She asked a tad too sharply.

Now, it was his turn to flinch. “I begged you not to marry him. I offered to pay for everything to help you leave your life with him behind. I told you…” Rhys looked away, staring at the shower curtain as he said, “I told you that I love you.”

The world slipped out from beneath her feet. Feyre’s lips wobbled, and she pressed them together in an attempt to contain her sob, but it burst out of her along with a warbled, “You loved me?”

He shut his eyes. “I love you,” he corrected.

Her delight was eclipsed by the pain on his face and her realization of what must have happened, at what she’d inadvertently put him through over the last four years. Her voice shook as she rasped, barely more than a whisper, “What did I say back?”

Rhys opened his eyes, and she could see tears shimmering over the violet as he said, “You told me to block your number and never speak to you again.”

Of all the times Tamlin had been cruel to her, this was undoubtedly the worst of his deeds.

“That wasn’t me.” Feyre grabbed for his collar, uncertain how to untangle years of misunderstanding. “Rhys, please believe me. I didn’t write that—I didn’t know. I would have…”

And here it was, the most brutal part. She felt like she was swallowing knives as she admitted, “I would have left him if I’d seen that message.”

Feyre wasn’t sure which of them crumpled first. They might have fallen together, neither of their bodies quite ready to hold the weight of lost time. The bathroom tiles leached cold through her clothes, but Rhys was there, pulling her against him, fighting back the chill with his inherent warmth.

There they were again, curled together on the bathroom floor.

Maybe they could start here and pretend the last four years hadn’t existed.

“I know it’s probably too late, but I left him. I was a coward back then, but I’m ready now. To leave it all behind.”

His fingers lifted her chin, drawing her eyes back to that beautiful, heartbreaking face.

“I love you, too,” she said. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it.”

Rhys leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. “Don’t be. Four years is nothing. I would have waited a thousand years for you.”

“Four was enough for me,” she said lightly.

Four was far too much, actually. And because she couldn’t stand wasting any second longer, Feyre slid her fingers into his hair. Rhys went still as she leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a soft kiss. One she used to cleanse the years of heartache and longing, until there was only that bright, shimmering love that had always been quietly there, beneath it all.

And for the first time since coming back to Illyria, Feyre felt like she was home.

#Feysand #Feysand fic #Feysand fanfic #Feysand fanfiction #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x Feyre #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #acotar gift exchange

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klonnieshippersclub · 6 months

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Bonnie, The Bennett’s, Black Witches and The Magical Negro Trope & Mammy Trope - TVD META

Bonnie and the Bennett’s have very rich lore. It’s not glorified by the fandom unless it’s by Bonnie fans themselves. That’s the way it’s always been, no one paying any mind or deeper thought to Bonnie/and the Bennett’s outside of her fans. This isn't a new thing but I want to highlight this once again because I don’t think fans understand there is more than one negative trope rooted in Bonnie, the Bennett’s and black witches only.

Before we get into anything heavy let’s have some key-terms here: Let’s define a magical negro trope: where a black character appears in a plot solely to help a white character and then vanishes. Now what a mammy is: a black woman engaged to take care of white children or as a servant to a white family.

Everything in the series can be tied back to a Bennett witch. Let’s list a few things the immortality spell, immortals, the other side, the cure, supernatural hunters, creating rings to preserve life, the Gilbert device but only a Bennett witch can enchant it, prison worlds, the traveler's curse, vampires, hybrids etc…You name it without the Bennett’s creation there would be nothing. You would think because of this the Bennett’s would be respected in the narrative and by fans. Wrong. Some of these women aren’t even given actual names. Everyone can have a Bennett witch at their disposal but they won’t be respected either. Bennett blood is essential to certain spells. A loophole.

Let’s talk about Ayana. The Mikaelson’s were only able to become vampires because Esther stole Ayana’s spell. It is forgotten that Esther/Mikael begged Ayana to perform the spell first. The Mikaelson’s as humans trusted Ayana. Rebekah was in shock that a necklace from Ayana burned her. While Ayana remained unnamed this time while the story was told. Rebekah was talking about Ayana. Ayana was known as a healer and given Esther’s praises they were close. The series doesn’t show us why Ayana should value the Mikaelson’s but we do understand why Esther, her husband and children valued her. That infamous necklace that Rebekah loved belonged to Ayana. We don’t know about Ayana’s life outside of being a healer. We don’t know her marital status, how many children she could’ve possibly had and anything tied to her after the plot has used her up. One would think with how close Ayana was to the Mikaelson’s, they’d have some respect or acknowledge Bonnie but that never happens.

We see this in how Emily was enslaved to Katherine. Julie may have labeled Emily a handmaiden but we knew what that meant. Emily only had one request from Damon that he watch and protect the Bennett line which he never did. The black witches never ask much of anyone in the plot or ever given the chance too. Yet when a request is made no one ever meets said request for them. This form of slavery repeats again through Lucy. She claimed Katherine saved her life therefore she is indebted to her for however long she needs. Sheila has her hand in aiding the Gemini Coven, Beatrice helped with the Sirens.

There are other witches that are black who serve a purpose to aid in many and leave such as: Gloria, The Martin’s, Bree, Aja and her coven just to name a few. Friends of the main characters or enemies but quickly there and dropped. Originally due to all witches appearing Black fans believed they were all Bennett’s. Julie has no answer for why all witches that is until they weren’t. Remember witches were servants of nature. The Mikaelson’s popularity, Gemini Coven and other witches. Fills the space that Black witches were once in. Notice a pattern here?

Qetsiyah’s plot line should’ve centered on how she created immortality, the cure, and the other side. But Qetsiyah’s existence revolves around demanding and enforcing continuous revenge on Silas and Amara. Tying her into another repeated love triangle in the franchise. May I add that she and Bonnie are the only women to have been betrayed by a partner and criticized for their reactions. There’s nothing wrong when a man wants and craves power but Qetsiyah is considered the worst of them all. Here’s an amazing video that details Qetsiyah’s writing too. Please review.

Lastly, The Bonnie of it all:

Bonnie’s a loyal, powerful and brave woman. She doesn’t let anything happen to her friends if she can stop it. She cares for them. That kind of loyalty can be beautiful but equally harmful when Bonnie has no regard to her own feelings. She continues to give for everyone and her friends rarely return the favor. Bonnie’s never thanked or rewarded for being there. The friendships stop being equal very early. Her traumas aren’t valuable in the plot. We don’t know what Bonnie’s home looked like. If Bonnie does grieve it isn’t shown on screen. Her family life is limited, while Liz and Alaric aren’t main characters. They have their own plotlines. It is revealed that Abby’s reasonings for abandoning her is for Elena’s benefit. Abby is killed in a coin toss and transitioned. Caroline gets to have a good friend moment while Bonnie isn’t have any feelings towards her mother for abandoning her after. Rudy isn’t seen in the plot longterm and when he appears in season 5 he’s killed in front of Bonnie. She grieves this in silence while grieving her own death that she didn’t make aware to her friends to avoid inconveniencing them. The plot makes it clear if the white counterparts aren’t happy then Bonnie will never either. Elena, Caroline got happier endings while Bonnie’s job was completed. Bonnie never once got to call out how her friends can disregard her, she feeds into them and they grow while sucking the life out of her. In the end, Bonnie went back to Africa. Never any reference to her life from there.

Another thing Bonnie isn’t shown to be feminine. Her best friends go on dates, go to dances, dress up and receive compliments. Caroline or Elena has ever given Bonnie a compliment that aided in her beauty. We don’t know Bonnie’s ambitions or fears. But you are aware when Bonnie wants to save her best friend. Thoughts on Bonnie’s relationships and ships is for the next meta though.

White witches did follow the servitude of others. They were still given the privilege of agency that black witches were never going to have. Witches like Dahlia existed, and although she had one goal she had more personality than others.

When you have people like the TVD writers that continue to push harmful stereotypes there’s always going to fans who listen and continue to perpetuate those stereotypes. The writers had no value for Black women nor do the fans. They don’t care about how black women or people of color are treated in fiction or the media simply because their favorites get to reap all the benefits. That tweet is just one tip of the iceberg, there’s plenty more from Bonnie’s relationships, and storylines.

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ctitan98official · 2 months

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Anonymous: OK OK HEAR ME OUT; What if in your most recent post of Alcina lost child Au, both Alcina and Miranda encounter Y/N again but... plot twist they where adopted by a corporation that experimented in childs to become them in the perfect soldier, completely loyal and emotionless, they are in the village for a mision to see if the residents in there are dangerous to the outside world and in case of so, they have the order to kill them all. Imagine the guility and heartbroken they might feel since their little child became just another weapon...

Alright, so this was requested a loooong time ago. I finally got around to it XD This was inspired by my Alcina’s long lost child AU.

You were taken and experimented on relentlessly by Umbrella as a baby. The corporation had found your file and knew your origin. The product of two powerful bioweapons… It was too good of an opportunity for them to pass up.

You didn’t even know who your parents were and yet… You hated them. It was their fault that you were being tortured. Your every waking moment for the first few years of your life was excruciating. Needles, imaging, testing. Was this truly all you were meant to be? Some… Lab rat?

You grew up with no affection. Just sterile and generic questions. “How have you felt since we did the last test? Any symptoms?”

You tried to reach out to other people. To talk to them and ask them questions. To build some semblance of a human connection… But it was useless.

Nobody gave a shit.

So… You started shutting down.

No tears, no smiles. What was the point? People didn’t care. You learned to shut off that part of yourself fairly quickly.

Thankfully, once it was clear that you did not possess the powers that your parents did (Or any, for that matter), The experiments began to lessen and eventually stopped.

Shortly before Umbrella began to crumble from the inside out, the B.S.A.A. liberated you and put you into protective custody within the confines of their organization. You knew a lot about the inner machinations of Umbrella and were a vital source of information for them.

While the people with B.S.A.A. were largely nicer than the scientists at Umbrella, it was soon clear that they also wanted to use you.

Thankfully, a kind agent decided to take you under his wing. His name was Chris Redfield. He was appalled at everything you had been through and made a silent vow to protect you from then on.

While you were still closely monitored by B.S.A.A., Chris raised you at his house alongside his little sister, Claire. She was a few years older than you, but she always tried to include you in whatever she was doing. She was sweet.

However… It was too late to save you from the psychological damage you sustained.

You have no compassion, no empathy. Your brain just doesn’t work like that anymore. It’s been programmed to survive that way.

You actually hate being around other people. They’re weak. Their self-centered and petty little lives are a joke. They pretend that their existence has some higher meaning. That they are worthy of respect, admiration… Love.

It’s ridiculous.

Other people may have been fed bullshit their entire lives, but not you. For as sucky as your childhood was, it opened your eyes to the truth. You understand firsthand that greed is how the world actually works. Everyone is in it for themselves.

Money. Power. Influence. That’s what people secretly desire. However, nobody seems to have the balls to come out and say it so plainly. They want to hide behind their beliefs and “Morals”.

That’s okay. You couldn’t give less of a shit. Let them delude themselves.

Your only true loyalty lies with Chris and Claire. Even though you are unable to form any real attachment to them, they are the only people you would even consider helping if they needed it. Chris got you out of the shitty situation you were living in and you would spend the rest of your life trying to repay that favor.

Chris knew that you wanted to do what he did for a living. He would have much preferred to protect you from the horrors of bioterrorism, but… Well, you’re pretty much the embodiment of it. So, he reluctantly agreed. If you wanted something this badly, then he was going to do his best to make it happen. He started training you in marksmanship.

You became skilled. Very skilled. You devoted all of your time to it. Only taking necessary breaks to eat or sleep. Then, it was back to training.

Chris pretty much molded you into the perfect agent… And now, here you are. On your first mission together.

You and Chris are being flown to a rural area in Romania. There is intel suggesting the possible presence of B.O.W.s and it’s on you to determine if they are a threat… Or might become one.

Hound Wolf Squad were flown in a few hours earlier and are currently in a holding position, waiting for you and Chris.

Chris, never one to bullshit you, sits down next to you on the helicopter. “Looks like there might be some big action, kid. Rolando’s been scoping out the area and… It’s pretty hot with B.O.W.s,” He says quietly. “I just want you to know that it’s… Okay to be worried, Y/N. Many experienced agents still have jitters before a mission.”

You’re currently cleaning one of your guns. “Obliterate the target or die trying. It’s all the same to me, Redfield,” You tell him, not even turning to look at him.

Chris breathes out a laugh at this. You’re truly one of a kind. He pats your arm before standing up again. “Good talk, Y/N,” He says.

It’s true, though. So what if you die? It can’t be much different than living. You finish up before the pilot announces that you’ve arrived.

The helicopter lands in an abandoned field and you and Chris hop out.

“Alright, you and me will head into the village and Hound Wolf Squad will be tailing us,” Chris instructs.

You nod silently at this.

“We want to be able to get information out of them, so we’ll try the, uh, non-violent path first,” He says. “Who knows… Maybe it’ll be as simple as sitting down and having some coffee with them?” He smiles.

You almost feel a small fondness tugging your heart at Chris’s statement. After all he’s been through, he always tries to see the good in people.

You two make the trek into the village and Chris is able to get in contact with Hound Wolf Squad. They’ll be here to offer backup if you need it. All seems to be going according to plan.

However… The closer you both get to the center of the village… The more you get this weird… Sensation. It’s like your very being is thrumming.

Something about this place… Is drawing you in. Wanting you to be here.

For the first time in years you feel… A stab of panic. What is happening to you? This isn’t normal.

But… You don’t say anything. Whatever this feeling is, it’s your problem to deal with. You’re not going to drag Chris down with you.

You two look around at the ramshackle buildings in town.

Chris whistles. “What a shit hole,” He murmurs.

You try to shake off the warm pulse that is flowing through you. “It looks completely deserted,” You remark.

Chris nods in agreement. “You’re right,” He says. He looks off in the distance and spots the castle. A gentle light is emanating from the windows and smoke is billowing out of its chimney. “I think that may be our best bet, kid. Let’s go check it out,” He says, pointing at the ornate building.

You nod silently and the two of you begin the journey up the side of the mountain. It’s rather uneventful, and that’s a welcome change. This place is kind of freaking you out, a feat you didn’t even know was possible.

But… What awaits you is about to change your life forever. You’re about to learn the story of where you came from.

Whether you want to or not.

Note: Cliffhanger! Let me know what you thought and thanks for reading!

Masterlist

#re8 #re8 village #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x y/n #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x y/n #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil imagines #mother miranda #chris redfield #claire redfield

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writingcold · 2 months

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Hello! Welcome to Chapter 3.3 of CD&FE.

Pairing: Jake X Female Reader

Summary: This is an AU that starts with the release of GVF’s first EP, Black Smoke Rising, and follows along life paths over the course of twenty plus years. We’ve reached the last little bit of Part 3.

Content warnings: Language, smoking, drinking, sexual situations. Heavy angst. (please don’t come at me - there is a happy ending, just not for a few chapters!) Oral, anal play (m rec), and their sex.

Word Count: approx. 4.3K

Thank you to @edgingthedarkness and @takenbythemaddess. Both of these ladies are amazing, if you didn’t already know that. 😘

CD&FE, Part 3.3: Her POV

It was our last night in the cottage. We had tripped through the fancy manor house, and ambled through several museums. We took one boat cruise around the harbor and another that went way out onto Superior that included way too much food and booze. We hiked a few of the less icy trails and snapped pictures that no one would ever see - maybe. I was sure I got a few gems of Jake slipping around like a maniac. We had huddled on the couch, our toes together under the blankets with the fire going and books in hands. I listened to him play his guitar as I cooked us breakfast. And we laughed. We laughed like old friends over things that were unimportant and weird thoughts that we shared. We held each other close and fucked like rabbits. All the while, I was filled with a happiness that felt like it was on the precipice of rupture.

I watched him from the living room. He was at the grill with his back to me. The way his ponytail moved across his shoulders made me drool a bit. He had insisted that he cook our dinner - grilled seafood and salamon and the sides were in the oven keeping warm. I was wrapped in a blanket of scent and music and anticipation. Time. The one thing that we had never had was time. My entire essence was screaming at me to keep this one close. To keep him sheltered and protected with me. I didn’t mind his morning breath, or the way he smelled at the end of the day of running around. I didn’t mind the actual ‘life’ aspect with him - the being human. The way he touched me; the way he allowed me to explore him; the way every step together felt so completely right told me to do whatever it took to keep this man in my life. And yet.

Outside was considerably warmer than our first night in the cottage. He was dressed only in his light flannel and jeans as he worked the grill. My sight cast out to look beyond, taking note that there was less ice compared to our arrival. There was a promise of green on the horizon. I was sure that the island was gorgeous during the warmer months and made a mental note to look into booking the place once more when it was all full of life. I took a sip of my cocktail. I wanted my hands on him. In my less impulsive state, I wanted to touch all that was ‘him’. I knew my minutes with him were sliding by. All I wanted was my teeth on him, marking him as my own before he was carried away by time and distance.

I had no idea what the hell I had meant all those days ago. I was glad to have known what was between us - what could be between us. I knew right well what I was asking of him - to leave these interludes as is and not to flame anything beyond what was into existence. It contained four little letters that equaled a shit ton more than what I was willing to admit. But…

But this was supposed to mean everything, wasn’t it? Wasn’t love something to fight for? Something to try to hold tight and cherish and nurture for all time? There was a stab right in the center of my heart that would not let up in its blazing glory. Why? Why feel this love - for it was glaringly obvious - when neither of you could hold onto it in any honorable fashion? A bubble of a sob broke free, passing through my mouth just as Jake turned back towards the sliding glass door.

“Fuck,” I cursed as I was quick to wipe at my face and hide my mouth behind my drink.

I launched myself up and raced to the bathroom. I was not going to let him see me like this, was I? Oh hell no. I heard him pass through the door with my name on his lips. I nearly dropped my glass into the sink as I shut the door behind me with my foot. I fumbled with the push button lock just as I heard him calling out for me once more. He had to have been in the kitchen, but I could feel the concern in his tone. I turned the faucet on to try to mask the gulping breaths I was struggling through. I felt like I was breaking beneath the weight of emotions as they pummeled my sappy ass. I sucked air as he tapped against the door, my name a near whisper through the wood grain.

“Can I come in, please?” he asked softly, as if all of his own feelings were catching up to him as well.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I hiccupped, running the water across a washcloth. I look into the mirror and flinch at the mess I saw there.

There was silence on the other side of the door. I paused the furious blotting on my face to listen to see if he was still waiting for me. I turned enough to see that I could see the dark spots of his feet at the bottom of the door. My heart felt like it was on fire as I stifled another sob.

“Jake,” I said, trying my level best to keep my tone normal. “I just need- Fuck. I just need… I…”

“Dinner’s ready,” he said over top of my faltering words. “Getting cold.”

The sudden shift made everything stop. All the feelings that were overwhelming. All the ideas that were overtaking everything. All of it stopped like someone had hit the pause button on my very own remote control.

“What?” I asked, frozen to my spot.

“Dinner’s ready, mouse. We don’t want it to get cold, right? You want wine or whatever it is that you were having?”

His voice was so calm that everything quieted in my brain and returned to normal just like magic. I drug in a breath as I dried my face. I opened the door to him waiting by the bedroom door with a sad little grin. I wanted to ask him how he did that. I wanted to ask him if he knew I was crying over him. Instead I followed him out to the lovely table that I had set for us. He had taken a moment to light the candles before retrieving our plates from the oven. I fixed myself a tito’s + cranberry while he got a beer from the fridge. We sat down together, but I didn’t have it in me to really look anywhere else other than at him.

“I don’t suppose I can talk you into a long distance relationship, can I?” he asked as he tapped his fingers to the table top with his eyes cast down away from me.

I couldn’t press my lips any tighter together to keep the pathetic whimper that cut through my throat. He reached for me and it was nothing for me to slide into his lap and be engulfed in all of him.

“I just know that I enjoy all of this life so much more when you’re here with me,” he whispered, holding on tightly.

Our lips found each other in a warmth that melted me, despite my brain firing off warning shots to shut it down right quick. He squeezed my hip as he touched my face and deepened our kiss. Those tears that I needed to hide quickly returned and left me no way of masking them. My gut was screaming at me but my heart was reaching out through my chest and wrapping about this man that it so desperately wanted.

“Hey,” he whispered, wiping at my damp cheeks.

“Sorry,” I muttered as I worked my way off his lap in search of tissues. “Your beautiful dinner… We need to eat it before-”

“I don’t think this can wait,” he remarked as I sat back down. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

I took a sip of my drink, licking at the few drops that fell across my lip. “This looks really amazing, actually. I can’t believe how hungry I am.”

He sat back in his chair, eyes hardening with need. “Avoidance doesn’t become you. If we can talk this through, perhaps it’ll make our night go a bit better.”

I dug through the lovely colors of the veggies. “Look. Last time we talked about this, we were in a tub with scented bubbles. I don’t think much has changed.”

“Well, if it’s water you’re looking for, I guess I’m game to go out with the ice on the lake,” he huffed with his hand on his hip. His expression relaxed into an engaged smile. “Just, please.”

“I don’t want to sound like a selfish bitch.”

I stuffed a thick piece of shrimp into my mouth and looked out to the deck to catch the edge of my words. He took a drink of his beer before taking a bite of his veggies. It was just the sound of silverware meeting plates for a few minutes, and that was okay. I could pretend that it was fine until I actually made eye contact with him once more. I lowered my fork to my plate and reached a shaky hand out to my glass.

“We both know that this - whatever it is between us is not to be taken lightly,” I said before I took a sip.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I say it because I know it’s reciprocated. And no, not something to take lightly.”

My eyes pinched closed against the admittance. He was not wrong. His poetic ass could just haul off and say such niceties; such truths. I fought against chewing my bottom lip, but failed. His hand landed on my arm as if he was trying to support me through my struggle.

“I have a very hard time with being lonely,” I said finally. “Jake, I can’t do it. I am still in love with my career. I’m still in love with making my own way. I can’t be one of those girls that drop everything for the man of their dreams.”

The corner of his mouth tugged a bit as he tried to smile. The weight of what I was trying to convey to him - to show him that I had thought about this very thing often was like dropping that last curtain for him to know me.

“I can’t deny what we are feeling is real,” I continued, unable to hide the little waver in my voice. “I want to be able to honor that with every ounce of my being. I know what I am capable of, and what I am not. Distance doesn’t work for me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Is it the faithfulness?”

I shook my head. It was a fair question. “I just know that I cannot be lonely when I’m in a relationship. I’ve done it before - will not do that again. I do fine alone when I am on my own. But like I said, it makes me sound like a selfish bitch. If I commit to you, I want you. All of it, all the time. That means one of us has to give up what they are doing.”

He let out a hard breath of understanding. “Got it.”

“You’re not ready to give up the road are you?”

He shook his head. “And you’re not ready to travel, are you?”

I shook my head.

“Right.” He leaned forward on his elbows, beer between his hands. “Promise me something then.”

I took a bite of fish, savoring the flavor. I nodded as I looked at him.

“If you find someone who loves you, willing to be where you are, you will love them back.”

“Only if you promise me, if you find some badass vagabond queen you make them your own.”

I couldn’t help the hard breath that echoed in my lungs as I fought to get the words out. He leaned away from me and my touch. The warmth of him ebbed for just long enough for me to be unable to stand it. What a shitshow. I wanted to curse fate and all her unruly bitches who seemed to be laughing at us at the moment. He wiped at my cheek, drying the evidence away.

We finished up our meal, although neither of us was able to eat it all. I made him sit and play his guitar as I cleaned up. The buzz of my cocktails was faded by the food, but that was all right. He played melancholy melodies that I did not recognize. Odd. I could identify like 99% of what he played for me. When I looked at him, his eyes were on the fireplace as if chasing away his own feelings. Jake was easy to love. There was no doubt in my fabric of that fact.

I carefully folded the dish towel and took a few minutes just looking out the window to collect myself. I wanted this man to feel every ounce of me before we parted. I wanted him to know that coming with me on this trip was not for nothing. A tiny fracture had already formed at the base of my spirit that was begging not to be exacerbated. The self-inflicted wound that waited just over the surface of my chest was itchy. I listened to him as he set his guitar into its case. Three more long, deep breaths allowed me to turn towards him, taking in the similar state he was in as was coming towards me.

He took my hands in his own, stopping the furious fidgeting that I had not realized I was doing until that moment. He brushed my hair back from my face. His eyes were a mix of emotions that were being kindled with desire. He was trying to mask the tinge of sadness that flickered within the swirl of caramel colored earth that grounded him. Before I could stop, my lips curled down as I struggled within his proximity.

“May I?” he asked, reaching out his fingertips and stopping their path just over the curve of my cheek.

I felt myself shatter as all I could do was nod once. He smoothed his touch across my cheek, breaking through the hairline and around the back of my head, allowing his fingers to rest against my neck. He brought up his other hand, passing the pad of his thumb across my lips as he caressed my cheek until he stopped as if snapping a mental picture to keep for all time. He was so close, I could feel his gentle breath against my skin. The heat of his body wrapped around me as he pressed me against the counter. Jake began tracing tiny ovals across the ridge of my cheek as I struggled to keep my gaze upon him.

“I dream of this -” he whispered as he placed a barely there kiss on my temple. “I dream of this - this face; this mouth; this body. You are my dream, Y/n.”

Our kiss roasted away thoughts and hurt and left only desire behind. My hands squeezed his love handles as if I could barely keep my knees from buckling. He let out a soft hum as he pulled away. His eyes swept over my face once more. The corner of his mouth stretched into a smirk.

“Should we finish where we started this vacation?” he asked, his voice full of lust and rasp.

“With your face in my pussy and getting yourself off?” I remarked, feeling smug as that image blazed in my mind.

“Hmm,” he shrugged, but his eyebrow raised with a cheeky smile.

He was kicking out of his shoes as he led me back towards the dining table. He lifted the hem of my sweater just enough to pass a finger across my tummy. His brow twitched as he fell away to close the drapes on the slider door. I was quick to yank off everything, all the while shivering in anticipation. He ducked back into the bedroom for a moment before reappearing with his flannel discarded and t-shirt gone. It was hard not to allow my eyes to roam over his skin. The way he unfastened his belt with one hand while he was walking made me move all the faster.

“Up on the table, baby,” he said as he stopped long enough for his pants to drop to the floor.

He set something on the table next to me but kept my attention with his lust blown gaze. I was set adrift in his heat and velvet touches. The silk of his lips feasted upon my throat as his embrace wrapped around me. This man had tasted me every day of this vacation. His eyes were already making their way down to my core. He trailed the tip of his tongue down, through my cleavage, around my belly button, before he latched on to the crease of my hip with a hard suck that I was sure would leave a lovely little mark. I was ready to lay back, but he stopped me. He wrapped his hands around one ankle and moved first one leg followed by the other over his own shoulders as he settled in.

“Slide a bit forward,” he said between kisses to my inner thigh.

I shimmied closer, all the while, twisting his hair between my fingers. “Gonna fuck me up, aren’t you, Jake?”

“In the best way possible.”

He passed a firm touch through my exposed center. My eyes drifted closed as he placed a single kiss to my clit before he sat back. His hands drifted up and down my thighs as he looked up at me. I passed my fingertips down his jaw.

I’m not sure how much time elapsed as we just paused there - all ghosting touches and wordless expressions passing between us. I was trying to voice my wish of love for him, all the while I pictured him telling me that what was transpiring was not in vain. That this love between us would one day be fully realized. I felt my bottom lip begin to tuck in between my nervous teeth. My heart thudded painfully as he reached up to cup my cheek.

“I want to hear how I make you feel,” he sighed as he started to lean in once more. “Can you do that for me?”

I grinned down at him as I tucked his hair behind his ears. He whispered a ‘good girl’ with a sinister smirk. He slowly lowered himself to his knees before me, forging a path of kisses that left traces of heat on my chilled skin. I finally caught sight of what he had set beside me just out of reach - lube. My brain paused as he caught my attention once more with a gentle bite on the inside of my thigh.

He kissed my cunt like he kissed my mouth - soft, firm, wet, biting, demanding. Always demanding. I watched in total fascination as he worked my body, coaxing every whine, every gulp of air to get louder and louder. He danced my swollen clit across his tongue with ease before plunging fingers into my core to stroke my desire. His name burned on my tongue and my throat as he feasted upon me. He took his free hand and folded it into mine . Meeting his gaze, my chest exploded in emotion as all the love lay bare in his earth toned iris’. This man had worshiped every inch of my body. He had marked every ounce of my flesh as his own. He claimed my spirit and accepted all of me without hesitation.

He hummed as he took my body to the brink of collapse. With sure hands, he supported me as he kissed his way back to standing before me. He smoothed my hair back from my damp face. He cradled my cheek as he seemed to study me - all of me. I let my hands trace across his pecks, down the plane of his belly to come to rest upon his cock. The deep groan that vibrated in his chest made me smile. I pumped his length, liking the way his tongue ghosted across his bottom lip as he leaned away from me to see better.

I brought my heels up to fully open for him, and rested them on the edge of the stout table. I lined him up and he kissed me hard as he pressed in to join our bodies. He held me close as we adjusted to each other. He withdrew only to return in a fiercely slow manner. He grabbed hold of my jaw as I tried to nuzzle down into his shoulder. We were nose to nose as he repeated the move.

“I need to watch every minute,” he whispered into my parted lips.

I moaned as he ground into me. He let go once he knew I understood. I felt his fingers searching at my side for his bottle and my mind did a little backflip. He brought my hand up and squirted the lube across my fingers. There was no need to convey what he wanted, and I was quick to spread his cheeks as he thrust hard into me. I watched his eyes as I pushed one, followed by two fingers into his entrance as he shifted his hips hard into my core.

“Oh my god,” I gasped as we started up a rhythm - I would plunge into him as he withdrew from me.

His eyes were hard with concentration. His mouth pulled tight across his teeth as I pushed as far as could with my fingers. Jake was making me his, just as much as I was making him my own. As the thought struck, my body exploded against him. He let out the most beautiful sound as he rode me out, searching for another high for me. My legs quivered as he tried to keep me in place. Everything in me was crying out as my soul crashed back into reality.

I pushed him back onto my hand, getting just enough leverage to push him back even further so my feet fell to the ground. He started to protest, but I pushed him back again, keeping him skewered on my fingers. I split my digits apart while in him and his head lulled back as I slid down his body to my knees.

“Mouse,” he moaned out as I drove his hips into my waiting mouth.

I swallowed him down hard as he buried his fingers into my hair. He let me bob against him in my own rhythm, all the while pumping my fingers in the opposite in search of ruining him completely. I opened my eyes as I finally hit how I wanted to please him. He was holding onto his left hip as if for dear life. I rolled my eyes up to him, seeing the absolute power that I was weaving over him. He brushed one finger along my cheek as I swallowed him all the way into my throat and stopped - holding him there as my body threatened to mutiny against my wishes and gag hard. I touched the tip of my nose to the soft hair of his belly. He cupped my cheek once more and for a fleeting second, I felt suspended in this beautiful man’s gaze.

He ripped himself away from me, leaving me surprised. He pushed me down to the floor and jacked my legs up across his hips. His mouth crashed into mine as he slid back into me wildly. He kept himself just above me, forcing us to keep our eyes open on the other. My core flinched as I couldn’t hold on. He had me spraying him within a minute. He had me screaming his name in under two.

“Fuck, I love you,” he whispered, the words rough and hard in his throat. His eyes dropped to mine as he realized what he had said.

My jaw slacked as my chest exploded. I felt the tears prickle in my eyes as I struggled. Fuck me. I wanted to say them, too. I wanted to speak those same words as my everything spilled out on the floor beneath me.

“Tell me I’m the fucking man of your dreams, mouse,” he growled as he ground into me. “Tell me that you fucking-”

“Love you,” I managed finally before he could overwhelm me with my own words.

He pummeled me, effectively destroying us both in the process. He said my name over and over as he came hard, his hips snapping against my drenched thighs. Completely opposite of what he had just done, he lowered his forehead to touch my own. The moment was studded with our harsh breath and bleeding hearts. I wanted to whisper his name but it burned away unspoken in my throat. I breathed him in the best I could as tears fought to escape from my eyes.

“Beautiful,” he gasped, breaking the stillness as he fell away from me, breaking our connection.

I whimpered from the loss. My thoughts begged for me to speak them - but I held them as my own. We needed to be strong in our convictions. We needed to treasure this end and retain hope that we could return to it in the future.

So. Yeah. I want to do that commercial thing - But Wait! There’s More! And there is. There is just some life we need to get through first. The next few (well, three chapters) are all about life without each other. So, please bear with me. There is a point to having to navigate this. See you next Wednesday.

I do have a tag list here, or you can just let me know in a reply to add you.

@lvnterninthenight @doodle417 @luverleaver @jakesgrapejuice @fictional-duchess @milkgemini@positivegvfthings @songbirds-sweet @gretavanbitches @gardensgatedaisy @babyhoneygvfarchive @myownparadise96 @josh-iamyour-mama @starcatcherc @loveisonaroll @jakesstarlight @reesetrippingthelight @builtby-gvf @ignite-my-fire @wetkleenex-gvf @gold-mines-melting @starsasone @mysticalstarcatcher @montenegroisr @takenbythemadness @way-to-go-lad @cal-a-bungaa @thewritingbeforesunrise @leftjudgeempathsuitcase @brokenbells11 @imborrowedshesblue @vanfleeter

#jake gvf #jake kiszka #greta van fleet #gvf #cd&fe #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf fanfiction #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fan fiction #greta van fleet fanfic #greta van fleet AU #jake kiszka AU

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naughtyneganjdm · 11 months

Text

On the Run - Chapter 8

Summary: Joel discovers what happened between Y/N and Negan leading to an explosive confrontation between the men. Just when things seem to be spinning in their favor, a violent surprise changes their lives forever.

Characters: Joel Miller (The Last of Us), Negan (The Walking Dead), the reader (OC, third person), etc.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47007172/chapters/120006478

Warnings: Swearing, severe angst, violence, a bit of smut, etc.

It didn’t take much to wake Negan up. Especially lately with everything that was going on. So when Y/N turned in his arms this morning to cuddle in closer over his chest it had woken him up. Really, it was the best way to wake up in the morning. Being woken up to the feeling of happiness hadn’t happened to Negan since Lucille passed. So it was a welcoming feeling with the emotions he had for Y/N knowing that she felt the same way.

There was an incredible ache in his shoulder and he knew that he overdid it yesterday. Carrying Y/N around and bracing his weight a few times was stupid to start with, but it was worth it. That euphoric feeling of knowing that he had spent his night with Y/N was enough to push away that ache. Watching Y/N while she slept cuddled up to him was a healing treatment in itself and he was thankful for it.

For so long Negan had pushed away Y/N. Long before Joel was ever in her life, but once Joel was in her life Negan had actually believed for once that she found someone she was meant to be with so he made sure to keep a distance between them. After everything Y/N said last night though, he knew that he was special to her too. Those walls he worked so hard to build between them, he finally let crumble down and he didn’t regret it. Not one bit.

Stroking his fingers through her hair, Negan enjoy the expression she made in her sleep. Having him touch her like he was comforted her and it made a tired smile tug at his features. Knowing that she felt comfortable in his arms was an incredible feeling and he never wanted to let her go. At least here they were relaxed. No one knew where they were. It was a small town. It felt safe enough for them to be with one another. Everything felt perfect and he was going to cherish every moment of it.

That was until he heard the sound of knocking starting on her motel room door. At first it was quiet and he wasn’t even sure that it was her door that was being knocked at. Wincing, Negan lifted his head up when the knocks started to turn into fists pounding on the door. They were repetitive and growing in strength. Irritation flooded Negan’s veins with how loud the knocks were. For days Y/N had trouble sleeping and with that kind of knocking he knew that she would wake up sooner or later.

Shifting, Negan groaned feeling that he was stiff beneath Y/N from his shoulder aching. It made him happy that Y/N was sleeping over him, but he wanted to keep her comfortable if only for a little while longer. Thankfully she was sound asleep still, but with the way her eyes were shifting he knew that wouldn’t last long. It made him wonder how she could still be sleeping with that incessant pounding on the door. Then again, they did have a long night together. Huffing out, Negan stroked his fingers over her bare shoulders finding himself in awe of her when she buried her head further against the center of his chest. God, she was perfect.

A relieved sound fell from Negan’s throat when the knocking stopped. Whoever it was, he hoped they got the hint and just let.

“Fuck,” Negan whispered when the knocks started up again. That was short lasted.

“Y/N?” Joel’s voice called out loudly making Negan groan out, dropping his head further back against the pillows once he realized who it was outside the door. Another round of loud, door shaking knocks were heard and this time it made Y/N shift over him. Of course it had to be Joel fucking Miller. “Y/N? Open the door!”

“Fuck me,” Negan growled out carefully moving beneath Y/N to try to avoid waking her up when he pulled his body from beneath her. Using the strength that he had, Negan was careful to avoid hurting her or waking her up when he lowered her back down onto the center of the bed. Tip toeing around the room, Negan grabbed his pants. Looking for his boxer briefs, Negan cussed when it sounded like Joel was going to break the door off its hinges. Haphazardly pulling his jeans up his long, slender legs Negan managed to get his pants zipped before stumbling toward the door with how hard that Joel was hitting it. His belt jangled with it being open when Negan reached for the door to open it. Once the door opened and Joel was met with the shirtless, messy haired Negan that was only standing before him in a pair of undone jeans it made Joel step back. Joel’s face scrunched up, his eyebrows furrowing with his fists dropping at his sides. “Would you knock it off? You’re gonna wake her the fuck up and she never fucking sleeps lately.”

“What are you doing in her room?” Joel demanded, his eyes looking beyond Negan to see that Y/N was sleeping face down in the pillows and it was very obvious that she was completely naked with only the sheets hanging at her hips.

“It’s…complicated,” Negan responded in a slow slur of words after turning his gaze back to Joel from Y/N. Lifting his hand, Negan noticed the way Joel’s face grew darker in color. Yeah, complicated was an understatement. Joel’s face was twisted with anger and rage as Negan clung to the door of the motel room. “Now listen, okay? I can see that you are angry and I understand, but you…”

“You son of a bitch,” Joel swung his fist out connecting it with Negan’s jaw making Negan fall back into the door. The power from the hit made the door swing back and hit the wall. Damn Joel hit hard. Groaning out, Negan tried to gather himself seeing the fury that started to grow inside of Joel. “Nothing like taking advantage of a situation, huh?”

“I wasn’t taking advantage of anything. You aren’t dating her Joel,” Negan reminded Joel of their situation together, reaching up to grab a hold of his aching jaw after Joel had knock the wind right out of him. “We were just talking about life and one thing led to another…”

“Yeah, I can imagine what happened next,” Joel snarled when Negan tried to pull the door closed enough so that Joel being upset wouldn’t draw Y/N to wake up. Even after getting hit, Y/N was the first thing that Negan was thinking about because he wanted to keep her protected from things and he didn’t want her upset. “I can’t believe you. I knew that you were a fucking dog, but this?”

“Now hold on a minute,” Negan commented holding his hand up noticing the way that Joel’s eyes seemed to grow darker. A fight was not something that Negan was looking for. Not now. “Whatever you are planning on doing, hold it together Joel because…”

Talking Joel down was going to do nothing. Joel charged at Negan tackling him into the door causing it to slam open before they both hit the ground hard. It made Y/N shoot up in the bed looking over her shoulder to see that both men were sprawled out across the floor. Grabbing the comforter, she pulled it in close to her chest and felt like the room was spinning around her with how she had been scared awake.

“What the hell is going on?” she demanded an answer seeing Negan pushing Joel from over him onto the ground. Negan’s abdomen was sinking in with the way he was breathing heavily drawing attention to his slender abdomen.

“You motherfucker,” Negan hissed, curling his fist into a ball bringing it down into the center of Joel’s stomach where he was trying to catch his breath after his tackle to Negan took the breath out of him too. With a groan, Joel rolled onto his stomach and his body arched in pain from the hit that Negan delivered. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You,” Joel’s voice was loud as both Negan and Joel took their time pulling themselves up. Once Joel braced himself against the dresser, he pointed to Negan shaking his head. Y/N was confused, looking between the both of them wondering what the hell was going on that caused the two of them to be fighting and bursting through the door like they did. She was still out of it to a sense since she had just woken up, but Joel could feel that his adrenaline was rushing through his veins working him up. “Negan knew what happened last night. I told him everything. He knew that you were in a state where you were vulnerable. He took advantage!”

“No, if anything I took advantage of him,” Y/N admitted knowing that Negan was upset about Lucille last night and she was the one pushing things to happen between the two of them. “Why are you even fighting with Negan in the first place Joel? You are leaving today. You don’t get a say in what I do with my life once you’re gone.”

“Well I’m still in it and if I would have known you were considering fucking Negan, I would have never left,” Joel quipped making Negan snort and shake his head. Looking down at the ground, Joel felt his rage growing seeing that Negan and Y/N’s clothes were in a pile at the side of the bed. “What?”

“You’re telling me that you slept through what we did last night?” Negan started up and Y/N knew that this was headed in the wrong direction. Negan was only going to rile Joel up with mocking him which was going to lead to more fighting. Burying her head in her hand, she knew where this was headed. “That’s surprising because she was screaming out my name so many times. Are you really getting that old that you don’t hear things?”

“Joel, no…” Y/N warned lifting her head up to see Joel rearing up to go after Negan. This time Negan was ready when Joel went to tackle him, wrapping his arms around Joel’s upper half. Both men scrambled for dominance having them falling back out the door again onto the gravel. Their grunts were heard from the motel room. She had to break this up. This was ridiculous. “Fuck.”

Getting up from the bed, Y/N swiftly put most of her clothes on and walked out to see that Negan had Joel in a chokehold that looked like something out of a professional fight. Joel was flopping around trying to get the upper hand while they struggled on the concrete before her. Joel’s face was turning red while he scrambled and she stepped forward, “Negan! Let him go! Let him go now.”

“Fine,” Negan unlatched his grasp making Joel fall back onto the ground with a loud huff. Together they laid on the cement with Y/N looking down over them disappointed. Both men were trying to catch their breath and she folded her arms out in front of her chest.

“You’re losing your pants,” Y/N commented making Negan look down to where his pants were barely hanging onto his hips after the interaction that he had with Joel. Instead of fixing them, Negan remained on the ground while Joel got himself up to his hands and knees. “And you? What happened to someone can love two people?”

“I just didn’t think after what I said yesterday, you would run to him,” Joel threw his hand up in the air pointing over toward Negan, feeling uncomfortable himself with how low Negan’s pants genuinely were on his hips. Forcing himself to look away, Joel swallowed down hard and grumbled under his breath. “Get your damn clothes on.”

“You’re the one that came at me first buddy. I would have gotten fully dressed if you weren’t trying to break the damn door down,” Negan insisted, reaching down to pull his pants together and up his hips. “I wasn’t the one that wanted to fight you fucker.”

“Fuck you,” Joel snarled, looking back over his shoulder at Negan while Negan zipped together his pants, but took a breather for himself. “How am I supposed to react?”

“Not like that! What you said yesterday is what made me realize that I do want to be with Negan,” Y/N spoke up drawing Joel’s chocolate brown eyes to fall upon her with surprise. “You weren’t wrong. It was always Negan that loved me, that was there for me, that would do anything for me. I was fucking blind this whole time. And I do love two people. Very much. I don’t need you two fighting over me when I’m not officially with either one of you. Especially you Joel when you’re leaving me.”

“Nothing was official yet,” Joel reasoned with her, his hurt expression surprising her that he could be genuinely so upset with the fact that she had slept with Negan. “I just fell asleep and when I woke up, I felt bad. I wanted to talk, but…”

“We know what comes after the but,” Y/N interrupted Joel before he could finish. Gazing around, Y/N knew that there were other people here and she didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention. “Would you both please get in here so we can talk things out like adults instead of teenagers?”

“Okay,” Negan agreed to it, getting up beside Joel who was now standing. When he got to his knees, Negan brought his hand back giving Joel a firm whack to his nuts. Immediately, a loud exhale fell from Joel’s throat and he fell in against the wall of the motel. Looking up, Negan could tell that Y/N was frustrated with what he had just done and he shrugged. “He gave me one hell of a right hook before you woke up. He at least deserves that.”

“What the fuck was that?” Joel winced trying to catch his breath with his right hand grasping a hold of his groin.

“A nut tap. And it wasn’t even full power, so get over it,” Negan moved forward, leaning down to brace his hands against his thighs to catch his breath again.

“A nut tap? What the hell are you? Fucking fourteen?” Joel growled through the discomfort, turning his head to reveal that his face was red. “God, you’re fucking immature as hell.”

Going to head into the motel room, Negan felt Joel move swiftly to thwack his wrist firmly against Negan’s groin making Negan stumble into the room and whimper when he grasped a hold of the dresser to keep himself from falling face first onto the ground.

“What the fuck? I didn’t do it that hard!” Negan cupped himself in his hand with Joel moving into the motel room behind him. An exhausted sigh fell from Y/N when she closed the door and headed over to the bed to sit down.

“Please stop hitting each other on the nuts,” she begged of both of them noticing the smirk that was over Joel’s features with Negan bent over in pain. With a smug expression, Joel went over to the seat in the corner to sit down and Y/N pat the bed beside her. “Come on Negan, sit down.”

“Kind of can’t breathe right now,” Negan was honest, surprised with how easily Joel shot back at him after what he did. “Give me a few seconds please.”

“Jesus,” she lowered her head into her hand finding herself in disbelief that both the men she loved had just gone from sexy daddy types to teenage boys in just a few minutes. “Never in my life did I think I would be caught in the middle of the two of you with you both smacking each other on the nuts in order to get back at one another.”

“I would have never thought of nut tapping him in my life,” Joel countered throwing his hand up in the air to point it toward Negan who had finally straightened up and started to walk over toward the bed to sit down in beside Y/N. Caressing his palm in over the center of his groin, Joel still felt the ache from the hit and shook his head. “I’m not a dumbass man child.”

“Don’t even start. You got my dick in there too,” Negan’s hand was still firmly cupping himself through his pants. “Don’t act more mature than it because you did it right back. And you did it much harder than I did. At least I hit you low enough to just get your balls.”

“Christ,” she hissed out hearing the two of them bickering back and forth. They continued to talk about their privates while Y/N blocked them out. It really was like two children fighting right now and she couldn’t help but laugh. When her over the top, dramatic laughing was heard both Negan and Joel looked to her confused. “This is ridiculous. I have two grown ass man babies fighting over me like children.”

“Man babies?” Joel repeated what she said leaning forward in the seat that he was in. “The man you just slept with hit me in the nuts after the fight was over. You’re fucking a man that has the mindset of a teenage boy.”

“At least I’m not a cranky old bastard on the inside,” Negan scoffed making Joel glare out at Negan. Standing up, Y/N placed herself between the two of them wondering if they were going to start fighting like children again. “What were you coming in here for anyways Joel?”

“I wanted to talk to Y/N,” Joel confessed lowering his head down letting out a long exhale. He was ashamed of how things went last night and he just wanted to set things right between the two of them. The idea of leaving with her upset with him like she was made him feel bad and he didn’t want her angry with him. “I can’t exactly do that now with you here.”

“Are you still leaving?” Y/N wondered staring down at Joel who took his time looking up at her with his upset expression. Shaking her head, she moved over toward the bed and sat down again. “Why don’t you just talk to Negan about things. Get that out of the way first.”

“I do want to go pick up Tommy and Sarah from Rick’s so we can go to Bill’s,” Joel admitted throwing his hands up when he looked between Negan and Y/N. This wasn’t the first thing he wanted to talk about today but considering Y/N wasn’t even looking at him right now he knew that it wouldn’t have mattered what he wanted to talk about regardless. “I still want to keep in contact with everyone so we can help you from Bill’s. I just don’t know how we’re going to do that considering we only have the truck.”

“Well you’ll have to leave Bill’s number with us,” Negan spoke up knowing that while he would still love to bicker with Joel that Y/N seemed upset and that was the last thing he really wanted to do was hurt her further. “The last time I talked to Simon, he told me about a safehouse that her father had. It’s a place in the middle of nowhere stocked better than the last one. An apocalypse could happen and we would be fine for years. Maybe we can drive there and you could drop us off. Take the truck. I’m sure her father has plenty of cars there because it’s Philip Blake.”

“You know he does,” she agreed with Negan, tossing her hand up in the air. Feeling her throat tighten up, she hated the idea of Joel leaving, but knew it was going to happen at the end of the day. Noticing that she was discomforted, Negan placed his hand in over her knee caressing over it in a supportive moment. Placing her hand over his, she hooked her fingers with Negan’s and noticed the way that Joel’s eyes lowered to stare down at her holding Negan’s hand like she was. “That’s a better idea than I could have come up with. We’ll get ready, grab Poppy and just head to whatever the location was that Simon gave Negan. He’ll give you the directions to get to Rick’s so you can go pick them up before going to Bill’s after you drop us off and we will keep in contact about what you find out. That’s probably the best idea for all of us.”

“Right,” Joel frowned, his eyes focused on Y/N who seemed upset talking about him leaving. “Are we going to talk?”

“About what?” she kept her head down, shifting uncomfortably before him on the bed with Negan.

“You can’t even look at me,” Joel commented on how she was avoiding looking at him throughout their planning. Sliding to the edge of the chair, Joel cleared his throat and tried to reach out to place his fingers in over her knee but she still was looking at the ground. “I’m not leaving because I don’t want to be with you Y/N. I do want to be with you, I just have to be a dad. I wish you would realize that.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Negan offered gazing between Joel and Y/N. While a part of him was getting frustrated because of how he felt for Y/N, Negan knew that she also had feelings for Joel so if she wanted alone time with Joel, he was willing to give it to her.

“Not really,” she was honest, turning her head to look over Negan who still had his fingers hooked with hers. “I made a decision last night. I’m not going to regret the choice that I made. Even Joel himself said that you were perfect for me. I don’t want you to feel bad because I don’t regret what I did with you. It’s something that probably should have happened a long time ago. There was a reason that the two of us had so much chemistry together.”

“I’m not asking you to regret what you did. I can’t be mad at you for something that is ultimately my own fault,” Joel spoke up finally making her look to him and he threw his hands up in the air. Hearing that actually upset Joel, but she was right, he couldn’t get mad at her. He stressed several times that they weren’t dating. “We’re not dating. And you two do make sense together, but it doesn’t stop me from still caring about you. You know that.”

“If you aren’t mad, why did you punch me?” Negan snorted making Joel’s head bob about before rolling his eyes.

“Because I’m jealous,” Joel huffed, his big chocolate brown eyes lost in contemplation. Dropping his head down, Joel groaned out and stroked his fingers over the back of his neck. “I’m complicated. I know what I had with Y/N was special and just seeing you here after what I said to her last night…”

“What did you say to her last night?” Negan inquired looking between both Joel and Y/N. They were both silent when Joel lifted his head and shook it.

“Something that he doesn’t truly feel,” Y/N answered for Joel knowing that it wasn’t something he would likely feel comfortable saying around Negan. When she muttered those words, a sadness flooded Joel’s features knowing that she still didn’t believe him. “At the end of the day, I’m not dating either one of you. I should be allowed to sleep with who I want. You both know that I love you both. If I wanted to sleep with both of you, I should have the right to do that.”

“Is that what you want?” Negan inquired, licking his lips and nudging her with his arm. “The both of us? If so, we can do that before he leaves.”

“Negan!” she snapped making him throw his arms up in the air. “I’m not even suggesting that.”

“You kind of were,” Joel agreed with Negan making her heart skip a beat when both men were agreeing with each other suggesting that she wanted to be with both of them. “You mentioned sleeping with the both of us. I took it the same way that he did.”

“I meant in general,” she corrected her statement feeling Negan caressing over the back of her hand with his thumb. “I don’t think either one of you could handle something like that and I’m not sure that I could either.”

“I’m not an asshole. I’ve made it clear from the start that I understand that you loved Joel. It’s not going to tear my heart in two if you want to have a threesome with Joel,” Negan alerted her making her lips part. At first, she was going to bicker with him, but she was more so shocked at Negan being okay with something like that. “Joel is leaving, you love him, but I also know you love me. I explained that to you yesterday that I was okay with it. I understand loving two people in your life. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be here regardless and if you feel better having some kind of closure with the two of us with you, I’m good with it. Fuck, I’m all for that. It’s just the tight ass over there that I think would have a problem with it.”

“Negan,” she shook her head, not even sure of what to say after that comment. “I don’t…that’s just something that would make things more complicated and things are complicated enough as it is.”

“It doesn’t have to be that complicated,” Negan slid in closer to her on the bed, pushing her hair back over her shoulder. Dipping down, he started pressing wet kisses over the side of her neck and it made her eyes come to a tight close. Harshly breathing out, her eyes opened to see that Joel’s jaw was flexing and he seemed irritated. “Complicated is attacking Joel knowing that you love him too. But I’m not gonna do that. If Joel wants to leave you with something good, I think it would be a good idea, otherwise he can just sit there.”

“You’re a dick,” Joel slurred catching the way that Negan’s amused expression connected with his. Mischief flooded Negan’s hazel eyes while he caressed his palm in over the side of Y/N’s face to urge her to kiss him. Watching Negan’s tongue brushing out between her parted lips made Joel let out a growl. Standing up from the chair, Joel moved in beside Y/N on the other side of her. Taking a seat, he grasped her jaw pulling her away from the kiss with Negan with a wet sound. Capturing her lips in a forceful kiss made her gasp against his mouth. Sweeping his thumb over her jawline, Joel could hear Negan kissing over her jawline at the other side. It made Y/N whimper against Joel’s lips giving him the chance to brush his tongue over hers. Pulling back slightly, Joel dragged his thumb over her bottom lip and shrugged his shoulders. “At the end of the day, I do just want you happy.”

“Joel,” she went to say something more, but Negan was kissing over the side of her neck and it made her shudder. Closing her eyes, she knew that she should have stopped Negan, but when Joel started mirroring the same action, it made her body start to heat up immediately. Negan’s large palm caressed in over the inside of her thigh and when Joel’s caress palmed up over her breast, it made it feel like the room was spinning around her. “I think I’m still asleep.”

“So this is something you’d want,” Negan responded, his lips kissing over her earlobe before nibbling faintly at it making her purr. “I shamed the tight ass into doing it, so you should really just enjoy it if it’s something you truly want before he leaves.”

“Fuck you Negan,” Joel growled, nipping at the side of Y/N’s neck while he palmed and squeezed over her breast through the material of her shirt. Tugging up her shirt, Joel had noticed earlier that her bra was still on the floor so she would be completely bare. Getting it just over her full breasts, Joel tipped his head down and kissed over her breast making her whimper out. Teasing his tongue over her nipple in circular sweeps before sucking at her flesh had Y/N moaning. Tugging further at the material, Joel got the shirt from her body and tossed it aside before urging her back against the bed. Both Negan and Joel lowered down in beside her, Negan’s fingers claiming her jaw so he could kiss her heatedly. “I’m not a tight ass. I just get very protective of the things that I care about.”

Lifting her head after pulling away from her kiss she was sharing with Negan, she could see that Negan was pulling apart the button in her pants getting the material separated enough. Pushing his hand beneath her pants, Negan palmed in over her warmth making her cry out. Before she even had time to think, Joel brought their lips together in a demanding kiss while Negan was rough in getting the material of her pants down to her thighs along with her panties.

“You’re so wet,” Negan hummed against her jawline, his long slender digits tracing the length of her sex before lining his finger up with her entrance. Crying out, she pressed her forehead to Joel’s when Negan’s finger slid into her with ease.

Tipping his head back, Joel’s brown eyes were heavy with lust when he dropped his right hand down to join Negan with his rough fingertips connecting with her clitoris while Negan took his time thrusting his finger inside of her. Arching her hips up, she enjoy the sensation it drew out from within her with the circular caress that Joel was doing over her sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Does that feel good sweetheart?” Joel bit at her jawline causing her to purr out when Negan inserted another finger. From last night, Negan knew exactly what to do that would have her a mess between them. Along with Joel’s caress, she felt her body on fire. It was strange having the two of them working together, but it was working and her body was already shaking from the stimulation.

“Yes,” she purred out, her eyes squeezing shut firmly. Joel’s mouth covered hers again and Negan was kissing down over her breast while his fingers continued to plunge into her with an addictive tempo that had her desperate for a release. Wincing, she felt her heart hammering in her chest when Joel bit at her bottom lip, giving it a small tug. “Fuck.”

It didn’t take long between the two of them touching her and caressing her before her thighs started quivering. Tossing her head back into the pillows, her hips arched up and she could hear the amused rumble fall from Negan’s throat. Keeping up with the thrusting motions of his fingers, Negan followed through until the very end of her orgasm. Once they were done, Joel’s fingers slid from between her thighs to circle her breast and then took he her nipple back between his lips.

“Good girl,” Negan praised her pulling his fingers from her body. Stroking his long slender digits over the length of her sex made Negan groan out. Bringing their mouths together, Negan kissed Y/N in a very dominant manner knowing that she was shaking beside him. “It’s okay to make yourself feel better. I just want you happy.”

With Negan’s words vibrating from her lips, she felt her heart hammering in her chest with Joel kissing up over her body. When he reached her lips, she kissed him having his tongue brush out against hers while Negan kissed over her cheek but she went between them kissing them both. Sure, this was like something out of a dream for her and it surprised her that the two of them were so close in the proximity of each other, but they were completely okay with this.

Wincing, Negan looked down at the center of his pants and felt the ache that was there. Grabbing her hand, he led it toward the front of his pants and licked his lips, “Whatever you want, however you want it, I’m willing to do it.”

Her lips parted with her palm caressing over Negan’s hardened cock through his pants. Joel’s hips were softly bucking up against her hip and it made a breath catch in her throat. Dropping her other hand down, she cupped Joel in her palm feeling him hard against her touch as well.

“Closer,” she ordered of the both of them and they did as she asked. Working her hand beneath the material of Negan’s pants was easy since that’s all that he was wearing, but it was harder for her with Joel. Fumbling with his belt, Joel helped get the leather apart and then opened his pants for her allowing her to push her palm beneath both his pants and his boxers to curl her fingers around his shaft. Pumping her hand over both of their hard cocks had Negan moaning out against her jawline where he was kissing and Joel’s eyes came to a tight close. Stroking them both in confident caresses made her feel almost powerful having them both wrapped around her finger.

“Who do you want first?” Joel wondered kissing from her collarbone, up over her neck and toward her jawline. Once he got to her lips, he nibbled at her bottom lip and sucked at the flesh making her whimper. “Or how do you want to do this? Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” she repeated Joel’s words making him nod. “Both of you take your pants off first.”

“Yes ma’am,” they both uttered at the same time making a surprised expression flood both of their features. Well at least they had manners in that sense and they took orders well. She just didn’t realize how much alike they actually were with certain things until then.

Breathlessly, she watched as Negan got to his knees first working to get his pants fully opened. Fighting to gain back her strength, her eyelashes fluttered feeling the bed shift beside her. Turning her head, she watched Joel pulling apart the plaid, button down shirt that he was wearing dropping the material before grabbing the bottom of his shirt to pull it from over his head. Gazing back and forth between Joel and Negan, Y/N felt overwhelmed knowing that they were giving her an option but she didn’t want to hurt either one of them.

“Stop,” Y/N called out, reaching out to place her hand in over Joel’s when he went to pull open his pants. Shaking her head, she slid from the bed and swiftly pulled her pants back up over her body. Stumbling, she reached for her shirt and the bra that she had originally skipped putting on this morning. Holding them in front of her chest she could tell that both men were confused as she headed toward the bathroom. “I can’t do this. You two are acting like you are okay with this, but I know the both of you. It’s only going to breed upset and anger.”

“How?” Negan blurt out, his chest rising and falling heavily. Looking to Joel, Negan could see that he had already been stripping down. “I thought this is what you wanted?”

“I kind of do, but if I pick you first or I pick him first, it could hurt one of you,” she reasoned with them making Joel’s brow line furrow. “And sleeping with him is not going to help anything. At the end of the day he is still going to leave. There is no closure in the three of us sleeping together. It only makes me feel more attached to him and I can’t do it.”

“Fuck,” Joel grumbled when she scurried to the bathroom. Dropping down to the bed, Joel buried his face in his hands and felt Negan taking a seat on the bed beside him. Rubbing at the sides of his face, Joel let out an exasperated breath when he lifted his head to look at Negan beside him. “I really fucked up bad, didn’t I?”

“You don’t want me rubbing shit in,” Negan refused to answer that one knowing that it wouldn’t help in the situation. “I think she’s just more so worried about hurting one of our feelings, but also worrying that doing this will break her more when you leave.”

“Why are you being so calm about this when you guys obviously had a moment last night?” Joel was genuinely curious noticing the way that Negan smirked. Negan stood up from the bed and worked his pants back together before reaching for the tank top that he had deposited the night before. “I would think it would upset you that she still had feelings for me.”

“Because at the end of the day, what’s most important to me is her,” Negan informed Joel with a shrug of his shoulders. “I really do want her happy. Regardless of if she’s with me, you or us. I’m going to love her any way around it. That’s why.”

Hearing Negan say that made Joel swallow down hard. Giving Negan a nod, Joel gathered himself for a moment sitting there. It took a while before they both got dressed again. After they did, Joel changed Negan’s dressing on his shoulder for his wound while they waited for Y/N to finally unlock herself from the bathroom. Most of the time they just sat together in silence and it was killing Joel to know that ultimately it was him that was upsetting Y/N the most still.

“Hey,” Joel stood up from the bed attempting to reach out for Y/N, but she moved around him and held her hands up to show that she didn’t want to be touched right now. “I just…”

“We need to get going. Can one of you go get Poppy please?” Y/N asked of them heading over toward her bag to put something away. With a nod, Joel pointed to his own chest offering to get Poppy so he could give Y/N some space. Heading for the door, Joel stopped to look back seeing that Negan stepped before Y/N. It bothered him that Negan was able to comfort her with ease while Negan’s hands stroked over her arms caressing them while whispering something to her. There was awe in Y/N’s eyes while she looked up at Negan listening to him closely.

Maybe leaving was the right thing to do so Y/N could be happy with Negan. At least with him she wasn’t miserable. Sighing, Joel left the room and headed over toward Poppy’s room. Knocking on the door a few times, Joel noticed that there was no movement on the other end. Frowning, he side stepped and saw that Poppy was laying on the bed turned on her side away from the window.

Unhurriedly moving back to Y/N’s motel room, Joel saw that they were packing things up and he tapped his fingers against the door. With a sigh, Joel shrugged and cleared his throat, “She’s out cold. Not waking up. Do you have her spare key to wake her up?”

“She’s probably in a sex coma,” Y/N snickered looking back at Negan who smiled in return. “She picked up some guy at the nightclub last night and they were going crazy on one another. Twice. And they were loud. Just give me a minute.”

“I’ll take the stuff to the car,” Negan offered, grabbing what he could in her room. Digging in his pocket, Joel grabbed the keys and tossed them to Negan who caught them with a wince when he used his bad arm. “Gotta get used to not using that fucking shoulder.”

Allowing Negan passed him to get into the car, Joel’s brown eyes connected with Y/N’s when she approached the door and he stopped her before she could leave, “I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I’ve been very honest with you about things. I wouldn’t have told you I loved you to just tell you it. Because I know how important the words are.”

“I think you want to believe those words Joel, I’m just not sure you really feel it. Not yet at least,” she stepped forward to place her hand in over the center of Joel’s chest. Caressing her fingertips over the area lovingly, she tipped up on her toes to place a kiss over his cheek and sighed when she pulled away. “It won’t change the fact that I still love you. You know that. I’ll always love you. It just didn’t work out for us and I understand that.”

When she left, Joel had so much that he wanted to say, but he was caught up in everything. Words were never something he was good with. Damn it, why couldn’t he just say the right things and make this all better? Turning on his heel, he quickly went back to his room to grab his bags to put them in the car while Negan finished up with their things. Since Joel had less, once he was done, he followed Y/N to Poppy’s motel room and waited beside her while Y/N worked the key in the door. Once the door pushed open, Joel cleared his throat and waited at the opened door when Y/N moved in.

“Poppy, it’s time to get up. I know you had a sex marathon last night, but we’ve got to go to the next place,” Y/N instructed her friend clapping her hands together, but it still did nothing. Moving forward, Y/N reached out to place her hand in over her best friend’s shoulder. “Come on Poppy. I’m sure the guy was good, but he wasn’t that good to truly put you in a sex coma.”

Tugging on her friend’s shoulder, Y/N felt her breath escape her lungs when Poppy rolled onto her back. Y/N’s heart pounded inside of her chest seeing that her friend was stiff, her eyes were opened, but her eyes were turning a milky color with her flesh a pale, pinkish-purple color. Around her neck was severe bruising making Y/N attempt to cling to her friend.

“Poppy!” she screamed out trying to pull Poppy into her arms and it caught Joel’s attention who scrambled into the room. Tapping at the side of Poppy’s face, she felt herself breaking down when it was hitting her that Poppy was dead. “No, no…”

“What’s going on?” Negan pushed into the room stopping when he saw Y/N holding onto Poppy at the center of the bed. Immediately, his body froze up realizing what was going on when the wind managed to slam the door shut behind him. Looking back over his shoulder, Negan felt the air being sucked from his lungs while Joel tried to get Y/N to let go of Poppy.

“Y/N, honey…” Joel tried to touch Y/N’s face while she was sobbing holding her friend in her arms. “You’ve gotta let her go. She’s dead. We need to call someone. We have to do something and touching her like this is just going to ruin the crime scene. Okay? Baby…”

“No,” Y/N shook her head feeling her heart hammering inside of her chest. Last night she was so angry with Poppy for what she thought her friend had done, but now with Poppy’s cold stiff body in her arms she regretted every second of it. Managing to pull her away from Poppy, Joel pulled Y/N into his arms while she struggled to get back to Poppy. When she finally gave up, she buried her head against the center of Joel’s chest while he held tightly to her, stroking his fingers over the back of her neck while she cried. “I just need to wake up. This isn’t real. It can’t be real.”

“Fuck,” Negan stepped closer to the bed noticing the way that Poppy’s throat was purple, looking like she had been strangled to death. The shape of the bruises were in that of hands and he stepped back brushing his fingers through his hair. “It has to be that guy that she brought back to the motel last night. Half Moon or whatever the fuck he called himself.”

“Half Moon?” Joel spat looking back at Negan who shrugged his shoulders. “Why the fuck would she bring a stranger back to the motel room if he didn’t even give her his real name?”

“I don’t know, but if we call the police, I’m sure the nightclub has a camera at the bar. He was there flirting with Poppy. He’s a big motherfucker, he wouldn’t be hard to miss,” Negan claimed, kneeling down in beside Y/N who was absolutely breaking down in front of him in Joel’s arms. “Sweetheart, we need to call the police and they can handle this. Okay? But we have to get out of here so we don’t mess with the crime scene. Joel is right. We can’t find out who hurt Poppy if we don’t contact someone.”

“I’ll call,” Joel felt Y/N uncomfortable with letting go of him, but he stroked his fingers through her hair before standing up. Negan moved in beside her trying to talk her through everything when Joel reached for the phone. Noticing that the phone wasn’t working, Joel grimaced and pointed to the door. “I’m going to go to my room. Her phone isn’t working. I’ll be right back.”

Opening the door, Joel stepped back when he saw someone standing before him. The dark blue eyes were angry and hooked on Joel’s. The overwhelmingly tall stature of the man made Joel swallow down hard when the man at the door pushed his long hair back over his shoulder, “Who the fuck are you?”

“What?” Negan looked back over his shoulder to see the man that was at the nightclub last night staring down at Joel. Scrambling to get up, Negan noticed the way Joel looked back and Negan shook his head. “Joel, that’s him! That’s Half Moon.”

Before Negan could get up, the tall stranger was grabbing a hold of Joel’s collar picking him up with ease and slamming Joel into the motel room wall. The taller man was so strong that it caused the wall behind Joel to break with ease. A pained growl fell from Joel’s throat when Half Moon dropped Joel to the ground hard.

Tackling into the much taller man, Negan managed to get Half Moon back and away from Joel. Their bodies slammed into the dresser shattering the mirror behind Half Moon when Half Moon’s upper half slammed into it, “Y/N! Get out of here! Get to the guns!”

Trying to head for the door, Y/N saw Half Moon grab a firm hold of Negan’s body, lifting Negan like he weighed next to nothing. With his grasp on Negan, Half Moon threw Negan on top of the dresser making Negan groan out when his back collided with the edge of it. Hitting the ground hard, Negan’s air left his lungs from the hit. Attempting to make it to the door, Y/N felt fingers sinking into her hair. Yanking back on her hair had her falling to the ground and she could see that beneath Half Moon’s jacket that he had a large hunting knife attached to his belt making her whimper out.

“Please,” she begged noticing the lack of complete and total emotion in the eyes of the man standing over her.

“Go!” Joel yelled surprising Y/N as his arms hooked around Half Moon’s throat, trying to put as much pressure on his throat as he could possibly get. Half Moon thrashed trying to get Joel off of him and before Y/N could make it to the door, Half Moon was throwing himself backwards slamming Joel into the door causing it to crack behind him. Joel’s face was filled with agony, but he still didn’t let go of Half Moon. “Get in the bathroom! Lock yourself in! Now!”

Going to listen to Joel, Y/N saw that Half Moon continued to slam Joel into the door breaking the grasp that Joel had over his throat gradually each time he slammed Joel back. When it was lose enough Half Moon flipped Joel over his shoulders and slammed Joel down onto the ground. This was the point where she should have listened to Joel, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t let either of them get hurt by this monster of a man. Half Moon went to reach for Joel and Y/N grabbed the vase that the motel was using as a decorative item. Smashing it over the back of Half Moon’s head did little to nothing. It just made his body fall forward before he looked back at Y/N with a glare.

If looks could kill, she would have died right then and there. Being pushed back, Negan threw himself in front of her and started throwing his fists hitting Half Moon with as much power as he had. This time, Negan was managing to throw Half Moon around a bit. There was no way making it around their fight to get outside to the guns that were in the car. Half Moon managed to tackle Negan to the ground and fell in over him. Half Moon’s fingers wrapped around Negan’s throat while Negan fought to get the bigger man from over him. Using the strength he had, Negan began to dig his thumbs into the eyes of the man that was over him making Half Moon grimace in pain. Another smashing sound was heard when Y/N saw Joel breaking a glass over the back of the bigger man’s head. It made Half Moon release Negan and Negan was coughing to gain the air back into his lungs. Joel started hitting Half Moon with everything he had while Negan tried to regain his strength. And for a moment it was working since Joel had caught Half Moon off guard. Scrambling Half Moon grabbed a platter that was on the dresser and swung it back shattering it across Joel’s face making him fall to the ground again.

Half Moon started hitting Negan with closed fists while Negan tried to fight back. If she made a run for it now, maybe she could get either the handgun that was Negan’s or Joel’s to be able to help. Hopping over the bodies, she attempted to make a run for it only to have Half Moon grab her ankle. It made her hit the ground hard making the air leave her lungs from how hard she landed. Grabbing the ice bucket from the dresser, Half Moon brought it across Negan’s face making Negan’s head drop back to the ground with a thud.

Brushing the blood away from his face, Half Moon got up and moved over toward Y/N. Reaching down, he hooked his fingers around her throat and pulled her up by that alone making her gag with the power he had over her flesh. Trying to push her hands into the center of Half Moon’s face, she did everything she could to hit at him making the large man smile at her attempts, “What do you want? Why did you kill Poppy?”

Instead of giving her an answer, Half Moon reached for the knife that was attached to his belt. Lifting it up had Y/N whimpering as he dragged the blade along the side of her face undoubtedly breaking the skin when she felt the warmth of the blood sliding down her face. Forcing her back against the bed, Y/N felt her eyesight blackening over with the power that was pressing down in over her windpipe. Dragging her nails down over Half Moon’s face had him roaring out in anger when she managed to cut down the side of his face. It did little to nothing though other than make him angrier and his grasp tightened. With Poppy’s dead body beside her, Y/N felt like this was it. This was the end. This was how she was going to die.

Wailing out, Y/N saw Half Moon thrash his head back and she heard multiple wet, tearing sounds. Half Moon’s hand released her throat and that was when she spotted a bloodied Negan standing behind Half Moon with a piece of broken glass in his hand that he obviously just stabbed Half Moon with multiple times. Negan could barely stand, but he was doing everything in his power to keep her safe. Half Moon went to use the hunting knife to thrash it at Negan, but Y/N used whatever strength she had left in her body to wrap her arms around Half Moon’s arm to keep him from using the knife on Negan. Half Moon tried pulling his arm from her, but she wouldn’t let go. Thinking of the first thing she could, she sank her teeth into Half Moon’s wrist biting with all the power that she had. Once the metallic taste of his blood filled her mouth, she kept biting until he dropped the knife with a roar. With one final throw back of his arm, Half Moon had Y/N slamming back into the corner of the wall. Sliding down to the floor, she knew that she had little to no strength left in her when Half Moon looked to his abdomen to see that he was bleeding from where Negan had stabbed him.

Slashing the piece of glass out at Half Moon, Negan managed to cut the taller man’s cheek before Half Moon punched Negan making him drop the glass. Half Moon wrapped his arms around Negan’s abdomen squeezing with all his strength making Negan throw his head back in agony at the force that was being put on his torso. Hitting Half Moon with all the strength he had left in his body, Negan was bloodying Half Moon too before Half Moon body slammed Negan through the table in the corner of the room. They both fell through the table with the pieces of wood breaking and splintering around them. Negan was almost motionless. All of them were hurt and bleeding. Every single one of them.

Negan tried to move only to have Half Moon to bring his elbow back into the center of Negan’s face making his head drop back to the ground. Even though Negan was putting up the bigger fight and giving it his all, he was still failing and getting his ass kicked. Crawling to his hands and knees, Half Moon managed to pull himself up from the ground and stumble across the motel room.

Picking up his hunting knife, Half Moon stared down at her and shook his head, “This should have been so much easier. Enough is enough.”

That was the first time she heard him speak as he moved toward her, his eyes hooked on her like a hawk. Raising his knife up, Y/N closed her eyes expecting the worst when she felt a weight falling to the ground before her. Weakly opening her eyes, she had seen that Joel had managed to get Half Moon to the ground and they were fighting for the knife.

“You aren’t going to hurt her,” Joel screamed at the bigger man beneath him. Managing to fight the knife from Half Moon’s hand, Joel let it fall to the ground before curling his fingers into a fist. Hitting Half Moon with as much strength as he possibly could muster up, Joel didn’t stop. Roaring out, Joel just kept hitting the man over and over again. “I won’t let you hurt her.”

Even after the body had gone limp beneath him and his knuckles were on fire, burning with an aching pain Joel didn’t stop. Blood was splattering everywhere. Rage was flooding Joel’s veins while he continued to beat in the face of the lifeless body beneath him.

“Enough,” Negan’s voice called out to Joel, wrapping his arms around Joel to pull him back on the ground with him. Negan’s arms were wrapped around Joel’s torso, his chin resting over Joel’s shoulder while he could barely keep himself up. Joel’s face was twisted with so much fury and he was breathing rapidly while Negan did his best to keep Joel calm. “He’s dead Joel. You got him. He’s not getting back up.”

Joel dropped his head down and rest his fists at his sides. Both Joel and Negan were bloody, no doubt bruised. The motel room was now a broken mess from the war all three of them had been in. It took a few seconds for Joel to come back to reality, his eyes connecting with Y/N who was pressed back against the wall. Tapping Negan’s hand, Joel alerted Negan to the fact that he was okay so Negan could let him go. When Negan released him, Joel managed to pull himself up to his feet. Heading over toward Y/N, Joel picked her up in his arms and stumbled out of the motel room leaving Negan propped up against the dresser breathing heavily.

“We need Negan,” Y/N tried to wiggle out of Joel’s arms while he carried her to the SUV. Joel got the backdoor open of the car and lowered Y/N back on the seat for her to lay down. “Joel, no.”

“I’m going to get him,” Joel assured her, holding his hand up to make sure that she stayed where she was. As Joel went back to the motel room, he left Y/N laying in the backseat trying to gain her strength back. Lifting her head, she could see that Joel had Negan’s arm wrapped around his shoulder while he helped Negan to the SUV. Once Joel got Negan into the passenger’s seat, he headed over toward the driver’s side and got in. Reaching out in front of Negan, Joel grabbed the guns that were inside of the glove compartment. Handing Negan his, Joel grabbed a hold of the other and made Negan look at him. Negan could barely keep his head up when Joel tapped at the side of it. “We always keep these with us from here on out. Do you understand?”

Nodding, Negan’s head dropped against the window leaving a blood smear on it. Looking back over his shoulder, Joel could see Y/N trying to pull herself up and he shook his head, “Just relax Y/N.”

“We can’t leave. Poppy is still there, we need…” she tried to get up and Joel reached for her to get her to try to stop. “She’s my friend Joel, we can’t just leave her there. We have to do something.”

“If that guy was there to kill you, then who knows if there is anyone else coming,” Joel shook his head, starting up the car after he got the keys from Negan who fumbled to pull them out. “We will call someone once we are far enough away to take care of it, but we have to leave Y/N. I don’t think the three of us can take much more of a beating.”

Even though it hurt her with everything that she was, she dropped her head back on the seat and cried. She never thought it would get to this. With their plan, everything seemed to be going right and none of this made sense. How did someone find them? This was awful and she wished this was just a horrible dream that she would wake up from, but the further they drove away from the motel the more she realized that this was very real and it wouldn’t be changing.

And there was that gut feeling eating way at her, this was her fault. Poppy was dead and it was all her fault.

#Jeffrey Dean Morgan #Pedro Pascal #Negan #Joel Miller #The Last of Us #The Walking Dead #joel miller x reader #negan x reader #negan fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #twd fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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