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from-the-clouds · 11 months

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texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. xiv

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter | chapter summary: The final chapter pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 9.2k (I love being insane) chapter warnings: SMUT (18+only) - unprotected sex. Insecurity/Jealousy. Angst/arguments. Discussions of death, blood and injuries. Alcohol & Marijuana use. Fluff. Bisexual reader (happy pride ya'll!). As always please dm for more specifics. a/n: This could probs use another round of proofreading but it would've delayed this even longer sooooo.... Here we go! I feel pretty emo right now and I might make a more in-depth post about my thoughts at a later date bc I just finished writing this in a hot daze so I can't put all my thoughts coherently together. But I just wanna say thank you to everyone who supported and gave love to this story. This is by far the most popular fic I've ever written, and I don't really know how? Or what I did to deserve all the love but I just want you to know how much I appreciate it. Thank you for sticking with me through all the angst and delayed updates and everything. I'll never forget you and I'll never forget Joel x Reader!! Thank you so much, I hope the finale lives up to your expectations! ❤️

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I’m not the kind of man who tends to socialize I seem to lean on old familiar ways….

-May 16, 2024-

“Are you sure you’re okay if I leave you here alone?”

Ethan’s voice jolts you out of a daze, and you blink your eyes open, realizing that you’d dozed off while sitting upright in a patio chair, the cheesy romance novel you’d been reading still lying open on your lap. Turning to look over your shoulder, you find him standing with one foot on the deck, and one foot still inside, cut in half by the sliding glass door.

Clearing your throat, you straighten up and nod. “Of course. I’ll be fine.”

Ethan studies you carefully, like he’s not entirely convinced. He’s been hesitant to leave you alone unless it’s absolutely necessary – only stepping away from the house to go on patrol shifts and to bring home meals from the mess hall. Recovery has made you feel like a burden to him – to all your friends in the community, really. Everyone….well, almost everyone, has been supportive, but you’ve never been comfortable being openly vulnerable.

Unfortunately, it’s too hard to deny the pain that you’ve been in since the accident, the trouble you have getting around, the exhaustion that clings no matter how many long naps and twelve-hour nights of sleep you get. According to the doctors, being so tired is just part of recovery – rest is important, but the concoction of pain medication you’ve been prescribed only makes your drowsiness and confusion worse. It had been a big deal that tonight you’d mustered the energy to drag yourself outside to sit in the fresh air.

“I’m fine,” you assure Ethan, once again. “Have fun on your date.”

“It’s not really a date,” he says, almost a little too quickly. “We’re just hanging out.”

“Right,” you say, matter-of-factly. “Do I know who this person is?”

Ethan looks at his feet. “You remember the day this shit happened?” he asks, gesturing towards you. “Before you left on patrol, the girl that said hi to me? It’s her. Her name is Alex.”

“Oh?” you tilt your head, give him a small smile. “She was cute. How’d you ask her out?”

“Well,” he begins, scratching the back of his neck. “I may have…uh, gotten some advice.”

“You didn’t think to ask me?” you’re able to muster up a small smile.

“I would’ve, I just…..” he shakes his head. “It seemed stupid…with everything you have going on.”

“It’s not stupid,” you say, feeling a wave of guilt. Even though he’s the one looking after you, you haven’t spoken to him much about anything going on in his life. In fact, you haven’t really spoken to anyone in a long time, beyond thank you’s and blanket statements like I’m doing better. You feel disconnected, and more lonely than ever. If you ever get enough energy to leave your house, you expect most of the people in the community to have forgotten you exist. “Who’d you ask?”

“Uhm….” Ethan runs a hand through his long dark hair, shifts his weight. “….I’ve been assigned on patrol with Joel Miller a lot lately….so….”

You almost laugh when he uses Joel’s full name. Joel has been such a huge part of your life – sometimes the hero, sometimes the villain – that you don’t need to hear his last name to know who Ethan’s talking about. You could know a thousand Joel’s, and he’d still be the first person that came to mind. But Joel is still a sore subject, and Ethan knows it, which is why you suspect he’s avoided telling you this in the first place. You feel your eyebrows knit together, only able to let out an unenthused. “Oh.”

“I just, you know….he’s a guy. And it sounds like you even liked him at one point so….he must know something, right?”

“That was a long time ago,” you say quickly, regardless of the fact that he’s right.

It’s probably not fair to blame Joel for everything that has happened to you. You know this, deep down. But you’ve been so helpless and isolated since you’ve woken up in that hospital bed that you’re desperate to find someone to hold accountable. And Joel hadn’t visited you in the hospital once. By this point, he’s abandoned you so many times that your resentment feels justified, even if your current state is not directly his fault. Because it was you, after all, who had walked into the path of those men, too angry to think clearly, too weak to take them down alone. The only person you can blame is yourself, and you really don’t want to.

“Did he tell you to take her out on patrol, make her cry, and almost get her killed?”

Ethan clicks his tongue, looks down, almost ashamed. “No. He did not.”

“You should be careful with Joel,” you warn.

“I was…” Ethan says. “But I don’t think it’s that simple. I think he’s actually alright.”

“So you’re friends with him now,” you state, hoping he refutes. But instead, he looks up at you, frowns, and lifts his chin.

“What happened to you was horrible. It shouldn’t have happened. And yeah, maybe you think he’s the reason you almost died…. I don’t know the specifics so you can believe whatever you want. But I know that he’s the reason you’re still alive.” Ethan’s voice breaks, and you feel tears brimming your eyes before he continues. “He brought you back here, he donated his blood, he-”

“What?” you cut him off.

“What do you mean, what?” Ethan asks. “He was the only person there who had your blood type. You would’ve died if he didn’t. They didn’t tell you this?”

“Whatever it took to make him feel less guilty, sounds like,” you say, dismissively.

Something hot burns in your veins, something that must have always been there since you woke up, but you’re only feeling it now. It’s unsettling, Joel being a part of you that way. Your lives had already seemed intertwined enough already. But now, he’s inescapable.

“Well, he stayed by your side every night while you were asleep. Fuck, I mean, he was probably there just as often as I was. He made sure I ate, and slept and showered and… and he never once asked for anything in return. He cares about you as much as I do, clearly, so I don’t think it’s wrong to think he’s a good guy….”

You must not care about me that much, you want to say, but you stop yourself. Because it’s not true, and you’d only be saying it to hurt him. You have nothing to defend yourself with, no way to convince him otherwise, and so you just stare at him until he shakes his head and slips back inside.

Ethan is stubborn, he always has been. And it’s a special kind of stubbornness, fueled by anger – so common in most of the young people you meet these days. You understand why they’re all like this. When you’re robbed of your childhood – you get stuck there….waiting….. Like someday you’ll have a chance to do it all over again, regardless of how obvious it is that you won’t.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-May 25, 2024-

Things get better, albeit slowly. You begin to wean off the pain medication, which makes you more alert. It’s still difficult to leave your house, but you can move around it more easily, and you don’t spend all your days sleeping. Luckily, you aren’t as stir-crazy as you’d been expecting.

One afternoon, Ellie Williams shows up on your doorstep with a bag full of groceries.

“Maria wanted me to bring these to you,” she says when you open the door. “She told me to tell you she’ll be over tomorrow, but she wanted me to give you these to tide you over.”

“That’s very nice. Thank you for bringing them to me,” you try to take the bag from her hands, but she steps back just a little, like she’s unsure if you should be carrying anything. You let your hands drop to your sides. “Would you like to come in?”

Ellie hesitates for a split second, adjusting the bag in her arms, and then nods. “Sure.”

Stepping to the side, you allow her into the home. Because of how warm it is outside, you’ve opened all the windows to let the breeze through.

“Sorry for the mess,” you say, Ellie following you into the living room. There are stacks of books and pill bottles with instructions scattered on your countertop. You haven’t swept the floors in awhile and all the hard surfaces are covered in a thin layer of dust. It’s not really that bad, but you don’t have the energy or strength to be on your feet for long – let alone to clean the house.

“I don’t mind,” Ellie says. “It’s not even that bad. I don’t know why older people worry about leaving your house messy and shit….no offense.”

“There was a time it used to matter,” you tell her. “And I see where you’re coming from, but my thing is – if you’re going to live somewhere, you should do what you can to make yourself feel comfortable.”

Ellie purses her lips, as if you’ve made a good point but she doesn’t know how to answer. Instead, you continue. “Can I get you anything? Water?”

“No, I’m okay,” she puts the bag on your kitchen counter.

“You can sit if you’d like,” you tell her. “I just need a moment to put these away.”

When you walk into your living room a few minutes later, she’s hovering near your record player, looking through the vinyls. The turntable was already in the house when you’d arrived years ago, but it was buried in the closet and broken. Ethan had managed to fix it after a little troubleshooting and scavenging for parts. Now, you both were always looking for records to bring home, and had amassed quite the eclectic collection – jazz, funk, hip-hop, and everything in between.

“Wow,” Ellie says, running her fingers along the shelved records. “You found all these?”

“Some of them were already here. But yeah. Ethan and I are always on the lookout on patrol. I can play you something. What do you like?”

“Eighties, I think,” she says. “But…I also haven’t heard as much.”

“Well here,” you thumb through the records, pull out a worn copy of Speaking In Tongues. “How about some Talking Heads?”

You pass the record over to her, and she stares at you blankly. It’s only then that you realize — she’s never used a record player before. There’s a familiar pang of sadness before you show her how.

“Are you feeling better?” Ellie eyes you wearily once the music starts, and you settle onto the couch, feeling a little worn out after being on your feet.

“Yes,” you say. “I’m older now, so it seems like healing takes a lot more time.”

Ellie nods, then bobs her head to the music a little. “This is better than most of the stuff Joel likes.”

“Oh yeah,” you smirk, and instinctually, you recall his enthusiasm for all things old-school country. “I remember that,” you say softly.

With so much time on your hands lately, you’ve found yourself thinking of Joel a lot, reminiscing on the time you’d spent with him and Sarah. What Ethan had told you about him staying by your side was definitely making you reconsider your assessment of him, even if you were still hesitant. It was probably a trap to think you’d ever be able to feel those things with him again, but if remembering them brought you comfort, you weren’t going to resist it.

“You’re more than welcome to come over to listen anytime,” you offer, and she nods excitedly.

Ellie stays for longer than you expect. You talk a fair bit. She tells you about what she’s learning in school – but mostly how ‘fucking useless’ it is. She wanders around your living room and pokes through your stuff without asking, but you don’t think to stop her – you just answer her questions and let her be curious.

Eventually, the sun dips below the horizon, and she excuses herself to go home, insisting that Joel will ‘fucking kill her’ if she’s out too late. Even though you’re exhausted after entertaining her for a few hours, you find it feels nice. Being on house arrest, essentially, had left your starved for connection outside Maria and Ethan.

You see her out the door before returning to your refrigerator to look for something to eat. Ethan will be back from patrol any minute, so it may be nice to make him something even if you have almost no energy.

But when there’s another knock on your front door, you’re shocked to see who you find staring on your porch.

Joel.

You almost forget to speak at the sight of him. It’s been weeks since your accident and he might as well have moved away from Jackson since you hadn’t seen him at all.

“Hey,” you say, tentatively, taking him in. He seems preoccupied – cheeks flushed, hair rumpled, and out of breath, like he had run all the way to get here.

“Have you seen Ellie?” he asks, not even greeting you in return. “I’ve looked everywhere and I-

“You just missed her,” you cut him off, not because you’re trying to dismiss him, but because he's clearly distressed. “I’m surprised you didn’t see her on your way over.”

Joel sighs, eyes closing in relief. “Thank God.” For a second, you glimpse the frazzled and overworked father you used to know. “She stayed out too late, had me worried sick.”

“She’s fine,” you say. “Although she did say you might kill her if she didn’t get home soon.”

Joel gives you an almost imperceptible smile, but seems mostly irritated by Ellie’s suggestion. “I would do no such thing.” He shakes his head and takes two steps backwards. “Thank you. Didn’t mean to be a bother.”

Your mind floats to a memory of Joel on your front porch, late getting home from work and looking for Sarah, and you can’t help but feel a bit of sadness and longing for a simpler time, a surge of affection.

Joel is halfway down your front porch steps when you speak again. “You aren’t bothering me.”

He pauses, turns to look over his shoulder. There’s something he wants to say, you can feel it, and you step outside, letting the door fall shut behind you and remaining huddled against the siding, and he turns to face you fully, sighing. “I’ve been meaning to stop by, actually….”

“Oh…really?” you can’t keep the surprise from your voice, and he notices.

“Yeah,” Joel rubs his fingers together, a nervous habit of his you know all too well. “Yeah. I- well, I wanted to apologize to you.”

You’re so startled by the words you can’t answer right away. But the split second of hesitation causes Joel to continue, looking to fill the empty space.

“I’ve been waiting to find the right thing to say….but it doesn’t seem like that’ll ever happen. I’m not even sure I know where to start.”

“Oh,” is all you can manage, still taken aback. The only thing that doesn’t surprise you about his admission is the sincerity. You could say a lot of things about Joel, but he isn’t a liar. He always tells the truth. Maybe it’s why he pulled away from you to begin with. It’s easier than the alternative – spending time with you, which would force him to be honest. For how much you’ve changed, you’d probably do the same.

But the thing with Joel is that you’re exhausted. You’re tired of the back and forth, of the push and pull, of the constant struggle to hold your care over each other's head, hoping the other will break first. Maybe this is a fresh start.

You step closer to him, and you see him study the way you move. Of course, you’re trying to look strong, but he can surely sense the weakness. He’d always been good at that, better than any of the others. Your hand comes to rest on the porch railing for support.

But…..

There’s that voice in the back of your head, the one that tells you this is a mistake. The one that reminds of the pain you’ve often earned through vulnerability. It likes to think it’s served you, protected you, and it has. But it’s not always right.

“I suppose I owe you an apology, too,” you say. “At the very least I should thank you for what you did.”

Joel shakes his head, dismissively, but looks to where your hand rests on the porch railing, looks back up to you as he reaches out. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

His hand clasps over yours, and to anyone else, this might be nothing. It’s so innocent, unassuming. But the effect it has on you is palpable. He squeezes once, and you flip your hand over, squeezing his back, giving him a gentle smile. “I am too.”

Joel’s eyes fill with a warmth you haven’t seen in twenty years, and your stomach flutters, your heart races. A part of yourself that you’d considered long dead seems to rouse.“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“I told Ellie we’d go to the mess hall together,” Joel says. “Otherwise I would.”

You blink once, and Joel sees it, immediately continuing on. “But maybe Ellie and I can come another time, join you and Ethan?”

“Yeah. He’d like that,” you say. “That might be nice.” ─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-June 20, 2024-

You think that at the end of a long winter, bears must hate coming out of hibernation.

It must suck. They spend months sleeping, doing almost nothing, and then suddenly they’re forced to function again – to hunt, to eat, to roam, to survive and socialize. You imagine there has to be a learning curve, a desire to crawl back into their den and never leave again.

Or maybe you could be wrong, and they love it. And you’re just a wimp who hates feeling uncomfortable.

All you know is that you’re huddled in the back corner of the Tipsy Bison, nursing a whiskey – and it’s the last place you want to be.

You’re overwhelmed.

And despite the fact that you regularly used to attend community events, it’s been so long since you've been out in Jackson that you feel like you don’t belong. To some extent, you’ve always felt this – too hardened by the outside world to fully assimilate, especially when the town throws dances. But in the past, you at least attempted to convince yourself otherwise.

Two weeks back, the doctors had cleared you to go about your daily activities as normal – within reason, of course – but you hadn’t exactly jumped at the opportunity. Tonight, Ethan had accused you of becoming ‘antisocial’ and ‘reclusive’. You had agreed to attend – but only to beat those allegations. So far, you are definitely not.

You scan the crowd, taking in the people spinning around the dance floor. Some of the women are wearing dresses. You can’t help but feel a little envious of how easily they’re able to perform femininity, which is something you’d given up on a while ago. It hadn’t exactly served you before arriving in Jackson, and you predict it would be humiliating to start trying now. After all the things you’d experienced, you were left marred with scars and wrinkles, stretch marks and loose skin. Since then, you’ve remained loyal to the combination of men’s denim and tank tops with flannel-button downs overtop.

It doesn’t always stop the men in the community from descending like vultures. You might be the last pick – there are plenty others who are younger and prettier – but you’re still an option. Bea, your old partner, had always theorized that some men were particularly drawn to sapphic women, that it was ‘the ultimate challenge’. Maybe there is some truth to her theory, but you like men….sometimes. So there is always a part of you that yearns for their validation, for as many times as you tell yourself you don’t want it. But it never feels good to get it after you’ve watched them exhaust all their other options.

It’s pathetic, but it makes you think of Joel. He and Ellie had been over to yours and Ethans last week for a nice dinner, and you had tried to gauge whether there was any romantic connection between you still. Occasionally, you’d caught him looking at you with a wistful smile, but he could have been lost in thought. It’s not like you needed that from him or anything, but it might be useful information. After all this time, Joel is still so handsome, and probably has an impressive selection of potential partners here in Jackson – women of all ages. You hope he’s not here tonight – you can’t see much besides the dance floor at this point – because the thought of him cozied up to anyone here, combined with the acrid taste of the drink in your hand, makes you want to gag.

You take another look around the room. Eugene, your partner in crime – quite literally – is walking towards you, which helps quell your spiraling mind . If you talk to him, say hello to Tommy and Maria, maybe Ethan will see the effort you’re making and you can sneak out without having to deal with anyone. It’s wishful thinking, but it’s worth a shot. The sooner you can get home tonight, the better.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel can’t stop staring.

He knows it’s impolite. He knows that he’s not being subtle. He knows that if any other person in this bar followed his eyeline, they’d pick up on what he was doing in an instant. But every minute he doesn’t get called out for it, he becomes more and more emboldened.

It’s the first dance he’s ever been to in Jackson, and the only reason he’s here is to placate Ellie and Tommy. But even they have abandoned him in favor of better companions – his brother is deep in conversation with Maria, sitting across from him in a booth, and Ellie is out on the dance floor dancing with one of her new friends, Dina.

Joel just can’t help himself. He still feels guilty for what he’s done, but he can’t shake the feeling of a soft hand clasped within his own – the first time he’d felt any semblance of hope since arriving here. Tommy and Maria had already slyly let him know about all the women who were interested, but he couldn’t bring himself to entertain their advances. There’s only one he wants, and she won’t even look in his direction.

When he’d first noticed you, you were whispering with Eugene on the opposite side of the dance floor. According to Tommy, you spend a fair bit of your time with the old man, which Joel initially thought to mean that you had some sort of entanglement. At first, Joel thought that couldn’t be possible. But you were deep in focus as you listened to Eugene’s words, nodding and leaning in closer and closer, and Joel thinks Tommy might be right. He wants to understand what you see in this man – tall and unkempt, covered in tattoos with long, graying hair and a beard to match. But Joel catches himself in his judgment, he’s probably just as unappealing – not just because of how he’s aged, but because of how horrible he’s been to you in general.

The next time Joel sees you, you’re at the bar, chatting with a man who Maria had introduced him to not long ago, a resident who is new in town. Joel had been too busy focusing on the fact that he’d been in Jackson long enough to not be its newest resident that he couldn’t remember his name. He wishes he had, so he could keep tabs on him. Of course, he can’t blame the man for being drawn to you – Joel knows very well that you’re hard to miss in a crowd.

Still, Joel bristles when you both step away from the bar, and the man’s hand lands just above your sacrum. He actually finds himself tensing up, resisting the urge to intervene, because it’d likely only make you angry. Plus, maybe you are interested. That question is answered quickly when you reach behind your to clasp the man's hand and place it back at his side. Where it belongs, he thinks.

“Joel!”

He snaps his attention to what’s in front of him – interrupted, and probably for good measure, lest he get himself too worked up. Ethan approaches with a girl his age, her arm linked through his. Joel stands to greet them.

The terse understanding between himself and Ethan while you were still in the hospital had somehow turned into a friendship, especially after they’d begun getting paired up on patrol. Ethan reaches out for Joel’s hand to dap him up, slinging an arm briefly over his shoulder.

“How’s it going, kid?”

“Good, good,” Ethan nods, pulling back, and gestures to the girl next to him. “Joel, this is Alex.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she says. “Ethan’s told me all about you.”

“Really?” Joel asks, feeling a little bewildered.

“Only good things,” Alex says quickly, as if she senses his apprehension. Ethan puts his arm around her waist. Joel recalls a few weeks back when he’d asked for advice on how to ask out a girl. Joel hadn’t pried at the time, but now he seems to understand, and is surprised by the swell of pride he feels. “Ethan says you’re a fucking badass,”she giggles after she swears.

Joel looks over at Ethan. “I don’t know about that.”

He shrugs, changes the subject. “Since when do you come to these things?” Ethan asks.

“Ellie dragged me out,” Joel answers.

“I did the same with my aunt,” Ethan chuckles. “But now I can’t find her, and I’m pretty sure she’s escaped.”

“Oh, is she here?” Joel plays dumb, like he hasn’t been aware of exactly where you have been all night. “I haven’t seen her.”

“I think she was with Eugene earlier,” Alex has to stand on her toes to speak into Ethan’s ear. Joel watches Ethan’s nose wrinkle.

“Do you know Eugene at all?” Ethan turns to Joel. “I’m trying to figure out what’s going on there, but she won’t say anything.”

Joel wishes that he had more information. “Tommy says they seem close.”

“I know that,” Ethan says. “I wish she would just be honest with me. It’s not like I would be mad. Whatever,” he shakes his head. “We can talk about it another time. I just want to find her so I can introduce her to Alex.”

“We should say hi to Tommy and Maria first,” Alex says, and Ethan nods in agreement before saying goodbye to him. Joel claps a hand on Ethan’s shoulder as he moves past him, and Alex gives him a shy smile in acknowledgement.

Focusing back on the crowd, Joel realizes that you’ve vanished in the short span of his last interaction. Maybe you’d rejected that guy, and then he’d retaliated. Maybe you’d gone home with Eugene. Joel shakes his hand. It’s none of his business. He doesn’t need to get involved. It’s not his job to look after you, regardless of how much better he feels when he does. Old instincts. He can’t help himself.

He settles on watching Ellie and Dina spin each other around on the dance floor. Eventually, Tommy and Maria, then Ethan and Alex all trickle out of the booth to go get another round or head to dance. Joel stands to release the booth to someone who actually needs it – and is left in the corner, nursing a nearly empty beer that’s now flat and warm. He looks towards his family and friends, but for some reason, he still feels alone.

Joel isn’t sure how long he stands sulking, but he starts when someone approaches from behind.

“Having fun?”

You’re a pace or two back, one thumb hooked through a belt loop, a whiskey in your opposite hand. Joel looks back at the crowd a moment, then at the ground. “No.”

“Neither am I,” you commiserate, stepping alongside him.

Joel considers offering that Ethan was looking for you, but selfishly does not want to give you a reason to leave, so he stays quiet. You observe the dance floor like he is, smiling slightly at the sight of Ethan and Alex dancing. The flannel you’re wearing over a gray tank hangs loosely off one shoulder, and Joel wants to reach out and touch the exposed skin. You take your last sip of whiskey, bring a finger to swipe under your bottom lip, and Joel wishes he knew what you might taste like right now. He scolds himself for fantasizing.

You don’t speak either, and you stand in silence for a while, until you eventually pop your hip, shifting closer to him. Maybe you don’t realize it, but you’re already standing so close that your arm gets pressed up against his. Neither of you acknowledge the contact, but Joel is acutely aware of how your skin burns hot against his own. He feels comforted by the affection, even if it’s unintentional.

“Want to leave?” Joel asks, and can hardly believe that the words came out of his mouth, even if he wanted them to.

You look over at him, not bothering to hide your surprise, but your expression evens out quickly, and you give him a single nod. “Yeah.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel’s still not convinced this is real. It feels too much like a dream, the weather outside is so pleasantly warm it feels like he’s floating as you walk down the street. He had never expected you to agree to leave with him, and now he doesn’t know what to do, or what to say.

The greater distance you put between yourselves and the bar, the quieter the town is. Most of Jackson’s residents are at the dance, save for the guards at the front gate and the handful of people that had been mingling just outside.

He heads in the general direction of the neighborhood, even though he lives on a different street.

“What are we supposed to do now?” you wonder out loud, and you sound a little incredulous, like you’re equally as shocked to find yourself beside him. The question carries a bit more weight than it would have coming from anyone else.

Joel contemplates. He’s not sure what he wants from you – there are a lot of things, actually – but he doesn’t know if he really deserves any of them. For now, your companionship is more than enough.

“You’re welcome to come back to mine,” he offers. “But if you’re looking to keep drinking, all the booze is back at the bar.”

“I’m good.” You shake your head like you’re uninterested, but look over at him with a sparkle in your eye. “I have something better….”

You reach into the pocket of your flannel and produce a rolled joint between two fingers, looking over your shoulder. “Those dances are usually terrible, so I always come prepared.”

Joel can’t help the chuckle that escapes him, and the sheepish grin he gets in return makes his cheeks feel warm. “Where’d you even get that?”

“You’ve never been on patrol with Eugene, have you?” you ask. “He has a place just out of town where he grows it. I’ve been helping him since we first got paired up, and in exchange, I get to sample the supply.”

Of course. Joel would’ve never imagined that was the reason you were so close with Eugene, but it suddenly makes incredible sense. He shakes his head in a combination of relief and amusement. “You really haven’t changed.”

“Oh, I’m sure I have,” you answer, smiling to yourself and looking at the ground. “But of course I haven’t shaken all my bad habits.”

“That’s not true,” Joel mutters.

“Well, you haven’t changed either, for as much as you’ve tried to convince me,” you nudge him gently, offering him the joint. “What do you think?”

Joel plucks it from between your fingers and puts it between his lips. “I think I have a lighter at home.”

“Sounds perfect.”

In the front hallway of his house, you slip out of your tennis shoes, shuffling behind him in your socks, pausing occasionally to study some of the doodles that Ellie had drawn and hung on the walls – it wasn’t exactly a priority to decorate these days, but they certainly livened up the place. He knows how much Ellie likes you, despite the fact that she doesn’t gush, but the odd comment here and there says as much. Joel remembers how difficult it had been to keep Sarah away, and Ellie now is no different. He doesn’t seem to be able to help himself, either.

You sit next to Joel on his wicker couch, curling your feet up under you as he lights the joint and study him while he takes the first few puffs. He does it without thinking. That’s how soft Jackson has made him. Normally, he’d be too stressed about being out of his wits. But he can’t see how hypervigilance has served him since settling down. He feels safe here, and somehow especially because he’s with you.

When he passes the joint your way, you look at him wistfully. “Old times,” you say with a grin.

Joel nods as he exhales, coughing. “Old times.”

“Oh yeah,” you say, as if you just remembered something. “You can’t tell Ethan about this. He doesn’t know, and he will give me shit about it. I need him to take me seriously.”

Joel shakes his head. “Well, you know, it sounds like he and Tommy both think you and Eugene are together.”

“What?” your head jerks forward in shock, eyes going wide. “Oh my god, no. Do people think that?”

“I’m just sayin’,” Joel wants to mention how he had seen you whispering to each other at the bar earlier, but then realizes it’d give a bit too much away. “That’s what they think.”

“Well....historically speaking I might’ve liked older men…. but not that old.”

Joel purses his lips. “You’ve lived here awhile, huh?” When you nod, he continues. “Has no one caught your eye?”

“Uhm….not really. But….” you trail off, looking into Joel’s backyard. “To be completely honest, I don't think about that much these days. I guess I feel like I have a lot to be grateful for. I don’t want to push it.”

Joel understands, and nods pensively.

“What about you?” you ask.

“I guess I feel the same.”

That causes you to smile a little bit, look over at him. “I bet you already know this. But the women here would line up down the block for you.”

Joel can’t help but roll his eyes, though he wonders if you would, too. Even if you did like him, that didn’t seem like your style.

“I’m serious. I’ve heard the things they whisper behind your back. All their fantasies about you are pretty creative...”

“Fantasies?” He grimaces. He imagines none of them know anything about who he really is. You’re the closest thing, and all he’s done is hurt you. “I’m sure you were quick to set them straight.”

“I don’t say anything,” you say, then continue on, a little quieter, looking at him from under your lashes. “I like to keep you to myself.”

Joel isn’t sure how to respond to that. You have every right to tell all of them that you were once together, and all the ways he’s hurt you since. Yet for some reason, you’ve chosen to protect him.

“So….all this time….” you wonder. “You had to have been with other people, right?”

Joel doesn’t think to hold back. “I had a partner for a long time. Tess. First, it was all business, I helped her smuggle things in and out of the Boston QZ…and then, I don’t know….we got along, we trusted each other and…” Joel trails off, hoping you’d put together the rest before he has to go into too much detail. “She was real fuckin’ tough. Scared me a little at first. You would’ve liked her.”

“Well, we already have one thing in common. What happened?”

“She’s the whole reason I ended up out here….with Ellie,” Joel explains. “But I lost her a little over a year ago.”

He hopes you don’t ask how. Maybe someday he’d be willing to go into detail, but talking about it generally is hard enough as it is. But fortunately, you seem to pick up on his hesitance. “I’m sorry, Joel,” you say softly.

He shakes his head. “I was an asshole. To her. I should've....after Sarah died I didn’t want to get attached, so I kept her at arms length and I... I wished I hadn’t in the end. It only made things worse.”

“Yeah,” you nod, look down. “I’ve made that mistake before.”

Joel doesn’t want to linger any longer on the memory. “What about you? Were you with anyone?”

“Uhm, yeah,” you fidget, looking uncomfortable. “I had a partner….for like ten years."

Ten years? He had been with Tess for more, but something about that information feels jarring. He’s shocked Tommy never told him this. Did Tommy even know? Suddenly, it dawns on Joel everything that could’ve happened to you since you’ve been apart. Entire lifetimes. And he’d said such horrible things when you’d fought. He remembers your face when he’d told you that you didn’t know what it was like to lose a child. Maybe you had. He’d been so cruel and inconsiderate just because he was uncomfortable.

His throat feels tight, almost scared to learn anymore. “What…what was his name?”

“Well, Bea….was her name.”

Joel is sure he doesn't hide the shock well. “Sorry, I didn’t know…”

“Yeah,” you say. “I don’t think I did either. Well, I sort of did, but I was too young I think when I first realized to make any sense of it, but…. I met her and…yeah,” then, you smirk. “I mean, I went to an all-girls school and I had a really bad relationship with my dad so…it definitely makes sense. ”

Joel considers this, smiles along with you. “But anyways. Her and I met shortly after my brother died and it was kind of the same. We kept each other alive, things developed from there. We ended up getting involved with this group who lived in the middle of nowhere. That’s a whole other story, but…” you wave your hand. “I loved her, and I lost her right before Ethan and I got here.”

Joel sees all the pain in your eyes, and wishes he could say something to take it all away. He knows he can’t. You look back out into the woods in his backyard, take a deep breath, and reach back towards the joint that you had put out not long before, lighting it again. Joel gets the sense that both of you had done the most amount of sharing possible for the time being.

“Look at us,” you take another drag before passing it over. “Old times.”

“Old times,” he repeats, a smile working its way onto his face.

“This used to be my favorite thing to do with you.”

“It was nice,” Joel agrees….hesitates before continuing. “But I can think of some things I liked better.” He gives you a knowing look, and you roll your eyes, laughing easily at his joke. It feels so good to make you laugh, to see you smile. Why had he spent so much time resisting?

“Touche.”

What happens next spills out of Joel so quickly he doesn’t think to stop it. “I tried to look for you….after all this happened. I didn’t have Sarah anymore, and I thought maybe….I don’t know. It was the only thing that kept me going for a while.”

“I did too,” you confess. “But…I was with Vincent and Ethan, and I felt like I couldn’t leave them alone for something that might just be…. I always hoped you both made it. And I’m so sorry she’s gone. I really did love her.”

“I know you did,” Joel reaches out to take your hand. “I know. And I shouldn’t have said those things I did. I’m still not sure why you’ve been so patient with me.”

“Hmm,” you shift so that you’re closer to him. “You waited around for me back then. It’s only fair that I’d wait around for you now. I want you in my life. I don’t care what that looks like. But it’s too hard to forget about a person that you loved.”

Joel wants as much from you as you’re willing to give, and he can’t tear his gaze away from you. But he wants you to see him, all of him, before he takes it.

“I’ve let a lot of people down. I’ve done a lot of h-horrible things,” his voice cracks, and tears well in his eyes.

“I have, too, you know? Those things still live with me. But I think what matters is who we are now,” you reach out, fingertips brushing the scar on his temple, and Joel swears that even if you don’t know the story behind it, you can see right through him. “And I know who you are.”

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have.”

“You won’t,” you say. “No more than anyone else has. And if it makes you feel better…when people hurt me, I’ve gotten pretty good at hurting them back.”

“If I do, I’d hope you would.”

“I will. I promise,” your thumb strokes his cheek, marveling at him. “I would suggest a blood oath or something but….I heard we kind of already did that…”

He’s given you every warning, every barrier, and you’re still here. He can’t believe it, and he doesn’t think he can hold back any longer. “Come here.”

He kisses you. He wishes that he could be slow and tender and gentle like he used to be – and certainly he’s still capable, but he realizes that he’s been depriving himself of something he wanted for so long, and can’t seem to control himself.

Your hands land on the side of his face, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. Maybe you’re somewhat taken aback by his urgency, you hum against his lips, but you don’t resist at all. Joel maneuvers you so you’re straddling his thighs, and he grips your hips, your ass, coasts his hands up your side. Your lips part in a moan, and he slips his tongue into your mouth.

For a while, he stays there, savors the taste of you, whiskey and smoke still lingering on your lips. His hands cup your jaw, feel your body, grip and squeeze and stroke and you let him, continue to let him. He tries everything, wondering if you’ll tell him to stop, if you’ll decide you’ve had too much, but you don’t. Then again, he should know by now that you’re a woman who knows what she wants. He just finds it’s hard to believe that he’s the thing you want.

You break away from him, just a little, and Joel presses his nose to your neck, kisses your pulse point.

“Should we go upstairs?” your voice is raspy and breathless. “Will Ellie be home soon?”

“Probably not for a while. We can be quick.”

“Hopefully not too quick,” you raise your eyebrows. Joel can’t help but laugh a little. He relishes in the way your hands rake up and down his arms, exploring him, touching him. Of course he wants you, but even just this would be enough. He’d be content with less, he hadn’t realized how starved of affection he’d been.

You’re able to pry yourselves off one another to make it up the stairs, and Joel guides you with a hand to the small of your back. When you get to his bedroom, he opens the door, but stops you before you go inside.

“Hold on,” Joel mutters, winding one arm around your waist, the other behind your knee.

“Joel, what-no, you’ll–” he pulls you into his arms.

“Do you really think I’m not strong enough?”

“I didn’t say that,” you chuckle as he carries you over the threshold and into the bedroom, breath puffing against him before he lays you down on the bed.

When he hovers over you, your fingers wind into his hair, nails raking against his scalp. He savors every sweet sigh he’s able to pull from you, hands cupping your breasts and squeezing your hips. You’re so pliant and open beneath his body, it makes it easier to not feel guilty about what he’s doing. He knows he shouldn’t feel guilty, you’ve said as much, but it might take some time before the feeling will die completely. Hopefully, he has enough time with you to see it off completely.

Clothes are removed quickly, intentionally, as you both bare more and more of yourself to each other. And while he wishes he could’ve been there to see the ways in which your body has changed, you’re still as beautiful as ever.

Joel, however, is hesitant to give himself away completely. When you tug at the hem of his shirt, he hesitates.

“I don’t know if-” he pauses. “If you want to see all that.”

“Joel,” you stare at him knowingly, kneeling across from him as he stands at the edge of the bed. “I do.”

So he releases your hand, and lets you pull it over his head. Carefully, you study him, his body littered with scars. He knows he’s not as in shape as you remember. These days, he hardly can look at himself in the mirror after a shower. He expects you to be disgusted, or at least see it flit across your face before you compose yourself, but you don’t. Your fingertips drag through the smattering of hair on his chest and down his torso, tracing several prominent scars – each one with a story – but you linger on the one at his abdomen, frowning.

He sees the question on your face, but you don’t ask it. Instead, you return to press yourself against him. “I’m so glad you’re still here….”

You kiss him, then, and Joel can only kiss you back.

Joel isn’t the only one with battle scars. Some of them he feels are his fault, but you seem less self-concious about them, which gives him a surprising amount of confidence. Maybe it’s just a reality of what happens when you make it this long.

When you’re finally bare beneath him, he admires how you look, stretched out and waiting, chest heaving and shivering with anticipation. He slides his hand between your legs – feels you already wet and warm, sinking two fingers inside. Your walls flutter around the intrusion, back arcing off the bed when you sigh out his name. Joel.

He’d forgotten how nice it felt to hear that.

Joel is already thinking about what he’d like to do to you next time. He’d be more careful, more patient. He’d bury his face between your thighs to see if you tasted as good as he remembers, he’d let your fingers curl into his hair. But right now you both seem desperate for the same thing.

He pumps his cock a few times with his hand, he can’t remember the last time he’d been this hard – the last time he’s wanted anyone this badly. Even with Tess, it had always felt like the both of them were hurrying to scratch an itch, her eyes would wander like she was thinking of other people, and maybe he was, too.

Joel lines himself up with your slick cunt, teases you a little, and you roll your body down to meet him, gasping when his blunt head slides in – just a little.

He can’t hold back. You practically suck him in, so tight and hot around him he finds it immediately overwhelming, but he doesn’t even think to pull out. Only when he’s fully seated inside you, and given you a chance to adjust, does he start to move.

It’s euphoric. You’re both older now, more mature, but he still remembers all the things you liked, even if it takes a moment for him to find the spot inside you that makes you cry out, legs wrapping around his hips.

Unlike before, you don’t bother trying to hide from him. You kiss him, hold him, touch him, look him in the eyes, tell him how good he feels – you don’t hold back. Joel relishes every word you say, clings to the praise and gives it back. Your lashes flutter when he tells you how pretty you look.

He can think of nothing else other than bringing you pleasure, can tell you’re getting close when you begin to rut against him, and he reaches down to let the pads of his fingers slide over your clit.

When you come, you whine his name, lock your lips with his own and he swallows your moans. The feeling of you so impossibly tight and wet and pulsing and squeezing him so tightly has him following closely after.

His head is still buried in the crook of your neck when you speak again. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

The second Joel pulls out, he starts missing how close he felt to you. But you fix that by rolling over onto your stomach, curling up at his side, head on his chest, and arm across his stomach.

“Joel. Fuck, you’re so perfect.”

He’s far from it. But he’s starting to think if you say it enough, maybe he’ll start to believe it. He turns his head to kiss you gently, slowly. “So are you.”

“We can do this again, right?” you ask.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, we can.”

“Good,” you settle back against him, and very slowly, he dozes off with you right beside him. He doesn’t want to sleep alone again, and luckily, he doesn’t have to.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-December 4th, 2026-

When you return home from patrol, you find Joel in his living room – boots off and socked feet propped on the arm of the couch. You don’t notice his eyes are closed, that he’s asleep, until you get closer, see the book he’d been reading resting on his chest as he snores lightly. You can’t help but feel for him – he’s probably exhausted from constant patrols, so he must be tired.

But mostly, you’re just overwhelmed by the love you feel for him, catching him in a quiet moment of vulnerability. Hesitantly, you reach out and squeeze his foot. It’s gentle and tender enough that he blinks his eyes open and looks around, taking in his surroundings, rather than jolting awake like he often does. When he sees you on the opposite end of the couch, he melts back into the pillow he’s propped against.

“Hey, stud,” you lean against the arm of the couch.

“Hey,” Joel answers, voice still gruff with sleep. “How long was I out?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I just got in.”

“Hmm,” Joel closes his eyes again, folds his hands across his stomach.

“You’re wearing the glasses I got you,” you point out. They’re simple. Rectangular black frames. You’d found them on patrol, and brought them home after Joel had been complaining that he could barely see when he read before bed. But he’d tried them on and insisted he hated the way they looked, so you’d ended up using them most of the time.

“They do work,” he grumbles, like he’s ashamed to admit it. “But I still think they look stupid.”

“You look like a sexy librarian,” Joel rolls his eyes, but you can tell he’s suppressing a grin. There’s always a bit of defiance about him, he can’t fully admit how you get him so flustered even after you’ve spent so much time together. You press your thumb into the arch of his foot and he groans. “That feel good?” you ask.

“Yes.”

“Whatcha reading?” You gesture towards the book.

“Some book about the moon landing,” Joel lifts it off of his chest, where it lay face down and open, looks at the back cover. “For Ellie.”

“How sweet.”

“It’s a little dry,” he deadpans. “But she likes this stuff.”

You shift your massage to his other foot. Joel stretches, his arms lifting above his head, the shirt he’s wearing rides up just so, so you see a sliver of his lower belly before it disappears again, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Are you tired?” you ask.

“Always,” he says through a yawn.

“Me too,” you yawn along with him, since they’re contagious. He pulls the glasses from their perch on the bridge of his nose and shuts the book, placing them both on the coffee table in front of him. You take your hands off his feet and he sits up a little straighter, holding out his hand.

“Come ‘ere,” he says, and you do.

He grunts as you settle into his arms, head nestled against his chest, sprawling out almost on top of him, the only way you both can fit like this on the couch.

“You’re so warm,” you say softly, letting him wrap his arms around you.

“You’re cold. Your hands are freezing,” he holds them in his own.

“It’s cold out.”

“Don’t know why you left today.”

“Obligations. Patrol.”

“Fuck that.”

You laugh into his chest, pausing for a moment before speaking again. “You know, I think we might be boring.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, we don’t really leave the house. We spend all day reading. And we’re old.”

“We’re not that old.”

“But we’re getting up there.”

“Sure, but…” Joel trails off.

“Everything’s so quiet, so calm.”

“I think that’s what most people would describe as content.”

“Are you content?” you ask, lifting your head to look him in the eyes.

“I’m happy,” he says softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ears. “Are you?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Then don’t worry about the rest.”

“Okay,” you settle back against your husband's chest, feel his lips brush your forehead.

His fingers search absentmindedly for the ring on your finger he’d found while clearing out a pawn shop not too long ago. The one he wore looked nothing like your own. But the marriage had been long overdue, and neither of you cared what the rings actually looked like.

Nowadays, you split your time between his place with Ellie, and your own with Ethan, but end up in his bed every night. At this point, you don’t think you could sleep without him.

Years ago, another lifetime, you’d had a conversation underneath a sky full of stars. You’d told him that for you, good things had never lasted. Joel had made a promise.

This will.

It took time. There was a lot of pain. But in the end, he had told you the truth.

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poisonous-lemonade · 1 year

Note

Yk who I am😈😈

Levi, Lucifer and Satan as ur sugar daddies but like rlly smutty😽

luv u😈

A/N: *Sigh* alright A/N2: This is my first post back, if you requested anything it will be done soon, I promise

The Boys, as Sugar Daddies

GN Reader

Lucifer

Okay, out of these 3, we know Luci is the most dependable

My man’s got the body, the age, and the money

Depending on how you act, you may or may not be treated VERY differently

But for now, let’s say you’re a cute, little lamb

Obedient even

At first, he would give you little gifts, maybe even some newer, more expensive, clothing that you did not need

And you would always thank him

Because of course, you did, what kind of person would you be if you didn't?

"Ah! Thank you! Fuck!" Lucifer chuckled, skillfully thrusting his fingers into your hole, slow and rough, your back arching off the bed when he curved his fingers in just the right spots to make you- "Fuck! Luci! Fuck fuck fuck!" You were close, and he knew that, and he was going to milk you dry for everything you have.

But no one is good forever

Maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t paying any attention to you

Maybe it was because you hadn’t gotten any new toys

What if you just wanted to be bad

And Lucifer understands

He really does

But that doesn’t mean he’ll allow it

No matter how much you beg

Leviathan

I see it

Levi is the type to joke about being a sugar daddy but is completely obvious when he becomes one

And he doesn’t start small

If you want anything, he’ll buy it for you, he’s just as bad as Mammon sometimes

Anything you want is yours

Just as long as nobody else does this for you

He, surprisingly, would be more into punishing you than one would think

And he’s harsh, and you wouldn’t ever want him mad

Would you?

"Levi! Fuck, please let's-" You're cut off when Levi's tail pulls you impossibly closer, his fingers still roughly shoved into your hole. "Oh, don't act all innocent now! You did that on purpose didn't you?" He teased, latching his lips on your neck like a parasite causing you to moan out. This is what you wanted. You did do it on purpose. "You can beg all you like, but it's not over till I say it over."

But let’s say you’re good for once

Don’t think you’ll be rewarded

That is expected from you

Do you think he buys you all those posters from the human realm just for you to be rewarded for something you should already do?

That’s not how it going to be, never ever

Well, sometimes

Satan

The ONLY one that came to ask you

Like, you are the only two to have an agreement

Like, Satan made you sign papers and made you read them so you know what you were getting into

If you ask him to buy you something that he deems you need, he’ll get it

But if you wanted something more expensive, that’s a round

And depending on how much, how long that round is

But, good for (some) you, he’s a romantic, so he’s quite soft

Satan groaned, holding you close to his chest as he fucks into you at a slow steady pace. "You okay love?" He asks, his voice gentle and soft like the hands that roam your body and you moan when he finally bottoms out. "Shhh, kitten, you're gonna be okay, just 2 more rounds, you'll be okay."

But he’s also really rough but doesn’t actively believe in punishment

Sure, sometimes he threatens you with it, but he would never

Maybe a light scolding is the worst he could do

Unless that’s what you want

Because he’ll do anything for you

I hope you have a blood kink or else this whole relationship will be very strange for you

#writing #headcanons #fanfiction #obey me shall we date #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me smut #spicy headcanons #Toxic_Lemon.original

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saintarmand · 2 months

Text

gonna post some screenshots from a particular user in the vampterview community and the users liking their garbage posts, just in case some of you haven't heard. should become obvious why i'm highly suspicious of anyone who interacts with any of these users.

please just read the posts. sorry i'm not providing image descriptions, please dm me if you need them and i'll add them when i can!

the first post is just one example one of many on this blog, the second one might seem innocuous if you see it on your own but in combination with the others, not so much. please pay attention to the people liking these.

then we have an anon complimenting the wisdom and maturity of this person, who then replied with several paragraphs:

and got likes from two of the same users and two others.

then they self reblogged one of the posts from earlier and continued:

obviously this last post is the most egregious, and not everyone is bold enough to press like knowing that likes are public and could affect their reputation in the fandom. but i am going to assume that the people liking the other posts, which weren't all in public tags, are this person's followers and have seen all the other posts and believe this kinda shit is acceptable. and that speaks volumes about them as people.

i'm personally not going to assume that everyone who's ever liked or reblogged from any of these users did it knowing what kind of people they are (i didn't always know that either, and have probably reblogged from at least one of them before i did) but i am highly suspicious of anyone reblogging from them or interacting with them in a friendly way, and if i see people i follow doing that, i am going to unfollow unless i have very good reason to believe they genuinely had no idea, in which case i will message first.

i hope none of my followers need me to actually explain why what they're saying is absolute garbage but if you genuinely don't get the problem, dm me and i can find you some links about racism 101 i guess

EDIT/UPDATE:

someone asks nalyra what's going on

she later adds this, linking to a post that links back to this very post you're reading right now

track you UNliking something? GIRL WHY DID YOU LIKE IT IN THE FIRST PLACE?

i do love how if you read this and don't bother clicking the link she sounds kind of reasonable, and even like she's taking accountability (she's not denying anything! she's linking to a source so people can judge for themselves!) just not SO much accountability that she'll actually say what she did. gotta click those links to find out, and let's face it, the majority of the people who see her post are simply going to assume she's being unfairly targeted again. i mean, she posts about it all the time! why bother even checking, it's not like she would ever link to, say, screenshots of her liking a post that says affirmative action is the only system of oppression based on race and anti-white racism is real

EDIT #2:

since it seems like i can't add more images here, i'm going to link to where i reblogged pretty-weird-ideas' post about this with another screenshot i took the same day, of nalyra liking yet another untagged post from cosmic

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cerezzzita · 7 months

Note

Hi, i saw you have your request open so here i go, requesting some hcs for Dante, Vergil and Trish having a short sweet-toothed s/o who also loves to bake.

notes: heeey there, anon! In advance sorry for the waiting, it took long enough but at least here we are! I hope you like it, because I surely did loved writing these headcanons, and with Trish being included? Better than ever!

Enjoy the reading and thanks for requesting! <3

⠀🍓 ˖ . ᵎᵎ Dante, Vergil & Trish with a short sweet-toothed S/O

♡ tags: gender-neutral reader, no use of pronouns (you/yours only), no description of reader's appearance, short!reader, use of petnames, three devils being soft af, Vergil and Trish might have been sorta ooc pardon in advance.

ⓘ gif's not mine!!

Dante

Perfect match, to be honest.

Calls you "shortcake" or "shortie" most of the time and if you're annoyed by that… he'll keep doing it, sorry. He loves you enough to annoy you as well.

Being as sweet-toothed as he is, no wonder he'll ask you constantly to make some desserts with strawberries or red fruits in general such as raspberries or cherries.

And please don't let Dante get one inch near the kitchen, this man will eat as many of the berries plus he's catastrophic at cooking.

At least let him add some of the ingredients and mix them together here and there, he'll be satisfied and happy enough.

He'll eat the batter when you're not looking, by the way.

Still on the ingredients topic, doesn't this bitch (affectionately) loves when you ask him for help to reach something you can't? He's all smugly smirks, towering you with that huge figure of his and in the best of the cases, lifting you so you can reach it by yourself.

Dante's personal favorite dessert made by you became The Devil's Cake, but instead of being fulfilled of chocolate only, there's lots and lots of strawberry jam and fresh strawberries on top of it.

Late night munchies are a must! You two can and will be watching whatever series or movies while cuddling and devouring almost all of a whole damn bakery because Dante has a black hole instead of a regular stomach.

Saw a recipe for dessert pizza once, got obsessed with it, asked you to make it, you made it, he's even more in love with you.

"Babe, you're a sweetheartie. A candy angel, I love you so much," said Dante, mouth full of sweet pizza and eyes full of tears of joy and passion.

ⓘ gif's not mine!!

Vergil

Vergil strikes me as a cinnamon roll enjoyer. That's it, that's the post.

But really, I don't think he has a sweet-tooth or enjoys sugary foods that much. He likes it, sure, but at moderate bits.

Unlike Dante, he does not make fun of your height… Yet he finds it quite endearing.

Calls you "little bird". Let me have him be affectionate and lovely for a sec, okay?

Vergil also gets worried by the amount of sugar you consume.

"You'll get plenty of cavities if you keep eating desserts at that level."

He helps you with your recipes too. I'm kinda sure that Vergil knows a thing or two in the cooking field, correct me if I'm wrong (I am wrong).

As previously said, he likes more, hm, refined flavors, such as cinnamon and vanilla and if you're baking cinnamon rolls, count him on it!

Don't ask Vergil to chop the ingredients unless you want him to put on a show about it.

If you like drinking tea, you better prepare a bunch of sweet treats because you're having regular, calm silent tea evenings ft. Vergil and his poetry book.

ⓘ gif's not mine!!

Trish

Oh my, what can I say about Trish?

She's not a sugary-sweet person. Instead, she's mostly on sour candies and neutral fruits field.

With that being said, I hope you're ready to constantly bake lemon pies and banana cakes.

Trish does not know how to cook for her dear life, she prefers watching you instead and maybe teasing you along with it.

"Trish, I could use a little hand." "Pardon me if I can't help but think you're all cute on your own, sugar."

Speaking of teasing, this devil surely knows how to make you fluster with her little comments about your height, but of course, always keeping it comfortable enough to not get you mad or sad.

"Need some help there, honeypie?" "My, if you ever get trouble reaching that shelf, you need to wear some of my heels."

And although Trish is not your sous chef, she is certainly your personal tasting critic, which is an advantage mostly to her.

"So, what do you think?" "Hm, I liked the caramel on top of the fruit, and it's sour just in the way I love. It's a ten out of ten, honey."

Brought you some silly clothes like sweaters and shirts with some candy motif and oh, sure, fruity flavored lip gloss.

Anything for her honeybun~

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abitterboy · 8 months

Text

Our Secret: Part Three

Summary: Jisung has a crush on his best friend’s girlfriend.

(Part One and Two are on my page, please read them before you read this!)

Pairing: Minho x Reader, Minho x Jisung

Genre: Smut

Word Count:3.1K

Warnings: rough sex, bxb, choking, hair grabbing, degrading, spitting, name-calling, teasing, slapping, humiliation, dubcon, oral, throat fucking, mention of watching people have sex, cum swallowing, fingering, anal, no protection, begging, orgasm denial, crying due to overstimulation,

This is a repost because for some reason my followers couldn’t see the original post 😭 Tumblr is plotting my downfall istg anyway pls enjoy!!!

He didn’t know what to think. When did that camera get there? What had Minho seen? Did you know about the camera? Was Minho spying on you because he suspected you to be cheating on him or has he just been watching you this whole time without your permission? He’s never thought of Minho as the type to stalk his partner but there was no way you were okay with that camera being there. Unless you were. Fuck. Were you trying to get caught? No, that would make no sense since you were the one that wanted to keep this a secret. Jisung’s head was spinning with confusion as he held the phone in his hand. Shit, he still had the phone in his hand and Minho could wake up at any minute. He quickly exited the app and closed the phone, he flushed the toilet in case either of you were awake and turned the water on to “wash his hands.” Jisung slowly crept out of the bathroom to find Minho awake on the couch and quickly walked to the table to place the phone down smoothly.

“Hey, Jisung?”

Jisung stopped in his place and closed his eyes in fear.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“I’m gonna carry them to the room would you mind opening the door? I don’t want them to wake up because of the movie but I still want us to finish it.”

Jisung cursed under his breath hearing that Minho wanted to finish the movie. He had hoped he could escape before either of the two had woken up and talk to you in the morning to find out what you knew about the cameras.

“Yeah, sure.”

Jisung walked towards the room as Minho carried you bridal style. He placed you on the bed and covered you with a blanket before kissing you on the forehead. He walked out past Jisung and went to sit back down on the couch. Jisung saw your foot move and slip out under the blanket and went to cover your foot with it. He looked down at your figure under the blanket and his worries softened but the moment he heard the movie start back up they engulfed him again. His nerves were a wreck and now he had to sit calmly with Minho and watch a movie. Fuck.

Jisung exited the room and made his way to the living room. He didn’t even fully make it to the couch before Minho spoke.

“They’re so pretty even when they sleep aren’t they?”

Jisung's body tensed upon hearing Minho's words from the couch. Minho kept eye contact with the TV, which was in the opposite direction of Jisung as he spoke and the younger stood frozen. He had no idea how to answer him.

“I- uh-“

“You’re pretty when you sleep too, Jisung.”

Fuck. He knew. Minho knew and now Minho knew that Jisung knew. Fuck.

“Haha, that’s uh- that’s such a weird thing to say.”

He tried to act innocent but he knew it wouldn’t work. Minho finally faced Jisung.

“I wonder if you think I’m pretty too?”

Every sentence that left Minho's mouth made the younger boy nervous but this one caught him off guard. What did he mean by that?

“Minho I-I’m sorry I don’t understan-”

“Don’t lie to me, Jisung. You know I hate liars. Sit. Sungie”

The name was said teasingly and bitterly. It fell off his tongue with venom. Jisung knew the least he could do was listen. He had obviously fucked up and would accept anything Minho said to him.

“I know you fucked them, Jisung. I’ve seen it all. Every time you go over there, I see you fuck her. How could you do this to me? How could you lie for so long?”

“Minho I’m so sorry.”

“No, you aren’t don't lie to me with a fake fucking apology. You aren’t sorry. I saw the way you fucked her. Heard the way you spoke to her. You loved every second of it. Was I even a thought in your mind?”

“Yes Minho, of course I thought of yo-”

“Good.”

Minho’s straight face turned upwards into a crooked smile. Jisung's confusion was apparent on his face.

“Then what did you think of? Was it only thoughts of me finding out or was there more?”

He couldn’t believe Minho was asking him this and not yelling at him or beating him to a pulp. This was not how he thought this would go. His eyes shifted anywhere but at Minho and Minho didn’t like that. He grabbed Jisung's face and made their eyes lock with one another.

“I’m guessing there was more. Not just guessing, I know there’s more. I know because on the days I fuck them, you take your time with certain things.”

Minho's face crept closer and closer to Jisung’s. His voice lowered and turned into almost a whisper.

“You suck on every spot I suck on, you bite every spot I bite. You put your hands on her waist when I leave bruises on them and eat her out longer after she's told you I ate her out earlier that day. You savor her more when you know I’ve just touched her. Now some might think that’s all out of jealousy but I think it’s for a different reason. Am I wrong, Sungie?”

The boy shook under Minho’s gaze. The close proximity of Minho's smirking face and Jisung's nervous one gave him a strange feeling. A feeling he only ever really had with you. He wasn’t just regular nervous, he had butterflies in his stomach.

“Minho, I-I’m confused. What are you saying?”

He tried to look away from Minho but the grip he had on his face only allowed him to shift his eyes. Minho sighed and rolled his eyes. He gently ushered his face to the side his eyes weren’t looking, demanding the return of Jisung’s gaze

“I want you, Jisung.”

His heart almost fell out of his chest. Jisung sat in disbelief at what was just said, questioning everything he knew or thought he knew. Years ago, when Jisung first met Minho, Jisung had developed feelings for his friend but knew he would never feel the same way as Minho was straight so he moved on as best as he could. He dated a couple of other people but those relationships never lasted longer than a couple of months. He didn’t really like anyone as much as he liked Minho until you came along. Your existence alone helped him cope with his hidden emotions and helped him forget. It was a beautiful tragedy to see the two of you together and Jisung just had to sit and watch. He detached himself as best as he could and thought he would die alone until you let him in your apartment that night.

“I wanna fuck you the way you fuck her.”

Minho’s lips pressed against Jisungs and the roughness caused the younger to melt right into his friend’s hands. Minho roughly pulled away and wrapped his hand around Jisung's neck, throwing him down onto the couch before towering over him.

“I’d be a lot nicer but you deserve to be punished seeing as you did fuck my girlfriend.”

Minho crashed his lips back onto Jisung and Jisung's shortness of breath caused him to gasp into Minho’s motions. Minho didn’t seem to care and shoved his tongue down his throat, deepening the kiss.

“I know you like choking her, how does it feel to be the one getting choked?”

Jisung let out a whimper, not wanting to admit liking the pain of MInho’s hand around his throat. Minho’s gaze darkened and his playful and lustful demeanor shifted into a more serious one. He grabbed Jisung's hair harshly and pulled brutally. His gasp was cut short when Minho spit abruptly into his mouth, causing him to slightly choke on the saliva.

“Answer me, Slut”

“I like it.”

Minho smiled viciously.

“Don’t tell me you like it, tell me you fucking love it.”

Jisung recognized his phrase to you and knew Minho was teasing him but he couldn’t help but feel his dick strain in his pants.

“I love it, Minho.”

“Good boy.”

You called him that. Fuck. Minho definitely knew what he was doing and how to work Jisung up. Minho's hand tightened against Jisung's throat as he kissed him again. This time Jisung attempted to tug Minho’s shirt up but was greeted with a slap to his hand.

“I’m punishing you, you only get what I say you get when I say you get it.”

Minho started running his hand over Jisung’s bulge causing the younger to squirm.

“On your knees.”

Minho's command caused Jisung to slide to the floor and get down on his knees, anticipating what was to come next.

“Actually strip. I want to see you naked.”

The younger's wide eyes met with the elder's cold lustful gaze and he instantly stood and started stripping himself of his clothes. When he got to his boxers, he hesitated. Minho grabbed him by the back of the neck, forcing his standing body to bend and come face-to-face with the other.

“I said strip. Are you deaf? Strip!”

Jisung carefully removed his boxers, allowing his dick to present itself in front of Minho. Minho looked at it and chuckled a little to himself.

“She must really like you if she lets you fuck her with that when she has me.”

Jisung looked away slightly in shame but for some reason wasn’t embarrassed. The comment caused his dick to twitch and Minho laughed again with that vicious tone of his.

“You’re so fucking pathetic. First, you fuck a guy's partner and then you get off to that guy telling you his dick is bigger than yours. Get down on the ground, slut. You’re gonna see what you’ve been competing with this whole time.”

Minho motioned for Jisung to undo his pants. Jisung got to work and slowly removed his friend's baggy pants. They certainly didn’t do him any justice because in them, his bulge was only half visible but now in just his boxers, Jisung could tell what Minho meant. Minho was huge. Both the thickness and length of his cock surpassed Jisung’s. The younger slowly took off Minho's boxers and threw them to the side. Jisung was about 7 inches fully hard but Minho right now was closer to 9. His eyes widened as it stood in front of him. Minho proudly wrapped his hand around the base before pumping himself a few times.

“You just gonna stare? Go on, suck it. If you don’t, I’ll have to fuck your face instead.”

Jisung still sat there frozen and Minho smiled maliciously, taking this as Jisungs consent to let him fuck his mouth. Minho grabbed Jisungs hair and forced him onto his cock. Jisung closed his eyes, bracing for impact as Minho thrusted as much of his dick as he could get into the smaller boy's mouth. Jisung slightly choked and thanked the heavens for his barely existing gag reflex because he would’ve thrown up otherwise due to the force Minho used on his first thrust. Minho let Jisung breathe and then continued thrusting into the other’s mouth, using Jisung’s hair to guide his head to match the pace he set with his hips. Drool pooled in Jisung's mouth and dripped out onto his chest and thighs, causing him to look messy and Minho couldn’t help but be even more turned on at the sight.

Seeing the guy who fucked his girlfriend now getting degraded was so hot. He had spent so much time getting off to the videos of Jisung fucking you and now he was able to fuck Jisung the way Jisung fucked you. Minho was somewhat of a cuck but to Minho, it was more than just watching you get fucked by someone else. He liked watching his friend fuck you of course but he also liked the idea of punishing both of you. You for your “unfaithfulness” and Jisung for his lies. He knew from the beginning what was going on as he was the one who suggested it and since that first night, he’s incorporated it into your sex life every time you and Jisung fucked. He would punish you as he played the video of you getting fucked, scolding you for being so dirty with another man. He was so glad to be able to finally punish Jisung but would have to wait to punish him the way he punished you for another time.

Minho’s pace was ruthless and Jisung couldn’t keep up. Minho slapped Jisung every time he slowed down and Jisung whimpered as he fixed his pace. Soon Minho was close to his release.

“Sungie be a good boy and take this cum down your throat.”

Jisung nodded and hummed in agreeance and Minho took the opportunity to let his load rush down the younger's throat. Jisung swallowed all of it and pulled himself off of Minho with a cough before showing his tongue to show Minho how good he had been for him. Minho spit in Jisung's mouth before instructing the boy to get on the couch on all fours.

“Stretch yourself out for me Sungie, but don’t you dare fucking cum.”

Jisung nervously stuck his fingers in his mouth and sucked on them before reaching around and teasing his hole with one of his digits. He eased one in and stretched himself slowly as Minho sat behind him and watched with his dick in his hand. Jisung’s second finger made its way in and then his third. He started thrusting his fingers into himself faster, getting off not only on the feeling of them stretching him out but also knowing Minho was watching him do something so dirty. He tried to hide his moans but they escaped his lips and made their way to Minhos ears, causing him to move his hand up and down his dick, jerking himself off behind Jisung.

“You ready?”

For the first time that night, Minho’s tone wasn’t lustful or rough. He wanted to make sure he didn’t hurt Jisung too bad and if he tried to fuck him before he wasn’t ready he knew it would hurt the smaller boy.

“I am. I’m ready I want you so badly.”

Minhos hand sharply smacked across Jisungs ass and caused the younger to yelp.

“Then beg, slut.”

His tone returned with those words and Jisung whimpered as he kept fingering himself. Minho grabbed Jisung's hand and forced him to stop. He knew Jisung’s absence of his fingers would make him feel empty and force him to beg for Minho’s cock and it worked.

“Please Minho fuck me, I need you!”

“Oh, I will.”

Minho aligned himself up with Jisung’s hole before spitting down to further lubricate him. He slowly slide in his dick until he got past the rim. Jisung’s whimpers turned Minho on more and more and he happily lost control. With one quick thrust, Minho bottomed out in Jisung and the younger boy moaned out loudly. Minho was tempted to still and let Jisung adjust but knew he couldn’t; this was a punishment after all. His pace was vicious from the beginning, slamming into Jisung so hard that his entire body jolted forward. Minho’s hands gripped Jisung’s small waist and slammed into him at full force. Jisung felt his body shaking under him and knew without Minho’s hands around his waist he would've fallen just from the force Minho used. Jisung’s climax was approaching and his blaring whines let Minho know exactly that.

“Are you gonna cum, slut? You wanna cum?”

He spoke through his thrusts and Jisung could only let out sounds in an attempt to respond with a yes. Minho released one of his hands from the younger's waist and used it to grab his hair, roughly forcing his head up and back causing a moan to erupt from him.

“Come on use your voice. I just heard it loud and clear moaning like a slut so I know you can.”

“Y-yes I-ah I wanna cum!”

Minho released Jisung’s hair and laughed.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Jisung was so close to his limit and Minho’s brutal pace was torture knowing he couldn’t cum. Seeing Jisung squirming under him and hearing his desperate pleas, Minho decided to grab Jisung’s dick harshly and hold it with a firm grip, denying him access to his release. Jisung cried out and Minho laughed as his dick continued ruining his friend.

“I cum first. Remember, you only get what I say you get when I say you get it.”

Tears flooded Jisung's eyes and ran down in streaks. He hadn’t even came yet but felt so overstimulated under Minho’s touch. It was almost too much to bear but lucky for Jisung, Minho was close.

“F-fuck take my cum, slut.”

With that, Minho came inside of him and released his grip from Jisung’s dick, causing him to cum on the spot. Upon being released by Minho, Jisung collapsed and Minho sat back. Both sat in the sound of panting and the smell of sex for a couple of minutes before Minho got up and walked to the bathroom to grab a rag to clean up Jisung. He came back, wiped him off, and gave him a kiss on the lips and then his forehead before going to put the wash in the laundry. Jisung was caught off guard by these actions but then remembered that this was in fact Minho. Minho had always taken care of both you and him so it made sense he would be gentle and loving with aftercare. Upon returning, Minho spotted a sleepy Jisung and smiled. He helped Jisung get into his boxers, stepped into his own, and then carried the younger boy to the room. While carrying Jisung, he whispered to him.

“You did so good Sungie, but don’t think you’re off the hook yet.”

He placed Jisung next to you on the bed, tucked him in the same as you, and left the room to go clean the mess on the couch. Jisung snuggled up against you and you giggled at him.

“Who knew you could be such a fucking bottom?”

Hey guys! Don’t worry this isn’t the last chapter I am gonna write one more for the finale so look forward to that! I’m so glad so many people are enjoying this story and are following it and I’m so grateful for everyone that likes, comments, and reblogs. It’s really motivating and makes me look forward to writing every time I do so.

Part 4 coming soon!

#skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #han jisung smut #cheating skz fic #skz #lee minho smut #lee know smut #han jisung #lee know #minsung smut #minsung #bxbkpop #please let this work

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obxone · 8 months

Text

All In My Head (Part Three)

Edited-ish. ~2k words. (Post Season 3. If you haven't watched, don't read it unless you like spoilers!)

(Part One) (Part Two)

As you knock on the door of Tanneyhill, you close your eyes and replay the conversation that brought you here in the first place. You should have fought harder against the pogues and their brilliant idea to send you to face Rafe Cameron.

“I’m telling him?!” Your eyes bulge out of your head. Anxiety punches through you, and you look at Sarah in alarm. “Why me?! He is your brother!"

“Because he will listen to you! Please do this,” she pleads. Her hands are gripping your upper arms tightly. “Rafe is not going to be okay when he finds out, and it should come from someone he cares about as much as he does Ward.”

Your mouth is dry as you try to process what she is saying. “He knows all of you. And again, you are his sister. He cares about you,” you offer weakly, knowing you are the only option out of the seven of you. “Fuck!” You groan, head falling back as you stare at the ceiling of the rental that Ward had given her before he died. “Fine! But if I’m not back in 48 hours, then you better hope I’m still alive.”

“48 hours?!” Cleo cocks her head.

You rub your forehead. “Yeah… it’s Rafe. I’m not leaving Tanneyhill for at least a day once I tell him. He'll want every detail, and if Sarah is right, then he is not going to let me walk away since I'm the last thing he cares about."

John B shrugs. “Fair.”

You side-eye him as you grab the backpack that has your stuff jammed into it. A small part of you hopes someone will speak up, and tell you not to go, but no one does. It is you that has to do this. “See you guys soon?"

JJ’s body blocks yours from exiting the room. “Be careful, okay?”

You nod, and he slides out of the way as you swallow your fears while bracing yourself to face Rafe and deliver the news that the man he idolizes is no longer alive.

“You’re back?” Rafe leans against the door frame. Curiosity in his gaze as you snap back to reality.

“Can I come inside?” You ask, aware that he already suspects something is amiss.

He lifts his arm higher and pushes the door wider, allowing you to slip under his arm and exhale as you cross the foyer. You step into the main house and drop your bag by the door.

“Something to drink?” He asks while he passes you heading for the kitchen.

You follow him. Your hands are clasped around your arms as you hug yourself around the waist. “We need to talk.”

He glances at you as he pulls down a drinking glass and goes to the fridge. “About what?” He pulls out a soda can and looks at you after putting ice in the glass. “Like why you are back, but I haven’t heard from my dad…” He pops the tab on the can and begins to pour it into the glass. His steely gaze finds yours. “Rose called… looking for him.”

Worry increases inside of you. Rose… Wheezie… they do not know either. You inhale sharply and brace your hands against the marble countertop. The surface is cool under your sweaty palms.

Rafe crosses the distance and sets the cup by your hand before his fingers weave through your hair, and he tips your head back, leading you to look at him. “Is that why you are here?”

You bite your lip before nodding your head. “Yeah.”

He leans down, his breath fanning over your face. The look in his eyes becomes something predatory. “What happened, y/n?”

You inhale, wanting to touch him. To soothe your hands over his chest and brace him for the revelation barreling in his direction. This will ruin him. He will never forgive the pogues and you. You know him. And in his opinion, the blame will belong solely on all of your shoulders.

“He’s gone, Rafe.”

He watches you for a second. His gaze shifts over your face, trying to understand you. “I know, I put him on the plane, remember? I-it… It was safer for him to go.”

“Rafe…”

His fingers tighten around your hair before his touch vanishes completely, and he turns away from you. His shoulders tense, and his arms flex as he drags his hands over his buzzed head. He stalks to the edge of the kitchen tile before spinning, and you see the tears in his eyes. Then the shift to rage happens before you can even blink. He crosses the room in quick long strides. His fingers wrap around your throat, and he shoves you against the kitchen counter. The hard edge bites into your lower back, and you gasp sharply in surprise.

“What happened?!” He shouts, tears rolling down his cheeks. “What did you do to him?!”

“Rafe!” Your hand wraps around his wrist, nails biting into the soft underside of his wrist, your other hand fisting his polo as he tightens his grip. “You’re hurting me!”

“You killed my dad!”

“No!” You shake your head. “No, Rafe. Please…” You squeeze his wrist. “Please, Rafe, let me explain.” Tears collect in your eyes, and your heart breaks as he crumbles before you. A hollow rage storming in his eyes. “Please! I would never!”

“Those fucking pogues!” He roars, shaking with rage, then his touch disappears, and you crumple to the ground.

Gasping for air as you touch your neck, you realize how bad this is about to become. Your neck will likely bruise. Your heart races in your chest, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You should get out, and leave Rafe to deal with his grief before he hurts you again. But then you look at him and he is still the man you fell in love with, despite his mistakes, and he is the man you promised to come back to.

“What happened?” He stands against the counter. His hands push harshly down on the countertop until his skin is stark white and red around his knuckles and wrist from the pressure he is forcing into the marble instead of around your neck.

“I can go into detail when you are ready." You murmur. "But for now, you should know he did it to save Sarah." Rafe does not turn to look at you, but his shoulders tighten with your words. "There was a struggle with Singh. He followed us into the jungle, and his man threatened us after Singh died. He was going to kill Sarah. The one from the compound, and…” Your hand finds his back, but he shrugs you off, storming away but staying within hearing range. “Rafe… Your dad sacrificed himself for Sarah.”

Rafe shakes his head, pressing his fingers to his chest, while tears spill over again. “No. He wouldn’t do that. H-he wouldn’t do that!”

You frown, wiping at your own tears. “For Sarah, he would. Deep down, you know that. I know you don’t like or trust your sister, Rafe, but for Sarah… Ward would’ve done anything for her. He would have done this for you or Wheezie had it been either of you instead of Sarah. He did it. He took out Singh's man and saved Sarah."

He nods, wiping at his face before turning away from you. “All right. Then why isn’t she here telling me herself?”

“Because she’s scared of you.”

He snorts in disbelief.

“You did just have your hand around my neck…” You fade out as he turns to look at you. His gaze flickered to the red marks on your neck. “I’m fine, it’s fine. But there is a reason it is me and not her.”

He looks down at the floor. “You’re telling me the truth, right?”

“Yes.”

He is quiet, and you frown, wanting to wrap him in your arms and hold him together. This is not how you pictured coming back to him.

"The guy had a gun pointed at us. He threatened to kill us all." You whisper and cross a portion of the space between you. "He was going to shoot Sarah, so Ward rushed him and was shot. They fell from a cliff."

Rafe winces and you sigh, touching his bicep. Your fingers curl around the muscled width as your forehead falls to press against his back. "I'm sorry, Rafe, but he died protecting us. If he hadn't... if Ward hadn't done what he did, none of us would be here. You would be without a father and a sister."

"And you?"

You exhale, squeezing his arm. "And me."

“Does Rose know? Wheezie?”

"No," you whisper, dragging your other hand over his shoulder and neck. “Someone needs to tell them.”

“All right,” he murmurs, wiping his cheeks. “Okay. Okay.”

“I can ask Sarah to do it if you prefer,” you whisper, continuing to try and soothe him with your touch. “I can go get that done now…”

“Stay tonight,” he says, turning to look at you. Your hands fall away from him as he digs his phone out. His gaze locked on you for a moment. “Please?”

“I’ll stay.”

He nods. “I’m going to call Rose.” He moves closer, and you brace yourself for any sudden change in his behavior. His fingers skim across your cheek. “I'm the man of the house now. I'm... in charge of our family now. I have to do this."

"Okay."

"Wait for me upstairs.”

Some of the tension leaves you even though it is not a question. “Sure.”

He steps into Ward’s office and closes the door, his eyes on you as he puts the phone to his ear until the doors close.

You exhale and fish out your phone to send the pogues a quick message, before going upstairs as he asked. You spot his suitcase on the floor of the primary suite and sit on the edge of the bed after toeing off your shoes. You look around the unfamiliar space. Rose and Ward’s pictures still litter the room. You spy their clothing in the closet still. After pulling your knees up to your chest, you rest your chin on the top of your knee to wait for him.

It is dark, the sun having set before the sound of Rafe on the stairs reaches your ears. You turn your head to look at him as he comes in. The weight of the world is on his shoulders.

"Are they okay?"

He shakes his head, sniffling a little before shutting the door. You exhale, watching him with concern. He is quiet and seems to still be processing Ward's death.

He looks at you, watching you before he tugs his t-shirt up while moving closer. You reach up and help him pull it off before throwing it near his suitcase. His mouth is on yours, and you groan, tasting expensive scotch on his tongue.

"I promised to get my shit together," he mumbles against your lips. "You know, I really wanted to."

"And you can."

A sad laugh leaves him as he drags his mouth across your jaw and down your neck. "Can I?"

"Yes," you whisper, stroking your fingertips across the back of his head. His lips press to your collarbone and shoulder.

"Barry should still be awake..." He starts to move away from you, but you clamp your thighs around his hips and lock your arms around his neck.

"No!" You press your forehead against his. "Please don't. Stay with me, Rafe. Use me. Use me as much as you need. Not... cocaine. Me."

He watches you before grimacing. You cup his face, brushing your lips across his.

"I love you, Rafe. Use me."

He blows out a breath, and then you kiss him. You pour everything you felt after the plane left the tarmac into that kiss, and he groans, his body falling into yours, and your back meets the mattress.

-------

As always, feedback is welcomed, just remember to be kind. Please feel free to like, reblog, comment, or send an ask if you want. Happy Reading.

Let me know if we want this to continue and if you want to be added to a tag list.

#outer banks #obx #rafe cameron #outer banks rafe cameron #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n

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laurzzz · 1 year

Text

Introducing... *drum roll*

The Greatest Showman AU! In which I now name as "What's Written in the Stars" (WWITS, for short)

Context at the bottom of each pic! (CW: Violence)

Also, will give more info on what I'm planning to do with this AU at the very bottom (after the cut) so read the full thing please :D

Assistive Care Attendant / Trapeze Act Sun: Each clothing design is for specific phases of the plot. The one with the apron is whilst Sun is still with his owner (him and Moon). The apron get-up is the male robots' default clothing after having been manufactured to become assistive robots for the rich— ofc with different colours that fit the scheme of the robot. The one on the left is showcasing his first time joining the circus, having almost stabbed in the faceplate seconds later by you, Y/N (unintentionally). And, the one on the top is him, a year into joining the circus.

Assistive Care Attendant / Trapeze Act Moon: Each clothing design is for specific phases of the plot. The one where he is tied up is when the Afton virus took hold of his programming having almost killed the father of the children that he and Sun are giving care to. The one on the right is where he's finally gotten the virus at a more stable control through your help and was finally allowed to perform overnight in the circus. And ofc, the one on the top is what he wears when performing.

Laundry Worker / Knife Throwing Act Y/N: I tried to make your design as androgynous as I could I hope I didn't butcher that. Anyhow, you carry a lot of trauma and painful experiences in this plot as an immigrant, orphan, and a very obvious person-of-color, you aren't always welcomed in where you live but you do have good people who took you in after your parents were brutally murdered as a child. You now work in your rescuers' laundry shop— well, not until you joined the circus.

My plans for this AU?

Currently the chapters are in the works, I'm writing Chapter 1 down as this gets posted. My goal is only a total of 5 (long, and will be divided into and released per parts) chapters for the entire plot.

I will also try (emphasis on try) to make a few storyboards I had in mind for this AU, y'know just to make things more interesting. More designs will be showcased sooner or later, as this AU is not only applicable to you and the Assistive Care Attendants (ACA) but also the other main bots of the canon plot of security breach.

Oh also! If you're not familiar with or haven't seen The Greatest Showman just yet, you don't have to see it to understand this AU. This AU can honestly be seen as a standalone AU where you live in the 1850s-1860s and technology started booming because of Fazbear Co (run by Henry Emily, William's co-founder in the canon series; William Afton will have a bit of a different role in the AU) and all that jazz. But unless you don't want spoilers for The Greatest Showman, don't learn more about this AU since it contains A LOT of references, plots, and designs similar to what's portrayed in the movie. Otherwise, have fun getting to know this when I release the first part of the first chapter and so on! :D

This might be one of the biggest things I'll ever make and I'm glad I got these ideas just as the new year is arriving. At least I know what my new year's resolution will be lmao. I hope you guys tune in for more! I have so much love and so much in store for this AU— so much!

Thanks for reading, love you <3

Ps. I rarely say this but reblogs > likes

I appreciate them both btw! I just think it's better for yalls to spread this around so some people who might enjoy this AU would get to see it evolve over time :)

#the greatest showman au #moondrop #sundrop #y/n x sundrop #y/n x moondrop #fnaf security breach au #wwits #laursdraws

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malichev · 4 months

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Attention: This publication has sensitive topics, talking a little about the current situation of CC Forever and my position in relation to future posts. If you don't feel comfortable, please skip it.

------------------------------ I confess that, because I wasn't on Twitter VERY much, I wasn't up to date, but I started seeing posts here and decided that I needed to update myself a little on the situation. Apparently, tweets were unearthed, with comments and interactions'' from Forever with a minor, for those who don't know, in Brazil, under 18 you are a minor. At the time he must have been 19 or 20 years old. Despite understanding that people change over the years, technically, he committed a serious crime for which, it appears he never received a type of punishment, it appears that it was kept in the closet'' and has now been unearthed. So, it's a delicate topic, so I understand those who no longer want updates on it. Now, for those who were waiting for a statement, he opened a live to talk about the subject, but people were disappointed, especially the way he dealt with the topic, he said that they distorted his tweets, so he deleted them (in fact more than 900 tweets disappeared), and then said that he will sue the people who made a thread on Twitter with his posts. Honestly, I decided to go after these supposed tweets, and to be honest, the things I read were a bit…bizarre? I understand why people are not comfortable, I don't know how the case will go, but apparently the ´´victim´´ exists, he made strange tweets and she was indeed a minor. So I think Forever saying they distorted his tweets wasn´t the best argument. Overall, I didn't find it a really satisfactory statement. And honestly, some of their fanatics, because it's not a fan thing, it's a fanatic thing, are making the situation worse by trying to erase the problem, wanting to use other CCs' mistakes to defend Forever, they just forget that if the other CCs have already recanted, or even ``paid for their mistakes''. They are not going to save Forever by using other people as a shield, especially since the Forever case happened years ago, BUT it has now been discovered even by the Brazilians themselves, and it is something that is STILL open, there has not been any kind of resolution and, the worst part, is that it can still be considered a serious crime depending on the justice system, because apparently there will be a legal fight.He said he hired lawyers.

What will this result in and how will it affect his presence in the QSMP?

Let's find out, I just ask that you be patient with Quackity, the team and even the others CC´s, many of them probably don't know anything because they are on vacation, and even if they don't want to get involved that's their right since, because currently, they are not actually involved in the problem. I honestly don't even know how the information will reach them, especially those who were closest to Forever. I believe that, just as the community is in shock, not wanting to believe, whoever is his closest friend will also be in denial. In conclusion: Because I was also uncomfortable, I'm going to avoid talking about qForever and Forever as much as possible in future posts, unless there's no way out, after all, the sad thing is that he made a memorable character in Lore, and it seemed like he was going to have more about him. Now I don't know what happens. Anyway, I hope you take care of yourselves, don't stress, and if you want to take some time off social media, I recommend it.

#qsmp #qsmp discourse #forever player #qsmp forever

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tideswept · 4 months

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So I'm in trouble but... also inching my way out of it. Precariously.

Yet I still need help.

I've covered the last few months in two other posts, so forgive me for a brief summary before an update.

In September, my mother killed herself when I told her I wanted to move out. She had B(borderline)PD and it'd gotten bad. I couldn't take it anymore.

Unfortunately, I'd quit my job to take care of her after a series of hospital stays and to also secretly do her job for her, as it paid better, and we could survive on it as long as I kept my head down and just did the work.

So overnight I lost my mother and my job. I had no savings because her self-destructive behavior was stealing to buy herself things, and by then she'd stolen my identity and tanked my credit.

With the help of a friend, distant family members, and you guys, I managed to stay afloat a little longer searching for a way to survive. There's no social help available where I live; my last hope was to plead with my aunt to allow me to sleep in her garage while I worked and saved money, paying her what I could in rent, and she told me I wasn't a part of her family.

By then I hadn't been able to pay November's rent, but the landlords kindly did not evict me until this week. With the aid of a friend I've moved temporarily into a motel, and my luck is turning around because I've found a room to rent at a decent price! There's finally a way forward instead of the constant wall I kept slamming into.

I'm terrified. But for once I'm also hopeful. It's a new city, strangers I don't know, and I intend to find a job immediately, but I need a little help. I'm afraid to lose my chance if just one thing doesn't go right. Any money I receive will be spent to pay my phone bill (so that I can apply to jobs), bus fare (more job applying) and a little food. (energy for even MORE job applying)

All I can offer in return for any generosity is my fic writing services, and I will gladly do so. (Okay, well, I could also alpha/beta for you and make moodboards but honestly, I'm not sure anyone wants that. Unless... anyone want a tarot reading? no? okay, I'll shush.)

I'm uh, not ashamed to admit that I'm starting to get overwhelmed and have likely rambled on enough, so I'll just drop the links and say thank you for reading this far. Truly--thank you for listening. It means a lot to me.

GoFundMe

Ko-Fi

CashApp: $dkbauer

(Ah, one final thing; If you donated before this and want a fic, please poke me! You can remain anonymous if you like, ko-fi will let you message me and my anon asks are also open, just pop in your receipt with your request so I know which donation was yours.)

#berrytalk.txt #oooh boy my legs are shaking like the skeleton dance #if you helped me before seriously give me your fic needs I demand them

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limepigeon · 4 months

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Fallen Hero Fanzine 2024 - Info and Theme Poll

All info is under the cut since I don't want to clutter your dash too much! EDIT: Tumblr hates multiple choices for Polls apparently, you can vote but also write in replies (or send anonymous through dm, but please don't send multiple of the same option to get what you want, let's keep it fair!) if you want to vote for more than one option! (Sorry for the inconvenience!)

Hi everyone!

Since I got the feedback on the interest check for a possible Fallen Hero Fanzine it seems like we have some interest and I’ve been looking into various ways we could do this. As I’m big on collaboration and everyone getting a say, I was thinking that deciding on a theme for the zine could be our first collaborative step.

I’ve made a poll (found further down in this post) with 7 options for you to vote on. Descriptions/explanations are found right below the poll so make sure to read those before casting your vote. We’re keeping this first zine sfw, please keep that in mind if suggesting themes of your own. Voting doesn’t tie you to contributing to the zine.

Jumping into something headfirst without knowing what you’ll find on the other side is scary, that’s why I’ve written a short list of what I have in mind for this zine.

The zine will be 100% free and non-profit, this also means no compensation for the contributors. Theme: TBD through majority vote Number of contributors: Max 30 (I would love to have more but, unless someone can help me with admin stuff, I think that’s my limit for how much organising and planning I can do on my own). Rating: SFW. Innuendos, cursing, violence and the like is okay but not straight up sex. Format: Digital/e-zine, with permission to print at home for personal use only. I will put together a bonus version made for easy to print at home, with instructions for how to assemble it. Media types allowed: Any visual media suited for print as long as it’s your own (e.g. illustrations, sketches, photography, collages, short comics, cosplay etc). Keep in mind that if you make a collage or mood board, all pictures must be your own (or have the rights to). Any writing as long as it’s your own (e.g. short stories, poetry, analyses, personal anecdotes etc). Pages in zine per contributor: 2. Time frame and deadlines: TBD but I plan on us having it finished around September/October of 2024, with some reservations.

I hope this has been informative so far, if you have questions you can either reply to this post (so everyone else can see the question and reply), or dm me if you want to be anonymous.

Now, let’s get to voting on a theme! Descriptions for themes under the poll.

Nemesis - More action focused, showdowns, heroes and villains battling it out in their suits! Some softer moments could fit in here as well but if too many opt towards it I might steer some of the submissions to make sure the zine in whole stays on theme. Coming Home - New beginnings, finding your place. It could be sweet and cozy, finding friends, or stepping into your own skin for the first time. Interpret as you like, but the main focus should be on the concept of “home”, whatever that means to you or the characters you choose to portray. Los Diablos - Snippets and snapshots from the city and lives you are sworn to protect or destroy. HG’s lair, Herald’s apartment, or a sewer (sorry, secret base), as well as the people found in these places. Nightmares - The bad vibes (tm) one. The Heartbreak Incident, decanting, paranoia, all the nasty bits you don’t want people to find. This one is open to more possible body horror than the other themes. Ship specific - Pick this one if you want a more romance focused theme, and specify in replies which characters you’d want in centre. Please write Ship Theme before the characters in your reply. I have another idea! - Got an idea for a theme that isn’t in the poll? Pick this one and specify in replies what it is! Please specify even if someone has the same idea, or close to, as you. Please write Theme Suggestion before the theme in your reply. No theme - Don’t feel like sticking to a theme? Want to create an amalgamation of everyone’s mind stuff without any limits or guidelines? This choice is for you.

#fhr #sidestep #fallen hero #fallen hero rebirth #fallen hero retribution #fanzine #fallen hero fanzine 2024

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avastrasposts · 10 months

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The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 15

Sorry about the last chapter, I don't think this one is any easier, we're moving through some heavy angst territory here. But it is a crossover with The Last of Us and I did warn you 😋

Warnings have their own post and contain spoilers. Please read them if you know you might have a bad reaction to a sensitive topic.

Word count: 7.8 k

Series Master List

You’re honestly not sure how you keep him alive for the next few months. Frankie is with you, but he’s not with you. He doesn’t eat if you don’t put food in front of him. He doesn’t drink unless you give him your water bottle and tell him to. He doesn’t sleep, his nightmares are worse than ever. Not a night goes by without him waking up in a panicked cold sweat. More often than not he wakes up screaming too, waking you when the pain cuts through his subconscious. His screams are almost inhuman, ripping like a desperate wail from his throat, leaving it raw and ragged the next day. But you don’t hear his voice much now, he barely speaks, just a silent presence next to you as you go about your daily routine to keep you both alive for as long as possible. For what you're staying alive, you’re not really sure of any more.

You’d managed to drive the truck all the way back to the cabin, finding a detour past the blocked bridge, avoiding any towns, crossing over open fields when you could. Frankie had been in the passenger seat next to you, his eyes on the blood on his hands, rubbing it into his skin as he tried to wipe it off, his hands never stilling. As you pulled up to the cabin, your hands shaking in relief as you let go of the steering wheel, he wrenched the door open and strode down to the lake. You grabbed your gun and the rifle and ran after him. He walked straight into the water, stopping only when it came to his chest, washing his hands, scrubbing them together frantically. He ripped his shirt off and then his t-shirt, letting them fall into the water, as he scrubbed his arms, his chest, clawing at the skin.

“Frankie!” you called out to him, you longed to go to him but he was deep in the water and you didn’t even know if there was someone at the cabin yet. You held your gun by your side as you glanced back towards the dark house.

Frankie turned and looked at you for the first time since she’d died. His face was unreadable, as if you didn’t even recognise the man as he stared at you without saying anything.

“Frankie,” you said softly, calling out to him with a plea in your voice. He moved then, wading slowly through the deep water, back towards the shore, then he stumbled and fell to his knees, hands in the water, his head dropped down between his shoulders as they began to shake, sobs racking through his body.

“I can’t! I can’t!” he heaved, as you ran to him, holstering your gun and kneeling down in front of him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he grabbed onto you. Water seeped into your boots as your pants got soaked but Frankie’s hands dug into your back, his sobs making your body shake under him as he clung to you. You pushed your hands into his damp hair, raking your fingers through the curls, as he buckled around you.

“I can’t,” he sobbed, “I can’t. I can’t.”

You lost track of time that evening, you don’t know how long you sat with him on the shoreline, the chill went into your bones, your body shivering underneath him as you held him up in the water. Eventually, you both went numb.

And he stayed numb.

There was no one at the cabin when you came back that night. And no one came as the days slipped into weeks, months even. In the beginning you looked out the window almost all the time, listening for someone approaching when you went down to the lake for water, always on guard, but also always hopeful. But as time passed you stopped, it became too painful to hope that anyone of your friends had made it. And the worst thing was that you didn’t even know what had happened to them.

You grieved for Lucía too, going down to the jetty where she’d been fishing with Pope in July, putting the last wild flowers of the summer in a glass jar and then, when they wilted, the bright fall leaves. Frankie watched you pick the flowers and the leaves, but he never went down to the jetty. He just watched you from the steps of the patio, you'd usually find him there in the morning, the rifle across his knees.

When he couldn’t sleep, after waking from another nightmare, he’d go outside when you’d fallen back into an uneasy slumber, and watch the silent night slip away while he guarded the house. Guarding the one person that he still needed to keep safe.

He didn’t tell you, but often he thought about walking into the lake and swim in the cold water until he couldn’t keep himself afloat anymore, just let himself disappear. But then there would be no one left to keep you safe, so that was his mission, for now. Keep you safe.

You’d wake up and find the bed empty, and the first time you came running out, looking for him in a panic. So he tried to stay in bed. But the walls closed in on him in the dark room, the small bed where she’d slept only a few feet away. His mind pushed him out of the bed and he’d tuck you back in, pull his boots on, and go sit on the porch with the rifle across his knees. After a while you got used to it. If you woke up you’d wrap yourself in a quilt and sit next to him as the dawn broke. Sometimes you’d fall asleep again, leaning against his shoulder, needing to be next to him as much as he needed to be under the open sky to not suffocate when something inside him threatened to cut off his breathing.

During the days he forces his mind to just be numb, using bad tactics he’d learned in the military, compartmentalizing all the pain, all the fear. If he’d had coke on hand, he knows he would’ve been deep back into his old habit. He works himself into a stupor every day and crashes into bed at night. But it doesn’t help, at night, at night he can’t shut it out. You wrap yourself around him, after setting up the alarms around the house, and tuck your nose into the crook of his neck. He holds you, tangles his legs in yours, hangs onto you like you’re a life buoy, but it’s not enough at night. You fall asleep and then he lays awake, seeing the tendrils creep under her skin, the brown eyes that look so much like his own, broken in her perfect face.

He feels himself grow distant from you, he still needs you close, still needs to keep you safe, but his mind has nothing to say, nothing to give to you. You still put your arms around him, kiss his cheeks, his lips, the top of his head, lightly scratch his scalp, dragging your fingers through his hair in that way that used to make him melt into you. It still feels nice, it eases some of the tension in his body, but he’s still just numb. He doesn’t remember the last time he kissed you back, he doesn’t chase your lips the way he used to. He wraps himself around you at night but his body doesn’t respond, he just needs you close. And he knows you feel how unresponsive his body is, you never try to deepen your kisses or caress him the way you used to. Sometimes he wakes up, not from a nightmare, but with his cock hard, pressed up against your back. But as soon as he thinks he wants to wake you up, the heavy weight in his mind catches up with his body and everything goes dark inside him again.

He wonders how long you’ll put up with him in this state. Sooner or later you both have to leave the cabin and then, perhaps, he’ll find somewhere safer and then you can leave him. Or he’ll just walk away, save you the pain of having to put up with his broken shell. Because he is broken, now more than ever. If he thought he was messed up before, he knows it’s nothing to what he is now. He can’t give you anything anymore, nothing of all the things he knows you deserve. So he vows to keep you safe until you no longer need it, then he can take himself away and let you find a better life without him. He keeps the photo of you, him and Lucía in the front pocket of his flannel, he can’t bring himself to look at it, but feeling the stiff paper of the print as he moves, reminds him of the little trinity he used to belong to. And how he failed to keep it safe.

The leaves fall from the trees, heralding cooler weather and gray days. Your supply of food is running low, Denny kept the cabin well stocked but it’s not endless. You’ve been rationing it since you got back but now you’re down to about two weeks worth of food, three if you go hungry. Sitting back on your heels in front of the pantry you decide that Frankie and you need to leave the safety of the cabin and find more supplies. You’re also desperate to find out what’s happening in the world. Sometimes you nurture a small hope that things have gone back to normal, or at least less horrifying.

You find Frankie out back, chopping wood from the generous supply Denny had stored behind the garage. He’s stripped down to just a flannel shirt even though it’s nearly below freezing outside, sweat pouring down his face under the cap, and you can see steam rise from his body as he bends to pick up another log, placing it on the chopping block. He chops wood almost every day, the exertion and precision needed fits his mood, he can chop for hours and not have to think about anything but splitting the log in front of him. The first weeks he had blisters on his hands and his body screamed in protest from the exertion of swinging the heavy ax into the logs. Now his hands have healed, rough calluses on his palms, and his muscles don’t ache the same way, instead it craves the hard work, the exhaustion it brings at the end of the day.

“Frankie,” you say, to stop him before he lifts the ax again. He straightens up and turns to you, a questioning look on his face. Your heart aches as you see him, every time you speak to him now you’re reminded of the loss and what it’s done to him. Before he would’ve turned to you with a smile, his warm brown eyes would’ve crinkled at the corners, welcoming the interruption as he put his hand out to you, beckoning you in for a kiss before you even had a chance to tell him why you called his name.

Now his eyes are just black, dark circles under them, and no trace of a smile. He wipes the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand as you come closer. The rifle is propped up against a log next to him.

“I’ve been counting our supplies, the cans and the dry food,” you say, handing him a water canteen that he takes with a low grunt. “We have two weeks left at the rate we’re eating now, three if we stretch it. I think we need to see if we can find more supplies, and maybe find out what’s going on with the infection.”

Frankie nods and takes a long drink from the canteen, wiping his mouth before he drops his chin to his chest, thinking. You wait, looking at him as his fingers drum on the canteen.

“We take the truck and head towards Franklin,” he says finally, handing the canteen back to you. “There are small towns on the way, we can stop there and see what’s going on.” He bends and picks up the ax and as you step back he lifts it over his head and brings it down in a powerful swing, cleaving the log in two neat parts.

The next morning you don’t find Frankie out on the patio, instead he’s in the kitchen with your backpacks, packing them with necessary supplies, first aid kits and ammo. He’s got the truck loaded with extra supplies, treating it as a mobile camp for you both. The rest of the supplies he’s already hidden behind the big log pile in the shed, under a tarp. He reckons anyone desperate enough is going to find it if they come looking, but hopefully not at first glance.

You’ve got nerves swirling around the pit of your belly as you eat a can of chicken soup for breakfast, watching Frankie eat mouthfuls between restless checks of the packing. Triple checking your gun, putting into the leg holster, and making sure it’s tight, you grab your bag and bring it out to the truck. Frankie’s already put his in the back and as he locks up the cabin, you put yours there too. You wait for him by the front of the truck, testing something, and when he comes round and opens the passenger side door for you, you can’t help but smile. It’s like a small piece of the old Frankie is still there at least. He takes your hand and gives you a hand up the step and you squeeze it.

“Still not gonna let me touch that door are you, Frankie?” you smile at him and you see his eyes soften just a little as his lips curl up.

“Never, cariño,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze back, before he closes the door and rounds the truck. It’s tiny, but you’ll take it.

The truck is deafening when it rumbles to life, the quiet of the cabin and the forest has been all you’ve heard for the past few months. It’s strange not being able to hear your surroundings anymore and it makes you feel uneasy. You’re both on high alert as you scan the trees around you. Frankie makes the turn towards Franklin, aiming for the first small town a few miles away and you start hoping for cars, normal cars with families just driving along. But as Frankie drives, you meet no one. Whatever is going on in the country, it’s not back to normal. You pass by a few abandoned farms, you can see broken windows, some boarded up, and, in one farm yard, a charred pile of bodies. You quickly look away, looking over at Frankie instead. By the look on his face you can tell he saw it too and he reaches out and takes your hand, giving it a light squeeze.

“Don’t look, just keep your eyes on the road,” he says in a low voice.

The truck rolls through a small town, just a collection of houses on either side of the road, and there’s no one around as far as you can see. Frankie slows down as you leave the town behind and pulls in on a side road, turning off the truck.

“We’re gonna see if anything is moving” he says as he rolls down the windows, letting the cold winter air in. The first few houses of the town are just a few hundred yards away and you both watch them in silence. Twenty minutes pass and nothing stirs, no people, no infected and no cars. Frankie starts up the truck again and slowly drives back into the small collection of houses and pulls up next to the small gas station. Leaving the truck running, and you in the driver’s seat, he gets out and carefully steps through the broken door. You wait, anxiously looking around the truck, while you hear Frankie rummaging round the shop. It doesn’t take him long to come back with a handful of items, some candy, a couple of tubes of toothpaste and two cans of peaches.

“I’m gonna siphon some gas,” he says, putting the things in the back, and pulls out the rubber hose. Nothing stirs as he fills two spare gas canisters and the truck and after a quick stop at a small convenience store that’s been thoroughly looted you leave the small town behind you.

“The next town is bigger, hopefully we’ll find something there, I don’t want to have to go too far,” Frankie says as you pass him a chocolate bar and grab one for yourself. The chocolate is overly sweet after so long without any candy, Denny didn’t have a sweet tooth and despite there being a generous stash of potato chips at the cabin, there had been no chocolate, not even cocoa powder.

“If we find more chocolate I’ll be very happy,” you say, savoring the flavor, “didn’t think I’d miss it as much as I have.” You lick your sticky fingers as the next small town rolls into view.

“Gonna do the same again, drive through and then we wait to see if anything moves,” Frankie says and glances over at you, “And then I’ll find you some more chocolate,” his smile is small but you see it and you have time to think that this was maybe what Frankie needed to distract himself, a mission, something concrete to do, when the car suddenly jerks to the side and you feel the seatbelt dig into your chest.

“Fuck!” Frankie shouts and you see him tug at the wheel, outside the car several men have appeared out of nowhere and thrown several spike strips over the road in front of the truck. Frankie’s turning shapely to avoid them and twists in his seat, checking behind him but strips have been thrown out behind them too.

“Hold on,” he grits, gripping the steering wheel with both hands and flooring the truck, careening over the spikes, the truck jerks as the tyres blow but Frankie manages to hold it steady until a school bus suddenly rolls out from a side street. Frankie swerves to avoid it, the bus scrapes the back of the truck, making it skid sideways but Frankie parries and gets the truck back on track, speeding up, glancing behind him. He sees the men running after the truck and he pushes the truck faster, the rubber from the broken tyres flapping and bumping underneath. You look up ahead and see the main road barricaded at the end of town and as you gasp, Frankie curses next to you. The metal of the rims screech across the asphalt when he hits the break and makes a sharp turn onto the side street, the truck nearly topples but Frankie gets it back down again, slamming the breaks as you’re met by another barricade.

“Get out!” Frankie yells and yanks out your backpacks as you unclip the seat belt and throw open the door. He grabs your hand as you hear shouts go up from the main street and without turning he kicks in the door of the first house, pulling you into it. Holding on to him so hard it hurts, you run behind him, through the house, out into a backyard and across a small alley. Frankie stops for a second, scanning for the best way out, before he tugs your hand again and heads into a second house. Coming out on the other side he turns the corner into the next alley and before you have time to react a baseball flies up and hits him across the side of his head. His grip on your hand goes limp immediately as he crumples to the ground and you stumble, still holding on to him. A sharp pain shoots through your head and everything goes black.

The floor smacks the air out of you as you’re thrown into an unknown room and you cough, trying to catch your breath, as your muddled mind tries to shake the tendrils of unconsciousness. Before you can peel your eyes open, you’re yanked up off the floor and thrown on to a bed and someone tugs your arms together behind your back, and the sharp bite of restraints cut into your wrists. You force your eyes open and in the dim light you see a man bending over you as he grabs your ankles and pulls out a cable tie, securing it around your legs. He’s dressed in what looks like army surplus fatigues and biker gang gear, a revolver in a holster around his bulging waist, and greasy looking blonde hair in a ponytail. Your head is pounding, your vision seems misty, but as the man steps away from the bed you struggle to sit up, wincing in pain. He gives you a sneering grin as he notices that you’re regained consciousness.

“How’s the head, sweetheart?” he smirks, “You should’ve just stopped running, ya know?” He steps back towards the bed and watches you struggle to sit up against the headboard, your arms painfully pinned behind your back.

“Why..” you croak out, “why did you attack us?”

This makes him chuckle, “Because we can, sweetheart, and we want your shit.” He grabs your chin between his thumb and fingers, gripping it so hard it makes you wince, and fear pools in the pit of your belly. Forcing your face up towards his, he bends closer, “Incase you didn’t notice, the world’s gone to shit and it’s survival of the fittest, and we take what we want. Including you, sweetheart.” He pinches your face harder and you grit your teeth at the pain in your jaw. That seems to amuse him, a grin creeping across his ruddy face. His other hand suddenly shoots out and palms your breasts through your flannel shirt, squeezing hard as you kick your bound legs up to get away from him. His grip on your jaw is so hard you can’t get any sound out but in the back of your throat you growl, bucking your body away from him, and he laughs, sending chills through your bones.

“I like when they put up a fight, sweetheart, I’m gonna have fun to breaking you in,” he gives your jaw another sharp tug, forcing you to look at him as he starts working his way into your shirt, cold sweat breaking out on your back as you feel the rancid smell coming off him. “Yeah, we’re gonna have some real fun, you and me,” he leers as he bends closer to your face, “you’re gonna take my cock so well, might not even need to lube you up.” You feel yourself freeze up with fright as he roughly grabs your breast over your bra, giving it a painful squeeze and he cackles, leaning in as if to kiss you.

“Hey, Larry! Stop fucking the girl and come down here already, we need to deal with the guy first.” A second man has put his head around the door and is looking at the scene with impatience.

“She’s feisty this one, she’s gonna be a lot of fun,” the first guy, Larry, says, grinning back at the man at the door. But he does let go of your jaw and stands up, giving your shoulder a sharp shove so that you topple over on the bed, before he leaves the room, throwing you a final predatory look before the door is closed and locked.

Frankie comes to, as he’s dragged across a dirt floor, the toes of his boots catching on the threshold of a building, jolting him awake. His shoulders are protesting at the harsh angle as two men hold him up by the elbows, his hands tied tight, sharp cable ties cutting off his circulation. The side of his head is throbbing and he can feel sticky blood in his ear and on his cheek, it’s dripping down onto the floor. Gingerly he lifts his head and catches a glimpse of what looks like the inside of a barn before he’s hauled onto a chair and a ratchet strap is put around his torso, tightening until he can just about draw breath. He scans the room, looking for her, but she’s nowhere to be seen and he bites back the panic in his throat, bracing as a blonde man in army surplus clothes steps in front of him.

“Looking for your girl, huh?” he leers, giving Frankie a smug smile, “yeah, we got her too, don’t worry. We’re gonna deal with you first though.”

He gives Frankie a sharp back handed slap, stinging across the cheek, jolting his head to the side. Frankie draws a deep breath, willing his mind to calm, this he knows, this he was trained for. If they’re after the supplies then they will beat him up a bit first, then start asking questions, threaten him, ask again, beat him up and then continue the circle. He lifts his head and assesses the three men in the barn, all in surplus army fatigues and biker gang gear from the looks of it. Whatever they have planned, he’s pretty sure he can withstand it a lot longer than they realize. The question is how long she can, if they start beating her up, he hopes you just give them the information they need. There’s nothing at the cabin worth protecting, at least not with your life.

As if on cue the blonde man steps up and backhands him across his cheek again, following up with a clumsy punch to his gut. The slap stings but the punch is just a dull thud, bouncing off Frankie’s flexed core. As long as he has time to prepare for the punches, those weak hits won’t do any damage there. The punch is followed by another punch to the face, closed fist this time, but Frankie almost grins as he sees the man wince when he pulls back his hand. Hitting someone’s jaw bone with knuckles is a lot more painful than people think.

The man steps back and growls at Frankie, trying to intimidate him, but Frankie keeps his face impassive.

“You had a lot of good supplies on that truck, where’s the rest?” A man behind the blonde man steps forward, Frankie’s rifle in his hand.

“That’s all we had, we ran out, we were looking for more food,” Frankie says, “but you’re not gonna believe me so just get on with it.”

The blonde man grabs his gun and wacks Frankie over the cheek with the butt of it and Frankie feels the iron taste of blood in his mouth as something splits.

“You’re right, we don’t believe you,” he snarls, throwing another punch to Frankie’s belly. Frankie coughs, firming up his core just in time as the fist connects.

“Get his girl down here, he’ll talk if we hurt her,” the man with Frankie’s rifle thumbs in the direction of the barn door.

“Maybe, but I’d like to keep her unharmed for now,” the blonde man says, locking eyes with Frankie, “I don’t want her bleeding all over me when I fuck her later.” Frankie fights to keep his face impassive but he knows he fails, the blind rage that bubbles up inside him is clear on his face and the man opposite him sees it and grins. “Yeah, that got to you, didn’t it?” he cackles. “Why don’t you sit here and think about all the ways I’m gonna fuck that pretty girl of yours, and then maybe you can tell us where the rest of your supplies are.” He steps closer to Frankie, leans down, and Frankie can smell the unwashed body under the army surplus jacket, “I hope your girl’s a fighter, I like it when I have to pin them down. But I’ve already got her trussed up like a turkey, so maybe I’ll just flip her over and fuck her from behind, does she like it in the ass?” he leers. When Frankie tries to fight off the restraints the man cackles again and stands up, “Oh yeah, pal, you’ll talk soon enough.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you in the slowest possible way just for talking about her.” Frankie spits out, venom thick in his low voice.

The man flinches as he sees the rage in Frankie’s eyes and takes a couple of steps back, Frankie grins without a trace of mirth at the man’s reaction as the barn door opens up and a fourth man steps over the threshold.

“We need the space, gonna divvy up the loot,” he calls at the three men, “the boss says to secure the guy in the back room for now.”

“Alright, we’ll get him in there,” the man with the rifle calls back and steps behind Frankie. “Come on, enough messing around,” he says to the blonde man, he’s still standing a few steps in front of Frankie, “we’ve got shit to do.”

The ratchet band around Frankie’s torso is loosened before he’s dragged, his hands and feet still tied together, to a small room off to the back of the barn. It has no windows and looks like it used to be a storage space, there’s a heavy iron bar in front of the door, locked with a large padlock. The men unceremoniously toss Frankie onto the floor and he hears the bar come down with a clank before the lock clicks. He quickly scans the room and rolls over to the wall, using it for balance as he stands up. His hands are tied in front of him with cable ties so with his mouth he tightens them as much as he can, before bringing his arms over his head and slamming them back down onto his hips, the cable tie snapping clean off his wrists. The impact smarts through his wrists but he wastes no time in working his way out of the ones around his ankles too, they come off easier. Quickly he tries the door, it’s locked tight, of course. He leans against the wall next to the door, waiting for an opportunity.

There’s noise outside as he hears a truck being driven into the barn and several men talking while unloading it. After about an hour the truck is driven away and the barn goes silent for a while until two pairs of heavy footsteps approach the door to the storage room. A key clinks in the padlock and as the heavy iron bar is lifted from the door Frankie presses himself to the wall next to the door, he’s only got one shot at this. The door swings open and the first man steps in, looking round for Frankie, the second man right behind him. Before he has a chance to react, Frankie grabs the second man's head and neck and twists violently, dropping the man as his body goes limp. The first man spins around at the sound but Frankie is already on him, grabbing the hand holding a gun and twisting it behind his back as his other hand covers the man’s mouth. The gun clatters to the ground and with a sharp crack, the neck is broken and the man drops to the ground too.

Frankie picks up the gun, getting a second one from the other man, and checks the both for extra ammo, slipping a vicious looking hunting knife from the first man’s belt. Waiting a beat to check if the scuffle attracted any attention, he stands pressed against the wall next to the door again, but the barn is silent. Quickly looking out through the door he scans the area but all he can see are a couple of oil lanterns hanging on the wall by the chair where they’d had him tied earlier. Moving silently through the dimly lit barn, it must be night out already, Frankie grabs a lantern and throws it against one of the wooden walls. The flames almost immediately start licking up the structure, the fire catching fast in the old wood. Frankie slips out through the barn door and into a dark farmyard, there’s no electric light, just a dim light from some of the windows of the main building on the other side. Skirting around the edges of the yard he hides behind one of the cars parked to the side of a tall fence. Soon a shout goes up from the house and he sees four men rushing out, running for the barn that’s now ablaze, casting a bright orange light over the surrounding area.

As the men are distracted by the fire, Frankie slips round to the house and finds the back door. With a swift kick he manages to break it open, the noise hidden by the flames and the shouting men. He moves quickly through the house, checking rooms for other people, working his way upstairs. The house is fairly large but at the end of the landing he finds a locked door that he quickly kicks in. You’re propped up against the headboard on the bed and as the door flies open you flinch, your fear giving way to intense relief as you see Frankie. You can only gasp out his name, tears welling up in your eyes as he moves across the room.

“Are you hurt?” he whispers, kneeling by the bed and pulling out the hunting knife, making quick work of your restraints, “Did they hurt you?” You shake your head and choke back a whimper as he frees your poor wrists, blood flows back into your arms and hands as you can finally move them again. Pulling you in for a quick hug, Frankie’s big hand clasps the back of your head, pressing you against him, before he pulls back.

“There are four men outside, I set fire to the barn so they are distracted, but I need to take them out. Stay up here, hide in the closet. I’ll come get you.”

“Frankie, you’re bleeding!” you choke out, your hand going up to his temple where his hair is clumped together, dark blood on his cheek and jaw.

“I’ll deal with it later, we don’t have time, I need you to hide now.” His voice is firm, pulling you to your feet, “do you understand?”

With wet eyes you give him a shaky nod and you let him lead you over to the big closet at the back of the room, handing you one of the guns.

“Be careful, Frankie,” you whisper, squeezing his hand before he lets go.

“Don’t worry,” he gives you a grim smile, “these hillbillies fucks are a piece of cake.” He gently shuts the door and you back into a corner of the closet, the gun tight in your hands. You hear his footsteps retreat from the room and out into the hallway, after that you can’t make them out anymore. Straining your ears you listen for any movements for several minutes, until sudden gunshots make you jump and grip the gun tighter. More shots ring out, there’s shouting and you can hear people running, more gunshots and then a man howls in pain. There’s another gunshot and the man shrieks and wails for a few seconds before another shot rings, seemingly drawing fresh shouts of pain from the unknown man. Lastly, a final gunshot rings out and the man falls silent, cut off in the middle of a scream. After that everything is quiet and you sit and wait, not daring to move from your spot. It feels like an eternity has passed when you finally hear footsteps coming down the hallway and into the room. You recognise Frankie’s steps and lower the gun as he opens the door to the closet.

“You ok?” he asks, holding out his hand for you, and you gratefully take it, stepping into his arms as he pulls you close. You nod against his chest, grabbing hold of his shirt as he presses his lips to the top of your head.

“We need to get going, cariño,” he mumbles, stepping back and pulling you out of the closet. Together you make your way down through the house, it’s lit with the eerie light of the flames engulfing the barn on the other side of the yard and you can see it spreading to the other service buildings. Frankie leads you to the backdoor and out into the yard in the back, he’s got his gun up, alert, as he moves you to a couple of cars parked to the side of the yard.

“Check this one for keys,” he says, pointing to the closest one, “I’ll check these two.”

You quickly move to the sedan and pull at the door, it’s locked, and so is the passenger side door. Frankie’s had no luck with the second sedan but calls you over when he checks the third one, the door is open and under the sunshield he finds the keys.

“Get in,” he calls to you, and you hurry over.

“What about our things?” you ask, “Did you see our bags anywhere?”

“No, and we don’t have time to look. This fire is bound to attract attention either from infected or other people. I took out the guys I saw but I don’t know if there are others nearby.” He’s started the car and is hastily reversing out, turning the car towards the gate in the wire fence. “Hang on,” he says and accelerates. The small car jolts from the force when it hits the gate but the lock snaps and the car shoots through the opening, onto the dark road. Frankie holds the car steady as it wobbles, keeping it on the road and floors it. You glance behind you, the barn is swallowed by the fire as the flames move towards the main building. Turning back to Frankie you exhale slowly and lean back against the car seat.

“How are you doing, cariño?” he asks, his hand finding yours and squeezing it tightly. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

You tilt your head to look at his profile as he keeps his eyes on the road, “I’m ok,” you draw a shaky breath, “but I was so scared.” You feel fresh tears well up in your eyes as you try to not think about the blonde man and the way his hands grabbed you. Frankie glances over at you and his eyebrows knit together as he sees your tears.

“Talk to me,” he demands, gently squeezing your hand again.

“Not now, later,” you say, dragging the back of your hand across your eyes, “did you kill them all? A blonde guy with a ponytail?”

“Yeah, him I got for sure,” Frankie growls, “what did he do to you?”

You just shake your head, “As long as he’s dead I’m good, Frankie.”

He takes his eyes off the road long enough to study your tear stained face as your jaw clenches and his grip on your hand tightens.

“He died painfully, I made sure of it,” he says, looking back at the road and you nod, pushing back the memory of his groping hands to the back of your mind.

You sit up straighter and look over at Frankie, suddenly remembering his blood stained face. “What about you, are you ok?”, you ask, inspecting the side of his head. In the dim interior light you can make out much except that his hair looks wet and sticky. “Shit, Frankie, we need to clean your head and your face!” you wince as you realize he has several fresh cuts on his cheek and jaw too, moving in your seat you try to see more of his face but he keeps his eyes on the road.

“We have no supplies, no first aid kit and no extra ammo,” he says, his tone defeated, “I’m taking you to Franklin, to the quarantine zone.” His grip on the steering wheel is hard, white knuckled. “I can’t keep you safe, I was an idiot for thinking I could keep you safe out here.”

“Don’t say that, Frankie, you’ve saved my life so many times, you’ve kept me safe at the cabin for months.” You put your hand on his leg and you can feel how tight his muscles are as you look over at him, trying to catch his eyes, at least for a second.

He sighs, biting back the anger inside him, anger at himself for not being able to keep you safe for even a day away from the cabin. The memory of what the blonde man had said he wanted to do to you, fresh in his mind. “It’s the truth, I can’t keep you safe, not while trying to keep us both alive out here.” He rubs a hand gingerly over his bruised jaw, feeling the tenderness, “I should’ve taken you to Franklin months ago, let you be safe there, be protected, I can’t do it out here. I’ll get you to Franklin and then you’ll be safe. The military must have some sort of safe zone setup, once you’re through quarantine.”

“Why are you talking like you’re only taking me there, Frankie?” you ask, frowning at him, “I am not leaving you, you are not allowed to leave me behind, you hear me?” You’ve turned yourself fully towards him but he’s refusing to take his eyes off the road.

“Frankie?” you say again, a sharper tone to your voice.

“I can’t keep you safe, I couldn’t keep Lucía safe and I can’t keep you safe,” he says, his jaw clenching around the words. It’s the first time he’s said her name out loud since that day. “It’s the only way.”

“No!” you shout, the sound jolts around the confines of the small car, “That is not an option. You are the only person who can keep me safe, you are the only person I want with me in this shithole of a world now. If you’re not with me, then why the fuck would I even bother?!” You stare at him but he remains silent, gritting his teeth, you see the muscle in his jaw working under his blood stained skin and scruffy beard.

“Frankie!” you blurt out, wanting to grab him and shake him, force him to react, but all he does is grip the steering wheel with white knuckles and stare at the road.

“You proposed to me, even after the world went to shit, you proposed to me and gave me a ring and said you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me. Does that not mean anything to you anymore?!” Tears are welling up in your eyes again, spilling over your cheeks and your voice breaks, “You said- you said, you wanted to spend every day trying to be the man I deserve and now- and now you’re bailing on me?” Your breath catches in your throat as you feel a thick lump threaten to cut off your windpipe as you gasp for breath between the words and your tears. Frankie shoves his hand through his hair and inhales sharply, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before looking over at your tear stained face.

“Frankie…” you plead, “you can’t leave me, I don’t want you to leave me and I don’t want to survive if you’re not with me.”

Frankie pulls in a loud, shuddering breath, his eyes back on the road and then pulls the car over to the side of the road, turning to you before the engine even quietens down. His hands are on your shoulders, pulling you across the center console and wrapping his arms around you, his hand grabs the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You pull him in, your arms around him and he’s shaking under you, his shoulders heaving as the first cracked sob breaks from his throat. His grip is as hard on you as it was when he first clung to you in the lake the night Lucía died, his body is shaking, racking with strangled sobs as he holds you as tight as he can.

You can feel his tears soak through your flannel shirt, your own dripping hot onto the skin of his neck, and he gasps for air as the sobs force their way up through his body, his large shoulders convulsing under your firm grip. You move your hand up, tangling your fingers in his hair and caressing his scalp, he shudders under your arms, inhaling as if he’s coming up for air as his fingers dig into your flesh, sobs wrenching their way out of his chest in a fresh wave.

You hold him, never letting him go. You’re never going to let him go, no matter what he says.

It passes slowly, Frankie’s sobs quieten down and he falls silent. You can feel his hot breath against your neck, his wet eyelashes are brushing over your skin and his lips press against it. With a long exhale he pulls himself away from you and loosens his grip on your body. You look up at him, cupping his cheeks with your hands, rubbing thumbs over his wet beard and he inhales deeply, a sigh escaping as he drops his eyes, looking down at your lap.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he mumbles, his eyes still downcast. “I don’t want to survive if you’re not with me either. But I don’t know how to keep you safe.” He jaw clenches under your palms, grinding down on something, biting back words or a sob.

“Frankie,” you say softly, trying to stop fresh tears from spilling over, “I don’t know how to keep myself safe, and I don’t know how to keep you safe either.” You pull his head up so that you can look into his red rimmed eyes, still so soft and warm after all they’ve been through. “All I know is that I have to be with you, and you have to be with me, or there is no point in even trying to stay safe.” You lean in and gently press your lips to his, tasting the salt of his tears and iron from his cut, “I love you Frankie, stay with me,” you whisper as his hand finds your cheek and cups it, stroking his thumb over your skin as he sighs, exhaling slowly.

“Para siempre, mi amor, forever, I promise.”

Chapter 16

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