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the-saltiest-saltine · 3 months

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Reservations and Repose

(Yan!Chrollo x Fem Reader)

@sukunasfavoritehole hopefully this is enough to tide you over until my ao3 finally gets an update hehe

Word count: ~7.3k

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You’re naïve enough to believe Chrollo’s asleep. He loves that about you.

Warnings: NOT SFW, non -con thigh fucking, somnophilia, drugging, imagined not sfw scenarios etc

a/n: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG IT WAS 3/4 FINISHED THEN I FORGOT ABOUT IT my sincerest apologies.

Also this is my first time writing smut so please go easy on me 😥

Chrollo is very disappointed in you.

You let him kiss your cheek this morning following a deep sleep. You didn’t reciprocate, though he continues to see your progress and knows that an ever-hopeful yet can be added to the end of that statement. To some extent, the allowance of such an act could be chalked up to his acceptance of you, flaws and all, willing to appreciate the neutrality of it as opposed to ardent rejection. In a matter of weeks, you’ll be returning the gesture. And in a matter of months, you’ll be doing it gladly. Warmth, or perhaps weariness, has slowly but surely seeped its way into your actions recently, your shaky hands finding a place in his, fingers interlaced.

Is that to say he was under the impression that you’d completely given yourself to him? Absolutely not. There’s fear in your smiles, as much as they may have metamorphosed from obviously and mockingly forced to meek and endearing. Chrollo has shown you all that you know he can do. This has been enough to keep you relatively restrained over the months. If he showed you all that he knows he can do, you’d most likely curl up into a ball and sob until you dried out. That’s not necessary, though. It’ll never be.

Like many things, it wasn’t linear. It was a path that went upwards and downwards and forwards and backwards and in cycles, cycles that would always leave you curled up, sobbing in his arms, grasping onto him for whatever comfort it would give. But progress is progress, right?

Ignorantly, he began to believe the crumbs of affection, of acceptance, of acquiescence. Stupidly, he thought you were making progress. It’s been a significant amount of time since he was last this naïve. If he wasn’t so disgruntled by your transgression, he’d most likely bask in the nostalgic feeling. But he can’t, for the time being, because you’re trying to do something very rash.

As unfortunate as it is, you’re trying to leave him.

It’s audacious, having thought that the monumental power difference between you two had been thoroughly demonstrated on multiple occasions, a well established and silently acknowledged fact of your travels with him.

It’s irritating, although regarded with the same irritation as one would have with a pet goldfish trying to jump out of its tank. You silly thing, why do you want to abandon the place in which you are safe?

It doesn’t particularly make sense, though. He’s checked his cards - nothing suspicious has been bought in his name. No travel tickets or prepaid car hire. He’s even checked the jewellery collection - maybe you’d snatched up a nice necklace or bracelet or pair of diamond earrings to pawn off. But again, nothing. No suspicious bags have been packed. No loose tiles or floorboards or ceiling panels to hide supplies in. Your clothes are all neatly folded and hung in your wardrobe.

You’ve got something up your sleeve- something desperate and jittery and not fully thought out. Something that relies on luck and prayers far more than precision and blow-by-blow planning. He never particularly took you for a daredevil, but to see you get pushed to such a limit, to be forced against your own timid nature, is beyond satisfying. If he could pluck it out of you and analyse it under a microscope, he’d be elated. Or perhaps even, he supposes to himself, he’d be so fulfilled that he might abandon the current pathway of his life, aimless and bloody and cyclical, finally so consumed with his obsession over you that nothing else is valued in the slightest.

He can’t say he didn’t expect an ulterior motive for your apparent benevolence, at least initially, but for it to be kept up for this long? The stares felt almost too natural. The gradual lessening of your flinches when he placed a hand on your shoulder, the way your gaze would be drawn to him rather than away, even if only to flick away immediately - the subtleties were downright impressive. To be able to track everything simultaneously, to be able to remember to exhibit so many behaviours at once…Perhaps he should be taking acting lessons from you.

Chrollo had watched you, humming a pop tune this morning, cheekily shaking your hips from side to side as you fried some eggs, over easy, the notes sometimes interrupted with a sharp inhale between your teeth when the oil spat just a bit too high and would burn you ever-so-slightly. A domestic sight.

You’d let him give you another kiss on the cheek before he shrugged his coat on, giving you one last lingering glance before he’d walked out the door and into the hallway of the apartment, locking it with warm Nen made of comfort rather than capture. He gave you another cheek kiss (despite his ever-growing urge to dip lower) when he got home to the smell of spices and vegetables and the bubbling sound of a low simmer. You don’t fight them anymore, and barely even recoil now, a result of steady but slight crossing of boundaries - his record was eleven times in one day (at least, his record for when you were conscious) when he was feeling particularly affectionate, although you’d definitely soured up by the end.

The…fantasies he’d had of domesticity…they were just that, weren’t they? Fantasies, mere ideas that were appealing enough to fully flesh out in his mind. Whatever actions you’ve taken, whether it be pecks to the cheek or folding his shirts, staining them with the scent of you, they’ve all been a means to an end. That certainly wasn’t part of the fantasy.

You’ve been buttering him up like the thick slices of white bread next to his bowl. What a betrayal.

Tonight’s stew is spicy and chunky, served courteously by you. His palate is experienced from an adulthood of travel, wealth, and nights spent with gullible women who couldn’t tell the difference between a Prince Charming and a swindler. Truly, there is little he hasn’t at least tried. Including this.

So, if there’s no other signs of you wanting to leave the comfort of the apartment and the familiarity of his presence, then what could’ve possibly cued him into your motives?

It’s something tenuous, something that could’ve gone unnoticed to anyone else. It’s something subtle, buried under layers of rosemary and thyme and paprika. But diphenhydramine is such an acquired taste. And it’s one that’s made the past few weeks and months crumble to dust.

Oh, you sweet thing.

Acting as oblivious as ever, he spoons chunks of zucchini and carrot onto the bread, taking large bites, chewing and swallowing with purpose, the taste of the sedative lingering. He considers smacking his lips for good measure, to play around with you a bit, but eventually decides against it. That’ll come later.

You sit across from him, silence between you two. Normally, he’d fill it with tales from his busy day - but you’ve been so good lately, that he’s begun to refrain from doing that. Nowadays, he asks you what you’ve been up to, every painstaking detail from your dull days without him. But that’s only if you’ve been good, or at least if he’s under the impression that you’ve been good. As it turns out, you haven’t been good, you aren’t being compliant, and now he simply waits.

You stare into your bowl of stew, but he can tell you’re watching him in your periphery. It’s so very fascinating, the way you absorb each mouthful he takes, washed down with frequent sips of water (there’s no other substances in that, obviously). He takes another swill of the liquid, tilting his head slightly back, and in the corner of his eye, he can see the way you observe his Adam's apple bobbing with each gulp. Does it appease you, the sight? Does it intrigue you? Does it make you, even for a moment, reconsider what you’re about to do?

Chrollo pauses for a moment, before placing the half-empty glass back onto its coaster. He knows the smirk that comes onto his face is nothing short of wicked, but he truly can’t help himself.

“Are you not hungry, my love? You’ve barely touched your food.”

Barely is an understatement. You haven’t touched it at all, in fact. Stupid, really. He knows that you know that he’s observant - but that information is irrelevant in this situation, considering it doesn’t take an keen eye to figure out your pattern of stirring your spoon around, picking up some carrot - even blowing on it for good measure - and nodding along with what few words he spoke initially, before giving an mhm! of agreement and letting it drop back into the bowl. You spend extensive amounts of time apparently fishing for just the right piece of zucchini, sorting through copious amounts of lentils (and seemingly taking the time to individually count them all), dragging chunks up the side of your bowl only to push them back down into the fray of assorted vegetables.

There’s almost a sort of jump in response to the words, ringing clear and well projected. But it’s contained above the shoulders - your head snaps to look at him, your eyes widening momentarily, staring into his own, trapped.

He can feel the shaky breath you take to steady yourself from over here, air stagnant and mouth dry.

“No,” you reply, “not particularly.”

He cocks an eyebrow at that, mouthing an oh before returning to his meal. It doesn’t matter whether you take the bait or not, his suspicions have long since been confirmed. Confirmed, in the sternest sense of the word, syllables enunciated with force, the knowledge of your true intentions well recognised. Whether that displays on his face or within his interactions with you is inconsequential to the known ending of your silly stunt.

The sound of you chewing is enough to bring his attention back out of the bowl. That’s not fake.

So you’re eating it too? It’s certainly a bold move, but one he wouldn’t dare put past you anymore. You were always a clever one, one to be placed a mere few tiers below his own intellect.

He hasn’t caught you swapping the bowl out for a fresh one. Maybe you’ve mastered the art so quickly that even he can’t notice?

No, not likely. Not in just a few months. That’d be impossible.

Your bites of pumpkin are preceded with the slightest hesitation, a quick breath to presumably psych yourself up to the self-sabotage. He hates to see you so scared when you’re properly sharing a meal with him like this, deciding to return to normalcy as a reward for your cooperation.

“Tell me, darling, what did you get up to today?”

Your eyes flick to his, momentarily ensnared in the grey, before looking up at the ceiling to aid in the process of giving a verbal description of what you read, how you cleaned, how you entertained yourself with rearranging your meagre book collection (not his, that would be asking for trouble). The response is practically identical to every other time he’s asked the question, plain and unindulgent. It’s boring, he thinks, even with the unacknowledged omission of the hours you spend staring at the walls and pacing around the living area. He’s tempted to pry into how you decided on tonight’s dish, but decides against it. Not for lenience or mercy, but rather amusement. To give away what he knows now would simply be a waste of a situation you’ll never attempt to put yourself in again.

If you knew what Chrollo knew, would you still bother to indulge him?

You stare at him for a moment, allowing him to draw things out, before nodding at the I see he gives in response. He gives a forward nod to your bowl, giving you gracious permission to eat again after starving you for the length of your interrogation, merciful as ever. Your fear is better contained behind a split second’s confusion before you register the nonverbal instruction, picking up your spoon once more and eating with more confidence this time, taking exaggerated bites of zucchini that barely make it past your teeth, chewed excessively into grey paste before being swallowed. Maybe you reason that if you chew enough, you can break the drug down into something that won’t knock you out. A cute thought.

The spices stain your lips an enticing red, the chilli making them plump up so deliciously. If he kissed them, would they burn him? Would the capsaicin leave his lips tingling, a reminder of your soft touch?

He likes to think he’ll know the answer soon.

Chrollo feigns sleepiness, furrowing his brows in mock confusion as he tells you that he can’t quite keep his eyes open - perhaps he overdid it at work today.

Yes, work, as he loves to call it, like there’s the possibility of him spending his time away from you at a desk, punching in numbers on a computer, monotonous and repetitive and damn, couldn’t things just switch up for a day? Work, as in a beer-bellied husband whose idea of experimental fashion is changing which tie he wears with the same white button-up and black dress pants each day. Work, as in an assembly line employee who wakes up at three o’clock to be at the factory by four, ready and willing to make whatever sacrifices necessary to support his loved ones. Work, as in something at least vaguely respectable.

Work, as in literally anything other than stealing and slaughtering and scourging.

Chrollo relishes in the way your shoulders relax a little. It’s almost too adorable. Chrollo also relishes in the way they tense up again when he adds how it’s suspicious really. I don’t believe I’ve ever felt a tiredness such as this.

There’s an underlying anxiety in your pretty, pluckable, ever-so-slightly bloodshot eyes. Where others would be concerned for your health, he finds endearment, you precious thing. After admiring them silently for a moment, he announces that he’ll be off to bed now, darling. Remember to be there for me when I wake.

He leaves you alone in the kitchen to stew in your unease.

____________

Now he’s lying in bed, on the side closest to the door, limp as anything. It doesn’t matter whether his facade convinces you or not, he’ll have you in his arms by morning. The blinds aren’t fully down, leaving a pleasant blue hue that gives him a good visual of most of the room. Your side of the bed is still firmly tucked in from when he made it this morning, after running his hands up and down your arms until you’d given a great shudder and shoved him away - a pitiful attempt that he’d impishly gone along with.

Anticipation tickles his nose and prods at his heart. Childishly, he wants you to get over with it already, to sprint in, swinging a knife wildly, or cue him to start the chase with a slam of the front door so violent that the hinges threaten to crack. It’s unfortunate how your faux compliance conditioned him to be unable to accept a halt, or even slowing, of progress.

Ah, some solace - he can hear your footsteps come up to the door, attempting, albeit poorly, to be quiet. Or maybe they are quiet, to the average man, but someone well-versed in the art of stealth can practically see the way you tiptoe closer. The faint sounds paint a detailed visualisation of your movements - the balls of your feet lifting from the ground, the flexing of your toes, the dorsiflexion at your ankles, the soft thud of your heels hitting the ground.

The bedroom door creaks open, a thin streak of light hitting his eyelids, making him see an ever-so-slight orange behind them. He might be able to visualise your walk accurately, but the same cannot be said for your face. Are you fearful, lips downturned and eyes wide? Are you determined yet cautious, eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line? Are you smug? Condescending? Grinning from ear-to-ear, excited to finally have what you believe to be freedom?

You’re not, he discerns.

Instead, you huff a sigh, a sweet note that makes his heart jump, a small flutter that could only be instigated by you. It’s a sigh of relief. The door is shut. He expects another door to be slammed, too - the front door, hinges quaking as you sprint to the stairs as far as you can, too scared to wait for the elevator (and for your sake, he hopes you’ve brought a pair of running shoes - you’re on the 35th floor, after all). But that doesn’t happen.

Instead, he can hear the clanking of bowls and dishes, the smooth schwip as you push breadcrumbs off the chopping board into the bin with the back of the serrated-edge knife, and how you place said knife into the block without taking another one out.

So you’ve decided against stabbing him tonight? How agreeable.

In fact there seems to be no malice in the way you’re stacking the bowls, no scraps of extra force in how you shut the fridge. Whilst the sounds of your cleanup are nothing short of a ruckus to his alert ears, there’s an intentional tenderness he can hear. A conscious effort to be as quiet as possible with somebody sleeping peacefully in the next room.

It’s a gesture he’ll interpret in the best way he can. Even if he knows he’s deluding himself that you want to be quiet for his own peace rather than so you can escape, he’ll be sure to bring up the former as reasoning for your actions over the next few days, regardless of how you’ll spit venom at him, hissing that he couldn’t be more wrong.

Next is a movement he didn’t expect in the slightest.

You come back to the bedroom, with a pile of fabric in your hands - clothes, maybe? He thought you’d be off and away as soon as possible, or you wouldn’t get close to him again at the very least, standing patiently by the door until whatever you’re waiting for had occurred.

The quiet-ish footsteps make their way past him this time, and straight into the ensuite.

There’s the soft sound of clothes falling, and then the tap is turned on.

You’re…showering before you leave?

You really are a good teacher of the quirks of humanity. Logical as ever, he’d most certainly take no time for hygiene practices if it reduced his chances of being able to go on a small, liberating adventure. But perhaps that’s part of the plan? Do you not want to have a speck of dirt on you so you don’t smell bad? Will you hide out at a fancy gala, and have to be as fresh as possible? Are you trying to wash off Nen, perhaps?

No, that would never work, and he’s certain you know this too. Still, the idea of a little hopeless fire in you, taking a precaution you know is futile, makes his lips twitch.

So many questions, few of them answerable at present. His mind is stimulated so wondrously, for once not finding boredom in the predictability of human behaviour. He’s truly chosen well.

And then there’s something else, rising above the sound of the rushing water, above the drain gurgling it down, greedily gulping it away.

You’re humming.

It’s relatively random, most likely improvised, and slightly off-tune, but endearing all the same. He can taste the notes, sweet and soothing, running down his throat smoothly and pooling warmth in his belly.

You heave a sigh, and the tune changes. And then he recognises it.

It’s something he heard as a boy, back in Meteor City. He’d hear it at night, walking back to whatever semblance of a refuge he had with Franklin and Shalnark, past the hamlets of the younger children. Letting himself get lost in it, he can feel himself crawling to shelter on scraped knees, walking on calloused heels, eating stale bread, all accompanied by the faint smell of garbage, a smell that years of exposure had waned to a neutral accompaniment of the setting, rather than an inconvenience or hazard.

Despite the unhygienic nature of it all, it’s sweet. It’s these memories - memories of grime and rot and infection - that are the most pure. The most uncorrupted. They’re full of innocence and hope - just like you.

These qualities make you think you’ll leave him.

Upon remembering this, he’s tempted to barge in and ruin your peace, eager to hear your inevitable yelp and nervous laugh as he quizzes you about tonight’s events. But he doesn’t. Your lullaby is too enjoyable, the tune far too agreeable to stomp out yet. Resisting sin by committing another, he decides he doesn’t want to kill this mockingbird, if only to selfishly continue to hear it sing.

Few moments have come like this since you came to be with him. They’re all short-lived in comparison to the cold life he’s had, a firecracker popping on his tongue, fleetingly filling his mouth with syrupy sweetness before quickly dying off, barely an aftertaste to be savoured. He’s scratched them all down in an old leather journal with a quill and ink, lest he forgets what it feels like, or how to get that feeling again, but thankfully they’re scratched even deeper into his psyche.

You’d been agreeable enough for a reward of a dinner somewhere several stories up, city lights shining behind you, framing your hair beautifully. You were reluctant at first, turning your nose up at him and the priceless food in front of you, opting for the bottle of red wine instead. It wasn’t supposed to be gulped down with such vulgarity like that, but that was part of your charm and by your second glass you were giggling and halfway through your third you looked at him right in the eye, cheeks tinged pink, and you smiled a smile that you’d forget by morning but he wouldn’t…

He’d returned to the villa after a long day to find the fans blasting, and you slumped over on the couch as credits rolled on the screen in front of you. He’d flicked the TV off, not before noting the rom-com’s name, and regarded you, with your deep, even breaths and singlet strap falling down. He picked you up and carried you to bed, laying you down on the thin blankets, fixing your strap despite the small voice that called to him to take off the thing entirely. Your head rested on the pillow, your face not scowling for once, and you’d huffed the sweetest of sighs…

That’s the kind of moment this is.

There’s no thought of what he’ll be doing with the troupe tomorrow, or in a week, or what move to make next depending on what you decide to do. Every nook and cranny of his mind, every convolution of his brain is filled with the thought of you. Tonight, it’s warm and viscous, slowing time and cutting both of you off from the rest of the world; the rest of its filth.

In this moment, he can see himself in the shower with you. He’s across from you, lathering body wash onto his shoulders, letting the foam run down his back. All the while, he keeps his gaze on you, watching how your hands run over your body, soap running along your sternum, between your breasts, along the curve of your hips, your ass, all whilst you hum that tune… shit, he can’t let himself get hard now. He manages to drag himself out of the daydream, barely, just managing to claw himself to the surface of reality.

Caps are popped open and the lathering of soaps can be heard over the course of your performance, with a finale of the tap being turned off. There’s a fumbling of fabrics before you come out, followed by yet another move he doesn’t expect.

You walk up to the bed, peel the sheets back, and lie down beside him. You then roll onto your side, facing him. After a few moments, you prop yourself up onto your elbow.

A moment of nothing. You’re frozen, as is he. Calm before the storm, he prepares himself to catch your wrist and hear you shriek.

You lean over.

And then there’s a featherlight sensation on his forehead, right in the middle of his tattoo.

Had it been a split second later, he would’ve opened his eyes and turned to face you with a smirk as you screamed. But it’s not a split second later, it’s now, and now you’re kissing him. There’s no real benefit for doing such a thing that he can identify right now - perhaps you know he’s awake, and would like to make amends? Surely you know that that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him.

The contact sends an electric zap to every corner of his body, although he manages to not make himself jolt. Months of stifled desire bubble up from his insides, desire that’s spent so long smothered by rationale of better outcomes and forcing himself to think of his bloodied obstacles and late nights alone in the shower. As often as his lips find their way to your forehead, unfortunately the reverse doesn’t occur even half as much.

You pull away, like you’re hesitant about what you’ve done, like you’re waiting for him to snap his eyes open and sit up with inhuman speed, ready to pin you down or tie you up or even slap you for tonight’s inconveniences. But that doesn’t make sense, because hesitation is supposed to occur before such an intrepid act, not afterward.

After receiving apparent confirmation that you’re not about to be attacked, he can sense your head slowly but surely coming to rest on your pillow. You shouldn’t strain your neck like that, someone like you could get hurt over time.

The back of his shirt is peeled up, slowly, delicately, and he has to focus to keep his breathing even.

There you lie, staring at the twelve-legged spider etched into his skin, his number a pale contrast to the black ink, practically jumping out at you.

It’s your reminder, he supposes, of what he is. Theoretically and legally nonexistent, practically traceless. Zero evidence. Zero remorse. Zero morality.

Zero.

Then-

One, two, three.

Your lips mark a trail up his spine, at the bottom of the abdomen, right in the middle of the zero, on its head. Don’t shudder.

Once your deed is done, you pull back. There you lie, staring at the twelve-legged spider etched into his skin, so silent that you’re barely breathing.

The fabric of his nightshirt is guided back down. You roll over and proceed to go limp, succumbing to the drugs intended for him.

What was that?

You’re not touching him anymore. He can sense the gap between your bodies, one that he would close every night, pulling you close.

Was it a relief? To go to sleep without him touching you?

You’d always stirred up such a fuss about his arms being around you as you slept.

It had always been a cause for seething rage on your part, later argument, later whining, and more recently huffing. Even last night, the stiffness before you fell asleep was a cause of his own discomfort. But you didn’t have to deal with that tonight, and now you’ve fallen asleep in record time. He can’t say it was just from the pills.

Did you change your mind on leaving after you felt their effects? It doesn’t seem likely that you’d ditch all that to sleep. Rather, that you wanted to sleep on your own terms.

He’d spent so much time concerned with stopping a potential escape, that he didn’t stop to consider that maybe, just maybe, that was never the goal to begin with.

And now Chrollo rolls over to face you, gently tugging on your shoulder to pull you onto your back.

You’re serene as ever, a sight to behold.

He brushes the back of his knuckles along your hair, feeling its texture, so light that his calloused hands - hands that have seen many a bruise and burn and slice and hangnail caught and ripped on the job - almost can’t feel it. Your exhales come out more as huffs and sighs now compared to gentle breathing, and he allows a chuckle (one that he finds incredibly endearing, as much as you’ve let your disagreement to that sentiment be known, preferring to describe it with wounding words such as “condescending” and “grating”) to slip past his lips.

It reminds him of you when you’re awake, when you used to try so hard to be difficult for him, when you used to scream and scratch as he’d spoon you, grip ironclad, until all you could do was huff and puff and plead with him (and as much as he enjoyed your attempts to compromise, this was something he simply could not relinquish) and eventually, your cursing would die down, your muscles would go limp, and you’d fall asleep.

Sometimes the sun would be up by the time you relented, and your breaths would be the heaviest then. It was amusing, how quickly you’d switch. One second, you were cussing him and his troupe out, the next, you were a paragon of tranquillity, the visage of an angel before him. He’d pray you love him.

He wants to grab your jaw, hold it firm, and kiss your lips as hard as he can. He wants to tilt his head and take and take and take. He wants to keep taking even if your breathing lightens. He wants to keep taking even if your eyelids flutter open, hazy doe-eyes looking at him with dozy confusion.

Well, he’d never deny his own indulgence.

Leaning in, he presses a kiss to your forehead, just as you did to him.

The touch is as gentle as he can make it, as gentle as he can permit himself to be. There’s a split second of what he could almost call fear, an image of accidentally squeezing you too hard and hearing your bones snap flashing in his mind.

He rubs his thumb over where his lips previously were, feeling an unanticipated wetness left behind.

It’s then that Chrollo realises his mouth is full of his own saliva - whether that was because he was so entranced by your actions that nothing else mattered, body as limp as he could allow, or because, like some sort of filthy animal, he couldn’t help but drool at the contact from you, starved for it like a hyena, he doesn’t know. He swallows. That’s better.

And now for the main event.

He dips down to your lips, and lightly presses his own against them. The feeling is so heavenly, he wonders if you really are an angel. If you were one, would you bless him? Would you destroy him?

If you were to know what he’s doing, would you hate him more?

He pulls away.

The journey to get here was sizable. Memories of tonight flash by; your cooking, your conversation, your shower. Your humming.

Ah. The tune he heard as a boy. Innocent, naïve, hopeful.

Well, he’s a man now. And far less innocent.

He lets out a hum of his own, deep and rumbling.

Chrollo moves to straddle you, peeling the duvet and sheets back, layer by layer, unveiling the best present he’s ever gifted himself. Just moving into such an intimate position is enough to send pangs of heat downwards, the hardness he fought against earlier returning with an urgency.

For a moment, he tries to fight against it.

Is it to save himself from your hatred? Is it to save you from what he’s planning?

It’s neither, he discerns, as the attempt was doomed to fail before it even started. He knows it was never meant to succeed.

His groin only throbs harder, aching for friction. It’s a spur-of-the-moment thing, the way he presses it against your clothed crotch, rocking back and forth, the slight relief just momentary as his desire only grows.

He regards your unsuspecting face. Stunning.

Restraint is draining faster now, but still is present just enough to stop him from grinding any harder despite the urge. But if he’s to stop his movements, he’ll need a different kind of stimulation.

He bunches your shirt up, pulling, sliding a hand under your back so he can slip it off your arms and neck.

Now your chest is bare. How ravishing.

His fingers hook under the band of your sleep pants, dragging them off in a clean motion.

And now your legs are bare. How alluring.

He doesn’t take your underwear off - that would simply be crude, and he doesn’t need to tempt himself anymore. If he got the privilege (or right, considering your standings) of seeing you fully nude, as opposed to having a single layer covering the most tantalising part of you, he’d be oh-so-inclined to do something regrettable. His logic fights to win space within his buzzing thoughts, fingers daring to twitch as his imagination fills in the gaps of what the thin black layer forces to be left to it.

Chrollo parts your thighs for good measure, the maximum he can allow himself at this moment. It’d be impossible to not let his hands and gaze trail up them, observing how as he roams upwards, your flesh gets softer, warmer; how the flimsy fabric can’t hide all of your darker flesh; how your lower lips are pressing against the cloth, visible despite the darkness…

God, you’re so fuckable.

There’s a pretentious voice in his head, albeit muffled, that cries protests at the use of such a word to describe you. You’re something far more than that - beautiful, exemplary, one-in-a-million, ethereal. Surely your mouth would be better put to use having a fulfilling conversation with him, a conversation he can dissect and steer and puppeteer, as opposed to just opening as wide as it can to accommodate his cock, taking it as deep as your gag reflex will allow, barely able to breathe, much less talk. Although, he thinks with a faint, deep groan, twitching in his pants, that’s certainly a hypothesis I’ll have to test.

With the sight of your breasts, nipples hard and skin goosebumped from the chill of the room, it’s decided. Just because making his cheeks warm and his cock rock hard isn’t your most prominent trait, doesn’t mean that you aren’t absolutely exceptional at it.

Temptation isn’t something he’s inclined to resist, brushing a thumb over your nipples before leaning down to take one into his mouth. He swears he can hear your breath hitch as his tongue swirls around, breathing getting slightly lighter. An eager hand reaches for the other one, kneading as gently as he thinks he can.

Soft is the first thing he thinks. Your flesh is so soft, so delicate, so tender. If you were awake, he’d vocalise his compliments - and do so loudly, unrestrained.

Your breathing changes as he points his tongue to lightly flick at your nipple repeatedly. Chances are you’re being taken out of REM sleep, but your consciousness doesn’t matter at this stage. And some part of him hopes for it, brief images flashing in his mind of barely-open teary eyes slowly rolling to the back of your head. They’re obscene, so utterly immoral to even fantasise about, yet even the split-second thought makes his stomach jump, shivering a bit as he feels himself be almost overcome by them.

He can’t help but slightly wet his lips in anticipation, relishing in the knowledge that his instincts are being held back with the slightest thread. If he moves even slightly faster than his rational, calculating, non-carnal mind intends, then it’ll snap. He’ll snap.

Almost trembling, he reaches across to his bedside table. The movements are imprecise, but he’s sure this practice will allow him to execute them with much more grace for the inevitable time you’ll be awake. Yes, you’ll be awake and whining and he’ll wet his lips in anticipation and be met with your lingering taste and you’ll want him as much as he wants you-

He almost falls forward as his own lust threatens to overtake him. Focus on the necessary steps.

Taking a shuddering breath, he leans down to pull open the drawer, to find a bottle hidden at the back, purposefully concealed behind an upright copy of Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Quickly shifting his weight back, he pops the cap open, spreading some of the slick contents onto his fingertips. With his free hand, he pulls down the loose elastic of his pyjama pants, shucking them off, the cold air making him quiver slightly.

Time’s running out.

The movements are trembling, sloppy as he pours lube onto his length, and then onto your spread thighs. There’s a frantic inertia of sorts, a mad momentum - the more he does, the faster he has to go, the anticipation making his stomach swell and dip. He’s really going to do this. It’s really going to happen, and it’ll be amazing.

There. Done. Everything’s ready.

Chrollo takes a shaky breath, gripping just above your knees, and squeezes your thighs around his dick.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Your thighs are warm from the duvet, perfectly cosy and wet from the lube for his cock.

Little time is wasted as he begins to thrust his hips, trying not to give himself too much too soon. The steady pace is slowly increased, little by little, a fragile incline so he can drag this out for as long as possible.

Can you feel it? Can you feel the warmth radiating from him? Is there some part of your mind that’s awake, but can’t do anything to stop him? Or better yet, is eager to please him?

He strains out a hiss through gritted teeth, peppering kisses over your exposed neck, trying his best not to bite. The pace increases yet again. His eyes are fixated on the mound in your underwear, a more sinister form of curiosity burning within.

What does your pussy look like?

He won’t use En, that’s just cheating. He wonders and ponders and conjures up the most filthy images his mind can muster. A warm, tight hole that clenches for him as he slips in and out, teasing you. A pretty clit for him to tease with his fingers as you whine, for him to suckle on as you choke on sobs of pleasure. Folds for him to run his tongue through as you rut your hips against his face; for him to run his tip along, collecting your slick.

He imagines how his cock would look disappearing inside of your cunt, how your grip would be so suffocating, how your tits would bounce as he fucks it (because shit, they’re already moving so vigorously now, as he holds his strength, and he can’t even begin to picture what they’d look like if he loses control buried deep inside you, repeatedly stuffing you to the hilt as you cry out). He imagines how you’d tighten around him, babbling something incoherent as you wrap your arms and legs around him, and oh fuck, he can’t pull out now. He imagines the tension snapping, giving a rumbling groan as he shoves himself into you as deeply as possible, eyes screwing shut and burying his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder, riding out his high with a few shallow thrusts.

And finally, he imagines how his cum would look leaking out of your pussy, twitching and swollen from a nice good fuck. The afterglow. The squeak you’d give if he fingered it back into you, growling at you to not waste a drop, keep it all inside for me.

The thought makes his hips stutter a little, threatening to slip out of the plushness between your thighs. Once he regains his rhythm, though, they’re speeding up, relentlessly fucking himself into your thighs over and over, kneading the flesh as he squeezes them tighter and closer.

Chrollo cups your face with a single hand, and leans in.

It’s the second time he’s properly kissed you tonight, and it feels fucking amazing. Your soft lips, your soft thighs, they’re all working together to make his head swim in bliss. You’re working to make him feel good. Yes, him. Nobody else. You’re his.

The thoughts run wild. He has as little control over them as he does his hips.

How would it feel to fuck you in some other position? How would it feel to flip you onto your stomach, pulling your hips back to meet his, as he stuffs himself into your sopping cunt over and over, watching your ass bounce? How would you cry out at the way his balls slap against your swollen clit, building up the pressure inside you until you just can’t take any more?

How would you grind on top of him? How would you moan as you bounce, tilting your head back as you stretch yourself on his length, panting? How many times could you do it until your legs trembled uncontrollably, forcing yourself to impale yourself on his cock just one more time? When he’d plant his feet on the bed firmly and thrust his hips up, grabbing yours and bouncing you in time, would you wail, or simply slump over, completely unable to form a thought as you cum around him for the nth time?

You’re flexible enough to fold into a mating press, right? How deep could he go? How fast could he go? How would your beautiful skin look covered in love bites?

The coil of pressure within him grows even tighter even faster, balls slapping against your thighs, hips pistoning rhythmlessly.

If he asked, oh-so-nicely, for you to get on your knees and please him with your mouth, would you oh-so-sweetly do it? Would you suckle his swollen tip? Would you tease him with a glint of mischief in your eyes? Would you find his most sensitive spots and exploit them? Would you trace your tongue along the veins? Would you massage his balls? Would you let him control the pace, a hand intertwined in your hair? Would you look up at him as you tear up, doe-eyes wide and eager to please? Would you rub your pretty pussy while he shoots thick ropes of cum down your throat, pressing your nose against his pelvis?

Yes, he decides as the coil begins to snap, you would.

Chrollo comes to a sudden halt, choking out a rich groan in a low timbre. The noise becomes more strained as he rides out the high, the overwhelming euphoria becoming just a bit too intense as it begins to morph into overstimulation. Once he’s sure the moment’s over, he lets go of your legs, pulling back to catch his breath and admire his work.

Ropes of cum paint your chest, some making it as far as your neck, your chin. It’s beautiful, the unruly mess he’s made - no, the mess you’ve made of him.

You’re a real beauty, you know that?

The bathroom tiles are cold against his feet as he grabs a washcloth to clean you up. It’s sad to see it go, to a primal extent, but it’s probably for the best to ensure he doesn’t get any ideas for a second round tonight.

For future nights, though? The chest he’s covering up will soon be exposed soon enough.

He’ll have to get more sleeping pills. You simply must try this again soon.

Next time, he’ll taste you. The time after that, you’ll taste him. He can hardly wait, nor can he stop the dull throbbing starting up in his groin again.

He sates himself for the time being with the knowledge that the time after that, you’ll be awake.

#chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucifer #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere hxh #hxh #hxh x reader #yandere hxh x reader #tw yandere

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fayes-fics · 1 year

Text

Impertinent

2k Celebration Masterpost

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Sneaking around Aubrey Hall in the dead of night brings you right into the path of one Viscount...

Warnings: very suggestive content, nudity, teasing and touching, Viscount being a total menace but mostly a gentleman.

Word Count: 1.4k (250-word drabbles... I'm HILARIOUS)

Authors Note: Seventh in my 2k follower celebration drabble request fills for @colettebronte with the prompt “You heard me. Take. It. Off.” (ask here). This ended up quite tame, but I enjoyed writing him as a tease. Unbetaed. Enjoy! <3,

You know it's not the right thing to do. To be snooping around Aubrey Hall in the dead of night. But you cannot resist it. As everyone sleeps, you wander silently, tiptoeing around in just your nightgown, the light of the moon streaming through the large windows to guide you. It feels elicit, exciting even. Exploring the home of the man you hope to marry, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton. You have danced and promenaded a few times; this early invitation to spend time with his family ahead of the rest of the Ton bodes well.

You pause at the door of his private study, then, with a fortifying breath, turn the handle and slip into the room. Warm embers glow in the fireplace, and the smell of cigars and expensive whiskey hangs in the air. It is so masculine and so Anthony you can't help but drift to the sizeable imposing desk and take a seat, fingers running over the wood, picturing him sitting right where you are, working hard on something important or other. It makes you lean back, something stirring in your body, just the thought of him arousing.

It's then you notice there is material draped around the back of the large leather chair—one of his velvet, tailed jackets. It smells of spicy cologne, and before you know it, your nose is buried in the material, drawing deep breaths, the scent making your thighs rub together. Something compels you to want to wear it, to feel it against your skin.

With a boldness you thought yourself scarcely capable of, you stand up and whip off your nightgown, reaching to slip on the jacket. You luxuriate in the feeling of the luxury satin liner against your bare flesh, how it cools your back, snags your pebbled nipples, and how the velvet collar tickles your neck. The front may sit at waist height on him, but on you, the material skims the apex of your thighs, catching deliciously in the patch of hair you have there.

So wrapped up in the sensation of being surrounded by him, by his scent, you don’t hear the door open until it's too late.

“What in the…?”

You startle and spin around to see there in the doorway is the man himself, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, casual in just a loose white shirt and his britches with braces slung around his legs. You are caught, red-handed. The power of speech has abandoned you, so you just stand there, a rabbit caught in his crosshairs, guilt, fear and shame flooding your system.

He stalks into the room further now and inhales sharply when he rounds a chair to see an unencumbered view of you, entirely nude except for his jacket. His gaze is heavy, sliding down your body sweeping your bare legs, then fixing on where the fabric only just covers you.

“Take it off,” he orders.

You almost jump out of your skin at the tone and the gruffness. Your arms and hands incapable of moving; there are few charged moments when Anthony just stares at you.

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.” This time it's even lower, a growl, predatory, enthralling.

And you scramble to obey, shucking the jacket from around your shoulders and letting it hit the floor with an audible thump. Entirely naked now, his responding noise has your thighs instantly damp.

“How impertinent to let yourself into my private study,” his voice surly as he prowls towards you. You freeze to the spot, your hands flying to protect your modesty. “Oh, it’s a little late for that now,” he chuckles darkly, “put your hands back at your sides right now.”

And you do. Casting your gaze to the floor as your cheeks heat. His stare is so heavy it feels like a robe you wear. Soon he is so close you can smell the same cologne that clung to his jacket but this time from his skin.

He circles behind you, and you gasp as he crouches down; it takes you a second to realise he is picking up his jacket, where you carelessly disposed of it onto the floor.

“Tell me, why would you put on my jacket while nude?” he queries, lingering there, and you shudder as his hot breath glances over your bare bottom cheeks as he does so, still behind you.

“I…I… I wanted to try it on,” you stumble, your voice far too quiet.

“And you had to take off your nightgown to do so?” he snarks, and both of your eyes cut to the side where your gown lays in a heap.

“It seemed like luxurious material,” you confess, head still bowed, starting at the rug as if it fascinates you. “I wanted it against my skin,” those last few words are barely audible.

“You do not have velvet clothes of your own you could try this with?” he throws out, still behind you, that breath still hot over your cheeks; in fact, you swear it’s closer now.

“Yes, but…” you trail off, having no good excuse. Unable to think of a lie, you screw your eyes shut and decide on the truth “... they do not smell like you.”

You jolt and make a noise of sheer surprise as he pitches forward, and his teeth land on your cheek, inhaling deeply.

“At last…” he growls, scraping his canine over the globe of your bottom, “she admits to it.”

“To what?” you murmur as his wet tongue pokes out, soothing the spot he had touched with his teeth as you tremble.

“That you want me just as much as I want you.”

Your whole body shudders as he runs his tongue up the length of your spine, climbing to his feet, your toes curling, scrunching into the thick wool pile, as he unfurls to his full height behind you. You wish you had something nearby to grab onto; it feels as if you could topple over, the rush of blood to your head so intense.

“Are you a maiden?” his mouth is now hot on your ear.

“Yes.”

“And you have never had a man run his tongue over your body like that before, have you?” his voice dark and laced with bemusement.

“No,” you admit.

A warm hand lands on your shoulder as he stands behind you, and again you jump—your body aflame, your nipples pebbling hard, goosebumps breaking out down your arms.

“And I presume no man has touched your naked body?”

“No, my lord,” your addition of his title makes him take a sharp breath.

“Good,” he snarls, sounding possessive,

His hand rounds your shoulder and starts to sink lower, mapping over the outer end of your clavicle as you try to school your body, trying to stay still, so completely overwhelmed by what is happening. When warm fingertips brush the top of your breast, you begin to tremble.

“Do you know what could happen to mischievous young maidens who break into men’s offices?” It's just a deadly rumble now while his fingers inch fractionally lower, so close to your nipple that it aches to be touched.

You are incapable of answering, so you shake your head a little, his nose bumping your ear.

“You are lucky, Miss y/l/n, that I am mostly a gentleman,” he purrs, “mostly.”

You shiver as he circles your areola with featherlight touch but never crosses onto it, your heart pounding from the tease.

“I suggest you grab your nightgown and run now,” he advises, sounding like he is fighting his urges, his hand stilling in its motion.

“What if that is the opposite of what I wish?” you can barely believe you found the gall to utter your thought aloud, staring straight ahead at the bookcase, not daring to look down at his hand on your body.

His lips brush the shell of your ear, and it's like being struck by lightning.

“Leave now,” he whispers, “you may return tomorrow evening. Exactly as you are.”

“Why then?” you frown, disappointed as his hand drops from your flesh.

“Because then we shall be publically betrothed… and nothing should stop us.”

Your world spins, and you have to lock your knees to stop your swoon. “What…?”

“You heard me,” he says for the second time tonight, this time with a smug tone, stepping away and handing you your nightgown over your shoulder.

You take a faltering step forward and quickly pull on your nightgown, finally turning to face him again, and it steals your breath. His pupils are dilated, his cheeks flushed, his mouth damp and open.

“Until tomorrow, Miss y/l/n….” he gestures to the door and still utterly dumbfounded, you stumble towards it.

You cannot wait for tomorrow.

Anthony Taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies

#anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton #2k follower celebration #1k notes #1k notes omg you guys!

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giantmushyfriend · 4 months

Text

Welcome back to the Ineffable lyric discussion (can I hear a wahoo)

In honor of the announcement of season 3 of our beloved Good Omens, I find it completely necessary for us to discuss one of the many songs on Aziraphale and Crowley's angelic playlist that made me scream my bloody head off. One of those songs is the one and only The Book of Love by Peter Gabriel. While I UNDERSTAND this song may have just been chosen to spell out SEASON THREE, I think it goes much deeper than that because of all of the parallels it draws to Aziraphale and Crowley. And ultimately, what I think is going to happen in terms of their relationship when they finally sort their shit out. So beware if you haven't watched season 2 of Good Omens because we're about to do a fucking DEEP DIVE into this.

First, the title of the Book of Love feels almost like a call to this looming threat to the Book of Life that was consistently used in series 2. The entire season, Crowley and Aziraphale have to work oh so carefully because with the Book of Life being confirmed, they know that either of them could get the other erased, and whether they want to admit it or not, losing the other is their biggest fear. We've seen this when Crowley believed Aziraphale to be dead in Series 1 when he couldn't feel Aziraphale's presence anymore since he got incorporated. When Aziraphale isn't there, Crowley is a mess. Likewise, we saw how both reacted during the ineffable divorce scene in series 2. Crowley is full-on begging Aziraphale to stay, and Aziraphale has finally admitted that he needs Crowley and full-on mouths for Crowley not to leave him. The Book of Life inherently, from how Neil set it up, feels threatening. The Book of Love, on the other hand, raises an entirely other reaction. Throughout the series, as corny as it sounds, love has been what grounds our protagonists. It is the love of Tadfeild and his friends that keeps Adam from kickstarting the end of the world; it's what keeps him from rejecting his father, the literal devil. It is the love of the earth, of humanity and all its strange creations, and for each other that keeps Aziraphale and Crowley attempting to prevent the end of the world when it could be so much easier to just accept the fate of it all. Love is the key theme that grounds our protagonists, that makes them tick. Love is safe; love is, at times, painful but overall kind. So when we see this title on their playlist, listed amongst heartwrenching tales of grieving a relationship, you could have had, and of loss, it brings a sense of salvation and safety. The Book of Love, unlike the Book of Life, is not a threat- it's a sanctuary for Aziraphale and Crowley.

Now, diving into the lyrics.

"The book of love is long and boring

No one can lift the damn thing

It's full of charts and facts, and figures, and instructions for dancing

But I

I love it when you read to me.

And you

You can read me anything"

The first couple of verses inherently feel like Aziraphale and Crowley's original view on this notion of love. As two supernatural entities who aren't bound by human emotion or logic, love may seem superficial and downright silly at times. The courting procedures that different societies have taken on throughout the centuries and the songs and dances that come along with it may all seem like a big waste. The book of love is a manifestation of love itself, and originally, it seems unappetizing to our protagonists. That is until they refind each other, and love goes from this thing that humans feel and jump through hoops for to this tidal wave of emotions. Love felt silly and unrealistic before, but with each other, they are willing and excited to explore it, even if it comes with things that feel inherently silly.

Also, these verses draw some cute parallels to headcanons and features of cannons. If you've been involved in the Good Omens fandom long enough, you've probably stumbled across the idea that Crowley asks Aziraphale to read to him for a multitude of different reasons. Some people say it's because his eyes aren't meant to read, one of the many punishments that came with him being cast down from grace, or maybe it's just because he finds Aziraphale's voice comforting. Additionally, the line about instructions for dancing is just so heartwarming when we look at the ball scene from this past season and Aziraphale's daydreams of a romance worthy of a Jane Austin novel.

"The book of love is long and boring

And written very long ago

It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes

Adn things we're all too young to know

but I

I love it when you give me things

and you

You ought to give me wedding rings"

I'm sure we've all heard this idea that you'll understand love when you get older, but even when you get older, it never seems to make sense. This idea that love is too old for any of us to truly understand, and that humbles us but in the best way possible. There is no point in trying to figure out what exactly love is because you could spend thousands of years feeling it and watching it happen all around you and still not know exactly what it is besides this all-encompassing feeling. And that is exactly the perspective of Aziraphale and Crowley. They have seen countless examples of love, true, unwavering love, and they have felt it for each other. And yet they themselves cannot begin to fathom what love, true unconditional love, is exactly. These two supernatural, ethereal/occult beings are humbled by the very concept of love like humans are- and that love is drawn from each other.

And then there is this notion of giving, which pairs so well with Crowley's primary love language, acts of service and gift giving. If the first chorus was Crowley talking about how he loves it when Aziraphale reads to him and takes care of him, then this is Aziraphale talking about how Crowley displays his love. And this final notion of asking for that final commitment, one of the key ways humans express their love for each other, is just amazing. Because in a way, Aziraphale moving to make this commitment, to fully be on their side in this way, is the resolution we have been wanting since the beginning. For Aziraphale to finally feel safe enough to let go and finally let himself settle to where he finally belongs, on his side with Crowley.

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swordcreature · 5 months

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HCs for how the tiefling boys ask you to marry them?

anon this may be the first thing i have written this year that wasn't inherently smutty. so thank you for that because my default is horny heheh

but seriously thank you for the request these are so much fun

Dammon, Rolan, & Zevlor - Marriage Proposal

light implications of sexual acts (not sure if it warrants a tag but just to be safe) MDNI/18+

How the tiefling boys ask you to marry them.

Dammon:

First off, Dammon totally makes your rings. He’s not a jeweler, so he doesn’t have the necessary tools to set stones or anything fancy like that. But he does make two beautiful golden bands with an inscription on the inner wall. Something sweet and sentimental written in infernal like “my heart forevermore” or “our love will last until the end of days”

He isn’t the type to take this step unless he is 100% sure that it’s something you both want. He’ll straight up ask you if it’s something you want at some point, so when he finally does ask, you’re not blindsided. Just surprised because you didn’t know when it would happen.

You expected it to happen during a date – every time you went on a picnic or had dinner at one of your favorite taverns you giddily waited for him to drop on a knee and ask you. But it kept on not happening.

In truth, I could see Dammon initially planning something like that. An old-fashioned romantic date where he ends the night with flowers and ring in hand, proposing under the moonlight.

But, despite himself and his planning, Dammon is just so anxious to ask you; he cannot wait to start the next step of your life together.

It happens at home, actually.

You’re both in bed, having just made love, laying on your sides to face each other. His arm is under your head as a pillow and your bodies are curled towards one another. It’s just such a tender moment as you two talk about nothing in particular, making each other laugh, sharing quick kisses.

It’s both an unimportant moment, and the most important moment ever. Because he’s just so happy and in love with you, he feels completely at peace, so entirely safe and secure in the life you have built together thus far. It takes his breath away how much he wants this, forever.

So of course he can’t be blamed for scrapping his whole elaborate proposal plan and asking you right then and there.

He forgets to even pull out the rings. He just asks you, simply, calmly, as though he was asking what you wanted for breakfast. “Marry me.” It’s a statement more than a question.

When you say yes (because I accept no HCs where you don’t decide to marry these absolutely wonderful men), he kisses you and holds you there until you can’t breath anymore.

Before he completely forgets he ends up pulling the rings he made from his bedside table, showing you his work and slipping one of your finger. He worries it with his finger, twisting it back and forth against your finger with a satisfied smile on his face.

He seems completely taken back by the look of his ring on your finger. He’s never looked so utterly content.

Then he pulls you back to continue kissing every inch of you. Prepare to be thoroughly worshipped over and over again.

You’re definitely not leaving that bed for the rest of the day as you celebrate your engagement.

Rolan:

It takes Rolan a long while before he is ready to make the jump to marriage. I think deep down you as his partner fear that maybe it’ll never happen. When you’ve brought it up in the past, it clearly made him apprehensive, so you resigned yourself to the idea that it may never happen.

And you’re okay with that. You don’t need marriage to know you want to be with him forever.

One day Rolan invites you out on the town with him, laying out a new set of clothes that he thinks you would look nice in. He asks you to meet him at a nicer tavern, or maybe even someplace in the upper city.

At first you think he’s just planned a really nice, elegant date night for fun. But he’s acting strange. Nervous. His tail swishes back and forth, low to the ground and his eyes land everywhere but your face.

It doesn’t let up after dinner either. He takes your hand and takes you for a stroll through Bloomridge Park by moonlight. You walk slowly almost like he doesn’t want to go back to the tower yet.

If you try to ask him what’s wrong, he gets a little short with you, his nerves getting the better of him. He’ll apologize right away of course but he’s just so caught up in whatever it is that he’s been thinking about that he immediately goes quiet.

You’re almost back at the park’s entrance when Rolan just stops.

His back is straight, and he looks like he’s just seen a ghost. Can a tiefling’s face go white with fear? Because his definitely does.

You try to comfort him, putting a hand on his shoulder or lightly cupping his face. And it’s like all his discomfort melts away in an instant – you ground him so much and that’s why he’s about to do what he’s about to do.

He pulls you close to him, holding both your hands, earnestly staring at you like you’re about to run from him.

He has a whole speech planned, and he begins, tripping over words that he clearly tried to rehearse beforehand.

After a moment he just decides to adlib, ditching whatever script he was fumbling with.

And he finally asks the question. It’s a hurried jumble of words – “willyoumarryme?” Color you surprised, at the very least.

He doesn’t even wait for you to answer before he’s rushing over more words about how of course you don’t need to say yes, he would understand if you wanted to keep things how they are, maybe he should have kneeled while asking, would you have preferred being asked in private – but you stop him with a forceful kiss. Just shut that boy up before he flushes even redder.

When you pull away, you whisper a tiny, confident yes and it’s like Rolan is seeing the sun for the first time ever. He lets out the biggest sigh of relief you’ve ever heard. Then he’s picking you up and swinging you around, kissing your face.

He sets you back on the ground and tries to steel himself, pretending that his public display of vulnerability didn’t just happen. But you can see his mask slip as he grabs your hand again and drags you back to the tower like an eager teenager.

He tries not to draw attention to the fact that he totally forgot to bring the ring with him.

Zevlor:

Oh my sweet Zevlor. It takes him a while to get to the point of marriage too, just because he wants to go through the motions of a proper relationship with you. He wants to give you the courtesy of having him in every way partners should before thinking about making their union official.

So, by the time he’s planning on popping the question, you two are basically living like a married couple already.

One big plus side to this though is that Zevlor is more confident than ever – about your relationship and himself. Towards the beginning of your relationship, he would have never been able to convince himself that he was worthy enough for something so divine.

Now, though, he knows this is where you both are headed, where you are meant to be. So his nerves are more from excitement than trepidation.

He plans a lovely dinner for you at home. Zevlor is an amazing cook and takes careful consideration in choosing a meal for this very special occasion. He’ll buy fresh ingredients from the market to make your favorite dish, and he even gets a somewhat expensive wine to pair with everything.

When you get home the house is darkened, with only the small dining area filled with the low lights of candles. He lets you settle in, getting changed from your street clothes to something more appropriate for the evening, and is there waiting to pull out your chair when you’re ready.

The topic of marriage has come up before, so there is a small, sneaking suspicion growing inside you of what this night may have in store.

You have dinner talking, relaxing, enjoying the calm you feel in each other’s company.

He would need at least a couple glasses of wine to work through his giddiness, so your food is long gone by the time he walks around the table and drops to his knees before you. He holds your hand against his heart so you can feel it's fast rhythm as he speaks.

Unlike Rolan, Zevlor’s words aren’t rehearsed. He just speaks from the heart – what comes out is naturally elegant.

I see him as the kind of guy to wax poetic about your love, making sure you know, without a doubt, that you are his entire world.

At the end of his speech, he pulls out a small box with a silver ring in it, a red jewel in the center of the band. He wanted something simple and elegant to match how he sees you and your love.

He’ll ask you formally, puffing out his chest a bit, breaking out your full name to propose.

When you say yes, he slips the ring on, kissing your knuckles. You share a tender kiss, and you notice he has the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

He’ll pull you to your feet and most likely spend some time swaying to the tune of music only you two can hear.

Then he offers dessert. If you agree, he pulls you upstairs to indulge in the only sweet thing he wants in that moment.

#bg3 #bg3 smut #bg3 dammon #bg3 zevlor #bg3 rolan #dammon #zevlor #rolan #my writing #anon #dammon x reader #rolan x reader #zevlor x reader #requests/suggestions

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juanarc-thethird · 6 months

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Mutual Feelings.

Jaune is in his room playing video games with May. They are sitting on Jaune's bed facing the TV.

Jaune: Almost! Almost! I got you!! Woo-ho!! Another victory for me~

May: *Sad* Oh… I lost again.

Jaune: Don't be sad. You're playing a lot better now. And one day maybe you'll beat me, but I'm really good so… *He said it with a smug smile*

May: *Smiling she pushes Jaune a little with her shoulder* Shut up, ugly. You suck

Jaune: *Chuckles*

*Knock! Knock!*

Nora: *Walks in the room* Hey guys...

Jaune: Oh hey Nora. I though you went to the movies with Ren.

Nora: We are, is just that I forgot my wallet here. Don't worry, I'm not going to ruin your date. *She smiles, teasing him*

The two individuals in question blush at the comment.

Jaune: *Red* Is not a date!

Nora: Sureee... *takes her wallet* and I am not in love with Ren.

Jaune grabs one of her pillows if he throws it at her.

Jaune: Leave!

Nora quickly leaves the room, laughing in the process.

Jaune: Jeez, that Nora. Sorry about that May.

May: *Blushing* I-It's ok.

Jaune: I'm going to get something to eat at the vending machines. Want something? *He says as he starts to get up*

May: I'll go with you! *She says as she stands up as well*

Without noticing, May lost her balance and tried to hold on to Jaune. He realizes this and tries to catch her. But they both fall to the ground, May on top of Jaune.

Jaune: Ouch... May, are you ok?

May: Y-Yes, I'm fine.

May raises her head to see Jaune, and he is stunned after see in her face so close. For him it was as if for the first time he saw how beautiful May is. Her beautiful gray eyes, her delicate tanned skin, her gorgeous red hair. Jaune already had feelings for her, but he never made a move out of fear of losing her friendship. But seeing her in this position, he knew that he had to act and make her his girlfriend, and one day her future wife.

Jaune: *Nervous* M-May!

May: *Jumps a little in surprise* Y-Yes!

Jaune: I like you a lot! Please go out with me!

May: *Blushing* Eh?!

Jaune: I have always liked you but I was afraid to say it thinking that maybe I would lose your friendship. But I can't contain myself anymore! I really like you a lot, and hope we can even get marry one day!

May *RED* EH?!!!

Jaune: W-what you think about that?

May: I... I.... I like you too!! *She says at the top of her lungs* I always liked you, but I was afraid you were going to reject me. I'm so happy!

She suddenly reaches for Jaune's head and kisses him passionately. Jaune can feel her moving her hands over his body as they kiss. He feels how her hand walks along his chest, his stomach, and then ends up on his…

Jaune: *Stops Kissing* May, that's my-!

May: I'm sorry, but I've waited so long for this that I can't contain myself. I really love you a lot. I want to feel close to you as much as possible. Please…

She looks at him with a pleading face. She looked so tender that Jaune couldn't deny her. He thought that having sisters would help you with these things, but when the girl you like begs you so sweetly, how can he refuse?

Jaune: O-Ok, I want this too.

May: *Smiling* I love you~ *Kiss*

Moments later....

May: Jaune~💕 Ah!~💕 I love you su much~💕

Jaune: I love you too~ Fuck!~💕

Jaune was sitting on his bed, while May was in the back of him, enjoying how his member penetrated deep inside her again and again.

May: I can't think straight if you keep thrusting like that!~💕

Jaune: I can help it. You feel to good~ *starts kissing her neck*

May: You too!~💕 FUck~💕! You're the only one for me. I want to be with you forever.

Jaune: God damn it. I think am about to cum.

May: Please do. Please cum inside me~💕

Jaune hugs May tightly with both arms and begins to fuck her with more intensity.

May: Yes!~💕 Keep fucking me like that!~💕

Jaune: Oh shit!~💕 I'm getting close!

May: I'm close too, don't stop!~💕

Jaune: Oh fuck! Oh fuck!! Oh FucK!!

May: Give it to me!!

Jaune: OH FUCk!!

Jaune pushes May down with all his strength. His cock shot all of his cum deep inside her, filling her whole.

May: Oh GOD!!~💕 Is so much! I love you so much!

Jaune: *Huff* *Huff* I love you too.

May: *Hugs him tight* Fuck, lets stay like this for a momento ok?

Jaune: Of course.

May: *Kiss him* I so happy to be with you.

Jaune: *Kiss her back* Me too.

#jaune arc #rwby jaune #jaune #rwby jaune arc #may zedong #rwby may zedong #rwby may #may #rwby #handholding stuff #rwby smut #rwby lemon #nora #rwby nora #rwby nora valkyrie #nora valkyrie

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virginprune · 2 months

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so, that birthday trip scene, huh. it's interesting to me how often i see it interpreted as a malicious act, or the final curtain falling on their relationship as devised by a bored felix, because i don't see it that way at all. there are in fact some really noticeable things people leave out of this discussion.

let's start with this one: paula quick is not actually a drug addict. do i think it was appropriate for felix to answer oliver's calls? absolutely not! but think about it: oliver has explicitly told felix that he doesn't have much contact with his mother at all, and that she is so deep in the throes of her addiction that she would be incoherent. he has given felix a front row seat to the trauma circus whenever possible, and it has strengthened their bond to an absurd level of inseparability. when we delightedly quote india's "you two are fucking gross", we have to consider these actions as well. felix does not know how to have normal boundaries with oliver, and, as we all know, neither does oliver with felix.

i truly believe that if felix had picked up that phone and encountered an intoxicated and/or belligerent woman, he would have never done what he did next. he may have never told oliver about it at all. but instead he encountered a woman that was completely, literally sober, who did not know where her son had been for weeks, and yet was still so compliant, so afraid to embarass her son, that all she wanted… was to know where to send him a card. what a shock that must have been for felix, who, very interestingly, did not immediately jump at this woman and start ghoulishly interrogating why she didn't sound drugged up to the gills or why she was such a shit mother. we would know if he did, wouldn't we? the moment paula laid eyes on him and let him into her home.

felix in that moment is thee picture of naivete. he is nineteen years old and the product of a mother that doesn't think liverpool has rehabs. he is having what i can only imagine is a polite and lovely albeit bizarre chat with paula about ollie's surprise birthday party and all the nice things they're going to do for him. felix doesn't want to throw oliver a 200-person birthday party, or purchase him expensive gifts: he wants to give him a happy family. it is an impossible and frankly ridiculous thing to want! but again: nineteen; naive; hopelessly infatuated with his best friend. he is on top of the world and can do anything. it is in a way the mirror image of what oliver has been doing this entire time: instead of bringing them closer through sharing oliver's family trauma, felix is going to bring them even closer by healing that wound.

but we know what really happens in the end. oliver is not pleased. oliver is panicking and on the verge of tears. felix is watching his stupid boy fantasy fall apart in front of his very eyes. he absolutely knows in that moment that he has made a huge mistake. probably the worst mistake he's ever made in his life. his immense privilege is inextricable from who he is as a character, but so is his guilt. i say this all the time, but felix does not know how to handle negative emotions in a healthy way at all. he gets petulant. embarrassed. jealous. we saw how he reacted to oliver's "thing" with venetia. this is worse. this is so much worse, because this time it's his own fault, no one else to blame, nowhere else for the shame and fear and anger to go. so he doubles down. he over-talks. is it fair? is it right? of course not. but there doesn't exist a reality where these two are capable of having a serious heart-to-heart about their relationship at nineteen.

but… maybe he can still save this. prescott doesn't seem so bad after all. no matter what happens next, they're in it together. felix and oliver, always together, forever.

#mom says it's MY turn on the felix apologism #felix catton #saltburn #this one kind of got away with me LOL

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vampiretendencies · 1 year

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request; could you do cupping their cheek with rafe? tysm!

pairing; rafe x fem!reader

warnings; fluff, kinda sad

authors note; you may request from the list below for a blurb or send in your own ideas for imagines, one shots, etc

other ways to say i love you prompt list

Rafe had reached his wit’s end.

The constant nagging of his father sending him into spiral and he urged to pummel something in two.

Rip it shreds.

Scratch out someone’s insides.

There was one glimmer of hope.

He was the slightest bit more sane, with you sat atop his bed. He’d been pacing for the past thirty minutes, and you knew better than to get in the way of his rage. He’s pressed you on coming over, not that you wouldn’t, but he was just adamant about simply being in your presence.

Because his father made him feel inadequate.

You never questioned why he wanted you around, knowing he had such trouble expressing his thoughts and feelings or anything that required too much emotion.

“Fucking piece of shit!”

He yelled thoroughly, knowing Ward was no longer home. After any fight with Rafe he couldn’t stick around, Ward claimed he has business to attend to. Your body jumped, but you acquired to show no fear— not wanting him to think you were afraid of him.

Truthfully, you still didn’t know how to handle Rafe, but you knew how to withhold him. How to knock him down a few notches and help him come back down to earth.

Rafe kneeled in from of you, nearly in a pleading position whilst you sat at the edge of his black silky bed. He nudged his head between your knees, peering up at you with dark-glazed over eyes.

“You love me right, princess?”

“You know I do Rafe.”

You assured Rafe, and you’d always continue to do so if it meant you could relieve such grave pain.

“Just don’t want you to leave me.”

His voice cracked, nearly ashamed for wavering such emotions in front of you.

But he’d fight just to do something.

He’d fight because he’s got nothing.

Falling apart at the seams, unraveling in one and he’d do it all over again only to look at your stained deep red cheeks and your perfectly painted pout.

He had to touch you— as if to see if you were real, to see if the words you were saying were real, and that you weren’t some sick hoax.

Rafe’s shaky hand wandered to the bone of your cheek, cupping the flesh with a lingering, beneficial touch. Whilst you played with the tufts of his hair at the back of his neck.

He wondered how he’d mustered to live a life without your everlasting finger tips.

“M’not Rafe … I’ll be here for as long as you allow me.”

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yelena-bellova · 1 year

Text

Twenty Years Later: Joel Miller x F!Reader - Chapter Five

Chapter Five: Soundtrack of Life

Plot: Y/n, Joel and Ellie journey to Bill and Frank’s house, where Joel and Y/n are forced into a conversation.

Word Count: 11.2k

Warnings: tlou ep.3 spoilers, language, guns, canon-typical violence, mention of killing (16+)

A/N: You guys blow this thing up more and more each week and I’m blown away each time. I see all your lovely comments, even if I don’t respond. A gentle reminder that this is a 16+ fic and I will not be adding anyone to the taglist who does not have their name on their page. Gotta look out for younger eyes 👀

Regarding this chapter, I did NOT intend forit to be this long. I honestly thought because the episode was all about Bill and Frank that it would be the shortest, but here we are. It contains one of my favorite scenes of the entire series, I’ll let you guess which one it os 😉

—————————

May 16th, 2002. Austin, Texas.

Y/n considered herself a fairly confidant person. She kept her fear reserved for things like family emergencies, natural disasters…things out of her control.

Not first dates with men she’d known a week.

She was pacing her kitchen, heels clicking against the linoleum floor and her sundress swishing each time she looped around. Her hands wrung themselves against her abdomen. She had never felt so nervous about a date, not even in high school. She figured it was a warning sign of some type. Either she was making a huge mistake or a fantastic decision. She rested her head against one of the cabinets and prayed it was the latter…

Outside Y/n’s complex, Joel had just parked his truck. Dressed in a long sleeved plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows, jeans and dress shoes, he felt constrained. Like his chest had expended three sizes and the shirt was no longer able to accommodate it. Or was he just hot? Hungry?

Joel tightened his grip on the steering wheel and shut his eyes. He was nervous.

It had been at least one, maybe two years since he’d been on a date. A neighbor’s daughter that Joel had felt obligated to go out with so that it would sate his street in their constant attempts at setting him up. It had been much longer since he’d voluntarily sought someone out. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself it wasn’t marriage. They were just going to dinner. If nothing happened, it wasn’t the end of the world…

Joel sighed, but he wanted something to happen…

He picked up the roses from the passenger seat, a nod to the night they’d met, pocketed his keys and stepped out of the truck. He felt dazed as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. 41B, Y/n had told him. When he reached the door, he hesitated to knock. Such a minuscule part of the night, but the mere act of coming to her door felt like the beginning of…everything.

Three raps broke Y/n from her panic party.

She’d put on an old record, hoping it would ease her nerves. It hadn’t done a thing. She stood up straight, drawing a deep and tried to force confidence through her body.

When Y/n opened the door, Joel lost any and all words he’d been thinking over in his head. She was dressed in a simple yellow flowered dress, but it was her wearing it that melted Joel. She looked like sunshine itself.

“Hi,” she smiled.

“Hi,” Joel exhaled, “Sorry if I’m late.”

Y/n looked at the clock near the door, “Only a minute. I think I can excuse that.”

Joel huffed a nervous laugh. What came next?

“These are for you,” he stated, holding out the flowers.

Roses. Y/n was shocked that Joel had remembered the tiny detail of their night in the bar. Tommy’s nickname was going to stick so long as she stuck around the Millers, she had a feeling…

“They’re gorgeous,” she giggled, “You’ve got a good memory.”

Joel gave a half shrug, rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans after.

Y/n felt like her brain had stopped processing for a split second. She jumped back to reality, “Come on in, I’ll go get these in some water.”

Joel followed her into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. It was modest, minimally decorated but the walls had pictures strung all over them. He could already tell she was more sentimental than materialistic. The roses had been a good decision.

Y/n made her way to her kitchen, carefully balancing as she crouched down to dig through her cabinets for a vase. Flowers. He’d brought her flowers. What guy did that on a first date? Was that a Texas gentleman thing? She didn’t particularly care, it was one of the sweetest gestures someone had ever made towards her. And tying it back to the night they’d met made it that much sweeter.

“Nice place,” Joel called from the entry area. The apartment was open so if the front door was one end, the kitchen was stretched twenty feet away from it.

“It’s decent,” Y/n replied, filling the vase with water, “Moving was such a spur of the moment decision, I didn’t think I was going to find anything.”

Joel awkwardly balled his fists at his side, he didn’t want to walk too far and cross a line. It was only then that he realized there was music playing.

“Linda Ronstadt,” he blurted.

“Oh yeah,” Y/n smiled, heading over to turn off her record player, “You like her?”

“Love her,” Joel replied, good taste in music was another box ticked for him.

“Okay,” Y/n announced, more to encourage herself, and crossed the room, “All set.”

She grabbed her purse off the hook and Joel opened the door for her.

“Where are we going?” Y/n asked as she locked the door.

This was the part Joel was dreading most of all. “Yeah,” he began, shoving his hands in his pockets, “There’s a place ‘bout ten minutes away called Tito’s. It’s, uh, it’s not the fanciest place but-“

Feeling a sudden, and most likely brief, wave of confidence wash over her, Y/n turned around and put her hand on Joel’s chest.

“Hey,” she smiled, “I don’t care about any of that. I work in a hardware store, I’m not expecting Seasons 52.”

Weight both lifted and slammed into Joel’s chest. If Y/n’s laugh could warm it, her touch could give it new life.

A corner of his mouth quirked upwards, “Okay.”

With an affirmative nod, Y/n allowed Joel to lead her down the stairs, open the car door for her and take her deep into the Friday night Austin scene…

—————————————

Tito’s had ended up being the perfect place.

There was very little a fancy restaurant could add to a date. Sure, the setting could be romantic, but that didn’t guarantee romance. At the end of the day, whether you went to the biggest hotel in the city or a fast food joint, it all boiled down to feeling that spark.

Joel and Y/n’s spark could have set fire to Austin.

“So wait,” Y/n tried to contain her laughter, they were seated out on the patio, “Tommy seriously nailed his pants…to the wall?”

Joel took a swig of his Budweiser and shrugged, “And tried to blame the nail gun.”

Y/n covered her mouth as she snorted, “So no tequila the night before a job anymore, huh?”

Joel shook his head, pointing off into the distance, “And a mile down the road, he just shot straight up in bed because I told you that story.”

Another round of laughter. “Oh gosh,” Y/n sniffled, “Can’t imagine what you two were like as kids.”

“You have any brothers or sisters?” Joel asked, every time he asked her a question, he got to stare at her. It had made him more chatty than usual.

“Two,” Y/n answered, “Sister and a brother, both older.”

“Baby of the family,” Joel observed.

“Yes, and as the age-old tale goes,” Y/n scrunched her nose and smiled, “I’m the little lost bird. Brother’s an Ivy League english teacher who vacations in Europe every year. My sister’s married to a ridiculously successful doctor and just had a baby.”

Joel listened carefully, coming up confused. “I’m not following,” he said, wiping his mouth with his napkin, “What about that makes you lost?”

“They’re both very settled,” Y/n answered, swirling her beer, “They both knew exactly what they wanted in life and they went for it. One of the whole reasons I moved to Austin was to try and find that…thing, you know?”

Joel nodded, “Yeah, I get it,” he decided to lighten the mood, “And the hardware store’s it, huh?”

Y/n smiled and rolled her eyes, “No, the hardware store’s not it. But it makes me happy.”

“That’s a step in the right direction, then,” Joel commented, never taking his eyes off of her.

Y/n could have sat there for the rest of the night just enjoying the warmth of his stare. “So,” she shook herself out of the daze, “What about you? Is construction your thing?”

Joel laughed under his breath, “Pays the bills. Wasn’t originally what I saw myself doin’, but it’s work.”

“What did you want to do?” Y/n asked.

“Music,” Joel answered, “Guitar.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, “You play?”

“I used to,” Joel said, knowing the question that would come after. That was the true test…”Still do sometimes, just for myself.”

“What made you stop?”

Joel sighed, staring down at the condensation that his beer had formed on the table. Either he was about to bring the night to a grinding halt or…well, he hadn’t seen the second option yet. From anyone.

“I met someone,” he started, “We had a kid. She ran out on me pretty soon after. Not a lot of time left over to go around playin’ gigs.”

The chatter around them seemed to fade as Y/n took in the reality of Joel’s answer. He was a single father, and had been for a while, it seemed. All of him made complete sense suddenly. The constant worry lines on his face, the responsibility, the work ethic…

“Boy or a girl?” Y/n took a chance and asked.

“Girl,” Joel answered, a small smile coming to his face, “She’s about to turn thirteen.”

Y/n continued, “What’s her name?”

Joel was surprised, more than surprised, that Y/n wasn’t running the other way. There weren’t a lot of women who willingly took on single dads. Here she was wanting to learn about his little family.

“Sarah.”

Y/n nodded, letting the information rest on the table. “Sarah,” she echoed, “What’s she like?”

“She’s…” Joel let out a laugh under his breath, “She’s incredible. Gets straight A’s, plays soccer, got room in her heart for just about everyone she meets…”

Y/n listened enthusiastically as Joel told stories about his stories as a single dad. How Tommy was helping to raise Sarah, how the three of them were extremely tight knit, how he wished his long hours didn’t interfere with getting to spend time with her…not even for a second did she think about leaving.

“You love her so much,” Y/n blurted before she could think it through. She just had to say it.

Joel smiled warmly over his beer bottle, “She’s my world.”

It was a moment so tender, it almost broke your heart. Joel was letting Y/n closer than anyone else had gotten…ever. And she wasn’t pulling away, she was digging in.

Inside the restaurant, there was soft music playing over a dance floor. Joel and Y/n had eyed it all evening, wondering if their night would inevitably end up there. From outside on the patio, they could hear the song change to one they both knew.

“I love this song,” Y/n said in passing.

Joel had been waiting all night for his nerves to calm or for the perfect song to transcend pass the anxiety. This was as good as it was going to get.

“You wanna dance?”

Y/n’s smile spread across her face, “Yeah.”

Joel stood and held out his hand for Y/n to take, their palms tingling at the touch. He kept a loose hold on it as he led her into the building, snaking through the crowd and onto the dance floor. Their were couples packed wall to wall, but they were able to find a pocket of space just for them.

Y/n’s heart did double time as she rested her hand on Joel’s broad shoulder. Joel pulled her towards him, connecting their hands and holding them up. They hadn’t yet been this close and it felt as intoxicating as they thought it might.

Joel’s hand rested on the higher part of Y/n’s hip. He exhaled shakily, hoping she hadn’t noticed. Slowly, they began to sway to the soft guitar.

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you….

It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do….

They moved as one, Y/n’s gaze resting over Joel’s shoulder because she knew if she looked in his eyes, she’d be overwhelmed.

Joel’s desires were doing battle with his self-control. He wanted to wrap himself around her entirely, leaving no space between their bodies. He would, of course, leave it up to her. She got to decide where the night went.

I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you…

And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you…

Their chests brushed against each other, sending a thrill through their bodies. The second it started to fade, Y/n chased it, inching closer to Joel till their torsos aligned.

Joel’s head instinctively turned towards her just as she looked up. Y/n’s nose grazed his cheek, his beard delightfully scraping her skin. If they had intended to make eye contact, they never made it there. With Joel’s breath fanning her face and the scent of his cologne enveloping her, Y/n didn’t dare move and disturb the perfection.

No, I don't wanna fall in love…

(This world is only gonna break your heart)

Feeling confidant that she wouldn’t pull away, Joel’s arm slid around Y/n’s waist, his hand resting across her lower back. Y/n’s skin felt inflamed, like the building’s walls had fallen and the heat of the night was swallowing her whole. Her cheek fell against Joel’s closing the very last bit of space that laid between them.

No, I don't wanna fall in love…

(This world is only gonna break your heart)

With you…

That was it, it was a done deal. There was nothing left for them to do but let themselves fall. Their hearts hammered in time with one another, their respective anxiety intertwining at the base of their souls and transfiguring. Instead of a storm, raging, crashing, knocking them over, it became a wave, powerful and passionate. Drawing strength from each other, they allowed the full force of their feelings to flood them.

When the night was over, Joel drove Y/n back to her apartment. They’d chatted on the drive over, but the dance had left them both stunned. Where was there to go from there? What were they supposed to say when a whole conversation had been had in each other’s arms?

They walked up the stairs, coming to Y/n’s door and nervously pausing.

“I had a great time,” Y/n said, fiddling with her keys in one hand.

“Me too,” Joel smiled, broader than his usual thin lipped smirk.

The space between them grew tense. Who was supposed to ask who out for a second date? Were they supposed to kiss? What was-

“So…” Joel set aside all his excessive thoughts, “Did I earn a shot at a second date?”

A laugh rippled through Y/n’s body, thankful that he’d been the one to bring it up. Drawing from Joel’s confidence, she closed the space between them and placed a hand on Joel’s shoulder.

“I think your chances are pretty good,” she softly told him.

Joel’s heart throbbed at both Y/n’s touch and her words. His hand found its way to her waist, not wanting to let the closeness go just yet. They only needed to move a few inches, just a few measly inches and then they’d have it all.

Joel’s breath fanned Y/n’s lips as they allowed themselves to be drawn into one another. The delicious space, hanging on the edge of desire and satisfaction, was enough for them. That was how they knew there was something different to what they felt. Just to be close was enough.

“Maybe we should wait,” Y/n whispered in their shared space, pressing her fingers into Joel’s shoulder a little, “Wouldn’t want to rush anything.”

The tip of Joel’s nose rubbed hers, admitting a defeat that didn’t feel like one. “Wouldn’t want you to think you can take advantage of me or somethin’,” Joel smirked, “I have my reputation to think of.”

Y/n’s laugh mingled with Joel’s, her skin tingling as he brushed a stray piece of hair from her face.

“I’ll call you,” Joel assured.

“I hope so,” Y/n smiled before daring to press her lips to his cheek, “Goodnight, Joel.”

“Goodnight,” Joel choked out, the touch of her kiss paralyzing him.

She unlocked her front door and headed in, Joel stood on the welcome mat until the lock clicked. Alone in the concrete hall, he boyishly kicked his foot and grinned.

Y/n rested her forehead against the front door, shaking her head and grinning.

Joel got down to his truck, started it up and fell back in his seat.

Y/n laughed against the door, playing the night back in her head.

Joel smiled and slapped the steering wheel.

They felt weightless.

—————————

2023. Outside Boston.

Grief hung like a storm cloud over the group.

Y/n had left Joel and Ellie to make a lavatory out of nature, and was walking back. They’d camped overnight in a forest, a few miles outside of Boston. Joel had instructed they were leaving as soon as the sun came up.

When she got back to their camp, she found Ellie sitting up against her tree near the creek, Joel’s jacket draped over her legs.

“He’s still not back?” Y/n asked.

“Nope,” Ellie popped her lips.

Y/n rolled her eyes, if Joel was going to boss them around, he needed to comply with his own demands. She set off into the forest, going the same way he had.

The sound of the larger creek welcomed her. She scanned the area, looking for Joel’s tall frame and finding nothing. She slapped her hands against her legs in a shrug, if anything had happened to him, they’d be dead too. Where was-

The scrape of stones caught her ear.

Y/n gazed down to see Joel, hunched over on the river’s bed of rocks. With a fair bit of distance between them, Y/n could see him stacking stones. He was building a cairn.

He was building Tess a grave.

Y/n’s feelings contradicted themselves. Joel’s loss of the woman he cared for felt karmic, in a way, and yet the sight of him, so broken and empty, reminded her that bitterness had no place commingling with loss.

She didn’t disturb his memorial, she simply leaned against a nearby tree. Tess’ last wish hadn’t been selfish, she had begged for protection for Joel. They were, perhaps, the most heartbreaking final words Y/n had ever heard. She’d promised Tess, what else was she supposed to do? She couldn’t let Tess die in a horrific sacrifice thinking that Joel would meet her soon after.

Y/n sighed, letting her head hit the tree. The day was already exhausting her.

She decided to let Joel have a few extra minutes, walking back to their campsite. Ellie was in the exact same position as when she left. All of this trauma was being rehashed for one girl, but Y/n still believed she was worth it.

Footsteps behind her signaled that Joel was back from his solitary service. He didn’t look in either Y/n or Ellie’s direction, only trudging to his backpack and squatting beside it. It had been a near silent walk from Boston, Ellie asking Y/n an occasional question or Joel giving directions. They were all avoiding each other for different reasons.

Joel blamed Ellie.

Y/n blamed Joel.

And Ellie blamed no one, but could sense tension when she saw it.

“You want your jacket back?” Ellie asked Joel, testing the waters.

Joel continued digging through his backpack, responding with a small shake of the head. He still refused to look at her. The only gesture he made was after digging out and taking a bite of food, he threw the remainders to Ellie.

“I’ve never been in the woods,” the girl continued talking, “More bugs than I thought.”

Y/n leaned up against a tree, waiting and watching how the interaction played out.

“Look, I’ve been thinking about-“ Ellie started.

Joel rose to his feet, throwing his backpack over his shoulder, “I don’t want your sorries.”

Ellie sat forward, “I wasn’t gonna say I’m sorry. I was gonna say that I’ve been thinking about what happened. Nobody made you or Tess take me. Nobody made you go along with this plan. You needed a truck battery or whatever, and you made a choice. So don’t blame me for something that isn’t my fault.”

Joel’s eyes scanned Ellie before looking to Y/n, who simply raised an eyebrow at him. She was in total agreement. And the truth was, Joel didn’t have a reason to put any of what happened on Ellie. But he wanted someone to be angry with, someone to fling his grief at so that he wouldn’t have to deal with it any longer.

The rational side of him won out. He gave Ellie a small nod, mentally collected himself and picked up his rifle. It was time to hit the road.

Ellie got up and handed Joel his jacket, “How much longer?”

“Five-hour hike,” he answered.

Y/n collected her backpack, tied her jacket around her waist and came to stand with Ellie.

“We can manage that,” the girl shrugged, she was the most confidant out of all three of them.

Joel glanced over at Y/n again, the two of them communicating their indifference wordlessly, before turning on his heel.

Y/n put a hand on Ellie’s head and waited for Joel to be out of earshot, “Attagirl.”

Ellie smiled up at the woman and they fell in step a few feet behind their guide.

Joel got them out of the woods and onto a dirt path, leading their party silently and expecting the same in return. Y/n was perfectly content not to utter a word, but Joel was quickly learning something she already knew; Ellie didn’t do “quiet.”

“You’ve gone this way a lot? No infected?”

“Not often, no,” Joel answered.

“What are you looking out for?” Ellie asked.

“People.”

“Oh,” she rested a beat, “Are Bill and Frank nice?”

“Frank is.”

Y/n stepped forward to walk alongside them, keeping to Ellie’s side. “You haven’t told us anything about them,” she spoke up.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Joel answered.

“I’m entrusting two strangers with our lives,” Y/n scoffed, “There’s a lot to tell.”

“They’re good,” Joel said with finality to his tone.

“Oh, well…” Y/n mumbled under her breath, she was over the whole What-I-Say-Goes front.

Ellie was undeterred by their bickering. “How’d you get that scar on your head?”

Joel sighed, already exasperated and it was barely morning.

“What? Is it something lame?” Ellie inquired excitedly, “Like, you fell down the stairs or something?”

“I didn’t fall down any stairs,” Joel answered.

“Okay, so what then?”

Joel paused before speaking, “Someone shot at me and missed.”

Y/n hated the jolt of concern that shot through her chest. Old habits and all that.

“See, that’s cool,” Ellie insisted, “You shoot back?”

“Yeah,” Joel said.

“You get him?”

“No, I missed too. It happens more often than you think.”

Ellie thought it over, “‘Cause you suck at shooting or, like, in general?”

Joel glanced at her, vaguely insulted, “In general.”

Ellie fell back a step to get a look at Y/n. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Y/n echoed.

“How’d you get this scar?” Ellie poked the white mark on her bare shoulder. She didn’t feel comfortable touching Joel, but she was comfortable with Y/n.

By now, Y/n had scars littered all across her body. Ellie could have pointed to almost any one of them and she would have had to think about where it came from. But the one in the rivet nestled between her scapula and her clavicle was one she could never forget.

“A bullet ricocheted off a wall,” she answered, “Hit me instead.”

“That’s slightly less cool than his,” Ellie commented.

Joel caught himself before he hung back a step to get a look at the mark. It was instinct to worry about her.

“You know, seeing as it’s just the three of us,” Ellie began, “I was thinking I should prob-“

“No,” Joel cut her off, already knowing what she was after.

“Yeah, well, Y/n might feel different,” Ellie said, looking to her only ally.

“She doesn’t,” Y/n answered, smirking slightly at her blind enthusiasm.

They walked a few more feet before coming up on a once-white building.

“Cumberland Farms,” Ellie read the sign.

“Hang back a minute,” Joel instructed them both, though he knew it was useless, “I gotta grab some stuff I stashed.”

“Stashed?” Ellie questioned as she followed, “Why do you have stuff stashed here?”

“You ask a lot of damn questions,” Joel complained.

“Yes,” Ellie smiled, owning every bit of her personality, “I do.”

Joel forced open the door to the old storefront and they entered. It looked just about the same as how he and Tess had left it a few years back.

“So are you gonna answer me or what?” Ellie continued.

Joel relented, “We hide supplies on routes, in case we find ourselves short on gear, which I currently am ‘cause-“

“No way,” Ellie zipped over to the other side of the room, honing in on an old arcade game.

Joel ignored her, Y/n simply smiled to herself.

“You ever play this one?” Ellie asked without really seeking an answer, “Oh, I had a friend who knew everything about this game. There’s this one character named Mileena, who takes off her mask and she has monster teeth-“

While Ellie continued chattering, Joel was pacing the floor, trying to remember where his hiding place had been. Y/n crossed her arms and watched amusedly.

“You forgot where you put your stuff,” Ellie stated.

Joel was quick to defend himself, “No, I’m just zeroing in on it. It’s been a couple of years.”

Ellie and Y/n peered over at one another, sharing a knowing smirk.

“Go see if you can find anything in back,” Y/n instructed, Ellie would have gone even without the prompting, “Practical.”

“Trust me, it’s all been picked over already,” Joel grunted, shaking a wall display.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Ellie replied in a sing-song tone, “Is there anything bad in here?”

“Just you,” Joel called out.

“Ah,” Ellie rolled her eyes, “Getting funnier…”

Y/n set down her backpack, deciding to help speed up the process so they could get back on the road. She walked over to a section of floor that Joel hadn’t searched yet and started kicking around.

“I don’t need help,” Joel muttered.

“If we leave it to you and your shitty memory,” Y/n strained as she shoved a shelving unit with her shoulder, “We’ll be here till dark.”

Joel didn’t want to get drawn into an argument, he also couldn’t resist the person starting it. “My memory’s fine.”

“Oh, really?” Y/n waved a hand across the floor, “Point to the treasure.”

Joel’s lips thinned in frustration, mostly with himself for not being able to find the stash before she latched onto it.

“It’s somewhere on this aisle,” he begrudgingly told her.

“This aisle,” she repeated, the two of them going in opposite directions.

After a minute or two, there was a sound from the back room. “You all right back there?” Joel called.

“Yep!” Ellie replied.

“How likely is it that she’s doing something she shouldn’t be?” Joel asked Y/n, who had weeks more experience curbing Ellie.

Y/n jumped in place on a loose piece of the floor, “100%.”

Joel exhaled and continued searching, eventually feeling a slight raise in one of the tiles. He kicked a few old newspapers aside to discover his hiding spot. And better yet, he’d found it before Y/n did, taking away the opportunity for gloating.

He knelt down and flipped open his pocketknife, cutting open the cover and removing it.

Y/n stopped her hunt and came to crouch down next to him, visually sifting through the supplies. There wasn’t much.

It went against Joel’s natural programming to not be concerned when the back room went silent. Ellie had been gone long enough to have picked through everything at least twice. “Ellie?”

No response.

Now Y/n was on edge as well, rising with Joel. She raised her voice a little louder than him, “Ellie?”

They both unholstered their guns, walking in rhythm together towards the back room. Joel stuck a hand out to form a barrier between whatever unknown threat might have been lurking and Y/n. She annoyedly shoved it away and aimed her gun at the doorway.

They unclenched when Ellie walked out, touting a box of tampons. “Picked over, my ass,” she commented.

Y/n and Joel returned to the stash, Joel unloading his assault rifle and Y/n picking through a tin of first aid supplies.

“What are you doing?” Ellie asked Joel.

“There’s not much ammo out there for this thing,” he replied, bringing the lid back down over the supplies, “Makes it mostly useless.”

Ellie saw an opportunity, “Well, if you’re just gonna leave it there…”

Joel stood to his feet and made direct eye contact, “No.”

Y/n stood up, slung her backpack over her shoulder and lightly pushed Ellie ahead of her. Tess was no longer there to keep occupy Joel and she wanted to put as much space between the two of them as possible.

They were on the dirt road for another hour or two, time didn’t seem to matter in the middle of nowhere. Ellie barely complained, content to take in all that nature had left to offer. At some point, Y/n and Joel had fallen in step with one another. Even sworn enemies would have cracked under pressure and started hurling insults at one another. Their ability to stay silent with one another was unmatched.

“So,” Ellie eventually killed the quiet, “Are you ever going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Y/n replied.

“Why you two broke up.”

Joel scrunched his eyes shut, the darkness of his lids a more preferable place to be.

Y/n took the hit and answered, “We never said we dated.”

“You didn’t have to. You knew each other in Texas but you don’t talk,” Ellie began to list off her reasons, “And when you do talk, it’s only to fight.”

“Friends fight too,” Y/n suggested.

Ellie scoffed, “Not like you two.”

There was passion that bled through Joel and Y/n’s arguments that was only born from love. It was one thing they’d never be able to change.

“You don’t need to say anything,” Ellie continued, “I’ll just know that I’m right.”

Joel stopped short, putting a hand up to Ellie and trying to stay calm. “You do not need to say every fuckin’ thing that pops into your head,” he said, driving certain syllables harder than others.

Ellie was unfazed by him, turning her gaze to Y/n. “Was he always this grumpy?”

Y/n sighed, her time in Austin was a piece of her past she didn’t want anyone having. The obviousness of her and Joel’s fractured connection bothered her, it made it that much harder to sever it entirely. She picked up the pace again, getting ahead of Joel and Ellie.

Joel’s eyes followed her, something inside of him twinging against his will. He spared a glance at Ellie and continued on the path.

“Yeah,” Ellie smiled to herself, “They dated.”

They walked a little further before Ellie got distracted by something in a field. “Holy shit,” she exclaimed.

Up on a hilltop lay the rusted remains of a plane crash. The three of them stopped, it was getting harder for Joel and Y/n to remember a world where things like airplanes had existed.

“You fly in one of those?” Ellie asked,

“A few times, sure,” Joel answered.

“Yeah,” Y/n said.

Ellie’s excited eyes scanned the wreck, “So lucky.”

“Didn’t feel like it at the time,” Joel recalled, “Get shoved into a middle seat, pay twelve bucks for a sandwich…”

“Or hit turbulence,” Y/n remembered.

“You got to go up in the sky,” Ellie stated, her voice filled with wonder. Another simple pleasure stolen from her…

Joel had always been more of a realist than Y/n, who wanted Ellie to hold on to whatever pieces of happiness she could. “Yeah, well, so did they,” he added, killing the levity of the moment.

“Grim…” Ellie commented as they continued walking. “So everything came crashing down in one day?”

“Pretty much,” Joel answered, giving Y/n space to interject. She’d gone silent again.

“How?” Ellie asked, “I mean, no one was infected with Cordyceps, everybody’s fine, eating in restaurants and flying in planes. And then all at once? How did it even start? If you have to get bit to be infected, then who bit the first person? Was it a monkey? I bet it was a monkey.”

Y/n almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Almost.

“It wasn’t a monkey,” Joel answered, “I thought you went to school.”

“FEDRA school,” Ellie replied quickly, “They don’t teach us how their shitty government failed to prevent a pandemic.”

Joel sighed, he couldn’t fault her for wanting to know how her world was destroyed before she’d even gotten there.

“No one knows for sure, but, best guess,” he began, “Cordyceps mutated. And some of it got into the food supply. Probably a basic ingredient like flour or sugar. There were certain brands of food that were sold everywhere, all across the country, all across the world. Bread, cereal…”

Joel and Y/n didn’t have to look at one another to know they were having the same thought.

“Pancake mix,” Joel continued, “You eat enough of it, it’ll get you infected. So the tainted food all hits the store shelves around the same time, Thursday. People bought it, ate some Thrusday night or Friday morning. Day goes on…they started to get sick. Afternoon, evening, they got worse,” Joel paused, a flash of blood coming to his mind, “Then they started bitin’.”

Y/n shut her eyes, as if it was all playing out in front of her again.

“Friday night,” Joel was able to push out, “September 26th, 2003. And by Monday, everything was gone.”

Y/n didn’t know whether to scream or stay quiet. Her entire world had come crashing down in a span of 72 hours.

“It makes more sense than monkeys,” Ellie said, then looked at Joel, “Thanks.”

“Sure,” he replied. Joel still wasn’t sure what to do with her, but he was trying. He only had to try for a few more hours, anyway.

Y/n kept her eyes down as she walked, only stopping when Ellie and Joel fell out of step. Joel had his arm stretched over Ellie’s chest to keep her in place.

“What now?” Y/n asked, nearing her breaking point with patience.

“We’ll cut across the woods here,” Joel directed.

“Isn’t the road easier?” Ellie asked.

“Yeah, it’s just,” Joel took a breath, looking ahead to Y/n, “There’s stuff up there you shouldn’t see.”

Y/n chortled, she couldn’t take any more of his mood swings. One minute he didn’t care, the next he was watching out for their sensitive eyes?

“Well, now I have to see,” Ellie sang, walking ahead to join Y/n.

“I don’t want you to,” Joel pushed.

“Newsflash, Joel,” Y/n announced, “It’s the fucking apocalypse. We’ve all seen things we don’t want to see.”

Joel paced after them, chasing Ellie more than his ex, “I’m not kidding. Ellie!”

“Can it hurt us?” Ellie asked as Y/n fell behind her.

“No,” Joel answered truthfully.

She spun around to face him as she strolled, “You’re too honest, man, Should’ve said axe murderer.”

While Ellie walked ahead, Joel sped up to match Y/n’s pace. “I’m serious, she shouldn’t see it.”

“You know what,” Y/n didn’t break stride, “I’m sure our delicate little sensibilities can handle whatever it is.”

Anger is intoxicating, but it can also be all-encompassing. It can numb all other senses, blinding all other emotions until the red is staining every part of someone’s perspective. Y/n’s rage with Joel was deceiving her into thinking everything that came out of his mouth was either an insult or an overreaction. Joel knew that the second she found what he was trying to shield her and Ellie from, she’d regret it instantly. But it was futile to fight her.

“Uh, whatever it was,” Ellie called from the front of the group, “Think it’s gone.”

Y/n felt sure of herself as she trudged on, until the details of Ellie’s expression came into view and she followed the girl’s eyes. There in a ditch, lay skeletal remains. If you reconstructed them, they probably made up about a dozen people.

“About a week after Outbreak Day, soldiers…” Joel started to explain to Ellie, “Went through the countryside, evacuated the small towns. Told you you were going to a QZ, and you were…if there was room…if there wasn’t…”

“These people weren’t sick?” Ellie inquired.

“No,” Joel replied, “Probably not.”

“Why kill them?” Ellie continued, “Why not just leave ‘em be?”

“It was their fucked up way of trying to contain the infection,” Y/n spoke up, trying to hide her trembling breath. It wasn’t the first open grave she’d seen, this was one of the easier ones to stomach. This was all bones.

Y/n turned on her heel, eager to get as far away from the hellish memories as she could.

————————————

Eventually, they made it to where Joel told them Bill and Frank lived. It was a small chunk of a town completely gated by a tall fence.

“Stay here,” Joel instructed Y/n and Ellie before punching in the entry code on the gate’s keypad. He let them go through first, it was the only place safe enough to do so.

Y/n’s breath caught in her chest, it was the first time she’d seen an actual town in…she’d lost count of the years. The white picket fences, the boutique shops, the houses. Actual houses. It nearly brought tears to her eyes, it reminded her so much of Austin.

The three of them walked to Bill and Frank’s house, the nicest looking one on the block. Joel took notice, however, that the flowers decorating the front porch were dead. Scorched by the sun. Bill would never let that happen.

He opened the front door, taking cautious steps into the entryway. Y/n and Ellie followed close behind.

“What the fuck,” Ellie elongated, it was probably her first time inside an actual house.

“Bill?” Joel called out. No answer. “Frank?” Nothing.

Shit.

“You stay there,” Joel directed Ellie, not looking Y/n’s way since she was going to do what she wanted anyway, “Ya hear anything, you see anything…yell.”

Joel and Y/n didn’t make it more than one step before Ellie spoke up, “What if they’re gone?”

No. Joel couldn’t think about that. He didn’t want to grieve over one more person.

Y/n set off down the hallway, keeping her pistol drawn at her side. Joel had gone through the kitchen, but the two rooms were connected. They made it to the bedroom door at the same time, Joel knocking and jiggling the knob. Nothing.

“Would they leave?” Y/n asked.

“No,” Joel shook his head.

The back porch door shutting got their attention.

“Ellie?” Y/n called, getting nothing in return. She set off back to the dining room where they’d left her, Joel just a step behind.

She was sitting at the table holding a piece of paper. Her expression was undeterminable, like she was between emotions and deciding which one to land on.

“It’s from Bill,” she finally told them.

Y/n sighed, holstering her gun, taking off her backpack and settling into a chair between Joel and Ellie. Joel put away his weapon too, neither of them needed to pretend there was any hope.

Ellie scanned the envelope the letter had come from, “‘To whomever…but probably Joel,’” she tossed it back onto the table, “I figured I fell under “whomever.” It came with this.”

She slid a single car key across the table.

Joel shrugged his backpack off next to Y/n’s, but wouldn’t sit. “So they’re dead?”

“Mm-hmm,” Ellie hummed.

Joel turned away, the very little emotion he let himself feel coming to the surface.

“You-you wanna?” Ellie offered.

He shook his head, “Go ahead. You do it.”

Y/n leaned against her knees, holding her hands to her lips, bracing herself.

“August 29th, 2023,” Ellie began to read, “If you find this…please do not come into the bedroom. We left a window open so the house wouldn’t smell, but it will probably be a sight. I’m guessing you found this, Joel, because anyone else would’ve been electrocuted or blown up by one of my traps. Hehehehehehe-“

Ellie looked up in confusion, Y/n gave a small nod for her to continue.

“Take anything you need,” she kept going, “The bunker code is the gate code but in reverse. Anyway…I never liked you, but still, it’s like we’re friends, almost…And I respect you. So, I’m gonna tell you something because you’re probably the only person who will understand. I used to hate the world and I was happy when everyone died. But I was wrong, because there was one person worth saving. That’s what I did. I saved him. Then I protected him. That’s why men like you and me are here. We have a job to do, and God help any motherfuckers who stand in our way. I leave you all of my weapons and equipment. Use them to keep-“

Ellie sucked her bottom lip, not knowing how to proceed. None of them had to ask what the next two words were.

Joel stepped forward robotically and took the letter, reading the rest over silently. Tess’ name struck a blow to his body, he wanted to curl in on himself.

“Stay here,” he mumbled, striding towards the front door with barely contained hurry.

Y/n shut her eyes, keeping her hands in a praying position. It was the first time in twenty years she couldn’t tap into the anger that lived inside her. She felt pure sorrow that Joel had to lose someone else he loved, regardless of whether he’d ever admit to loving Tess.

Outside, Joel took deep breaths that at one time would have been described as cleansing. But he felt no better when he inhaled than he had before. Bill’s letter weren’t just his last wishes, it was a call to action. He couldn’t have known the situation Joel was in when he wrote it, but he supernaturally addressed every part of it. He lifted up a silent apology to Tess, for not being able to save her.

Joel crumpled the letter in his palms and let it drop to the grass. He held up the key Bill had left him, forcing himself to move to the garage doors and open them.

Y/n and Ellie sat up straighter upon hearing the noise. “Stay here,” Y/n echoed Joel, rising up and heading out to see what he was doing.

She walked around to the open garage doors to see Joel hunched over the front of a truck. The hood was open and he was investigating its internal organs. Y/n had barely caught a glance at the empty spot where the battery should have been before Joel slammed it shut. There went that happy thought…

Joel’s eye caught the refrigerator nearby, a couple cans of oil and other auto supplies sitting on top of it. Bill had been a survivalist, it was his nature to prepare for every possible outcome. He crossed the space and opened the fridge, spotting the materials needed to construct a car battery from scratch

He smirked, maybe they had been friends…

Y/n joined him at the door, she was no mechanic but the men throughout her life, Joel and Tommy included, had taught her enough about car repair to know they were battery parts. A spark of hope lit inside her.

It dwindled in both her and Joel when the reality of what it meant hit them.

Y/n suddenly felt too close to him, she moved away and crossed her arms, going to stand on the furthest side of the truck. Joel didn’t move until she stopped, coming to stand on the other side of the vehicle. They wanted a proper barricade between them.

Y/n had made a promise to Tess that she would protect both Ellie and Joel. In the moment, it had seemed like the only honorable thing to do. Now, staring down the task itself, she wanted to admit her selfishness and run. Run back to the QZ, back to the Fireflies, back to the only semblance of safety she had. And with every turn she made in her mind, Ellie was waiting for her. Ellie was at the center of this all. She was the job. Everything else came second.

“If we do this,” Y/n started, her words slowly and cautiously calculated, “You are going to have to start treating me like an equal. I am not some delicate flower that you need to protect and I’m not some child in need of protection. We’ve already got one of those. I live in the same world you do. I didn’t hesitate to kill that Clicker,” she pointed behind them as if the monster’s carcass was present, “And I won’t hesitate going forward.”

Joel looked up at her out his eyebrows, “Can you blame me, last time I knew you?”

“We don’t need to keep bringing us up,” Y/n shook her head, a joyless smile on her face, “We are completely different people. Matter of fact, think of us as strangers. We only know each other from this point forward.”

Joel thought it over a second, accepting the truth of it. “Okay,” he said, “But you have to trust me that I know the best way to get to Wyoming-“

“I don’t trust you,” Y/n retorted.

“I don’t trust you either,” he echoed, bitterness rising to both their surfaces.

Y/n bit down on her bottom lip, if this was going to work, they needed to put away all of their past. Not just the good parts.

“We have to put this on ice,” she said, “What matters…is her. That is all that matters. Not us, not what happened…her.”

Joel’s thumb twitched against the hood of the truck. There were many questions he’d been wanting to ask Y/n, but there was one that was non-negotiable if he was going to take on this task with her

“Do you actually believe that she’s the answer to this?”

Y/n’s face softened, only slightly, but enough for Joel to see the gleam hope in her eyes. “I do,” she replied, earnestly.

Joel breathed a heavy sigh, looking down at the truck. He glanced back up at Y/n, scanning her up and down as if to take full stock of the woman she was now. “Okay.”

Y/n nodded, her body alight with apprehension. “Okay.”

A ceasefire had been called.

“I’ll start on the battery,” Joel announced, eager to get away from the conversation as quick as he could, “Can you do a once over on this thing?”

“Yeah,” she answered, forcing past the hurdle that was doing something Joel asked of her.

They worked in silence, Y/n checking that the car was in working condition and Joel constructing their battery. It was the first time they’d been able to tolerate each other’s presence in the last two days.

After a half hour, when Y/n was long past done, Joel stepped back and examined his work. “It’s gotta charge for a while,” he announced, “But it’ll work.”

“Okay,” Y/n sighed, glancing over at him before heading back out the garage. Joel was close behind.

They came back into the house, finding Ellie waiting for them at the table still.

“Show me your arm,” Joel ordered, he needed to be 100% certain that she was safe to transport.

Ellie stood and rolled up her sleeve, the second bite still had blood caked around it, but it was clearly healing. They had no reason to doubt it would continue that way.

“I just finished makin’ a truck battery,” Joel said, “It’s charging right now.”

“Okay,” Ellie replied, her face showing a hint of hope.

“And I have a brother in Wyoming,” Joel continued, “He’s in some kinda trouble, and I’m heading out there to find him. He used to be a Firefly. And my guess is he knows where some of ‘em are out there. Maybe they can get you two to wherever this lab is.”

Ellie’s eyes bounced between Y/n and Joel, “All right. Uh,” she began to fiddle with her hand, “Listen, about Tess-“

Joel held up a hand, he took a second to collect himself before speaking. “If I’m takin’ you with me, there’s some rules you gotta follow. Rule one, you don’t bring up Tess. Ever. Matter of fact, we can just keep our histories to ourselves.”

Y/n made a mental note of where Joel was emotionally.

“Rule two, you don’t tell anyone about your…condition,” Joel focused his eyes on Ellie, trying to drive the point home, “They see that bite mark, they won’t think it through. They’ll just shoot you. Rule three,” he pointed between him and Y/n, “You do what we say, when we say it. We clear?”

“Yes,” Ellie answered.

“Repeat it,” Joel demanded.

Ellie took a breath, “What you say goes,” she looked between the two adults once more, “Are you two gonna be able to get along?”

Joel glanced over his shoulder at Y/n, who was leaned up against the door frame. She had her hands tucked behind her as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible. They communicated their truce with their eyes.

“We’ll be fine,” Y/n said to Ellie, maybe saying it would make it so…

Joel sighed, it felt like he was signing on a metaphorical dotted line. “Okay,” he finally said.

The three of them stood in the dining room, all with their own separate reservations but with no choice in the matter. They needed each other, even if no one dared to admit it.

“So what now?” Ellie broke the silence.

“We grab what we can,” Joel responded, “Let’s check the bunker first.”

He brushed past Y/n, who followed with Ellie in tow, and located the hidden entrance to Bill’s bunker. Joel climbed down the ladder first into the pitch black room. Flipping on the lights revealed walls of canned goods, guns, supplies, various tools and first aid kits. In the middle lay a desk setup with a laptop playing music and monitor screens showing footage of outside the house.

“Ho-ly shit,” Ellie said for both her and Y/n, “This guy was a genius.”

“Little bit,” Y/n added, scanning the walls, “Back then, everyone called people like him crazy. I’m guessing he was okay with it.”

Joel went to work at the computer, switching off the song.

“Why was the music on?” Ellie asked.

“If he didn’t reset the countdown every few weeks,” Joel explained, “This playlist would run over the radio.”

Ellie glanced over the screen, assured now of her theory from the day before about Joel’s radio codes. “‘80s.”

Joel didn’t really care anymore, “Grab some cans from over there. Nothin’ dented or swollen.”

Ellie wasn’t so easily distracted, she was still gazing at the guns. “Dude,” she started to draft another pitch.

“No,” he replied without even looking up at her.

“There’s a whole wall of them,” she declared, as if that made a difference.

Joel shot her a glare, signaling there was no discussion to be had. Searching Y/n out again and receiving a frown in response, Ellie backed off and went to collect the canned goods.

Y/n traced her fingers across the wall of guns. She doubted her pistol was going to get them very far. It had taken an assault rifle and an axe just to kill the Clicker that had attacked them.

She loathed to ask Joel for help, but she was good at shooting, not specs. “Which one takes the most basic ammo?”

Joel peered up from the monitor screens, the sight of her standing amongst so many weapons was still a little shocking. “That beige and black one,” he nodded in her direction, “Standard shotgun.”

Y/n nodded once in awkward thanks and removed the gun from the wall, testing the weight and feel of it. She crossed the room to one of Bill’s work tables and took a box of bullets, stuffing it in her jacket pocket.

“I’m gonna start upstairs,” she announced, strapping the shotgun over her back and climbing up the ladder.

The three of them worked around the house, collecting any and all supplies they could possibly need. Ellie found toilet paper, Y/n found some unopened dry goods, Joel found clothes for them. It was strange to think that once upon a time, desires had felt like essentials. A new TV, concert tickets, expensive wine…Y/n felt like she was seeing heaven when Joel pulled out a box of women’s t-shirts.

Joel monitored the battery closely, it wasn’t charging as fast as he wanted it to. “Needs another hour,” he told them.

“They have hot water!” Ellie exclaimed, soaking her hand under the garage’s running faucet, “I’m takin’ a shower. And then you’re showering, because seriously,” she turned to Joel and scowled as he headed back to the house.

Joel stopped what he was doing, unsure of how to respond. “I smell that bad?”

Y/n was sorting through some shelves, collecting a few tools they could take with them for the truck. “I’m not even answering that,” she replied.

Joel took what he could from her answer. “You take the next one,” he offered, trying to put his money where he mouth was and bench their grudge.

“Should I be offended?” Y/n fired back, raising one eyebrow. “Thank you,” she finally said.

Joel gave a nod in reply before getting back to work.

Y/n eventually headed inside to wait for Ellie to be done. The girl emerged with wet hair in fresh clothes.

“That felt so good,” she groaned in happiness as she passed Y/n in the hall.

“I bet,” Y/n smiled, “There extra towels in there?”

“Yep,” Ellie called, she was already halfway down the stairs, passing Joel as she descended.

If Y/n and Joel had dodged any awkwardness in the past 48 hours, it had boomeranged back around and slammed into them. They stood in the hall, keeping three feet of space between them and struggled for words.

“I’ll be quick,” Y/n said finally, heading into the bedroom that connected to the bathroom.

“Sure,” Joel replied, fiddling with his fist at his side.

Showers were one thing that no one ever took for granted anymore. Water supply in the QZ wasn’t consistent, one day you could have warm water and the next it’d be ice cold. You couldn’t count on anything to stay the same. So when Y/n had complete control of the temperature and made it burning hot, she felt like she could cry from pure joy.

Joel stood outside the bedroom door, leaned up against the wall. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Sweet images of early mornings with Y/n stormed past his defenses, flooding his brain. How she looked with wet hair, the smell of her skin after using some soap he couldn’t remember the name of…he tried to ignore the fact that it was all on the other side of the door.

Y/n emerged from the shower a few minutes later, having gotten all the dirt out of her hair and nails, and wrapped a threadbare towel around her torso. She quickly dried off and changed into the new clothes Joel had found them. It was a plain t-shirt, a men’s button up to go over it and a plain pair of jeans. Gone were the days of dressing up because you felt like it. It was a stupid thing to miss, but Y/n felt the loss regardless.

Dressed, she opened the bathroom door. The sound signaled that Joel could come in.

He came around the corner, having just put his memories to bed when he saw her. Pruny, barefaced and natural…the way he’d always loved her.

“All yours,” Y/n muttered, unable to break the eye contact they held.

Joel cleared his throat and his mind, “Thanks.”

“I’m just gonna be here,” Y/n gestured to the dresser and the attached mirror, “Try and get a comb through my hair.”

“Okay,” Joel nodded.

He walked past her, their shoulders brushing as he did, and closed the bathroom door behind him. It was the first time they’d touched in twenty years.

Now anger was rarely ever born from just anger. No one hated someone just to hate them. There was always something deeper beneath it. More often than not, anger found a companion in heartbreak. They’d collide, morphing together to make something so complicated, you couldn’t tell one apart from the other.

Y/n reached for a spare comb, her trembling hands causing her hair to catch in the teeth. Harboring the anger had been effortless, it was a fire that stoked itself. It was the pain, the flame that started the blaze, that was causing her to feel like she was burning, from the inside out.

The tears welled in her eyes, she refused to let them fall until her reflection was nothing but a blur. She dropped the comb on the dresser, and fell back onto the bed. It could no longer be contained.

Joel had broken her, destroyed her. The loss of him was a hurt that had refused to fade with time. She could feel her heart splitting back open just being around him, the same way it had the day that they’d parted. She wanted to scream, to cry, to break the way she had after he’d left. With the simple act of calling a truce and playing nice, she had reopened the wound she had spent twenty years trying to heal with her unbridled bitterness. She was bleeding out.

On the other side of the door, Joel was propped up against the shower with one hand. Rivulets of the stream dripped down his hair and face. He stared down at the drain, his emotions mixing and swirling much like the water at his feet. Joel had never considered himself particularly favored by the world. There were only two times when he’d felt like there was some higher power bestowing happiness upon his unworthy head.

The first was when Sarah was born, when he got to hold her for the first time.

The second was when Y/n entered his life.

Now her mere presence felt like a punishment. A reminder of what he’d done to her, a child’s taunt of a love he could never go back to. Knowing she was on the other side of the wall caused every muscle in his body to tense. Joel was still himself, regardless of what the pandemic had turned him into. The guilt he’d long tried to drown was rising to the surface, threatening to rebel and throw him underwater. Mixed with the fresh loss of Tess, he was overwhelmed. If he didn’t keep repeating the same three things to himself, she lied, she’s a liar, she’ll lie again, he would collapse entirely.

Y/n sniffled, rubbing her fingers under her eyes in a desperate attempt to stop her tears. She was so tired of crying over Joel. She wished for blind hatred, not the memory of his smile. Bitter regret, not the ghost of his lips. She couldn’t take another time of looking into his eyes and seeing the man she had loved with her whole heart.

Had they known that with a mere twelve feet of space and one shoddy door between them, it still wouldn’t have changed anything. Their chapter was over.

Needing distance, Y/n got off the bed and combed her hair as she walked down the stairs. She found Ellie seated in the front room at the piano.

Ellie turned to her and smiled, “Well, that’s an improvement.”

Y/n bristled, “Be nice to me. I am keeping you alive, after all.”

Ellie hummed as if that was up for debate and turned back to the piano, “You ever learn to play one of these?”

“A little,” Y/n replied, coming to join her, “I played as a kid, not as much when I was an adult.”

“You wanna play something?” Ellie suggested, it didn’t feel like it was for Y/n’s benefit so much as her own.

Y/n motioned for Ellie to make room and settled in next to the girl. It had been over twenty years since she’d felt ivory beneath her fingers, and this one was a beautiful model. She wracked her brain for songs where all the chords were still intact.

She placed her hands accordingly, pressing down on the first keys.

“Slow down, you crazy child,” she softly sang, “You’re so ambitious for a juvenile. But then if you’re so smart, tell me, why are you still so afraid?”

“You can fucking sing?” Ellie cried excitedly.

“Where's the fire, what's the hurry about,” Y/n kept going, “You'd better cool it off before you burn it out. You've got so much to do and only so many hours in a day.”

Ellie swayed a little, taking in the curiosity of the person she hardly knew, yet liked better than anyone. She couldn’t help herself from sneaking a finger onto a key and quickly pressing down.

“Don’t mess me up,” Y/n laughed as she continued to play, “But you know that when the truth is told, that you can get what you want, or you can just get old.”

Joel had just pushed his wet hair back and buttoned up his shirt he’d found. Renewed by the hot water, he grabbed the stick of deodorant he’d used and left the bathroom. The music and it’s sweet accompaniment drifted through the bedroom door, hitting Joel and rendering him breathless for a moment. All he could feel was her, wrapping her arms around him with each word.

Ellie continued to hit random keys at inopportune times, Y/n’s knocked her shoulder against hers.

“You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through,” Y/n crooned, her grin causing her to enunciate differently.

Joel quietly made his way down the stairs, feeling his body unnaturally relax with each note Y/n sang. Her voice hadn’t changed at all.

“When will you realize,” Y/n did a little flourish with the keys, leaving Ellie no room to mess with the melody, “Vienna waits for you.”

When she removed her hands, Ellie clapped and whooped. The mood had been so dark since the day of the shootout, it felt like a single ray of light was shining down on them.

Joel watched her sing the last line from the hall, it was like his memories had come to life right in front of him. How hard was it to bury the past when it was everywhere you looked?

Ellie turned around and saw Joel, “Well, don’t you look pretty.”

Y/n rotated on the bench and faced Joel. It was unfair that he seemed to be getting more handsome with age. With his hair slicked back and his plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows, it stirred up a singular butterfly in her stomach. She was quick to put it down.

Joel’s eyes flashed to Y/n before catching himself and looking back to Ellie, “Shut up.”

He tossed her the deodorant. “Nice,” she commented, swiping it on before handing it to Y/n. “Hey,” she trailed after Joel, “Did you know Y/n can sing?”

Y/n snorted as she used the antiperspirant. Ellie was the only thing keeping her spirits up on the trip. Everything else hurt, but the young girl’s joy acted as a balm.

Joel went back out to the garage to confirm the battery was charged up. He installed it quickly and headed back into the house. “We’re good to go,” he announced, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

Ellie and Y/n grabbed their jackets and bags, the three of them filed out of the house in hopeful silence. They shoved their things in the back seat of the truck, leaving one side clutter-free.

“Why don’t you take the front?” Y/n suggested to Ellie, already climbing in the back.

Ellie jumped into the passenger side, a toothy grin spread across her face as she started fiddling with the foldout mirror.

“It’s your first time in a car?” Joel asked from beside her, not the slightest bit amused.

“It’s like a spaceship,” Ellie said wondrously.

“No, it’s like a shit piece of Chevy S10,” Joel grumbled, “But it’ll get us there…I think. Seatbelt.”

Ellie glanced up from playing with the radio dials, confused.

Undeniably in sync with each other, Y/n reached through the gap between Ellie’s seat and the window as Joel reached over the girl and pulled the belt over her body. “Seatbelt,” Joel repeated.

Ellie took it from him and clicked it into place, “So cool…”

Y/n watched from over their shoulders. It wasn’t lost on her how it had taken no time for Joel to start acting like a parent again.

Joel started up the car as Ellie dug through the glove compartment. She held something up to Joel that Y/n couldn’t see.

“Put it back…” Joel directed, “Ellie…”

Ellie ignored him, popping in the cassette tape and hitting play. Soft guitar rang through the truck’s speaker system. Ellie was about to skip the song when Joel and Y/n piped up at the same time.

“No, no, wait-“

“No, leave it.”

Their words collided, surprising them both. It was the first thing they’d agreed on.

“This is good,” Joel said as he made a turn, “This is Linda Ronstadt. Do you know who Linda Ronstadt is?”

“You know I don’t know who Linda Ronstadt is,” Ellie rolled her eyes.

Y/n smirked from the back seat before the nostalgia washed over her again. The song had been a favorite of hers for decades, but there was one night in particular she distinctly remembered playing it on.

Joel drove down the path that led to the gate, letting the song fill the cracks of him left by all the beauty disappearing from the world. There was still a musician living inside him. “Oh, man…” he muttered.

In the rear view mirror, Y/n and Joel’s eyes flickered to one another. The second their gazes connected, they diverted them back to the road. In their minds, they were back in Y/n’s shitty apartment, leaving for their first date.

“Eh,” Ellie remarked, “It’s better than nothing.”

Y/n couldn’t contain the chuckle that bubbled from her lips, nor could Joel hide his flash of a smile. She was going to make them both feel ancient before their journey was over.

Joel pressed the gate code on the remote Bill had left in the garage, the gate opening for them like the parting of the Red Sea. Even he, in all his jadedness, felt some sort of hope.

Y/n settled against the window, taking one last look at the town Bill and Frank had kept up over the years. Their legacy was one not of sadness, but of renewal. They had supplied her, Joel and Ellie with the resources to go forward with their journey. They were helping them in their mission to change the world. It was a kindness she’d never get to thank them for, but she’d certainly never forget.

They drove into the sunset, golden hour embracing them and welcoming them onto the open road. Maybe, just maybe, this was the turning point for them…

————

A/N: Just an FYI, we hit the 50 mentions limit so the taglist will be split between the post and the comments :)

TYL Taglist: @bachiracore @stolenxkissess @kayleezra @the-wistful-reader @allthesesonsofbitches @goth-detectives365 @trippovert @rh1nestonecowg1rl @emiliaserpe @khaleesihavilliard @frietiemeloen @gracie7209 @dorck26 @thegirlnextdoorssister @alanis-altair @mariwinns16 @whosscruffylooking @endofthexline @alexiaricciardo @eonnyx @pedrosmexicangf @scarlettequinn @ao-sleepy @toinfinityandbeyonce2 @deanlovescassie @turmoil-ash @sorrowjunky @kpopslur @xxlilyxx90 @midgetpottermills @presidential-facts @scoopsnini @tubble-wubble @jamesdeerest @burninggracesandbridges @star-wars-lover @lucyhotchner @cococola-cocaine @witheringhqarts @fall-writes @alwaysdjarin @xxmoonn @emilia-the-artist @wand-erer5 @boneyarrd @lizard-zombie @itwasallinmyhead1 @cassidylea123 @paleepeaches @mxltifxnd0m @kettlekatie @ultimate-cinephile @gloryekaterina @caramelkatsukis-bitch @whovianayesha @memeorydotcom @deadunicorn159 @get0ut0fmyr00m @siriuslymooned @emmyeed

#Joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller imagine #Joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us imagine #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #twenty years later

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ftrcountry · 6 months

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The One With The Test

I just want to say rip to a one of a kind actor, Matthew Perry. I still can't believe it :( May he finally rest in peace.

Summary: I watched Fools Rush In Today and this sparked the idea for this fic. I hope you enjoy!

It was New Year's Eve in New York City. People were out partying and hanging out with their family and friends. Snow was slowly falling down in the cold crisp air. This was yet another New Years eve party without a date. You weren't particularly upset as you grown used to this. You were currently standing outside on the balcony watching the snowflakes fall all around. "somebody kiss me at midnight!" You heard Chandler go around asking each one of your friends in the apartment. You let out a small laugh. Oh sweet Chandler. You haven't told no one but you were starting to develop feelings for your best friend. You were just afraid to say anything in fear it might ruin the relationship the two of you have. You bit your lip, an idea popping into your mind. You had a lot to drink tonight so you had more courage than usual. You were going to catch Chandler off guard and kiss him at midnight.

---

Everyone was gathered around the tv counting down from ten. 10 9 Rachel was with Ross. Phoebe with Mike. 8 7 Monica with Richard Joey with one of his flings. 6 5 You took a deep breath as you walked up to Chandler. 4 3 You grabbed a fist full of Chandler's shirt. 2 1 Cheers erupted, people clapped at the start of the New Year as you pulled Chandler close and pressed your lips to his. Chandler tensed for a moment before you felt his lips kissing you back. His hand fell to your waist. "You wanted someone to kiss you at midnight." You whispered breathlessly as you pulled apart from him. You were flustered as Chandler pushed a piece of your hair behind your ear. "You have no idea how long I wanted this." Chandler finally spoke, giving you one of his charming smiles.

---

After the party, you ended up at Chandler and Joey's. Both you and Chandler were a little more than tipsy. After a hot, passionate round of the best sex you ever had, you were cuddled up to Chandler's side. "Wow." was the only words to escape your and Chandler's mouth.

---

Three Months Later Since that night on New Year's, you and Chandler decided to make it official. Everything was wonderful and you were so happy until three months later you were sitting on the bathroom tiled floor holding a positive pregnancy test. You've never been this scared in your life. You knew this would freak Chandler out and run him off. This would most likely be the end of the relationship and you might be a single mom. Before you could think about the future, there was a knock on the bathroom. "Y|N, you okay?" It was Chandler. With a shaky breath, you stood up with the positive pregnancy test. With trembling hands, you opened the door revealing Chandler. Concern was written on his face as you were in the bathroom for quite a while. His eyes flickered down to the test in your hands. His eyes widen and he jumped back. "Y|N. Please don't tell me that-" He stopped speaking. A tear slipped down your face as you nodded. You couldn't look at him. "I used a condom. Lot's of them." "Well, one didn't work." "But that's its job! It's whole purpose in life is... to work!!" Chandler was freaking out at this point. He ran his hand through his hair, pacing back and worth. He went into the kitchen got a glass of water and chugged it down. You started playing with the test in your hands out of nervousness. "I'm keeping the baby" You stammered. Chandler's eyes flew up to yours. "What?" He questioned. He was not ready to be a father. You knew he was expecting the other options that you were going to do. Keeping the baby was not one of them. He looked upset and this was where the relationship would end. You dropped the test on the counter, tears falling down your face. "Goodbye Chandler." You whispered before running out of the apartment.

-----

Rain droplets fell into the night in New York City. You were currently at Monica's, sitting on the couch with a leg pulled up to your chest. Monica, Rachel and Phoebe were all sitting around trying to comfort you. It's been a little over twenty four hours since you and Chandler had the falling out regarding the baby. "I'm sure it's a simple misunderstanding. You guys are having a baby! Chandler would never leave you alone to deal with this. He's probably just scared." Monica said, rubbing your back. "You should've seen the look on his face. It was full of fear, concern and he was just upset. He didn't have words." You cried, wiping your eyes with a tissue. Before anyone could say anything, the door opened and Chandler walked in. You looked down at your hands in your lap. He had one hand in his pocket and the other scratching the back of his neck. Monica, Phoebe and Rachel got the queue and grabbed their things and left. "Hey." Chandler spoke softly, walking over. "Hi." You sniffled. Chandler came around and sat on the coffee table right in front of you. "I'm sorry Y|N. I panicked and didn't have the words to comfort you and to be there when you needed me. This is big news." Chandler spoke up. "If you don't want to be in the baby's life, that's fine. I can do this on my own." At this point you still couldn't look at Chandler. You felt sick to your stomach, whether that was morning sickness or your nerves you weren't sure. "Just wait a minute. Look at me, Y|N." Chandler spoke, taking your hands in his. You finally looked up into his eyes. He was staring with so much adoration in his eyes at you. "This afternoon, I couldn't decide between a Texas burger and a tuna melt, but my life made sense, you know? And now I know exactly want I want, and my life doesn't make any sense. And I was doing fine this afternoon. I was doing great. That was me. It was me then. And now I'm with you and I don't know what happened between the tuna melt and the Texas burger but I WANT this with you Y|N. I never thought about my future before until we happened. I want this with our baby." By the time Chandler finished his speech, you had tears rolling down your face. Chandler slid over to the couch right next to you and pulled you close. You buried your face into his chest as he rubbed your back, kissing the top of your head. "Everything is going to be okay, Y|N. I love you so much and I already love this baby."

#chandler bing #friends #chandler bing x reader #monica geller #rachel green #phoebe buffay #joey tribbiani #ross geller

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deadlynavigation · 1 year

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Satan's My Fuckbuddy

Fandom: Helluva Boss

Pairing: Blitzø x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, violence, brief mention of smut in the beginning and end.

Author's Note: Sorry Lilith. More of this to come, guys. I may turn this into a series.

I do not own Helluva Boss. Pls don't come after me.

Do not copy, plagiarize, or translate any of my works or their assets.

Navigation

"You know, you could've told me you and the big boss himself used to fuck," Blitzø pants, his head turning to look back at the city's firey ruins.

"Oh, sorry," you respond breathlessly, a sickly sweet smile spready across your face. "I wasn't aware that little bit of information would lead to us running from a burning city after almost being banned from everything Hell has to offer!" By the time you finish your rant, you're almost screaming, and Blitzø's put another foot of space between you two.

A boom sounds from behind you, followed by a large crash. "How many times have I told you-" your boss yells over the noise. "Sleeping with rich assholes that live six fucking rings down never ends well!"

"You think I listen to your rants about rich assholes?" You shout over another boom. A boom which sounded way too close for comfort, so you pick up the pace, Blitz doing the same.

You're almost to the elevator that will ship you back to Imp City. The isolated building that holds such transportation is in your line of sight, only a few yards or so away. And if your luck holds, you'll get there with minimal injuries-

It's too easy. Blitz's eyes widen as he realizes this, and turns over his shoulder to glance at the literal devil chasing you both.

Shit.

"Time to start sprinting, toots." Blitz turns back in a panic. Even from your peripheral vision, you can see his wide eyes and anxious expression, which prompts you to look where he had seconds ago.

What you see has you moving faster than you've ever moved before. Lucifer himself is on your tail, his devil form taking the place of his standard, human-like form. His feathered wings are spread, blocking the red sky from view. His horns are larger than usual, and his face could make any sinner fall to their knees.

Hot.

After a moment of staring at Lucifer in all his glory, you stop running. Your breaths slow and your heart stops trying to escape from your chest as you blink slowly in realization.

Blitz turns around once he notices the absense of your footfalls, only to find you completely still with Satan quickly catching up.

"Are you fucking insane?!" Your boss shrieks.

You shake your head. "Nope, just realistic. We're not gonna outrun the Devil. Why try and get in even more trouble with him?"

Blitz looks at you like you just said Moxxie was right about something. After he stands like that for a long second and comes to terms with your statement, he sighs, walking up to you as he rubs his forehead.

"If we get killed by this guy, you're paying for my next horse-riding lesson."

Your snarky response is droned out by Lucifer dropping to his feet in front of the both of you. He looks ready to rip every limb from your body and then feed them to the other's corpse, but he restrains himself, taking a deep breath and folding his wings in.

"Have you any idea what you've done, imp?" He says in a deep voice, his every syllable sending chills down your spine.

Blitz goes to respond, but you know him talking will only worsen the situation. So, you jump in, shoving a hand over your boss's mouth and speaking.

"Yes, My Lord. And from the bottoms of our hearts, we apologize, but we really must get going-"

Lucifer holds up a hand, commanding your silence. He blinks at you, tilting his head and furrowing his brows. His true form slowly melts away as he studies you.

"Y/n?" He questions softly, as though he thought he'd never see you again.

You purse your lips, half in fear, half in annoyance. Lucifer has always done things on his own time (not including his fall, of course), and that doesn't seem to have changed.

"Yup." You eventually force out. The Devil blinks one more before a smile starts to dawn on his face.

"Heyy, how've you been? Long time no see," And he brings you into a bro hug like you're long-lost friends and not past fuckbuddies.

"I've been great," you respond hesitantly once he releases you from the hug. Maybe being casual, playing it cool, will release you from the Devil's clutches. "Got another job, made some new friends. What about you?"

Lucifer beams with your reciprocation of friendliness. "Yes, I've heard of your developing social life. Al says hi, by the way. And life is great; Charlie's in on another project- I think it's a hotel -and no demons have caused an uproar. It's practically paradise."

"Good, good. Listen, it's been a good chat, but could we schedule for another time? I kinda have somewhere to be." It's not a lie- you do want to get home soon. Where there are no Satans chasing you down for small talk.

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Do you still have that number? I'll text you the address of a nice little tea shop for next week."

"Looking forward to it," You laugh nervously and start backing away, grabbing Blitz while doing so. "All righty, I'll see you then!" And with that, you're off, walking as quickly as possible without running.

It's silent until you get into the huge elevator that'll ship you back to Imp City. Blitz is next to you, giving you a weird look.

"What?" You snap.

"Was he good in bed?"

"BliTZ-"

"Hey, he almost blew us up. I deserve an answer, at least."

You sigh. "Is that what you think?"

"Yes, it is." Your boss responds, slouching into his spot as though preparing to wait you out.

The elevator is quiet while your resolve holds for a solid two seconds.

"He did this thing-"

"Fuck yeah he did. He's Satan." Blitz interrupts.

You hit him with a glare. "Do you want this or not?"

"I do, I do. Sorry. Go on."

You stare at him a moment longer before continuing. "This thing with his hands-"

"I'd be disappointed if he didn't."

"BLITZ."

What do you think? Series or no? OR I branch out and do Hazbin Hotel oneshots? Let me know!

#helluva boss #helluva boss x reader #blitzo x reader #blitzo x y/n #lucifer #helluva boss x y/n #x reader #fanfiction #lilith #satan #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel

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spelviin · 5 months

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okay SO

the fucking beat where sparrow tries to go in for the hug and henry hesitates and only half-heartedly returns it.

i had to go back to 2x23 to double-check this, but henry never hugged either of the boys in that flashback, either, and i got some Thoughts abt why that might be.

bc i've been thinking for a while that the way that lark went about drawing henry's blood at the end of s1 was kinda uniquely fucking cruel.

because like. the prophecy just said he needed to spill it. spill the blood of the unsung hero, and you'll summon the doodler. that's it.

and there were sooooo many other, different, easier ways he could have done it. he could have made it look like an accident. the boys roughhoused so much, all it would have taken was to subtly put a scrape on henry during a tussle, and it would have achieved the exact same result.

he didn't have to do what he did.

and what he did was a deep, traumatic, profound fucking betrayal.

like, obviously, lark was like 12-13 when this all went down, so he may very well not have even picked up on this, but we as the audience had seen henry CONSISTENTLY having to beg for love in the second half of s1 - from his father, from his mother, from lark - and consistently being rejected. he was so fucking starved of it, he was so fucking sick with stress over things deteriorating with lark - of course he would jump at any chance for reconciliation.

and lark offered that reconciliation. whether he was aware of the manipulation or not, he knew his father would never refuse an olive branch offered to him, and especially that he'd never withhold physical affection.

so he offered a hug, pretended he wanted to patch things up-

-and promptly stabbed henry in the fucking back, ending the entire fucking world in the process.

like, that shit's gonna stick with a person. even though it's his kid, even though he was young, even though henry never blamed him, even though he put all his energy into not blaming him... that kind of betrayal is gonna leave its mark somehow.

and so i can't help but wonder if, even though he never outwardly showed anger towards the boys for what they (or at least lark) did to him, there's still that tiny bit of hesitation, of fear, every time he hugs his sons.

if even though he managed to push through it - because again, this is henry we're talking about, he would never in a million years want his children to feel unloved in any way - even all these years later, there's still a tiny part of him that can't hug his kids without remembering that knife in his back.

#og #dndads #it is once again crying about the oak boys hours

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zoeykallus · 6 months

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Hey, I really enjoy your writing and what you do! Would you mind doing an enemies to lovers hc for TBB?

Aloha!

This topic is so loved in this house. Let's get some glimpses... Let's gooo!

PS: I think more detailed One-Shots would have been probably better, but I did the best I could with these HCs 😅

The Bad Batch x Reader HCs - Enemies To Lovers

Warnings: Partly Suggestive/Cat And Mouse Games/Slightly Angsty

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Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

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>Master List<

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Hunter

You may be opponents, but the tension between you is not just hostile, that's for sure.

He is an excellent opponent. Hunter is fast, he is skilled, his only weakness is that he tries not to hurt you every time. If he were more ruthless, he would have defeated you long ago. The encounters with him are exciting, they are like a kind of intoxication you can't resist.

You almost can't imagine to not let this cat and mouse game between you take place anymore. You could have taken him out from a distance more than once, and he could probably do the same the other way around. But something keeps you both from putting an end to it.

Sometimes it's unclear who's actually the hunter and who's the hunted, but that doesn't matter, both are exciting, you enjoy each of these encounters.

Hunter's senses have long perceived that your cat and mouse game does not leave you untouched, and your rapid pulse has nothing to do with fear. Even if this confuses him at first, he feels this magnetism as well. With every encounter, every chase, it's there again, his senses pick up everything, your pulse, your excitement, your hormones. Of course, he teases you with it, and you react to it defiantly at first, as expected. He's mocking you, "You're really excited. Are you excited to see me again?" You growl, "Keep dreaming, clone." Hunter has an unflinching gleam in his eye, you always feel like he knows exactly what's going on inside you. You want to resist, but you quickly realize that this resistance is beginning to crumble. "You can't hide from me". You jump out of your cover and shout, "Then I'll attack." Of course, he already knew where you were, fending off your attack with ease and pinning you between himself and a wall of a house. You squirm in his grip, but the heat between you only increases, your pulse quickens even more.

"Gotcha," he says in a deep voice with a triumphant smile. Part of you wants to kick the smile off his face, another wants to kiss those lips. He takes the decision from you quite unexpectedly. The kiss is wild, and the next moment you are tugging at each other's clothes, not in a fight, but to get even closer to the other.

Echo

He's probably the fairest opponent you've ever had, but he's also smart. As long as you stay fair in the fight, so is Echo. "I really don't want to hurt you if I don't have to," he says seriously when he has you deadlocked. "Don't worry, I won't make it that easy for you," you snort, getting ready to fight. He eyes you and you him, both of you tense. It's not the first time you've screwed up his game, beating him to the punch and snatching information or important items from under his nose. But this time, you don't seem to be getting away from him so easily. "Dead end," Echo says dryly. You stare at him angrily. "Captain Obvious," you grumble. He sighs and says, "I can't let you escape this time, I need those files you stole." "Let me get away? You've never let me escape before, I've escaped you."

Echo rolls his eyes. "Sure." Outraged, you clench your hands into fists. Echo suddenly smirks. "You look cute when you're angry". "Thanks...wait what?- I know, I mean.... Shut up!" Echo raises his brows in amusement, very slowly he moves closer. You consider backing away, but you're far too intrigued by that expression on his face. He seems so different than he usually does, not as grim. As he stands in front of you, he finally asks, "If you don't want to give me the files, how about a date?" You catch yourself actually thinking about it, feeling flattered. But then your eyes narrow. "That's an honest question," Echo says when he sees your reaction. "Really?" He nods with a small smile and puts his blaster away. "Neutral territory, truce?" he asks. Uncertain, you say, "Um, okay." The corner of his mouth twitches up again as he says, "You won't regret it."

Wrecker

Even as an opponent, he's playful, but he's also damn strong, and you have to be pretty damn careful. One blow can knock you out or even break your skull, even if he doesn't necessarily mean to. But in the heat of battle, that can happen. You're faster than him, that's your advantage. But he's smarter than you think at first. Every now and again, you narrowly escape your encounters. "Hey, you want to play hide and seek again?" the giant rumbles with a laugh. You sigh and shake your head. "Not today, big guy," you say, throwing him a kissy hand and deftly dodging as he tries to reach for you. "Oh come on, don't be a killjoy!" You laugh and hastily climb onto a low little house nearby. You look down and see him standing there, down in the alley. Wrecker looks up at you, disappointed yet expectant.

You want to make a cool exit and wink at him with a casual salute, but as you turn around, something breaks loose from the edge of the roof you're standing on. From one second to the next, you suddenly find yourself in free fall. Your heart skips a beat, you expect to land hard on the ground at any moment. But that doesn't happen. Wrecker catches you. He looks at you with concern, you in turn look up at his face in complete surprise, still lying in his arms. "Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?" he asks quietly. Just as quietly, you reply, "Just got a fright." For a long time you just stare at each other, your eyes wandering back and forth, sometimes meeting, only to dodge again. At some point, however, you say quietly, "You do realize that we're actually enemies?" Wrecker snorts softly, then shrugs his shoulder and carefully eases you to your feet. "Nobody has to know that we don't actually kill each other. I don't like us being enemies, but I do like our cat and mouse games," he finally says with a smirk. You laugh softly and ask, "Should I hide again?" His smirk turns into a grin.

Tech

You've met many times before. But never has he seen your face, or much of you for that matter, you usually attack from cover, from the shadows. Today is no different. He's ahead of you at the finish line, ahead of you at the computer with the important data. He doesn't hear you coming. When you pull his legs away, he makes a surprised, startled sound, has to drop the holopad he's using to download the data to catch himself and not land on his face. He lost his helmet on the way when you shot at him from cover. He hasn't really laid eyes on you yet and is already impressed and annoyed by you, to the same degree. You deftly tied his legs together in a prepared sling with one quick move and jump over him, grabbing the holopad as you go. Somehow he's cute, the lanky, tall guy with the goggles. "Hey! That's mine!" he indignantly says, reaching for you but narrowly missing. You take off your helmet briefly to give him a cheeky wink, at which moment he seems to freeze for a second, staring at you as if he's seen a ghost or some other kind of special phenomenon.

„What's wrong? Having a stroke?“

For the first time in his life, Tech probably speaks without thinking as he says, "I didn't expect you to be pretty". When he realizes what he said, and you do too, you stare at each other, blinking. You sigh softly, crouching down at a safe distance from him, he's still on the ground, propped up on his forearms, looking at you, part critical, part curious, part confused. "And I thought you were smarter," you say dryly. He frowns, indignation clear in his expression. "I'm probably the smartest person you'll ever meet". You smirk at his reaction and say, "Then I guess we define that word in different ways." A noise distracts you, just a very brief moment, but obviously long enough for Tech to get the upper hand. He has freed himself from the sling and leaps forward, at the same moment that you look in his direction, startled. He rams you backwards from your crouch onto your back and is upon you. Your heart is beating up to your throat, but you calmly say, "Okay, handsome, looks like I underestimated you."

Tech blinks several times, having to classify and digest the word 'handsome'. "I'll take the holopad back from you". "You're welcome to try," you say with a smile. "And then I will go my way" You sigh softly, you know you should fight, not shy away from hurting him. But something inside you resists. Tech's gaze wanders down your face, again and again. "But I'd like to see you again." That is new. You say softly, "We're opposites, enemies, actually." "Do we have to be?" he asks back promptly. You blink, unsure, is it that easy? Is it that simple? "We have different clients," you note.

"So? We could go from enemies to a friendly rivalry after all. That would give us room to do other things." You laugh softly, still beneath him, pinned to the ground by him. "Other things?" you ask, amused. Tech's ears and cheeks flush as he says, "Well, maybe romance". You laugh and feel yourself getting all warm. He realizes that this approach is probably far too direct and awkward, but why waste time. "A romance? Well you have big plans" He shrugs and stays serious, ears and cheeks still flushed, "Why not, life is short, let's make the best of it" You blink in surprise and after another breath you say softly, "Okay. I'd be willing to give it a try" The smile on his face is undeniably adorable.

Crosshair

You already know that he is an excellent shooter and tends to use live ammunition rather than stun ammunition. So the first thing you do is concentrate on stealing his gun or making it useless in some way. You hear him swear as you grab his Firepunsher from your position in the vent and pull it off his back. He turns around so fast and jumps up, almost getting a grip on the weapon, you have to hastily throw yourself backwards, back into the ventilation shaft. You let out a startled curse as suddenly his hands grab the edge of the vent. You know you should react quickly, strike at his fingers, but you hesitate, and you don't really know why yourself at the moment. He pulls himself up and shortly after you see his Angry Face appear in the opening of the ventilation shaft. "You lousy little womprat," he growls as he pulls himself into the shaft. You want to aim at him, but the Firepunsher is far too long to turn it around in the shaft.

He grabs your ankle and pulls you out of the shaft with a jerk as he drops back out. You fall out of the shaft with your weapon and land hard on the floor in the hallway below. Your helmet slides off your head and rolls to the side. "Fuck!" you curse, snarling, and go to stand up, but there's the barrel of the Firepunsher in front of your nose. You curse again, much quieter this time, "Fuck..." You look past the barrel, up into the Sniper's angry face. You wonder why he hasn't pulled the trigger yet. You hold still, even trying to breathe shallowly, as if you fear any movement on your part might tempt his trigger finger. "That's the last time you mess up a mission for me," he says cuttingly. You don't quite know what to do or say, so you keep silent and stare at him as he stares back. This is the first time you've been able to get a good look at his face. Striking, masculine, serious, there is something bold in his golden brown eyes. Too bad you're playing on different sides, he's a looker.

After what feels like an eternity, you open your mouth. "Okay. So where do we go from here?" He seems to take a deep breath, as he answers he sounds annoyed, "Haven't decided yet." You try a little smirk and ask, "So what's the choice?" Crosshair clicks his tongue and says, "I kill you here and now and finish the mission and never be bothered by you again. Or I take away all your weapons, tie you up, finish the mission, and take the risk that you'll get on my nerves again someday." You ask perkily, "No third option?" His head tilts to the side barely noticeably, then he asks, "What do you have in mind?" You cautiously venture up on your elbows and look at him slyly, "I saw you staring at my lips. You're wondering how they feel, how they taste." He blinks several times. "You're full of shit," he growls.

You smile unperturbed. But when he suddenly holsters the gun and pulls you to your feet by your collar, you make a startled sound that is smothered by his lips. At first, you are far too surprised to react, but only for the length of a heartbeat or two. Then you return the kiss. It's heated, wild, sloppy all at once, and undeniably glorious. When he suddenly lets go of you, you stumble backward, nearly falling, your knees unexpectedly weak. He looks at you, a smug smirk on his face. "Not too bad," he says dryly. "Well," you say a little beside yourself, "Right back at you." After another moment of silence, he asks, "You're still going to try and screw up this mission for me, aren't you?" In response, you merely grin. He sighs and finally says with a barely noticeable smile, "Go on, I'll even give you a little headstart, but when I get my hands on you again, I want more than a kiss. Deal?" You get hot and almost swallow your tongue, but you grin back and nod. "Deal."

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