#leaves to do plot stuff and then comes back for her | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

atlabeth · 2 months ago

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bittersweet - joel miller

summary: you stumble into joel's life and he has no intentions of keeping you there. too bad you're just as stubborn as he is.

a/n: did someone order a whole novella of plot mixed with occasional banter ending with no relationship in sight but a new bond that will inevitably grow to be more? no? here it is anyways!

set before joel gets to boston but he's already been separated from tommy but who tf cares about canon tbh we're just having fun here. i started this when the show first began and as usual, abandoned it and as usual, came back with a fervor 2 years later. hope you all enjoy! i barely proofread this bc ive already read it so many times while writing and i physically cannot do it one more time rn so please let me know if there are any glaring mistakes

wc: 20k (officially my longest one shot! congrats joel)

warning(s): fem!reader (she is southern); decent age gap (joel is 40 and r is 27), half and half on fluff and angst; canon typical violence, some directed at reader; a lot of cursing; a lot of gun violence throughout most of the fic; numerous gunshot wounds; threats of sexual violence against reader but nothing ever happens! joel kills a lot of people (and is kinda mean for the first half of this); inaccurate medical stuff!! i did my research but am prob wrong on some stuff so pls dont flame me

both gifs bc i imagined both of them while writing and bc theyre both so hot jfc

You wish you weren’t so accustomed to waking up to gunshots.

You dart up from your bed immediately, the sound rattling around your brain as your weary mind tries to make sense of the situation. You have your pistol in your hand before you even fully realize it, your instincts honed even in your grogginess.

Screams accompany the gunfire and you push against the grimaces trying to fight their way to the surface. This isn’t the first time the compound you’ve stayed in has been taken over by force, but it’s the first time you’ve been this unprepared, and the first time you haven’t been on the ground floor for easy evacuation. No one is in your room trying to kill you—not yet, at least—and you have to take that blessing while you’ve got it.

You throw on your jacket and shove your feet into your boots, thankful you tucked your laces in months ago. You can handle the minor discomfort in exchange for the advantage. You throw what you can into your backpack, ensure your knife is secured in its sheath, and edge towards the door.

Normally, you share a room with Devon, but she went on a supply run alongside a few others a couple days ago—you regret not taking her offer to come along on account of your many patients, but you can’t waste what could become a very short life on regrets.

You open the door and peer out, trying to gauge your chances. The gunshots are getting closer and the screams are louder. If you weren’t on the top floor, you would have considered the window. But you have to get to the infirmary first, and you don’t really feel like breaking your legs.

Soon as there’s an opening, you run. Your most recent area of refuge is a run down high school, and you know it well after your months here. You practically throw yourself down a hallway to hide from a group of men coming up the stairs, and your heart threatens to beat out your chest.

Their rifles and shotguns are much bigger than the little handgun that you’ve carried state to state. You have to press your body against the wall to stop it from shaking, and grip your pistol so tight you feel the ridged handle indent into your palm.

“Go room by room!” one man at the front shouts. “Leave no survivors!”

Your only hope is to get out before they find you. The infirmary is in the old nurse’s office on the first floor—if they’re already up here gunning down the last of the compound, then you have little doubt that your patients are already dead. There’s no point in joining them out of some false sense of heroism.

There were no heroes anymore.

You back up slowly, making sure you stay flush against the wall while you keep an eye on the hallway. You think about slipping into the classroom you’re next to, but you decide against it. You can’t afford to get trapped.

You continue to stealth your way down the hallways, keeping your head on a swivel as you try and think through all your escape routes.

There’s another staircase on the other side of the top floor, but that might be too out in the open. A couple of stairwells are tucked behind unassuming doors, but that would leave you even more trapped if things went south. And of course, you can always throw yourself out a window and hope you don’t break your legs.

More gunshots, more screams—you hear the thumps of bodies falling to the floor and you have to steel yourself. It doesn’t matter that these people were your friends or acquaintances or anything close to it. They’re dead now, and you refuse to join them.

You turn the corner and immediately retract—a trio of armed men are going classroom by classroom, and you hardly stand a chance against one. Once you retrace your steps, you poke your head around the corner only to be greeted with the sight of more bandits. You press yourself against the wall, heart racing.

You’re stuck in this hallway, dead if they see you. Might as well make things a little worse and at least get yourself some cover if you’re trapped either way.

The ceiling is crumbling above you, has been falling apart for a few months. You pick up a piece of tile, take a deep breath, and throw it as hard as you can. Two of the trio go to check it out, and the third is focused on them to watch their backs. You dart out of your hallway and run as quick and quiet as you can, and you make it to the alcove leading into a classroom.

Twin classrooms actually, connected by a door in the middle, so you’re not completely stuck. You breathe out a sigh of relief, but it’s immediately short-lived when you hear the pump of a shotgun.

You whirl around to see the empty shell fall to the ground, your hands already flying up on instinct. You’re staring down the barrel of the gun, held by a man standing in the doorway between the two classrooms. He doesn’t look particularly nice, but he hasn’t shot you immediately, so you should learn to count your blessings.

“I’m a doctor!” you proclaim, your heart threatening to pound out of your chest at this point. You’ve learned it’s the best thing to lead with. “Don’t shoot, I—” you suck in air as fast as you can, but all this running with your life on the line is wearing on you— “I’m a doctor.”

Again, he doesn’t instantly kill you. He keeps his gun trained on you and takes a few steps closer, and you’re making much more eye contact with the barrel than him.

“A doctor?” he repeats skeptically. “You look a little young for that.”

“I was a surgical resident before the outbreak,” you lie. “I just have a young face.”

He lowers the gun just slightly, so it’s not aimed at your head anymore. “You’re a surgeon?”

“Yes,” you nod repeatedly. “They said to leave no survivors, but I— I can help any of your wounded. As much as you need, just— just please don’t kill me.”

The man stares at you and you tense every muscle in your body to not shift under his scrutiny. Eventually, he fully lowers his gun.

“Thank you,” you breathe. You feel like you could collapse from the relief, but it doesn’t last long as he moves in. Soon as he’s close enough, he slams your hand against the wall and your gun falls out of your limp grasp.

Your heart rate spikes as you flatten yourself against the wall in an effort to put space between the two of you, but it’s fruitless.

“If you’re fuckin’ lying,” he mutters, his hot breath hitting your face as his grip on your wrist tightens painfully, “you’ll end up like the rest of your people.”

“I’m not lying,” you enunciate stiffly, staring him right in the eye.

The man holds your gaze for another moment before he nods, seemingly satisfied. He lets go of you to pick up your gun from the ground and tuck it in his holster, and you stumble forward when he pushes you with the barrel.

“Get movin’, little lady,” he says. “I’ve got an awfully itchy trigger finger.”

You fight the urge to talk back. You’ve avoided getting shot for this long, and you don’t really fancy getting a shotgun to the face in such close quarters. You keep your hands up and start walking, hoping by pure will you can stop them from shaking.

You walk out of the classroom and through the hallways, and you’re able to catch glimpses of dead bodies as you go. You recognize far too many of them—those with their features still intact, at least.

These people welcomed you into their community with open arms, treated you like family even though they’d only known you for a few months. You knew anyone like that didn’t last very long, but you tried to ignore it.

You couldn’t think about that now, though. That was how the world worked—how it had worked for a long time now.

You stumble your way down the stairs and finally make it to the lobby. Even more bodies litter the first floor—you see Eleanor, the woman who brought you back here when she could have left you for dead; Delilah, who you worked with in the infirmary; Cade, who flirted with you too much for his own good but always managed to make you laugh—

Your focus is jarred from thoughts of your comrades survival to those of your own as the man pushes you hard with the barrel of his gun. You just barely manage to catch yourself with your hands as you fall to your knees. You look up to see yourself in the middle of a group of bloodstained bandits, and you clench your hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

“What part of ‘no survivors’ do you not understand, Jake?” one of them says. “We don’t need another mouth to feed because you want a plaything.”

Your skin crawls at the thought, but he just shakes his head with a grumble. “I’m not like Marshall. Didn’t kill her ‘cause she says she’s a doctor. She can get Becca and Joel back on their feet,” he looks pointedly at a woman, “can make sure Nadine’s still in working order.”

“How do you know she’s not lying?” the woman counters, and she squats down to look you in the eye. You meet her inquisitive gaze, refusing to look away—she breaks first, at least, and stands back up. “Could be tryin’ to save her own ass.”

“I’m not lying,” you grind out. “Wouldn’t do me any good to get shot at your camp instead of here, would it?”

“Watch your mouth,” she says, but she backs off anyways.

“Check her for weapons and tie her up,” another one says. “We’ll take her back once we’ve picked this place clean.”

Again, you swallow the words you want to say. You bite your tongue when you’re wrestled from the ground and searched for weapons. You don’t fight back as your hands are tied together behind your back, you don’t fight back when Jake prods you with his gun even as he follows you to the infirmary to get your medical bag, you don’t fight back against anything.

You’re a captive of the people that slaughtered your friends, only alive because of the overexaggerated skills you’ve used like a shield since the outbreak started. Your continued survival depends on helping people you might not even be able to save, and you doubt this group will want to listen to your medical explanations.

But you are alive. And that’s all you care about.

(You’re not breaking the one damn promise that still matters.)

It’s not a very fun ride back.

These people travel by horse and they don’t want you running off, so you have to sit in front of Jake, the man who spared your life who seems to be some kind of leader. He makes idle comments to pass the time, and it’s not as bad as it could be, but you dislike him anyway. He did help murder your whole community.

Sunrise comes around just as you make it to camp—you have to fight to stay awake on the ride, and when you jump down, you’re reminded that this slaughter happened in the middle of the night.

It doesn’t matter how tired you are, though, because your work starts almost immediately. You think about asking Jake for coffee as he leads you to your first patient, but you don’t think he would take too kindly to it.

He mentioned Becca when he was pleading your case, and she ends up being your first stop. She’s got a nasty gash on her leg that she got from hopping a barbed wire fence and it’s kept her off her feet since it happened.

You clean it out as best you can and stitch it up with what these people have on hand, which happens to be a needle and thread. At this point, you think you’ve done more stitches this way than the normal way. To her credit, she bears it well—better than Jake, who grumbles every time you ask him for the materials you need. It’s like he doesn’t even want you to help, which doesn’t really make sense when he’s standing there with his gun like he’s ready to shoot you at any moment.

Next is Nadine, and you’re accompanied by the woman who accused you of lying. They must be close, because she doesn’t leave her side during your entire checkup. Nadine has a broken arm that you can tell she hasn’t been resting properly, but at least there’s no swelling. They’ve already done a makeshift sling for her, so you just do a par for the course checkup then refashion her sling to be more effective. None of them appreciate you telling her she needs to rest, but you figured that would be the case. This doesn’t seem to be the happiest bunch of people.

Finally, you’re hauled off to your last patient, Joel. You’re exhausted from your sleepless night and walking on glass with every passing second, but he’s the last one. He can’t be too difficult to deal with.

You reach the final room and Jake pounds on the door.

“Joel!” he calls. “You decent?”

“Do you know what time it is?” a gruff voice responds, and you hold back a sigh. Is everyone here difficult?

Jake opens the door anyway and gestures for you to walk in. You do, and you see a man laying down in bed atop the sheets. His eyes are closed but he doesn’t even look peaceful—just annoyed.

You purse your lips. Everyone here is difficult.

“We got ourselves a doctor,” Jake says. “So stop complainin’ and let her look at you.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” he says.

“You got shot two days ago,” he retorts. “Only reason no one’s looked at it more is because no one thought you would make it through the night.”

“I’m fine.” He sits up with a groan characteristic of someone who is not fine, and he levels his gaze at you. “You’re wasting your time.”

“I’ve got nothing but time,” you say. “I don’t think he’s gonna let me leave until I look you over, so…”

Joel scoffs. “Don’t tell me you went and kidnapped a doctor.”

“We got lucky at the school,” Jake says.

He rolls his eyes. “I told you, I’m fine.”

You glance at your captor. “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere.”

“You better get somewhere,” Jake says.

“I might make better leeway without you standing over me,” you say.

He frowns. “You’re a prisoner. Can’t trust you alone.”

“I’ve gotten through the past two patients just fine.”

“I don’t need you jumpin’ out the window and running the first chance you get,” Jake says.

“Look,” you say, a muscle working in your jaw, “do you want your man to get through this or not? Because if you do, I need to work in silence, and it doesn’t seem like the two of you are very good at it together.”

He doesn’t budge, and you let out a loose breath. “You can wait outside, and if I do anything suspicious, feel free to shoot me. But at least give me the room.”

The approval of your own murder seems to satisfy him, however temporary, because after staring at you for another moment, he grunts. He goes over to the door, then lifts his gun and looks at you. “Remember, I’ve got an itchy trigger finger.”

He leaves the room to let the threat sit in the air, and you close your eyes and sigh deeply. You don’t know when, but you know you have to get out of here eventually.

“And just who the hell are you?”

You open your eyes to see Joel staring right at you, very unimpressed. He looks to be in his 40s, the greying in his scruffy hair and beard giving it away—if that didn’t do it, the hardened weariness in his eyes would.

Men like him tend to be the worst patients, at least in your limited experience. Something tells you Joel won’t be any different.

“A doctor,” you say. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You don’t look like a doctor,” he says.

You already hate this guy. “Sorry. I lost my white coat and stethoscope when people started eating each other.”

“I mean you look too young.”

“Well, you look too old to still be this annoying,” you retort. “Now tell me what’s wrong with you so we get over this quicker. ”

Joel grumbles and rolls his eyes, but he eventually answers you. “Got shot a couple days back.”

“There an exit wound?” you ask.

He nods.

“How much does it hurt?”

“Like hell.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You this short with all your doctors?”

He grunts, and you sigh as you kneel down next to him. “Alright. Show me.”

Joel stares at you for a moment before relenting. He shrugs off his jacket then pulls up the bottom of his shirt, revealing a shoddily bandaged wound on his lower chest.

You raise your eyebrows. “Who patched you up? And when?”

“Does it matter?” he asks.

“Yes, actually. Helps me know the likelihood of infection, and if there is one, how fucked you are.”

“Why do you need to know who did it?”

“Because it’s pretty shitty handiwork,” you say.

“Kept me alive,” Joel says. “Far as I’m concerned, that means it’s pretty good.”

You roll your eyes. “You tell yourself that when you’re dying of sepsis.”

“Not everyone has your luxuries, doc,” he responds dryly.

“I’d say you certainly have some luxuries,” you say. “Looks like this missed your major organs, for one. You’re extremely lucky.”

He huffs a mirthless laugh. “Wouldn’t really classify myself as lucky.”

“You should,” you say, glancing back up at him. “Takes an awful lot of it to get by these days.”

Joel remains silent. You sigh again and take it as your sign to start working.

You gingerly peel back the bandages, and to Joel’s credit, he only grimaces the smallest bit.

“No infection,” you murmur. “That’s good.”

“Guess it was patched up pretty well then,” he says.

You glance up at him. “You dressed it yourself, didn’t you?”

Joel shrugs. “Maybe.”

“You seem pretty normal for someone who got shot a few days ago,” you say.

“‘Cause it’s not the first time,” he says. “You tellin’ me you haven’t been shot?”

You shake your head. “Stabbed, sliced, scratched, bit, but never shot.”

His eyebrows rise. “You’ve been bit?”

“By people, not infected.” You chuckle. “The one thing I’ve managed to avoid, at least.”

He makes some noise of acknowledgement. “Things get crazy in that hospital of yours?”

You smile wryly. “Nothin’ crazier than I see out here everyday. And nothing worse than Outbreak Day.”

Joel goes quiet at that. You don’t know why you continue on as you clean out his wound, why you’re talking so much when you went through the last two patients in relative silence. Maybe it’s because Jake isn’t standing over your shoulder.

“I worked in a hospital in the middle of Boston,” you explain. “The city practically imploded when it all started—felt like we were the epicenter of it all. Patients turned their nurses, folks in the waiting room killed their families, and all the infected that managed to escape went on a rampage in the city.” You shake your head with a sigh. “Sometimes I still don’t know how I made it out alive.”

You feel Joel’s gaze on you for a long time after. You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, so you busy yourself with dressing both sides of his wound now that you’ve cleaned it out. Eventually, though, he speaks.

“Boston’s a long way from Kansas,” he says. “How’d you end up here?”

You shake your head again as you finish taping the last piece of gauze across his exit wound. “Can’t reveal all my secrets day one.”

“Bold to think I care that much,” he says.

You frown. “You were the one that asked.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted when the door opens. Both of you look over to see Jake, looking unapologetic.

“I got bored,” he says, answering your unspoken question. “Can’t take this long to bandage someone up.”

You set down your nearly depleted roll of gauze. “I just finished, actually.”

“He gonna live?” Jake asks.

“Bullet went straight through and missed any vital organs or arteries, so he really avoided the worst of it,” you explain. “I cleaned it the best I could and covered it with gauze—I think it would do more harm than good to stitch it up. He should be okay, but someone should really monitor him for the next few days to make sure it stays that way. And if you have antibiotics, send ‘em his way. Better to be safe than sorry when it comes to infection.”

“Good,” he nods. “I think we have a couple—I’ll get ‘em to you.”

“Good,” you echo. “Then I think we’re done here.”

You stand up from the bed, thinking you’re finally in the clear, when he pulls out a pair of handcuffs. You’re about to question it when he opens them and clips one side around the radiator next to the door, then looks at you.

“We got one last order of business,” Jake says, and it clicks in your head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you say incredulously.

“You said it yourself,” he says. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on him. Might as well be the one that treated him.”

“This is ridiculous,” you spit. “I did what you asked, and you treat me like— like a goddamn animal?”

“You’re a prisoner,” he says, like he has to remind you. “I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. You’ll run off the second you can.”

You grind your teeth together. “Can’t even put me in a cell like a dignified prisoner?”

“If Joel dies, it’s your head,” he says. “You should thank me. This gives you the best chance possible.”

You want to fight it, but you can’t. Not when he could put a bullet in your head with that shotgun he seems very fond of.

So you clench your jaw, swallow your pride, and let him handcuff you to a radiator that looks like it’s a decade older than you. This motel they’ve hitched up in really has all the luxuries.

“What if I do start dyin’ in the middle of the night,” Joel says dryly. “She can’t exactly work her magic with one hand.”

“I’m sure she can do plenty magic with one hand,” Jake chuckles, and your skin crawls as he looks you over. You clench your jaw so hard you think your teeth might crack.

“Real clever, jackass,” Joel intones.

Jake rolls his eyes. “Just walk your sorry ass across the room if you have to.”

“You really thought this out,” he says.

“Don’t make me regret makin’ her save your life,” Jake says, and he turns his attention back to you. “Don’t do—“

“Anything stupid,” you interrupt despite yourself. “Yeah, I know.”

You feel the pain before you even really see him pull the gun out, the glint of metal the only hint to the searing fire in your cheek. You fall to the ground, hissing as your free hand darts up to nurse the wound rather than try to catch yourself. The pain smarts both on your knees and your cheek, blood already spurting from the cut he opened up. Your vision swims in front of you.

“Watch your mouth, bitch,” he growls. “Remember why you’re here.”

You just grit your teeth as he holsters his pistol—no, your pistol, the bastard—riding through the wave of dizziness. You want to remind him you won’t be of much use if you’re fucking dead, but you don’t feel like earning yourself another badge of his approval. So you just nod in submissive acknowledgement, and he looks at Joel.

“Keep her in check, will you? I don’t feel like dealing with more of this bullshit in the morning.”

“Sure,” Joel says.

That seems to satisfy him, because Jake only gives you another dirty look before he leaves and kicks the door shut behind him.

Your eyes begin watering against your will, lesser pain than you’ve experienced in the past somehow managing to bring you down. You bite down hard on the inside of your lip as you shift to sit against the wall, hoping a different source of pain will force the blood trickling down your cheek into the background.

You can’t cry over something like this. Not in front of a man like Joel.

“I know you’re looking,” you say bitterly. “If you want to call me an idiot, just do it.”

“You’re an idiot,” he says. You don’t really know what you expect.

“It’s one hell of a group you’re running with.” You pull your hand away from your cheek, grimacing at the concerning amount of blood coating your fingers. Between this and the dull pain in your knees, you’re going to bruise something fierce.

Nothing like getting pistol whipped with your own gun by one of the hunters that slaughtered your community like sheep to make you feel at home.

“They’re the same as everyone else,” he says. “Don’t know how you’re still surprised after all these years.”

Your thoughts go back to the first group you had to leave. The first time you were forced to be terribly, horribly, woefully selfish, when you lost the only thing that mattered. You wonder if he thinks about you as much as you think about him.

Screams echo in your mind. You shut them out.

“...I’m not,” you say. “Just acknowledging.”

As silence consumes the air between you, you can’t help but pull your legs closer to yourself in an effort to be as small as possible. You’re intimately aware that you’re at Joel’s mercy, and you can only hope he’s not that sort of man. Jake’s comments don’t bring you much solace.

He must notice how tense you are, because he sighs and shakes his head. “Relax. Ain’t gonna hurt you.”

“Sorry if I don’t believe that,” you mutter.

Joel scoffs. “Don’t matter what you believe or not.”

“Well, I believe that I’m royally fucked,” you spit. “I’ve been here for five hours and I’m already bleedin’ and stuck in a room with you. Doesn’t fare well for my future.”

“How’d you even end up here?” Joel asks. “We ain’t exactly bringing in new folks.”

You huff. “You weren’t too far off with them kidnapping a doctor.”

He doesn’t seem fazed, and you think that should concern you. “What, they just wander into a hospital and pick you up?”

“They wandered into a high school and murdered my whole community,” you correct. “I’m only here because I pleaded my case before they could shoot me.”

��...Wound does feel better,” he says. “Least you kinda know what you’re doing.”

You glance away. “Bandaged more GSWs these past few years than I ever did in med school. I’m used to it by now.”

There’s another knock on the door and your whole body tenses. Joel calls out that it’s unlocked, and you’ve never been so grateful to see the woman from before. Nadine’s sister, you remember— Rachel. She breathed over your shoulder the entire time you fixed up her sister’s sling.

“You better?” she asks.

He nods. “Back on my feet, at least.”

“Good,” she says. She seems to notice you, bleeding and deflated and restrained, and looks back at Joel unfazed. “What’s the deal here?”

“Jake did it,” he says. “Wants to keep her in check.”

“Long as it means she’s not a problem, I couldn’t care less,” she admits. “But you gotta get your ass in gear, Joel. Community meeting in the lobby.”

“Y’all woke me up at four in the morning,” Joel complains. “Can’t let an old man sleep day after he gets shot?”

“You said it yourself; you’re back on your feet,” she says. “Better see you in five.”

She leaves and closes the door behind her, not even passing a second look at you. You felt less alone when you were moping your way through Missouri.

Joel heaves a sigh and stands up. He grabs his jacket from the bed and slips it back on, buttoning it up in the middle. You watch him go through the motions because you have nothing else to do, but you notice the roughness of his hands.

“You gonna do anything about those torn calluses?” you ask.

He glances at you with a frown. “Why’re you lookin’?”

“Got nothing else to do,” you say. “You don’t cover those up, they could lead to infection.”

“Sounds like everything can lead to infection,” he mocks.

“Kinda does,” you say. “‘Specially in this world.”

Joel huffs a laugh and he pulls a couple bandaids out of your medical bag, still sitting on his bed. “That good enough for you?”

“Don’t do it for me,” you say. “Do it for yourself.”

He grumbles as he tucks them into his pocket, and you continue to watch him as he gets ready. Ties up his boots, shoves knives into sheaths on each leg, fixes the watch on his wrist—

“Quit starin’ at me,” he mumbles.

“I told you,” you say. “Nothin’ else to do.”

“Look at the wall,” Joel says as he slings a rifle over his shoulder. “More interesting than me.”

“The wall doesn’t have your overwhelming charm,” you say.

He scoffs. “Can’t believe I’m stuck with you.”

You shrug. “Can always kill me yourself and be done with it.”

“Who’ll save me when I crash in the middle of the night?” he mocks.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” you say. “You patched yourself up, after all.”

Joel exhales a little harder than usual out of your nose, and you figure that’s what passes as a laugh around him. You take a strange amount of pride in it.

You think he’s about to leave, but instead he picks up your medical bag and slides it over to you.

“Patch yourself up for a change,” he says. “Don’t want you bleedin’ all over this expensive flooring while I’m gone.”

That gets the slightest laugh out of you as you pick it up. “Thanks.”

Joel grunts in acknowledgement, and he moves over to the door. You start unzipping the bag but have to pause, the sight of your blood all over your hand making you grimace. You’ve gotten some on your jeans unwittingly, and you can’t help but sigh. Sure, they’re already covered in dust and grime and blood from other people, but you didn’t want to add yours to the mix. Especially on your favorite pair of jeans.

Maybe you’d be able to scrounge a bottle of hydrogen peroxide up sometime. It’s the least this world could give you.

You look up to see Joel standing in the door frame, looking at you instead of leaving.

“You’re gonna be late,” you say. “Then we’ll both be on Jake’s shit list.”

Joel blinks. He looks like he wants to say something, but he just nods.

“See you ‘round,” he says.

“Not like I can go anywhere,” you say wryly.

You go back to rummaging through your bag, trying to find the gauze you haphazardly shoved back in. Joel’s still looking at you, and his gaze burns your skin. You hope if you ignore him, he’ll leave.

He does. He shuts the door behind him when he leaves, quieter and gentler than you expect.

You stare at your hands, one bloodstained and the other cuffed. You’ve taken care of your calluses better than Joel, at least.

The thought is warmer than it should be.

Makes you realize how cold the room feels.

Joel doesn’t come back for a while. Half the day, you think.

It’s difficult to keep track of time in here. With the door closed and the window shutters down, what little light streams through doesn’t give you much of an idea of the hour.

You also don’t really have much to do, which makes the time pass even slower.

You clean your cheek out the best you can and tape it shut with some small butterfly bandages. You hope that’ll make it heal quicker, or at least keep it protected from the elements. You can’t let it get infected after all you’ve spouted to Joel.

It still smarts, but you try your best to ignore it. Jake did a number on you, and with your own pistol at that.

He might have spared your life, but you’re killing him before you escape this place.

You try to sleep, but it doesn’t really work. You’re exhausted, plain and simple, but you think your body will have to give out for you to get some rest at this point. The position you’re stuck in is too damn uncomfortable for your brain to shut off, and every time you get close, you just see the bodies of your friends, see the same nightmares you’ve relived for a year and a half.

So instead, you decide to test your boundaries.

You’re handcuffed to one of the middle pipes, which goes all the way down to the ground and about a third of the way up the wall. You use your finger to measure and figure out you have around five inches of leeway with the chain. Not enough to do much of anything with, but still something.

Once you’re done with that, you just… look around. There isn’t much else to do, but this is Joel’s room. You were a psych minor before the world ended—maybe it’ll give you some insight into him, give you something to use. You’re not above manipulation if it means you can get someone on your side.

But frustratingly, there’s almost nothing. It’s not like you expect him to have a whole decorated room in the apocalypse, but he’s really giving you nothing here.

An open pack of bullets sits on his bedside table. His sheets are still a mess from his rude awakening because he didn’t bother to make his bed before he left. The extra unused pillows lay scattered on the ground,

So you can’t analyze him using his barebones room—you have nothing but time, so you think back to how he looked before he left and go from there.

Joel’s beard and facial hair were both relatively under control, so he’s someone who cares a decent amount about cleanliness and hygiene. He carries two knives and a rifle outwardly, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he had a handgun hiding somewhere or more weapons in his bag. He speaks with a Southern accent—stronger than yours, but you lost some of it while you were studying in Boston.

You used to not mind. People seemed to respect you more without it, seemed to take you more seriously, and that was all you wanted in med school. Now, it just feels like another part of yourself that you’ve lost. Like you can’t even call yourself an Okie anymore.

He looks to be in his forties, but you don’t remember a wedding ring. Whether he’s been a life-long bachelor or loved and lost and just chooses not to wear it, you don’t know. From what you’ve seen, all hardened survivor-like, it’s hard to imagine him with a wife and kids and a white picket fence life.

But what do you know? Anyone who’s still alive at this point has to have a hardened heart. There’s no other way to survive. There’s a reason you’re fucking handcuffed to a radiator.

Maybe before this all started, Joel was kinder. Softer. Maybe he did have a wife and kids, and he loved them more than anything. Maybe he actually smiled.

You shake your head. No use thinking of the past, and certainly no use judging him. You’ve changed too. Everyone has. And if he has a family that he lost, then you’ve got more in common than you think.

Maybe you can use that.

Joel is covered in blood when he eventually comes back into the room. He gives you half a glance before he pulls his pack and rifle off and sets them on the bed.

“Can’t believe you’re still here,” he says.

“Can’t exactly leave,” you respond. “How’re you all bloody after a meeting?”

“Went huntin’ after,” he says. “Things move quick here.”

“Well, how’d that go?”

“We ain’t gonna starve, so as good as it could be.” Joel passes another glance at you, this time a little longer. “Your cheek looks better.”

“Feels like shit,” you say. “How’s your chest?”

“Feels like shit,” he echoes. “But I’ll live.”

“None of that blood is yours, is it?”

“No.” He points his finger at you. “And you’re not doin’ another checkup, doc, so don’t even think about it.”

You smile sweetly and hold up your shackled wrist. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

Joel huffs. “Still can’t believe Jake did this. Like he’s tryin’ to punish me, sticking you with me.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I feel like they’re punishing me by sticking you with me too.”

“You can’t be stuck with me,” Joel says. “This is my room. You’re the intruder.”

“I’m real threatening, huh?” you mock. “So much so that I gotta be restrained.”

“Threatening, no. Annoying, yes.”

“You’re too kind,” you drawl. You watch him unpack some more, then you purse your lips. “Y’know, you really shouldn’t have gone hunting when you got shot a couple days ago.”

“Was only half a mile out.” Joel scoffs. “There you go provin’ my point.”

You hum. “Guess you really are stuck with me, then.”

“Lucky me,” he mutters.

Joel is in and out for the rest of the day, and even when he’s in you don’t really talk. When he comes back for the night he at least brings some stale bread and a small ration of meat for you—you and your growling stomach are appreciative, but it makes you feel like a prisoner even more than the handcuffs.

What’s worse is how annoyed he seems about it all. Like this was your choice—like you not only chose to throw in with these people, but you chose to stick yourself with him. You think about telling Joel that, but you decide against it.

Just because he said he wouldn’t hurt you doesn’t mean he won’t go back on his word. People tend to not really care about their word these days.

You try to make small talk, but he doesn’t give. Eventually, when he settles in for the night, you decide to try as well.

It’s even more uncomfortable than when you tried earlier. You lay down on the ground, you lean against the radiator, you settle against the wall— it doesn’t matter what position you try because they all cause some part of your body to start hurting within minutes.

You thought it would be easier, considering how many nights you’ve spent sleeping on hardwood floors and cold dirt, but it’s not. Blame it on your privilege from the bed in your previous compound or the unsettling nature of being stuck in a stranger’s room or the endless nightmares that follow you wherever you go—it doesn’t really matter.

A few pathetic hours of tossing and turning pass, and Joel ends up throwing a pillow and a blanket in your direction. When you thank him, he just grunts in response and goes back to sleep.

It makes it a little easier. Makes you feel a bit better about your forced company, at least.

Jake comes by in the morning to send Joel on his way for whatever task he has to do that day and pick you up. He unlocks your cuffs and takes you on the world’s shortest version of rounds. You look at Becca’s leg wound (no infection), ensure Nadine is resting her arm (she is), and by the time it’s Joel’s turn, he’s already out and about.

Turns out him lounging in bed was an oddity caused by being shot the day before, because you and Jake find him in the parking lot with a couple others getting ready to go out on a supply run.

“You know, you really should be resting,” you say as you walk up to him.

Joel scoffs when he sees you approaching and puts the last bullet into his rifle’s magazine. He’s got his sleeves rolled up, allowing you to see the slight ripple of his forearm muscles as he pushes the bolt back into place.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Certainly don’t need you followin’ me around.”

He grimaces a little when he stands up, and though he hides it well, you see his arm move for just a millisecond as he fights an instinct to press against his wound.

“Clearly,” you respond dryly. “Look, I know what I’m talking about.”

“You look like you learned medicine from watching Sesame Street.”

You scowl. “I know more than you ever will. Just like how I know that if you ain’t careful, you’re gonna ruin all my hard work.”

“I’m not gonna run a marathon, so stop bothering me, will ya?”

“I’m your doctor,” you say. “This isn’t bothering.”

“You’re not a doctor,” he says. “And you’re certainly not mine.”

“I am one, and certainly the closest thing you’ve got to one,” you huff. “You’re not dead, are you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Just keep your mouth shut. It’ll do you a lot more good around here than whatever the hell you’re doing.”

“If you just let me do my check up, I would be gone already,” you insist. “Instead, you’ve gotta be a stubborn asshole.”

Joel looks behind you at Jake. “You put her up to this?”

He shrugs. “None of us really want you to drop dead out there, I ‘spose.”

He groans and shakes his head—you’d think you were asking him to shoot his mother the way he’s protesting. But eventually, he sits back down and does a flourish with his hand.

“Make it quick,” he tells you.

“I’ll do it well,” you retort. “Pull your shirt up.”

Joel does, revealing the bottom half of his chest once again, and there’s a whistle behind you. You see Joel shoot an absolutely scathing look out of your peripherals, and you do your best to ignore it all.

The gauze is bloody, but it isn’t soaked through. You remove the dressings and redo them, glancing up on occasion to make sure you’re not hurting him. He doesn’t grimace or wince, but when he tenses every time your fingers brush against his bare skin.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “I should’ve asked if I could touch you.”

“I don’t care,” he says, but you feel him shift anyways.

The rest of it goes by pretty quickly, since you did all the important work yesterday. Once you’re done, you zip your medical bag up and nod.

“You’re good to go,” you say. “Just keep it clean to avoid infection. And don’t get shot again.”

He snorts. “Don’t plan on it.”

Joel walks off to rejoin the other hunters, and you watch him go until Jake clears his throat behind you.

“Time for you to start payin’ your keep, little lady,” he says.

You hum. “So I don’t just get to stay handcuffed to a radiator all day?”

He pushes you with the barrel of his gun to get you moving, and you stumble into a walk. “I hope you’re better at maintenance than you are at jokes.”

You just sigh and bite your tongue. He sucks, but he’s not actively threatening you. Might be the least you can ask for, at this point.

Your keep, it turns out, is doing miscellaneous chores.

You do laundry. You clean rooms. You help reinforce the wall. Bits and ends of a lot of different odd jobs, but you honestly don’t mind. It’s better than sitting in Joel’s room, shackled to a radiator and going stir-crazy.

The one bad thing about leveraging your skills is that it makes you useful, and therefore, important. These people can’t risk you running out on them when there’s new injuries to deal with every day, so you’re constantly being watched.

Random survivors that run off are just freeing up space and food. Random doctors that run off are risking lives.

Jake tries to make conversation, and it’s painful, but you go along with it. You swear your cheek hurts every time you look at him—he doesn’t even apologize for it, even though he’s there in the background the entire day. You want to ask him if he has any other job than to stand around you and threaten you into submission with a shotgun, but you decide to keep your mouth shut.

Night is falling by the time you finish things up, and you sit on a milk crate in the parking lot with another stale piece of bread and half a can of beans as your dinner. Not the most glamorous, but enough to fill you up.

You’re beginning to think it’ll be an uneventful night when you hear yelling.

“Open the fucking gate, now!” It’s Joel’s voice, angry and frantic. “We’ve got wounded!”

You jump into action before you even really know what you’re doing and run to the wall, following two other men that were eating their own dinner in the parking lot. Jake is on your heels as the three of you push the dumpster working as the world’s worst gate out of the way.

“The fuck happened?” Jake yells.

“The fuck you think happened?” another one responds. “Runners and hunters and—”

“And Paul’s fuckin’ bleeding out,” a woman continues, out of breath as she runs in.

You look up to see Joel bringing him over in a fireman’s carry, and you meet each other’s eyes. You let out a deep breath and nod, then pull your jacket off and lay it on the ground. You snap your fingers at another one of the supply runners. “Gimme your jacket.”

He frowns and looks at Joel, and he narrows his eyes. “You fuckin’ deaf? Do what she says.”

He does, thankfully, and you put it down next to yours. “Put him down, Joel.”

Joel shifts him off his back slowly then squats down to get him on his feet. Paul’s knees buckle and Joel catches him, then lowers him to the ground.

“Go get my medical bag,” you say. “It’s in your room.”

He nods and runs off, and you look down at your patient. The top half of his shirt is completely soaked with blood, but you see it’s coming from his arm. You put as much pressure on the wound as you can, ignoring his groan of pain. At least that means he’s still alive. Unconscious, but alive.

You look at another one of the supply runners. “What the hell happened to him?”

“One o’ the hunters shot ‘em in the arm,” he says.

“And where the hell is Daniel?” Jake suddenly says. “And Lee?”

“What the hell do you think?” the woman spits. “They got bullets in the head before we even knew what was happening— runners had us distracted.”

“And you thought it was smart to lead ‘em right back here?” Jake asks incredulously.

“We already lost two,” she grits. “I wasn’t gonna lose a third.”

“God fucking damn it!” he yells, and he points at the men that helped you open the gate. “Close the damn wall off, get your damn guns, and shoot on fucking sight! You hear me?”

They nod and get to work, and Jake runs off just as Joel gets back. He has your bag in his hand and you look up at him.

“Get down here,” you say. “I need your help.”

He nods and kneels down beside you, setting your bag next to you.

“Put pressure on the wound,” you say. “I’m trying to stop the bleeding, but I think the bullet hit his ulnar artery. That’s why it’s gushin’ like hell.”

Again, Joel does what you ask without questioning you. You’re thankful that everyone is listening to you when you need it—you only hope he survives this so they give you a little more leeway in the future.

You rifle through your bag until you get your water and gauze. You push Joel’s hands out of the way and you hastily clean the wound, just enough to ensure any dirt and debris is gone. You start packing the bullet hole with gauze, again ignoring his groans as you push it in deep. You do the same to the exit wound so you don’t have to get your ungloved fingers all the way in his arm—thank god, because dealing with bullet fragments is a headache you don’t think you can handle right now.

You see Jake run past with a number of people behind him. You recognize some of them from the raid on your commune, and it makes you realize your patient wasn’t one of them.

They all have their guns drawn out of an abundance of caution, and you think it’s a bit ridiculous, but you keep your focus where it’s supposed to be. You get Joel to apply pressure again while you check Paul’s pulse, two fingers on his neck then his wrist. It’s weak, but it’s there, and right now that’s all you need.

You’re just about to let yourself take it down a notch when a bullet whizzes right past your ear and buries itself into the pavement.

Your scream gets stuck in your throat, and your hand flies up to your ear on instinct. You can’t even tell if you’re bleeding because there’s already so much on you. Guess it wasn’t ridiculous.

Joel instantly shoots up from your side, bloodied hands already pulling his rifle off his back. He’s fired before you know what’s happening, and you lunge back over to put pressure on the wound again.

A firefight erupts immediately. Jake and another woman are yelling orders, and you can’t see whoever is shooting at you all but your only thought is that of your patient.

You watch Joel take another shot, and then he looks over his shoulder at you.

“Get out of here!” he yells, fire burning in his eyes. You don’t need to be told twice.

You slip your arms underneath Paul’s shoulders and stand up, then you pull him up as much as you can. You start dragging him, a mixture of adrenaline and pure willpower getting you through it. You get to the infirmary, thankful you stopped by there earlier when Jake was putting you through the gauntlet of odd jobs, and you get him onto a bed.

You check his pulse once more—still there at a similar strength. His wound isn’t actively gushing blood anymore, and he’s regained some color in his face. Since it’s not worse, you collapse into a chair next to the bed.

Gunshots ring out in rapid succession, and each one makes you wince. You would join to help, but you don’t have your fucking gun. At least if Jake gets shot, you’ll be able to get it back.

You don’t think you have any friends here. But god, you really hope Joel makes it out unscathed.

You don’t get to relax for very long. Three more wounded get brought in over the course of twenty minutes, each facing death in different ways. When the second is carried in, you force the escort to run out and get your medical bag, then stay with you so you can delegate. You only have two hands and you can't do every goddamn thing at once.

One man dies almost immediately. He took a couple bullets to the chest and one hit an artery. He bleeds out before you can even start trying to pack one of his wounds. You can’t even take a moment of silence for him because your second patient starts crashing.

It all blends together, honestly. Reminds you of the times you were with the code team for a shift, when everything was a life or death situation and everything could go wrong at once. But there’s only so much you can do in a motel room without any hospital equipment.

You tie a tourniquet with pieces of your shirt and a stick from outside. You pack wounds once more. You drag chairs and pillows around to elevate limbs. You put pressure on the wounds until they stop bleeding. You get blood on every damn thing you touch because you haven’t been able to find latex gloves anywhere for the past two years.

There’s only so much you can do when you have so little.

Eventually, though, it settles down. The gunshots stop, the bleeding stops, and the pulses get stronger. Everyone that was alive stays alive over the next few hours, coming in and out of consciousness. It’s still quiet, though, because most of them immediately fall back asleep. Getting shot takes a lot out of you.

Your assistant leaves after the first hour when you assure him you can handle the rest. You wish the sinks worked so you could get all this fucking blood off your hands, but you wipe off what you can and deal with the rest. Your shirt’s already covered in it.

Maybe you’ll convince Jake to let you go on a supply run so you can stop by a lake or something. You don’t want to waste what little water you have on cleanliness, but you make a point not to touch your face more than you have to. The last thing you need is to get an infection because you got blood in your eye or something—you think that would be the stupidest way for you to die.

You’re rifling through the barebones medicine cabinet, trying to see what would help in case of an emergency, when you hear approaching footsteps. You turn around to see Joel, and you can’t help but smile.

“Joel,” you say, relief rampant in your voice, “you made it.”

“So did you,” he says. He doesn’t sound half as glad as you do, but you’ve learned over the past two days that he doesn’t tend to show emotions other than anger. “How are they?”

“One’s dead, three are alive,” you say with a gesture. “Dunno their names besides Paul, so I guess you can spread the word.”

Joel nods as he looks at each of them. Again, he hides his emotions well—if he feels a particular way about any of them, he doesn’t show it. Eventually, he looks back at you.

“How are you?” His eyes trail up and down your body. “Any of that blood yours?”

“Thankfully, no,” you say. “The worst is over. I found some antibiotics, so hopefully we’ll be able to avoid any infections. Barring those or any freak changes, the rest should make it.”

“Good,” he says.

“Any of that blood yours?” you ask, inclining your head. He already has a fair amount of dried blood on his jacket—comes with the territory of being Joel, you think—but there’s some fresh.

“No,” Joel says. “We got most of the hunters, but some ran off. Couple of us went after ‘em to finish the job.”

“Did you?”

“Yes,” he says. “Tracked ‘em to their camp and did what we had to do.”

You nod. Seems these people are pretty good at taking out other communes, Joel especially.

He probably wasn’t in the group that killed your people because of his gunshot. Had he been healthy, you bet he would have slaughtered them like all the rest.

But he didn’t. And he’s shown you more kindness in his own way than anyone else here has.

You realize hypotheticals don’t really matter to you as long as the bullet ends up in someone else’s head. You don’t really know what that says about you.

So you look back up at Joel and ask, “We safe for the night?��

“Yes.”

You nod again. “Okay.”

And that’s that.

You spend the next few days in the infirmary watching over your patients. Jake is in and out, mostly checking in during the day to ask about the injured and make sure you’re not about to run away. When he stays, he lets his shotgun rest against the wall rather than keeping it pointed at you. Maybe he trusts you more—you think it’s more likely he assumes you won’t run because you have critical patients.

He’s right. You don’t know them, and you only know Paul’s name, but you feel like you have to save them—have to save him.

Maybe it’s because this guy wasn’t part of the group that killed yours, maybe it’s because you think he’s your age, maybe it’s because he looks shockingly similar to Connor. But you feel a strange amount of obligation to this man to save his life.

Even if you were in here alone, you don’t think you would run. Guess the Hippocratic Oath stays with you even after the world has ended.

On the third night, Joel comes in. He has a bottle of water, your rations, and your jacket.

“You left it in the parking lot,” he says when he hands it to you. “I picked it up when we got back from the hunt.”

“...Thanks,” you say. You’ve been in these bloodstained clothes for way too long, but you don’t really have any changes. You were ripped out of your community as a prisoner, after all.

You pull your shirt off and slip into your flannel. Even though some of the blood soaked through to your skin, you already feel better. You’re doing up the buttons when you realize Joel has turned his head, making a point not to look at you.

“Uh, sorry,” you say. “I didn’t really think you’d care.”

“Figure at least one person here should respect your privacy,” Joel says.

You chuckle. It’s oddly touching from someone like him.

“Thanks.”

You hang your shirt on the back of your chair. It kinda is your only top, so you can’t just go throwing it away. You’ll get it clean eventually.

“The number’s down,” Joel says, looking at the beds. “Maya’s good?”

“I guess.” You still don’t know their names. “Bleedin’ stopped, and she was talking up a storm. Sutured her wound, gave her some pain meds, and sent her on her way.”

“Good. How’re the rest doing?”

“Okay,” you say. “I’m mostly just waiting until they’re consistently awake and making sure the wounds don’t get infected.”

“You talk an awful lot ‘bout infections.”

You shrug. “Out here, they’re usually a death sentence.”

“Noted,” he says wryly.

The two of you stand there for a while. The silence is awkward, but but you prefer that over the heaviness of the first night.

“Just make sure you get some sleep,” he finally says. “You won’t be much good if you’re fallin’ asleep when we need you.”

You chuckle. “Noted.”

Joel nods again and walks off. You sit back down in your uncomfortable chair, ready for another night of anxiety, when he stops in the doorframe and speaks up.

“I’m sorry ‘bout how you ended up here,” he says carefully, as if he’s unsure of his words. “But it’s probably a good thing someone like you is at this motel.”

You smile. You think this is the first time you’ve heard him be this genuine.

“Thanks, Joel,” you say. “You’re a stubborn jackass, but you don’t make for a bad roommate.”

That gets the smallest laugh out of him. “Night, doc.”

“Night, Joel,” you say softly.

Things change after that week.

Joel looks at you differently. Everyone does, honestly—no one thinks you’re lying anymore, thinks you’re some naive twenty-something. You can hold your own, and you’re not someone to mess with.

But not everything changes.

(“Are you fucking kidding me?” you protest when Jake takes you back into Joel’s room. “I save three of your men and you still don’t trust me?”

“I trust you to save my men, not stay put,” he says. Since you don’t offer your hand, he just grabs your arm, pulls you forward, and locks the cuff around your wrist. “And you’re more important than ever now, little lady.”

You lunge at him, but you come up just short when Jake steps out of your range. He tuts and shakes his head at you.

“No need for that,” he says. “I’d hate to ruin that pretty face all over again.”

“This really necessary?” Joel asks, a hard edge to his voice.

Jake shrugs. “Way you’ve been spendin’ time with her, figure you’d jump at the chance to have her to yourself. Just don’t break her.”

Joel clenches his jaw as Jake leaves, letting out a growl when the door shuts.

“Un-fuckin-believable,” you mutter. Now you’re sure you’re going to put a bullet in his head before you get out of here.

“Took the words outta my mouth,” he grumbles.

“You wanna shoot him for me?” you ask.

Joel shakes his head as he sits back down on his bed. “Not yet.”

You blink. “Not yet?”

He grunts. “Ain’t talking about this with you.”

So you don’t. You don’t say much because he doesn’t say much—after your conversation with Joel in the infirmary, you’re not too keen on annoying him.)

You’re good enough to save lives but still can’t be trusted on your own. Maybe it’s actually a smart move, because you spend every spare moment thinking about ways to escape and ways to put Jake six feet under.

You also can’t stop thinking about Joel’s words: not yet.

You might have found an ally in the most unexpected place.

Another week passes with more of the same.

You check on your patients who have all survived their wounds. They’re out of commission for another week at least, but they’re alive. You finally have a conversation with Paul and he’s so much like your brother you want to cry.

You do the chores asked and now expected of you, and though you mainly keep to yourself, you find a friend in a woman named Trish when you spend a few afternoons together sewing up holes in clothes.

Though you’re still not trusted alone and you don’t have your own room or the freedom to move around at night, you’re no longer expected to spend every moment inside the walls. You end up doing weekly supply runs with Joel and you don’t hate it as much as you thought you would.

They never let you take the horses out, and you still don’t get a fucking gun. Apparently, you’re still a flight risk.

They’re not wrong, but you wish they would fall for it. It would be so easy to run with a horse.

So instead you’re given a knife, and you and Joel have to set out on foot each time. Always you and Joel, because apparently you can’t get away from each other. Maybe they think he’ll kill you if you do try to run. Maybe they can see you’re starting to warm up to him.

You don’t know, and you don’t particularly care. Joel has made it clear he won’t hurt you if you don’t try to hurt him, so you feel safe hunting with him. Besides, he’s a killer shot and you’re great with a knife, so you make a good team either way. He even gives you his revolver to use on the road sometimes, though you always have to return it before you’re back at the motel.

But if Joel is looking at you differently because of a newfound respect, you’re looking at him differently because of newfound feelings.

He’s handsome, anyone can see that—gruff and grizzled and muscled from the life of a survivor. He has sharp, dark eyes that narrow at everything, so much so that you bet his crows feet are from years of distrust rather than years of laughter.

You never really paid attention to it at the beginning because you were terrified you were going to die. Anything you tried to figure out about him or his life was in the name of survival, was about pinning him down in order to manipulate him.

Joel is angry and impatient and mean, and he's probably killed a hundred different people in a hundred different ways in the name of survival—but since that night he visited you in the infirmary, you swear he’s softened around you.

Quite frankly, it’s ridiculous. He’s at least fifteen years your elder, this is the apocalypse, and you’re still in a camp full of enemies. You have no time to be making heart eyes at Joel.

So you don’t make heart eyes. Instead, you just stare at him like you normally do and tell him he’s crazy when he questions you about it.

But god, it isn’t easy. You spend more time with Joel than anyone else—you guess he’s your Jake-appointed chaperone now—and the second time you go out on a supply run with him, you run across a lake.

You convince him to stay for a bit so you can wash off, finally cracking when you swear to him you still have lingering blood on your hands from your night running the camp ER. You strip down to your undergarments with little care and dive in, and when you catch Joel looking you up and down in what he thinks is a covert way, you think your heart might burst.

It’s been a while since you’ve done… well, anything sex-wise. You doubt you will ever get there with Joel, mostly because you’re going to take these feelings to your early grave, but you’re allowing yourself to be delusional when absolutely everything else in your life sucks.

After all the shit you’ve been through, you think you deserve it.

You end up having to cut your luxury excursion short when you hear the distinct croaking of stalkers. Joel grumbles the whole time you’re getting dressed, saying you’re gonna be the death of him and this was stupid and he regrets ever saying yes to you, but he puts himself in front of you every time he thinks he sees one.

It’s the little things.

Two weeks later, on your fourth supply run, things go a little differently.

Everything close by has been picked clean either by Joel’s group or people traveling through the area, so Jake and Marcos, the group leaders, decide that you’re going to go out farther than usual in order to get more supplies. Even though you go out every week, and other people hunt when they can, but it’s not enough.

You’re fine with it and Joel grudgingly agrees to it, so after getting some extra rations and water just in case, you set out on your way.

You find an abandoned convenience store when you’re walking down the side of a road that still has some water, meds, and cigarettes behind a couple toppled over shelves. It’s better than nothing.

When you venture into the woods you find a house. Joel insists on going first in case anyone’s inside—he checks the bedroom and the kitchen and says they’re clear. When he’s going up the stairs with his gun drawn, you a few paces after him on the bottom step, you get grabbed from behind.

Your scream of surprise gets Joel’s attention immediately, and there’s a knife to your throat before you even know what’s happening. Joel has his gun trained on the head of whoever’s got you just as fast.

“Let her go,” he says.

“Not everyday I get a couple bargin’ into my house,” your captor says smoothly. He has one of your arms in an iron grip, and your other hand is an open palm to convince him you’re not a threat. “She’s too pretty for you, don’t you think?”

“Joel—”

“Let her go,” he growls.

“Y’all were gonna steal from me,” the man says. “Don’t see how we can walk out of here all friendly-like.”

He presses the blade into your throat just enough to draw a thin line of blood, and you clench your jaw so hard you think your teeth might crack. Joel meets your eyes, and they actually have something in them you haven’t seen before—fear.

“What d’you want?” Joel asks.

“I think you know what I want,” he says. His grip on you tightens and something inside of you snaps.

You stomp on his foot as hard as you can. He grunts, the action shocking him more than it hurts, but his grip loosens and that’s all you need. You move faster than him as you rip your knife from your belt and reel it backwards to stab him in the gut. You grab his wrist and wrench it to the side, giving you the space to turn away from him and kick him in the chest. He falls to the ground, you pull Joel’s revolver out, and you shoot him in the head.

Your breaths are coming out as pants by now, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest as you stare at his dead body. Pools of blood are already forming behind his head and gut, and you feel nothing but red-hot rage.

You’re so fucking sick of men thinking they can take whatever they want, thinking they have a right to whatever they want. You’re honestly glad this happened. It meant you got to put a bullet in his head.

Joel says your name and you realize it’s the third time. You can barely hear him over the ringing in your ears.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I feel fine,” you say. This isn’t the first person you’ve killed, you want to tell him, far from it. This isn’t the first time you’ve killed to save your life, you want to tell him.

For some reason, the words don’t form.

“He tried to slit your throat,” he says. “You’re not fine.”

“Still standing, ain’t I?”

He says your name again, a bit stronger this time. “You’re bleeding. You need to sit down.”

“I’m—”

��If you say you’re fine again, I’ll throw you over my shoulder and get you out of here myself.”

You huff. “Now you know how I felt that first night.”

Joel shakes his head. “Always gotta be right, don’t you?”

“You know me,” you say faintly.

You do sit down, eventually, if only because Joel looks like he would absolutely make good on his promise. You sit on the third step and he goes one below you, and you pull your medical bag out of your pack.

“I can clean it out,” you say as you rifle through it for your gauze. “Your hands are probably dirty.”

“Y’know, I’m not a complete idiot,” Joel says. “Remember when you said my bandaging was good?”

“I said it was passable,” you correct.

“‘Good enough to keep you alive’, I recall.”

“And you think I want good enough?”

You finally get to your gauze—you swear, it falls to the bottom every time—when Joel puts his hand on your wrist. It’s gentler than you expect, even with the calluses.

“Let me do it,” he insists. “Need to feel fuckin’ useful somehow.”

You stare at him, hoping your pupils aren’t dilated or something else just as stupid to reveal that your heart is beating out of your chest.

“That’s what this is about?” you whisper.

Joel clenches his jaw and glances away. “He could have killed you and I just stood there.”

“You didn’t have a clear shot,” you say.

“I should have made one,” he says. “Out here, we’re a team. Partners. You don’t let your partner get grabbed.”

“We had no idea he was here.”

“I should have known,” Joel says roughly. “I shoulda known and I shoulda stopped him and you wouldn’t have had to kill him.”

You cover his hand with yours before you can doubt yourself, and Joel looks back at you, surprised. He doesn’t pull away.

“It was a mistake, and we got out of it,” you say. “If we’re partners, then you can’t put all the weight on your shoulders and none on mine. I held my own, didn’t I?”

Joel doesn’t respond, and you sigh.

“If they keep sendin’ us out on these things, then you’ll save my ass so many more times,” you continue. “And I’ll save yours, and we’ll joke about it when we get back to that shitty motel and Jake locks me to the radiator for the hundredth time.”

“So it don’t matter that I pulled more weight this time,” you say. “Because it’s a whole lotta push and pull—you just can’t pull away from me because of this.”

“Clever,” he says wryly. “You sure you’re not a writer?”

You manage a smile. “Not even close. Are we good?”

Joel pauses for a moment, his gaze falling down to your hand on his. He clears his throat and pulls away, then holds his hand out. You huff a laugh and give him the gauze.

“We’re good,” he nods.

You sit together in silence as Joel cleans the blood off your neck, only interrupted by your occasional wince. He’s surprisingly gentle with you in a way that you never would have expected, never touching you more than he has to. Your skin burns wherever he does, and it takes everything in you to keep your breathing steady. You don’t want him to know, and you don’t want to mess up his work.

Joel finishes soon enough, and after a quick investigation in a broken bathroom mirror, you approve. You take what’s left from the house in supplies and then you get out. It takes a little longer because Joel refuses to leave your side—”what if a clicker bursts in through that broken window? You’d be dead like that.”—but you don’t argue. You think it’s sweet, actually, but you don’t tell him that.

When Joel insists on heading back early, you don’t fight him. When you insist you want to keep his knife back at the motel, even if it has to be a secret, he doesn’t fight you.

You don’t talk much on the walk back, but things are different. The air is lighter between you two. Joel doesn’t frown at everything. He actually manages to joke around with you.

Things are different.

You’re finding out that you don’t really mind.

You go even farther on your next supply run. The area isn’t as scarce as it could be, but Marcos insists on stocking up before summer, when it’s too hot to constantly venture out like this with little water.

Things are going pretty well, all things considered. You run into a decent amount of clickers over the miles that you’re able to take down with you distracting and Joel stabbing each time. You don’t run into any people, though Joel keeps his head on a swivel.

Eventually, though, it starts to rain. Clear skies shine above you, but you still get drenched within a couple miserable minutes.

“Where the hell did this come from?” you complain.

Joel takes a cloth out of his pocket and wipes down his gun. “They not teach the water cycle in schools?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” You scowl at the sky. “Was ‘sposed to be clear skies all day.”

“We’ll just call it short,” he says. “Go back to the motel.”

“We’re five miles out,” you say. The rain starts coming down harder and you curse. “We’re not making it back without getting soaked.”

“You can’t handle a little water?” Joel asks.

“I’m already miserable enough being around you,” you say. “Don’t need to add trench foot to the equation.”

He shakes his head with a huff. “Fine. I remember a cave a while back— you have another mile in you?”

“As a matter of fact, I did cross country in high school,” you say. “Also walked a whole lot when I was getting away from the coast.”

“Always gotta one up me, huh?”

You smile. “Always.”

It ends up being a little more than two miles, but you and Joel make quick work of it. Soon enough, after you’ve checked for any infected, you’re sitting in a little grotto waiting out the rain.

You’ve both taken your top layers off to let them dry, alongside your boots and socks. It feels a bit strange, a bit too familiar, to be doing all this with Joel—but like you said, you’re not too fond of trench foot, so you deal with it.

You sit near the opening of the cave, entranced by the downpour. The tension in your shoulders has slowly dissipated as you’ve watched the storm. There’s something calming about the sight, the sound— the way the world feels once it’s over.

“You shouldn’t be so close to the outside,” Joel says. Miraculously, the tension comes back.

“It’s fine,” you say.

“Ain’t so fine when everyone can see you,” he says. “Ain’t so fine when a passing hunter doesn’t like how you look and puts a bullet between your eyes.”

You sigh as you adjust your position to look over at him. He’s taken to sharpening a stick with one of his knives. “You always this positive?”

“I’m realistic,” he says. “How do you think I’ve survived so long?”

“Well, I’ve survived too,” you say. “And I’m not half the miserable bastard you are.”

“You’re half my age,” Joel says. “Give it time.”

You shake your head with a huff. “Got a bright future ahead of me, then.”

“I’m alive,” he says. “That’s as bright as it can be these days.”

“That’s so sad,” you murmur, your gaze turning back to the rainfall.

You hear him stop with his knife. “What’d you say?”

You know he heard you. Probably just trying to give you a chance to take it back, but you don’t care. “I said it’s sad.”

“Don’t see how it can be sad,” Joel says. “Survivin’s all anyone wants out here.”

“Maybe on a base level, but I—” you pause and shake your head again, trying to collect your thoughts. “I got a life I’m trying to build. Things I’m chasin’— things that make this all worth it.”

“Like I said, you’re half my age.” The joking lilt he’s had fades, and you know you’ve struck a nerve. “Everything you’re trying to get, I’ve already lost.”

“Joel,” you attempt, but he shakes his head.

“I built a life and I lost it,” he says. “I’ve trusted people and I’ve paid for it. So don’t act like I’m doin’ all this for no reason.”

“Then tell me,” you say, bolstered by his tone. “Tell me what you’ve gone through, what justifies this, so we can move past this— this barrier you’ve put between us, and actually get to know each other.”

“I don’t have to tell you shit,” he grumbles.

“Fine,” you say. “Then I’ll go.”

By this point, you’ve shifted your position completely to face him. Joel still won’t look at you, but he’s gone back to sharpening that damn stick.

“I’m not actually a doctor.”

Sure enough, that gets his attention. He stops so abruptly that you think he might slice his fingertip off. He doesn’t, but he looks at you incredulously.

“What?”

“I’m not a doctor,” you repeat. “Or a surgeon, really.”

He frowns. “Then how do you know how to do all this shit?”

“I was studying to be one,” you say. “But I still had a pretty long way to go.”

Joel glares at you. “How long?”

“I was in my third year of med school when the outbreak started,” you say. “Got to be MS3 for all of two months before everything went to shit.”

“You didn’t even graduate?” he marvels.

You shrug. “I passed my boards. Well, Step 1, at least. The world ended before I got to the others—”

“Oh my god,” he mutters.

“I was still a student doctor,” you assert. “I know plenty—”

“Not enough,” he interrupts.

“Enough to keep my patients and myself alive,” you remark. “And more than enough to stitch up your sorry ass.” You gesture at him. “How’s that gunshot feel?”

Joel just scoffs and shakes his head. He doesn’t look mad, like you thought he would be—just looks shocked, surprised, annoyed. Maybe angry just for the hell of it.

“Why are you tellin’ me the truth now?” he asks. “No one else is around. I could kill you right now for bein’ a liar—tell the group clickers got to you.”

“A liar with medical experience is better than nothing,” you say. “From what I’ve seen over the years, folks aren’t too keen on killing people like me. ‘Specially after I saved their people.”

“Besides,” you incline your head, “I don’t think you have the guts. Not after last week.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Joel says. “I’ve killed plenty of people less annoying than you.”

“Well, I don’t go down without a fight,” you say. “And I’m very good at stayin’ awake. So if you decide to go for it, you can’t take the easy way out.”

He scoffs, but you notice it doesn’t have the malice you’d expect behind it.

You should be wary. You’re alone together in the middle of nowhere, miles from your group—and they wouldn’t save you if it came down to it. For God’s sake, Joel has a knife in his hand. He could take you down easily enough if he wanted to. Weren’t you terrified of that when you were first stuck in his room a few months ago?

But you’re not. You can’t deny that you like him anymore, and that could be clouding your judgment, but you’re not scared of him. Not since that night in the infirmary.

You go back to watching the rain, making a point to have your back to Joel as you do. Maybe as a sign of trust, maybe to show you’re not scared of him—you don’t really know. But nothing happens. He doesn’t stab you in the back, literally or figuratively.

And eventually, he speaks up.

“I’m from Texas.”

You laugh wryly. “I tell you I’ve been lyin’ to everyone this whole time and you tell me you’re a Texan.”

“It’s somethin’,” he says. “Ain’t that what you wanted?”

You turn around and raise your eyebrows. “Where in Texas?”

“Grew up in Arlington,” he says. “Was in Austin ‘fore everything went to shit.”

You nod. “That makes sense. The accent and the attitude and everything else.”

Joel snorts. “‘Everything else’?”

“The way you carry yourself,” you say. “How stubborn you are. Classic ‘Don’t mess with Texas’. You ever have a bumper sticker like that?”

That gets an actual laugh out of him. A genuine laugh, a genuine smile. “Hell no. I didn’t need to showboat like that. Sarah woulda never—”

He stops suddenly, his smile fading just as quickly as it appeared. You feel the moment slipping out of your grasp quicker than you can run after it, and you feel a little desperate.

“Who’s Sarah?”

Joel shakes his head. “No one you need to know about.”

Just like that, the moment is gone and the barrier is back up. You try to hide the disappointment you feel. When Joel’s not being a jackass, you really enjoy talking with him.

“...Okay,” you say. You’ve already pushed him once. You don’t want to push him again on something that brings out that sort of reaction.

Joel goes back to sharpening the stick. It’s half the size it was before, but he doesn’t let that stop him. He’s got a couple to keep him busy.

You go back to watching the rain. The downpour continues, and eventually, you hear the crackling of thunder in the distance.

“Great,” you murmur.

“You see any flashes?” Joel asks.

“No lightning,” you say. “Least it ain’t close.”

“That means we can still get out of here tonight.”

You shake your head. “No way I’m doin’ seven miles in a thunderstorm.”

“We went five miles out,” Joel reminds you.

“And then went two miles off course to get here,” you say. “It’s already getting dark, and these woods have infected. You really wanna go through all that just to get back to that shitty motel?”

“They got food there,” he says. “We have nothing.”

“We’ll be fine for a night,” you say. “It’s not like we’re in danger of freezing. We can sleep in shifts so nothing can sneak up on us. We’re tucked away pretty well, anyways.”

Joel stares at you for a good, long second. You can tell he wants to fight—he always want to fight, you’ve learned—but eventually he lets out a sigh and makes a flippant gesture.

“Fine,” he concedes. “But we’re leavin’ at first light, rain or not.”

“Fine,” you echo.

You’re able to relax a little after that, knowing Joel’s not going to make you hike back to camp in these conditions.

The rain doesn’t ease up, but as night falls, your anxiety gets the best of you and you end up sitting against the wall, across from Joel. You have a sad little dinner together, the usual of stale bread and meat from whatever animal was hunted that week.

Soon enough, it’s pitch black outside and you only have the rain and the crickets for company. Better than rain and clickers, you suppose.

You wish you had a book, or a ball of yarn and some needles, or literally anything to give you something to do other than stare at a cave wall. Joel isn’t much of a talker, even now.

“I’m from Oklahoma, you know.” You decide to fill in the blanks, unable to take the silence much longer even with the rainstorm. “So we’re two southerners in a pod.”

“Knew you had some kinda accent,” Joel says. “Just couldn’t place it.”

“It faded while I was in Boston for med school,” you explain. “I wanted to get out as soon as possible.”

“How’s it feel, being back in the middle o’ nowhere after spending all your time in the city?”

You chuckle and look over at him. “You’re not gonna believe it, but I grew up in the middle of nowhere. Born and raised on a cattle ranch in Beaver.”

“No shit,” Joel says incredulously, and he actually smiles. “No shit you’re a farm girl.”

“Don’t act so surprised!” you exclaim. “I’ve more than held my own out here!”

“Thought you were some big city hotshot doctor when I first met you,” he says, shaking his head. “Turns out you’re just a farm girl med student.”

“Well, you’re just a jackass from Texas,” you retort.

“And you’re a jackass from Oklahoma,” he says. “Guess we ain’t so different after all.”

You laugh and look away, unable to bite back a smile of your own. “Whatever.”

That lightness from your walk the past week returns, and you and Joel spend the next few hours just… talking. You do most of it, because getting Joel to talk about his past is like pulling teeth, but you don’t mind.

You tell him stories from your childhood, what it was like growing up as a rancher’s daughter. How you spent your whole life trying to claw out your roots and how, now that it’s gone, it’s the only thing you want. What undergrad was like, what med school was like, how you spent just as many nights blacked out from alcohol as you did studying until your eyes bled.

Joel contributes in smaller places, like telling you what he was like as a kid or relaying his own high school stories, because he didn’t go to college. Tells you about his work as a carpenter. You find it hard to imagine a younger Joel when it’s near impossible to look in his eyes and see something other than the world-weary, grizzled survivor he is now, but with his words you’re able to piece it together. It helps that his voice is so nice to listen to when he’s not yelling.

You want to ask him about Sarah, but you don’t. Things are going so well that you’d be an idiot to ruin it. You hope he trusts you enough one day to tell you.

In the middle of it all, you realize the way you’re thinking: into the future, long-term future, with Joel a part of it. Your plan from the start has been to bide your time until you can gather enough supplies to run, get your pistol back from Jake and use it to put a bullet in his head, then get the fuck out of here.

But now you can’t stop thinking about Joel, and you realize you want to keep him in your life. You don’t want to stay here, but you don’t want to leave him. You don’t care if he doesn’t like you the way you do, you don’t care if he doesn’t even want to be your friend—you’re just tired of running from everything and defending yourself with lies. You’re tired of being alone.

Eventually, you can’t fight your yawns anymore. Joel tells you he’ll take first watch and you can already tell he’ll refute any arguments. You put your jacket and shoes back on and make sure Joel’s revolver is in grabbing distance, then you lay down using your pack as a pillow.

“Y’know, this is the first time we’re sleepin’ in the same room without a radiator.”

Joel huffs. “Yeah. You get through the night without runnin’, maybe I can threaten Jake into getting you your own room.”

“I dunno.” Your eyes are closed at this point, the mixture of Joel’s timbre at a softer volume and the downpour all around you almost lulling you to sleep. “I kinda like being in the same room as you.” You smile. “We can ditch the cuffs, though.”

Joel is silent for a while. If your brain were sharper, if you weren’t nearly asleep, you might’ve had the sense to worry or be ashamed. You’re sure you’ll regret it in the morning.

“Get some rest,” he finally says. “You need it.”

“Night, Joel,” you murmur. “Wake me up in a couple hours or I’ll kill you.”

He laughs quietly. “Night, doc.”

You dream of your old life. Early mornings on the ranch. Fighting with your brother to get the better chores and swearing you’ll never talk to him again when he gets the ones you want, just to end up racing him to the boundaries of the farm and back to settle disputes as usual. Waking up in the middle of the night to make your favorite dessert for the two of you, homegrown strawberries with whipped cream.

You dream of the day everything fell apart. Screaming in the hospital and your coworkers being killed and sights so brutal in the streets of Boston that you will never, ever forget them. Connor forces you to keep running through it all, tells you that you can’t stop to save anyone because you’ll die too, and he is not going to let you die. He swears he won’t leave you.

You dream of the night you saw him for the last time. Having no choice but to break the one promise your mom forced you two to make before she died in your arms, and making another one that you refuse to break for anything. The last time you saw Connor, a night that you’ve relived a million times where you’ve failed to change the story each and every time.

You wonder what he would think about the kind of person you’ve become.

It’s light outside when you finally wake up. You expect your back to be killing you, but after sleeping against a wall, floor, and radiator for most of the past few months, this was actually kind of comfortable.

You rub the grogginess out of your eyes and realize there are dried tears on your cheeks. You hope to god you didn’t actually cry in your sleep over some nightmares—you don’t need Joel to see something like that.

When you sit up, you see Joel cleaning his rifle.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he says wryly.

“Mornin’,” you say, interrupted by a yawn. You have to shield your eyes from the sun, and you’re about to ask him how he’s doing when it hits you.

“Oh my god— what time is it?”

Joel says nothing, just focuses on wiping out the barrel.

You push his shoulder. “Why didn’t you wake me up, you jackass?”

“You needed your sleep,” he says simply.

“Like you don’t?” you retort. “You’re twice my age, old man. You need it more than I do.”

“I’m fine,” he says. “I’ll sleep when we get back to the motel.”

You scoff. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And don’t you feel so much better?”

You shake your head as you stand up and begin to gather your things. “First light, my ass.”

Joel sighs. “Helpin’ you out is a thankless job.”

Though you want to stay mad, it’s a champagne problem that you get over it pretty quickly. You feel more refreshed than you have since you ended up in this group, and considering you were sleeping on a cave floor with your backpack as a pillow, things aren’t really going to be better for you back in Joel’s room.

You give him a grudging thank you right before you’re about to leave, and he accepts with a smugness that makes you regret it.

You make casual small talk for the first mile, but things go in a different direction when Joel pops an unexpected question on you.

“Who’s Connor?”

You trip over your own feet, and you know it’s wishful thinking to hope he didn’t see it. You regain your footing and keep walking, making a point to not look at him.

“Where’s this coming from?” Your words might come out a little too aggressive, but you don’t really care right now.

“You talked in your sleep half the night,” Joel says. “Kept muttering about some guy named Connor, how you didn’t wanna leave him.”

“It’s none of your business,” you say.

“You don’t get to pull that shit with me after tryin’ to go all Twenty Questions last night,” he insists. “You told me ‘bout half your life anyways.”

Just because you told him about inconsequential childhood and college things doesn’t mean you owe him actually important stuff. You can do what he did and just shut him down again, and every other time if he happens to ask again.

But you were preaching all that shit about togetherness and getting to know each other and breaking down the barrier. Joel might be a hypocrite, but you have to be better than Joel.

“...He’s my brother,” you finally say. The words feel heavier saying them to him for some reason.

“He dead?” Joel asks. Leave it to him to be blunt.

“No,” you say roughly, hastily. “No, I—”

You swallow the lump in your throat and shake your head. “I don’t know. We lost each other a while ago, and I’ve been trying to find him ever since. So I guess I just really, really hope he’s not.”

“When did you see him last?”

“Two years ago,” you say. “We were in some commune in Ohio with a buncha hunters that tolerated us because I was a doctor and he was a good supply runner. One day, one of the leaders started accusin’ a bunch of people of stealing meds. Swore the supply was goin’ down—accused every person I’d treated the past few months of bein’ a junkie and stealing. Killed every single one of ‘em over the course of a week.” You shake your head as the memory comes back in full force. “Meds kept disappearing. Soon enough, no one was left to blame but me.”

“Did you take ‘em?” Joel asks.

“No,” you say. “I had no reason to. Still don’t know who did it. But Connor realized I was next on the chopping block and no amount of reasoning would bring him down from the edge, even if that meant killing his only doctor.” You bite the inside of your cheek to hold the tears back. “Connor and I fought like crazy that night, but eventually, he won. He gave me all his supplies and got me to leave in the middle of the night. I wanted him to come with me, but he said they would hunt me down. Said he had to stay cover my tracks. Told me to go back to Boston, find the QZ— he would meet me there.”

Joel is silent for a moment. When he speaks up, it’s his usual.

“You’re pretty far from Boston.”

“Roads I was tryin’ to take were completely overrun,” you say. “I had a car back then, in pretty decent shape—decided I would try and get back to the farm just to recuperate. Resupply, take a breather, just try to shit out before I had to get all the way to Massachusetts.” You shrug. “And I guess a part of me thought that Connor might have thought the same thing.”

You huff. “Pretty clear I never fuckin’ made it there, though. I just gotta hope he had better luck than me, and that’s waiting for me there—not dead in a ditch in Ohio.”

“He probably is,” he says.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you snap. “That’s all you gotta say?”

“I’m bein’ honest—”

“Well, I don’t need your honesty,” you bite out. “We made a promise to each other. Far as I’m concerned, he ain’t dead ‘til I see his bones. I don’t care how stupid you think it is.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, but when he does, it’s about what you expect.

“It is stupid.”

“Joel—”

“But it’s also admirable.”

You glance at him. “You hit your head back there or something?”

“No. Just think it’s rare to be able to keep up hope like that.” He shrugs. “One of the things I’ve admired ‘bout you for a while.”

Again, you feel your cheeks heat—your whole body, honestly. You busy yourself with the path ahead of you while you try to remember the art of subtlety.

“...Thanks,” you finally say. “But I think you’re lyin’. You thought it was stupid when we first met.”

Joel snorts. “Things’ve changed since then. You’re way less annoying now—can’t hold that against me.”

“I am the same level of annoying, thank you very much.” You smile at him. “You like me more now. Face it.”

He just huffed and shook his head, though you could tell he was fighting a smile of his own. “Just shut up and keep walking.”

You do, for the most part. Your path is pretty straightforward, only having to take a few detours due to infected that you take out pretty easily together. You and Joel have really found a groove working with each other since you started going on these supply runs.

Maybe that’s what gets you to speak up again.

“You really think my brother’s dead?”

Joel doesn’t respond immediately. He lifts a low-hanging branch so you can duck under it, and when you glance over at him, he looks conflicted.

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” he says. “Only matters what you do.”

“You say all the time that you’re older and wiser than me,” you say. “So give me some of that elder wisdom.”

Joel frowns. “I’m only forty.”

“Can’t be only forty when you’re constantly sayin’ I’m too young to know things,” you retort. “So tell me the truth. Do you really think he’s dead? That I’m wasting my time trekking across the country?”

“...I don’t know,” he says. “Been eight years since all of this fell apart. Logically, neither of us should still be kicking, but we are.”

“So you think he’s alive.”

“I think people beat the odds all the time,” Joel says. “And if your brother’s got the same stubborn genes as you, then I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s beat ‘em too.”

You nod a few times. Whatever Joel said wasn’t going to change your mind—you meant what you said, that you won’t believe Connor is dead until you see his lifeless body. But it feels like Joel is on your side, even if it’s just one foot over the line.

Those words echo in your head again: not yet.

You decide to test the boundaries.

“I think so too. It’s why I’m putting up with all this,” you say. “This… group. Jake’s bullshit. So I can get out when it’s time and keep trying to find my brother.”

This is bigger than the doctor thing, and you’ve just dropped it on a casual walk. You’re still considered a flight risk, hence Joel’s constant companionship and the radiator nights even after you’ve more than proven yourself. You don’t know how much Joel ever believed it, but this pretty much confirms that it’s true.

“Shouldn’t talk like that out in the open,” Joel says after a moment.

“We’re in the middle of the woods,” you say. “Who—”

“Anyone,” he interrupts. “Here or there. So whatever shit you’re planning, don’t tell me about it.”

“Joel—”

“I mean it,” he continues. “I don’t care if you get yourself killed. Just don’t get me pulled into it.”

You walk the rest of the way in silence.

Joel is barely around the next day, or the day after that. You earn your keep like normal, but it makes you nervous. You try to talk to him at night, but he doesn’t give. You shouldn’t have tested the boundaries.

It’s not like you think he’s loyal to this group—you don’t think he’s loyal to anyone but himself—but he’s been with them for longer than he’s known you. Why would he choose you over them? It doesn’t matter if he got scared when you were grabbed, if he let you sleep a little extra. It’s probably just a glitch in his programming or whatever.

One thing you should always remember about Joel is that he will always put himself above anyone else. You might have thought differently at some point, but it’s the truth.

You just hope he finds it in himself not to turn you in.

You barely sleep the next night, too paranoid about everything going wrong just because you decided to trust Joel with something other than watching your six.

That means when gunshots start erupting, it’s less of a rude awakening and more of a reprieve from your pitiful attempt at sleep.

You dart up so quickly you nearly slam your head against the radiator. You don’t like most of the people in this group, but at least they tolerate you—most of them respect you. You’re not too keen on pulling this stunt again with another group of hunters that could be even worse than this one.

That is, assuming this is an attack by humans and not infected. People, you can bargain with. Runners and clickers, not so much.

The thought makes you look over at Joel’s bed, surprised he’s not the one that woke you up. You quickly realize why.

He’s gone.

His materials, his bag, his weapons—it’s all gone. What’s more surprising is that he’s actually made his bed for once.

You don’t think he’s dead. But you also don’t think he’s coming back, so you’re officially on your own.

A part of you hopes against it. But why would he leave without saying goodbye if he wasn’t leaving for good?

You blink back tears. They shouldn’t even be falling. You’ve only known him for a few months and you spent half of those fighting him. But you liked him, damn it—sharp, jagged edges and all.

But it doesn’t matter.

You’re so tired of being at the mercy of others, constantly begging for your life with white lies you can only hope are enough. You can’t sit here and cry. You have to get out of here.

You pull your cuffed hand. It hurts, obviously, and you immediately switch tactics: pulling at the pipe you’re attached to. You grip it as tight as possible and pull, your feet pushing against the body of it for more power.

This radiator doesn’t even work anymore. It’s old and rickety and it can’t be that sturdy, even if it’s made of metal. You’ve been stuck to this thing for your whole time here, and you are so fucking sick of it.

You finally pull the pipe apart from the radiator with a yell, and you land on your back a few feet away from the force you used. You try to even out your breathing as you recover, and pull yourself back into a sitting position. The door suddenly slams open and you wield the pipe like a weapon, pushing away from the entrance on instinct.

Instead of an intruder or a clicker, it’s fucking Joel.

He stumbles inside, covered in blood with a hand pressed against his side and curses waterfalling from his lips. Your eyes widen as you continue to breathe heavily. He looks towards the radiator, then to you, but he doesn’t even seem surprised.

“The hell are you doing?” he asks.

“Trying to escape,” you respond breathlessly. “The hell are you doing?”

“Comin’ back for you,” Joel says. Your face heats inexplicably. “But it looks like you already handled half the job.”

He pulls something from his pocket and tosses it over to you. You loosen your iron grip on the pipe to catch it.

It’s the damn key to your handcuffs. You can’t help but laugh. You wasted all that effort just for Joel to show up ten seconds later, your knight in bloody armor.

“What’d you do?” you ask.

“What needed to be done,” Joel responds. His voice is gruff from the pain, though he tries to hide it. You don’t understand why. There’s no point. “Now get yourself out of those things and let’s go.”

You blink and look up at him. You’ve been dreaming of getting out of this place from the moment you got here—of killing everyone that killed your people, of clawing your freedom back from those that stole it from you. You can’t believe Joel got to it first.

“Why’d you do it?” You can’t help but ask. Far as you knew, he got along with these people. If not that, he at least survived with them. Didn’t care about the people they murdered.

“Because I had to,” he says. “You just gonna stare at ‘em?”

You want to ask more, but you have a feeling you won’t get anything out of him. Not now. So you push down on your thoughts of lost revenge to finally free yourself from those cuffs rather than relying on another.

“You’ve got a minute to grab anything you need,” Joel says. You’re just starting to massage your raw wrist when he starts to walk off, hand pressed even harder against the wound he’s trying to hide.

“Wait!” You shoot up, nearly tripping over your feet trying to follow him. It’s not hard to catch him when he’s doing more stumbling than walking.

“There’s no time to wait,” he says. “Gunshots bring people and clickers, and I ain’t dealing with either.”

“You’re hurt,” you say, only proven correct by how easily you get in front of him. The growing patch of blood on his shirt, holding his weight on his uninjured side, his labored breathing—you don’t need to be a med student to see the obvious. “Was your murder spree interrupted?”

Joel scowls. You find it funny how he always seems to take offense to you caring about his health. “Don’t act like it tears you up inside. I did you a favor.”

“Yeah, I appreciate that,” you say wryly. “Now, can you chill out for a second and let me at least look at whatever they did to you?”

“We don’t have—”

“We do have time,” you interrupt. “I assume you killed everyone in here, so we don’t have them to worry about. It’ll be a second before any infected get here, but if it makes you feel better, the doors lock. And in my medical opinion—”

“You’re not a doctor,” Joel bites out.

“I’m the closest thing you’ve got to one,” you retort. “And I don’t think you’ll make it a mile before your adrenaline fades and you’re out of luck.” You cross your arms. “Without bandaging it, you’re practically begging for an infection. How’s sepsis sound to you, Joel?”

He stares at you—glare is more appropriate, actually. “You and your fuckin’ infections.”

You stare back, refusing to move. “Not my fault you haven’t taken a shower since the outbreak started.”

Eventually, he groans in annoyance and walks back over to the bed, taking a seat that causes him to wince.

“Can’t believe you just wanted to walk out of here,” you say as you grab your medical bag.

“Save the preaching, get to stitching.”

You laugh and shake your head. “Pull your shirt up.”

He does, and you get to work, going through the same motions as the first time you met.

“You get shot or stabbed this time?”

“Stabbed,” he says. “You ever gonna wine and dine me, or you just gonna keep tellin’ me to strip?”

You smile. “You find some good wine out here and a kitchen that works, I’m more than happy to do it.”

You feel his gaze on you as you continue to work, feel his muscles tense then relax every time your fingers brush his skin, and you like it. You like knowing that he killed all these people without a second thought and he still reacts this way to your touch. Maybe it’s sick—this sort of lightness does feel wrong after what he did—but the more you think about it, the more you don’t care. It’s not like there’s anyone still around to judge you.

“Noted,” he says.

You bite back your smile to keep it from growing. “Who did this to you?”

“Don’t matter,” Joel says. “They’re dead now.”

You sigh and shake your head. “How’d you do it, then? These people are capable—tore my community down like it was nothing. You’re just one man.”

“Why d’you think I did it in the middle of the night?” Joel looks away. “Surprise is one hell of an element. They expected it from you, not from me. ‘Sides, it’s not the first time I’ve done this.”

“Ah.”

“Always known I would do it,” he continues. “Ever since I joined this group. They were just a means to an end—they were too reckless for their own good. Woulda gotten me killed sooner or later, and I ain’t lettin’ that happen.”

“Awful lotta time to make a murder plan,” you say. “Mine feels half-baked compared to yours.”

Joel shrugs. “Guess that’s why I did it before you. Helps not being handcuffed to a radiator.

You shake your head with a huff. “Worst way I’ve ever slept.”

You continue on in silence for a good while. You don’t mind because it helps you focus, especially once you start sutures—you’re usually the one that starts the conversations anyways. But then—

“I have a brother too,” Joel suddenly speaks up.

You smile wistfully. “Now you’re openin’ up.”

He shakes his head. “Just answerin’ your question. Why I did this.”

You frown. You continue suturing without faltering, but Joel must see your face because for once, he keeps going.

“You weren’t gonna get outta here anytime soon,” Joel says. “Not with Jake up your ass, makin’ those kind of comments. You didn’t hear the way he talked about you with everyone else.”

A chill runs up your spine. You fight to keep your hands steady.

“There was only so much I could do to protect you the way things were here,” he says. “So I changed things.”

He talks about it so simply. Slaughtering a whole camp of people is changing things.

But he did it to save your life. Can you really cherry pick any of that? Especially when you thought about doing the same countless times over the months?

“My brother and I fell apart,” Joel continues. “He didn’t like the shit I was doing to survive— said there was a line we had to draw, that there was more to life than just survivin’. I didn’t agree. So we went our separate ways.”

Joel meets your eyes. “I ain’t gonna let that happen to you. Not when you’ve still got a chance.”

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek when you feel the pinpricks of incoming tears.

He really did do this for you. To keep you alive—to keep you safe.

When you fell asleep that night, you thought he was only a couple steps away from betraying you.

Instead, he was your salvation.

After you stitch Joel up, give him some painkillers, and make sure he’s not going to die, you take your time going through the rest of the camp. There’s a surprising amount of materials around, especially that was being kept in individual rooms. It’s a little difficult seeing all the bodies, but not as hard as you thought it would be.

When you get to Jake’s room, you take your pistol from his body and shoot him in the head with it. He’s already dead, but it still brings you some sort of satisfaction. You think Joel will chastise you for wasting bullets, but he doesn’t say a thing.

You fit as much as you can into both of your packs and even more in your horses’ saddle packs. You pick the two that look to be the strongest and set the others free—they’ll stand a chance on their own rather than tied up here.

It’s nearly morning by the time you’re done, and you stand next to Joel as you watch the sunrise. It might be the one thing you never get tired of—one of the few things that remind you of how beautiful the world used to be.

Dawn is… oddly silent here. You grew up with frogs and cicadas and all sorts of barn animals making themselves heard into the night and early morning, but the apocalypse brings a strange sense of serenity. When it’s not being interrupted by infected or hunters, that is.

“Feels wrong standing out here,” you murmur. “Knowin’ what you did.”

“I told you, it had to be done.” Joel shakes his head. “You wanted ‘em dead anyways.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier,” you say. “Nothin’ does.”

“Maybe for you,” he says.

You hum in acknowledgment. This isn’t something you want to fight over—not know.

“Where’re you goin’ after this?” you ask.

“No clue,” he murmurs. “I sorta… drift from place to place. Anywhere I can survive.”

“I understand,” you say. “Spent a lotta time like that.”

You feel Joel’s gaze on you. “What about you? Where’re you off to?”

“Boston,” you say. “It’s where Connor and I agreed to meet again. We heard about a QZ there, so figured it would be a safe place to meet after however long it takes to get there. Been tryin’ to get there for a while, but I’ve been thrown…” you chuckle, “majorly off course. Seems like a pipe dream now, but I’m still gonna try.” You glance over at him. “Can you believe we’re stuck in Kansas?”

“Got no idea how the hell I ended up here,” Joel says with a chuckle of his own. “Figure you would like it, though. Close enough to your panhandle.”

“Close enough but farther than ever,” you say, and you smile wistfully. “I miss the farm.”

“I miss Texas,” he admits.

“Someday, we’ll get back,” you murmur.

Joel hums in acknowledgement. He looks back at the sky, and a good ten seconds of silence pass between you before he speaks.

“I’ll get you to Boston.”

Your eyes widen. For a moment, you’re not sure if you’ve heard him correctly. “What?”

Joel shrugs. “Didn’t save your life back there to leave you to die out here.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Joel,” you say. “You— you barely know me.”

“Actually, you talked my ear off enough that I know plenty,” he says. “‘Sides, I’m gonna need someone to keep an eye on this wound—rather have it be the devil I know.”

You feel a certain warmth settle in your chest, alongside a growing smile on your lips. “You’re serious.”

“As a heart attack,” he nods.

You stare at Joel for a good, long while, and then you hug him.

You can’t help it. You can feel his staggered heartbeat, his uneven breathing—the way he just… stands there, like it’s the last thing he expected. It makes you wonder how long it’s been since someone last hugged him, showed any kind of affection.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. It takes a second, but he hesitantly wraps an arm around you. He pats your back more than anything, but when you pull away, he’s fighting a smile.

“I mean it, Joel.” You laugh, almost giddy. “It felt like a death mission on my own. But with you… seeing my brother again feels real.”

“No sense in lettin’ someone else lose a brother when I can try and stop it,” he says.

“You’ll find Tommy again,” you say. “I know—”

“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “We made our choices. But you and Connor still got a chance.”

You swallow the lump building in your throat and nod. No use arguing with him over one of the sorest subjects. “This means more than anything, Joel. I’m serious.”

“Then let’s not waste it on being sentimental,” he says. “C’mon. We’re burning daylight.”

You let out a breathy sort of laugh, full of relief, as you follow him over. Joel locks his fingers together to give you a step up onto your horse, and once you’re on, he gives you an amused look.

“You do know how to ride a horse, farm girl?”

“Please,” you huff. “I grew up around ‘em. Probably know better than you.”

“Let’s not get crazy now.”

Joel gets on his horse and you ride up closer to him so you can look him in the eye.

“So we’re goin’ to Boston,” you say. “Any idea how the hell we get from here to there?”

He pulls a rolled-up paper out of his pack and flattens it out. “Just so happens our benevolent leader Jake had a map. It ain’t the best, but it’ll give us a path to follow.”

You nod a few times, your resolve steadily growing. “We can actually do this.”

“‘Course we can,” Joel says. “Didn’t do all this just to fail.”

“Some actual optimism,” you marvel. “I can’t believe it.”

He shrugs. “Balance is important.”

“And a joke, too,” you say. “If the world hadn’t already ended, I would think it was right now.”

“Alright.” Joel huffs and shakes his head. “Let’s get goin’ before I regret bringing you with me.”

You don’t try to bite back your smile this time.

You stir your horses into action as you begin to ride, Joel in front of you to lead but little distance between you.

You knew you would get out of this place somehow, but you thought you’d slip out in the middle of the night alone, running for your life with no idea of where to go next. You’d run into a group of people, barter your skills in return for your survival, and so on and so forth until you somehow made it to Boston. A pipe dream indeed.

Instead, you’ve got a horse, a pack full of supplies, a plan, and Joel.

You’ve got Joel, and you feel like you can breathe for the first time in months.

#joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #joel tlou x reader #the last of us x reader #tlou x reader #sadie writes

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allyricas · 6 months ago

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imagine if eddie never got caught up in the upside down stuff in season 4. all the same people are still vecna'd, but chrissy never sought out eddie for drugs at school that day so he is oblivious to everything going on.

maybe he spends spring break playing music with the guys and getting drunk in the back of his van.

or, better yet, he's not even in town at all. he and the other members of corroded coffin are in indy for battle of the bands.

in fact, he literally has no clue what happened until he sees the news about the earthquake and he rushes back to make sure uncle wayne is alright. he's freaking out because when he calls his trailer numerous times, no one answers. he tries calling the plant to look for his uncle and they say he didn't show up to work.

chrissy was too intimidated to seek him out at school even in the privacy of the woods, so instead later that evening she goes to the trailer to look for him. she still gets vecna'd and the trailer becomes a gate.

eddie is never a suspect since he has a verifiable alibi. wayne still finds chrissy's body the next morning and still helps by telling nancy about henry creel. he can tell the teens are about to do something reckless and dangerous so he gets involved and ends up in the upside down instead of eddie.

he turns out to be very handy with various weapons and has a mind for battle strategy thus the party having a much better plan.

they win this time. steve gets really hurt, like nearly dies. wayne is the one who carries him out of the upside down and helps make sure he doesn't bleed out. they form a bond and wayne refuses to leave his side at the lab.

which is why eddie can't get ahold of him.

imagine eddie rushing back into hawkins only to eventually find out chrissy cunningham died on the porch of his trailer and that no one's heard from his uncle in days. he finds out from dustin that his uncle is at the hospital standing vigil over steve harrington's bedside, of all freaking people.

wayne looks pretty roughed up, but he's safe and he's okay. eddie is so relieved to see him with his own eyes that the reality of everything doesn't really sink in.

after everything is settled, the government compensates wayne with a new home. everything could have been a lot worse were he not involved and the earthquake split the trailer in two.

it's nothing fancy, just a three bedroom home on a nice plot of land. it's cosy and there's room for a fire pit in the backyard, maybe even a garden and a chicken coop. wayne manages to make anywhere feel like home, but this place has a certain charm.

once steve is well enough to go home, wayne all but insists that steve comes home with him and eddie. wayne tells steve he has a permanent home with him, that they're family. for once in his life, steve let's himself be loved and taken care of by an adult. wayne is everything his parents could never be.

wayne's heard all about steve's parents, noted that they never showed up to see their son and wayne doesn't want steve rotting alone in his big house. wayne always had a habit of picking up strays after all.

the problem with the situation is, of course, that eddie doesn't like steve. in fact, he absolutely cannot stand him and does not understand why his uncle is suddenly so close with him.

he steadfastly believes in his munson doctrine and has no plans to reevaluate. steve is a douchebag jock. in his mind, there's no way he has actually changed into this funny, dorky man who hangs out with his uncle for fun and drives around the younger teens just because he likes them.

he can't actually be best friends with band nerd robin buckley or close to his ex and her boyfriend. he can't be the man who put his body in front of someone else's. he can't be the man who smiles softly at eddie while he makes his snarky comments and refuses to budge and inch on his dislike.

steve harrington who helps his uncle plant a garden and build his chicken coop. who cooks and bakes far better than some rich kid should be able to. who asks about his band and hellfire and his books. who is far funnier than he has any right to be.

so, eddie is all snarky comments and rolled eyes every time he comes home to wayne and steve watching a game together. he is so jealous and can't say anything since wayne adores the guy...and since steve almost died.

he pretends that all the things he's learning about him must be a trick or a lie. steve can't be this person who fits so seamlessly into his life. even the other members of his band warm up to him

eddie will not budge. nope. never.

wayne knows his nephew. knows that eddie would like steve if he just gave him a chance. watches the way his nephew watches steve and waits for the day the eddie realizes what he thinks is loathing is a lot closer to something else. he loves the boy, but knows what a stubborn ass he can be.

steve likes eddie immediately and thinks he's adorable. he thinks eddie is cute when he's annoyed, enjoys the way he huffs and rolls his eyes. he is content to wait for eddie to catch up. he and wayne gossip over coffee and the subject has come up a time or two (or many) and wayne insists that eddie will figure it out eventually.

imagine a world where eddie never gets involved with the upside down but wayne does. even in this world he and steve are inevitable. wayne sees it the minute he watches them interact the first time in the hospital. he has a feeling they'd have found their way to each other somehow. he knows steve was meant to be apart of their family.

#steddie #uncle wayne is the best #wayne munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #had this in my drafts for a while

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bisexualiteaa · 1 year ago

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actually dying for a cooper howard x vaultie!reader smut where they have some slow burn longing steaminess, but coop thinks she’s too good for him UNTIL she comes in contact with a sex pollen-esque chem and he finally gives in to save her 🥵 please work your magic and elaborate however you want

A Flame in Your Heart

Cooper Howard x Fem Reader (SMUT!!)

CW: NSFW like absolutely filthy y’all, you’ve been warned. 💀 unprotected sex, irradiated cream pie, p in v, p0rn w/ plot, slow burn, flirting, cursing, perverted thoughts, dub-con (because of chem usage though consent is asked and given!) rough sex, dirty talk, choking, praise kink, degradation, squirting, mention of fingering, FEELINGS!! Slight deviation from TV series, possible grammar/spelling mistakes, cooper starts off mean but slowly warms up to reader

AN: I absolutely LOVED this request! I was up all night writing down all my ideas and spent all this morning perfecting it, and this has to be my longest one yet! I thank you for your patience anon and my lovely readers as I finally post this! Hope you enjoy and that I have done your ask justice! ❤️

Life outside of the vault was difficult to say the least. You felt hunger and dehydration in ways you’d never experienced before, going out of your way to do desperate things you would normally never do in order to get said food and water. The heat was unbearable, every stretch of land you walked across had a danger lurking around every corner, and worst of all, you’d never felt so alone. You weren’t sure what it was about you, maybe it was because you were new to the surface, maybe it was your nearly perfect skin, but everyone seemed to stare or glare at you when you would walk through. It wasn’t until you’d passed through Filly, meeting Ma June that you realized people didn’t take kindly to people like you. “Vaulties” she called them, an audible disdain in her tone, making you look down to remember you were in your blue and gold Vault-Tec suit. “I’ll be going then, have a nice day!” You said skiddishly, offering her a kind smile before turning and exiting the shop. You just wanted to make friends, why was that so hard up here? So when your eyes set on a man clad in classic Wild West cowboy clothes, watching smoke settle after a stand off, you weren’t sure why but you knew that was who you needed on your side in this world. Before you knew it, your feet were already moving and mouth speaking to him, grabbing his attention.

“I ain’t no charity case sweetheart, I don’t take on strays” The ghoul spoke, his southern drawl making him even more memorable than the marred texture of his skin. You looked to the dog that trailed not far behind him as he walked, changing its pace to keep up with the man. “The dog there with you tells me otherwise” you quipped. “Ain’t my dog” he responded harshly as he continued walking. “I can make it worth your while!” You yelled, making him stop in his tracks for a moment, a scary sight at first before you worked up the nerve to come closer once he turned back to you. “And how you suppose you’d do that?” He asked, and at first you didn’t know what to say, the words leaving your mouth before you could really think of a good enough reason. Did nobody like company anymore these days? “Well…I can be your scavenger! Pretty good at collecting stuff” you offered, shaking your bag and making things rattle around inside to prove it, making him give a huff of a chuckle. “‘f I wanted a pack mule I’d‘ve found a brahman” he shot you down. “Okay, then I can be good company to talk to!” You offered. “They make radios for when I want to listen to someone yack” he shut down once again. “I’m a good cook! Even with shitty supplies, I can make a stew that’d put a smile even on the meanest son of a gun’s face” you said, hopeful that he’d at least take you for something, but you had a feeling he’d probably turn you down again. “Iguana on a stick’s just fine” he said, though he had to admit the stew sounded good. Reminded him of home before all this wasteland bullshit. “Oh, umm…” you said awkwardly, your tone growing quiet and my how it put a sad look in your eyes. The evil part of him liked it, seeing your sweet innocent face all downturned but the part that was still human deep down, the part that hardly ever saw the light of day anymore, had half a mind to let you.

“Got a lotta nerve walkin’ up t’ me, girly. If you somehow been lucky enough that you ain’t met dangerous yet, you’re lookin’ at someone who could put you down before you’d even mutter your last words” he threatened, motioning to the double barreled shotgun in his hands. “I know, I saw it first hand. You hold yourself well, I envy that. I’m new to all of this and just really want someone who can help me hold my own the same way” you explained. “Look, I know I don’t look like much but please just give me a chance” you begged, looking up at him with a fighting spirit in your eyes that he had to admit, he was pretty impressed in seeing in a vaultie. “You help me, I help you, however that ends up being” you offered, standing strong on this and damn if he didn’t see a little bit of himself in you at that. He gave a sigh, tilting his head down before shaking it, not believing himself for the words he was about to say. “Alright, but the minute you start draggin’ you’re out, got me?” He said, and he hated the way his cold heart seemed to pump a little faster upon seeing your eyes light up with joy and a smile stretch to your face. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!” You said, opening your arms up to hug him but being met with the barrel of his gun poking your stomach to keep space between you. “I don’t do hugs” he spoke gruffly, making you back up enough to where he’d drop the gun back to his side. “R-Right…sorry” you apologized, embarrassment washing over you but still glad to finally have someone in your company. “C’mon, I ain’t got all day now” he said, motioning you to start walking, so you joined him.

Your travels with him certainly weren’t at all what you were expecting them to be. From being used as bait, to being tied up with rope most of the time you’d traveled together, or being sent in as his scavenger, you weren’t prepared for a lot of the reality you faced with being up on the surface. Most nights made you question why you’d ever left the comfort of the vault, why you’d abandoned a trusty food supply, regulated temperatures, a safe place to sleep that wasn’t riddled with radroaches or had the likely hood of waking up to a raider with a knife at your throat for no reason. Then you would remember the experiment in your vault, why you left that awful place for arguably a worse reality on the surface but at least you had freedom. Out here you were free to say what you want, do what you want, consume what you want so long as you could defend yourself incase that supply wasn’t unclaimed. You’d gotten pretty handy with a gun in the most recent weeks. Cooper, you learned one night was his name, using empty glass bottles as targets to help teach you accuracy and how to hit things from a longer range. In exchange, you came a little more useful than he had first thought. You had some useful stuff on you for trade like chems, ammo and food, were a good extra bag to hold stuff in, and you were a better cook than you’d talked about. Sure you had a tendency to talk too much, and you weren’t great with a gun, but you were getting there.

“Might I suggest takin’ them clothes instead of wearin’ that suit?” He said, making you look at him weird for suggesting you strip a dead raider of their clothes. “Why would I do that…?” You asked, genuinely confused and not sure what he was implying either, he was a hard man to predict. “Because, people see that shit and get real mad. People up here don’t like vaulties or the ones that run ‘em” he said and it made sense, it helped you understand why you kept getting evil glares each time someone would look at you or talk to you. You figured he knew best, so you took the shirt and pants from one of the female raiders, tucking them into your bag to change into at a better time. He gave a chuckle watching you do so, apologizing to the dead body profusely as you took their clothes and whatever valuables they had on them for the betterment of your own survival. You were still so naive, part of him was hoping he could slowly start to break and corrupt your way of thinking, but that was a thought for another time.

Before you knew it, night finally began to fall. The sun setting across the horizon gave the air less of a hot, harsh bite as the temperature began to cool rapidly across the sands of the Mojave. All you managed to grab was a pair of beat up, old jeans and a tank top, so as soon as the sun set, the chill set in. As you both set up camp for the night just outside of an abandoned rest stop, you started a fire to cook some of that stew you talked about being good at. He had to admit, it was pretty damn good, likely the best thing he’s had since before the bombs went off. Though even the kindling fire couldn’t manage to chase the chill away, watching you run your hands up and down your arms to try and warm up some by it. He felt a slight pang in his heart, watching you shiver like that, how your eyes lit up by the blaze of the fire and your hair seemed to be tousled just right. You were pretty, too pretty to be trekking this wasteland, and certainly too pretty to be trekking it with him of all people as your company. Even he had a heart still, as cold as it was, so out of kindness he shrugged his duster from his shoulders, draping it around you. You looked at the fabric pooled around you, pulling it over you better before looking to him as he sat down across from you again. “Ain’t no use if the cold gets ya” he said, making you smile appreciatively at him as you realized what he did. “Thank you” you replied, a slight blush fanning to your cheeks as the chattering of your teeth finally died down and you grew warmer. It smelled like him, sure it had splatters of old dried blood and was rather worn, but it had that gunpowder and smoke smell to it that you associated with him. “Don’t say I never did nothin’ for ya” he replied, trying to sound cold but it didn’t come off that way, making you chuckle. “What do I owe you?” You asked, making him fall silent for a moment as he pondered the answer to your question. He looked you over for a second before tipping his hat down to cover his face a bit, the signal that he was about to try and get some sleep. “Just keep watch for a bit, I’ll be up in a few hours” he responded, and while it wasn’t what you were expecting, you’d take it.

He was startled awake a couple hours later when he heard a commotion, you yelling at someone telling them to back off that this place had been claimed. The raider you were up against didn’t seem to like that very much, claiming that wasn’t how it worked up here. The altercation took a turn for the worst when the man reached for his gun but you were quick to fire and kill him before he could let out a shot. A shaky feeling set in your hands and a horrified expression across your face at the realization that you just killed someone. Cooper, who was certainly wide awake now, was rather impressed by your quick timing and precision, coming up behind you to lay a gloved hand to your shoulder. “Well would ya look at that, looks like them lessons been payin’ off after all. How’s it feel?” He asked, looking down at you as you stared at the gun in your hands. “He was yelling at me but…he was aiming at you. I don’t really know what came over me, I didn’t like that he was going to shoot you so I just…I killed him” you said, recounting the encounter to him as if he hadn’t seen it himself. He didn’t really know what to think in that moment as you explained how your mind worked, he was proud for sure at your show of improvement with a gun, yet also touched at the same time. No one ever really looked out for him since he started his bounty hunting, he was a well hated man by many but you defended him without really any reason to. You’d just learned his name not but two weeks ago, and before that he was dragging you around with rope yet you still defended him, had you two really gotten closer in the time that’s passed since? He wasn’t sure, but it was something he could mull over while you were sleeping. “Get some rest vaultie, sun’ll be up soon” he said, knowing you likely wouldn’t get much sleep with the adrenaline still coursing through you, but it was at least worth a try, you two had a long day ahead of you.

When you woke up that next morning, things felt a little different between you two. You weren’t some annoying little dog following him anymore, you were an equal. He no longer looked at you and treated you like you were lower than him as you both set out across the wastelands, he had respect for you. Hell, he even started talking with you now when you were out traveling which was almost unbelievable. You learned through those conversations that he used to be an actor in Wild West themed films, explaining his outfit, and that he was married before the bombs dropped. You of course told him bits and pieces about yourself in exchange, after all it only felt fair but it was also nice to just finally talk to someone after all this time.

When night time fell again you two sat enjoying a meal by the fire together, only rather than across from each other, he sat next to you, making a blush come to your face as you’d smiled sweetly at him. “Glad to know I don’t have germs anymore” you said jokingly, making him chuckle. “Give an old man some credit. It ain’t exactly all peaches and marmalade out here darlin’, even cute can be deadly” he said, the nickname and him calling you cute sending a deeper blush to your cheeks despite knowing it’s just how he spoke. Whether it was the lack of contact with other people for so long, or just his charm you couldn’t quite tell, but it always seemed to have an effect on you. “Just teasin’ you, I get it. I’d tie me up and use me for bait too if I’d been doing this as long as you have. It’s a shit hole out here” you said, making him look at you as you dropped the first curse word he’s ever heard from you. “Well I’ll be damned, either I’m a bad influence or you’re finally growin’ outta that naive shell there, vaultie” Cooper replied, making you laugh as you saw a smirk stretch to his thin, marred lips, the first one you’d seen in a while that wasn’t brought on by drugs, chems or that first sip of a good bottle of alcohol. “Probably both” you quipped, making him chuckle. “Yeah, probably. Been told I ain’t easy to stomach” he said, making you hum. “You’re alright in my book, Coop” you replied with a sweet, genuine smile that matched your tone and was that butterflies you felt in your stomach? Did you just call him Coop? No ones called him that in ages, why did it make his heart start to flutter a bit? “You ain’t so bad yourself, vaultie” he responded, still affording you that small smile before turning back to his food. “Keep making food this good and I just might have to keep you around” he joked, making you giggle and break the slightly tense silence. “It’s not much but I certainly try. I’ll definitely make sure to stay good at it, I like traveling with you” you said, unintentionally coming off flirtatious and fuck there it goes again, that feeling in his chest and his stomach like he needed to hit his inhaler but he felt great. What were you doing to him?

“Hey, if it isn’t too much can I ask you a sort of…personal question?” You asked, holding the beat up bowl in your hands as you looked over at him. This was normally the part where he would say no, absolutely not, he wasn’t here to be questioned on his personal matters. Yet, with you, it was different. Ever since last night he hasn’t been so on edge with you, it was like he’d warmed up to you. “Depends on what you’re askin’ there, sweetheart” he said, the nickname once again making you blush. “Do you…miss them? Your wife and daughter?” You asked, not sure if it was a good subject or good question to ask but after finding out, you were genuinely curious. He looked down at his bowl again, thinking of the proper response to your question. The old him would have been defensive, told you it was none of your business, but now? He wasn’t sure. “Ain’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about ‘em. About the way I ran out on ‘em when them bombs dropped” he answered, making you give him a sad look as genuine guilt filled his tone. This was the most honest and open he’s been with you this whole time. “I feel guilty. Not sure if I feel guilty for runnin’ out and leavin’ ‘em behind or guilty for the way I ran out, been tryin’ t’ figure that out for quite a while now and I still ain’t sure” he added, and you sympathized with that. Everyone has regrets, things they’ve done in the past that they aren’t proud of, people up here were no different in that aspect. “Well, in the short time I’ve gotten to know you, I’ve come to understand that everything you do has a valid reason behind it. So even if you feel it was a shitty thing to do, you obviously had a reason for doing so. No one can blame you for trusting your gut, and I don’t think you should blame yourself for doing so” you responded, your hand falling to his as a comforting gesture, your words ringing in his head almost as if you’d opened something in his mind, something he’d never really gave himself to think about before. He looked down at your hand that rested on his, noticing the way you didn’t flinch away from him like others did, the way you were brave enough to walk up to him, talk to him, *trust* him when he made it very clear that you shouldn’t. It was smaller than his, softer for sure, but warm all the same, then he looked up to see that caring look in your eyes and smile on your face that told him that you cared. “Guess you’re right, still wonder sometimes if it was the right choice to make” he replied. “I understand. Everyone has regrets, we all look at the past and hold at least something that we’ve done before in regret, it’s what makes us human” you said, making him give a huff as a chuckle. “You got anybody?” He asked, making you look down as you moved your feet along the dirt. “An ex-husband, but not anyone I really care about, no. My parents passed a few years before the bombings and he and I split up when I caught him cheating on me with some other woman in the vault..” you explained, not sure why it hurt you to tell the tale still, but you felt it was only fair considering what you’d asked of him to share. “Sorry t’ hear that” Cooper said, making you chuckle weakly, a somber look coming to your face that made his heart wrench. “I haven’t exactly been in love since, and considering he and I split up just a little over ten years ago, really says something I guess, huh?” You asked, trying to laugh to bring up the mood, knowing you sounded pathetic. “He was the fool, not you darlin’. He was the one skippin’ out on one hell of a woman” Cooper said, making you look to him and blush a bit as you gave a chuckle at his response.

“Thanks” you replied appreciatively and with a smile before casting your gaze down to see your hands were still connected and it left you blushing harder with embarrassment, you’d been holding his hand this entire time without realizing it. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable if I have I-“ “relax vaultie” he cut you off, pushing your hand back down onto his to assure you that he was far from uncomfortable. “It’s…rather nice actually” he admitted, making you feel relieved but your heart fluttered in your chest from it. A thick tension soon began to set in between you both after that night, something of an unspoken, kindling romance beginning to develop. “Then there it can stay” you said, making him smile softly at you, tipping his hat at you as a silent thank you.

Months passed on like this, where you’d spend the days scavenging, picking the land for its resources you could find and hunting bounties by day, then spending your nights by a fire growing closer and closer with every passing day. Through your shared meals, jokes, deep conversations, and plenty of near death experiences, you started to notice your fondness of the ghoul you traveled with. The way you’d hang onto his words with that southern accent that seemed to pull at your heart strings, or the way you’d go out of your way to stand between him and a stray bullet. You’d helped him on more than one occasion in getting out of a sticky spot, or getting him the stuff he needed to keep from turning feral. In return, he started to notice he was feeling the same towards you. There was this sudden need to keep you safe, to do nicer things for you, to speak better towards you, even flirt with you at times. Some nights there’d be so much tension in the air, it’s a miracle you haven’t jumped each other yet. Though in his eyes, as much as his heart yearned for you, he knew you were too good for him. You’d been hurt before, and he had a reputation for hurting people, feeling undeserving of even just the sweet smiles and company you afford him even now. You didn’t need someone like him, you needed a good man, someone who didn’t kill for a living, someone who could treat you right, someone who didn’t look the way he did. You were soft and warm, he was rough and cold, though he supposed that’s where the term “opposites attract” came from. So even when he was a whole bottle deep, he was sure to hold his tongue to a certain point.

Some of those nights around the fire were spent sober, others not so much, and this night happened to be one of those nights spent under the influence. You two had stumbled across a mini-mart, doing your best to out run the radstorm that had been trailing you guys for hours, coming in just to find whatever supplies you could to make it through the next week and possibly hunker down for the night. So imagine your surprise when you seemed to have found the largest chem stache you’d both ever laid eyes on. “Coop! Come here, you gotta see this” you said, making him run towards you to make sure you weren’t hurt or in trouble. His nerves were eased once he saw you, fully intact. “Tell me I’m not seeing shit” you said, pointing to all of the supplies sitting in a box on the table, joined by other supplies around it. You both looked at each other in complete and utter disbelief, this would keep you stocked for months, maybe even a whole year if you conserved it well. “Well ain’t that just the prettiest fuckin’ sight” he said. There was no way a horde of chems this large and this valuable was just completely unprotected you reasoned, so you routed around the place, scoping out for any raiders, straggling traders or ferals who happened to still be around. It was as if heaven was shining down on you both as you found no one around, seemed like no one had been here for days. So you did the most logical thing anyone would do in this situation. Stuff each of your bags to the brim of drugs of all varieties! Seeing as you had food, chems and even some clean water and alcohol lying around, Cooper locked and barricaded the door shut, proposing it could be a good spot to sleep for the night. With a radstorm approaching, it was best to have a roof over your heads to keep out the rain and potential radiation sickness that came with it. “This is the closest fuckin’ thing to a slice of heaven I’ve seen in ages” he said, aside from you is what played in his mind but he couldn’t speak that out loud, no matter how much he wanted to. “You said it!” you replied, and it’s even better with you here you thought, but thought it best to keep it to yourself. He plopped down on the couch, kicking his feet up to rest on the small table that seemed to be in shambles, enjoying a tape that was playing on the TV that he was surprised to still see functioning. “Holy shit, this thing still works?” You asked, amazed to see working technology out in the wastelands, sitting next to him as you watched it with him. He gave a smirk at your reaction, thinking it was cute the way your eyes would light up when you got all excited over something. Deep down it made him want to give you everything you laid eyes on like that just to see it pointed towards him. “Guess so” he replied, enjoying your excitement only to see you turn and look his way, which was his signal to stop staring holes into you before he gets caught. “I dunno about you baby doll, but I ain’t about to spend tonight sober with this stache sittin’ here ‘n front of us” he said, making you laugh as he routed through all the different drugs and chems til he found what he was looking for.

In the process of searching through it all, a small metal box fell to the floor at your feet. It looked like a box of mentats only the design was different, instead of the characteristic green and white box was a red one covered with hearts labeled DN-Chem. You supposed the worst that could happen was turn into the man sitting next to you, which you figured wasn’t the worst fate to succumb to all things considered, so you went against all better judgement and said fuck it, popping two of the mentat like chems and chasing it with the vodka he’d found to wait for it to take effect. “The hell is DN?” He asked, looking at the box, wondering what it was you took. “Don’t know, guess we’ll find out here soon because I took two” you said, taking another sip from the bottle of vodka he passed your way, and he gave a chuckle as you handed it back to him. “You come a mighty long way, little lady” he commented before setting the metal pill box down. He took the bottle from you, taking a swig, then placing one of the small viles into his inhaler before taking a hit of it then lying back, breathing a sigh of relief as it and the alcohol entered his system like the perfect remedy to any ailment. As about a half an hour rolled by, you waited for the high to set in but it never came, instead you were just getting hot, like really hot. There weren’t any windows open, and it was night time so you shouldn’t be this uncomfortably hot for how it was but you felt like you were on fire. “Shit, it’s hot as hell in here…” you complained, shaking off your jacket that you’d picked off of some raider a few weeks back, making him look to you curiously. “Lightweight” he quipped, making you chuckle. “Accept I don’t feel anything, I just feel hot” you said, making him hum with intrigue before turning back to the TV. “Give it some time, you’re new to all this. ‘m sure your body is wonderin’ what the hell you just put in it” he said, and he had a good point, maybe it was just a side effect of not doing them so often compared to his every day use.

As time went on, you began to notice the way your eyes couldn’t help but be glued to him, more specifically glued to the way his legs were now spread as he sat back. You wondered to yourself what he looked like beneath all that cowboy get up, what his reaction would be like to see you getting on your knees for him and slotting yourself between his spread legs. You shook your head to try and rid yourself of such inappropriate thoughts, but what you couldn’t stop no matter how hard you tried was the feeling of arousal beginning to pool in your panties. Sure he flirted with you every now and again, but you doubt he felt towards you the same way you did for him. To him you were sure you were likely more akin to a pet than a friend, useful and nice to have around, but not anything further. At least so you thought. You’d rather hoped you were wrong in assuming so, that maybe he saw you the same way you saw him. You bit your lip as you tried bouncing your leg to relieve the ache between your thighs, a light pink dusting your face and neck even up to the tips of your ears, but nothing worked. Even as you closed your eyes, all you could picture was you laid out on the couch beneath him, or bent over it with him behind you, or you riding him on it. “Been awful quiet. You doin’ alright over there, sweetheart?” Cooper asked you, and the audible whimper you let out from the nickname left you completely embarrassed. You clasped a hand over your mouth, god you were horrified but he gave a grin and a chuckle in response. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me all the sudden. I feel so…weird?” you said, unsure if that was really the proper word to explain it but it was the only way you could really word it off the top of your head with how much your brain felt as if it was turning to mush. “Ya took some chems, it’s gonna feel a bit fuzzy” he said, trying to assure you that feeling a little funny was normal, but this? This didn’t feel normal, not even for a chem high. You tried your best to swallow harshly, doing everything you could to try and relieve the dry ache you felt in your throat at the moment upon looking at him. You grabbed the bottle of vodka, taking a few sips but even that couldn’t grant you bliss from it. The throbbing in your core was driving you absolutely insane. You swore up and down that it was like you could feel your heartbeat in your chest, stomach, and in your cunt all at the same time. “No, this is different…I don’t think what I took was a normal chem, Coop…” you said, trying not to panic at the effects that were setting in but god you felt like you were absolutely feral. He turned to look at you, watching as you clamped your thighs together and the red that fell over your face. “I feel like an animal in heat” you said bluntly, making him go into a near coughing fit as you took him off guard. However that piqued his interest enough to pick up the little metal box again to see what it was you took. “I ain’t ever heard of a chem that does that, was that DN shit the only stuff you took?” He asked, growing slightly concerned for you and whether he had a possible horde of laced chems, or just an extremely horny woman on his hands. Speaking of hands, you were lost in thought staring at them, at the way they gripped the couch like you wanted him to grip your thighs, at the way they looked in those leather gloves he always wore. You wondered how it would feel wrapped around your throat, or how it would feel if his fingers were buried deep inside of you. Shit. This was getting out of control.

“Hey, ya with me still?” He asked, snapping to try and get your attention back on the matter at hand, making you shake your head yes as you broke from your perverted thoughts. “Is that DN shit the only thing you took?” He asked again, making you shake your head yes once more, because you knew damn well your voice was going to betray you the moment you tried to speak. That had to be it, it was the only thing that was different out of it all and the only thing he’d never heard of before. He knew it wasn’t the vodka either because he was drinking it with you, so if it was affecting you, it would have affected him and it hadn’t.

It took him a minute to put two and two together before he finally realized the abbreviations stood for Date Night, reading the instructions and effects on the inside of the tin’s lid. “Shit..” he said as he read it, realizing this was a hand made thing thrown into the bunch by whoever was running this place. “Did you read the lid before you popped them pills?” He asked, making you go wide eyed. As if this couldn’t get any fucking worse, this shit show could have been avoided had you just read the inside of the lid. “There was instructions?? Oh my god…what the fuck did I take?” You asked, concerned for yourself and the tone he had while reading it. “Somethin’ that the creator of it called Date Night. Looks like it’s a…well looks like it’s a handmade sex chem” he said, making you cover your face with your hands out of sheer embarrassment, you’d never wanted to die out in a radstorm more than you did right now. “Please tell me you’re fucking joking, cooper…” you whined, watching him read it more. “How much of it did you take?” He asked, almost scared to know and you were scared to know why. “Two?” You replied, making him whistle at that as he read it. “Fuckin’ hell sugar..” he said through a chuckle, and that nickname made a shiver run through you, sending electric bolts straight to your throbbing cunt. You did your best to bite back the whimper. “You’re only s’possed take one, and with you bein’ new t’ all this, I wouldn’t have taken more than half” he said, making you just wish you could just dig a hole and die in it already. “Fuck me…wait, shit! N-Not literally fuck me I- well I mean I’d like if you did but…FUCK! Forgive me Cooper, I’m so sorry, I can hardly think straight” you said, making him chuckle. “Well sweetheart, I think you and I both know there’s only one good fix for this situation” he said, making you whimper pathetically at the thought, your thighs squeezing together even more as you tried to fight to stay sane. Your eyes cast downwards to his lap once more, seeing the tent forming in his pants, clearly you weren’t the only one all worked up here. “I don’t want to make you feel like you have to, Coop. I can run off and take care of myself if it makes you uncomfort-“ you rambled but before you could finish, his hand cupped the side of your face, pulling you in for a long awaited kiss. You moaned into it without meaning to, feeling the way your body immediately relaxed upon wrapping your arms around him with no hesitation as the sweet innocent kiss turned passionate and dirty rather quickly.

“I won’t lie t’ you, doin’ this with you has passed my mind more times than I’d care to admit, but I don’t wanna cross that line unless you really want this” he said, looking into your eyes and making sure that this was truly what you wanted, that you felt the same way he did. “Coop, I know I’m under the influence of whatever the fuck this drug is, but trust me when I say, I’d be just as good with it sober. Been thinking about it for probably just as long as you have, if I’m honest with you. I want this, I want you and right now I want you so fucking bad that I might lose my mind if you don’t fuck me” you answered bluntly, taking him by surprise at just the sheer amount of absolute filth that left your otherwise innocent mouth, making him chuckle at your use of curse words and how desperate you were for him. “That so sugar?” He asked with a grin, enjoying teasing you at your neediest moments, including now. “God yes, Cooper please..” you begged, nearly moaning in reply and he’d spent time mulling over it before, denying himself the chance but just as the chem stache was a pot of gold, he took this as one of the best opportunities being placed in his lap by whatever higher power existed out there, making him waste no time in kissing you once more. “Good, because I don’t think I’d be able to hold myself back once we’ve started” he said, and the idea made you moan. “Don’t want you to hold back, want all of you” you said, and your wish was his command.

By the time your brain could finally catch up with you again, your clothes were strewn out all around you, your tank top hanging over the back of the couch, your jeans thrown haphazardly on the arm rest behind you, his pants on the floor, his hat on the table and shirt and duster having fallen somewhere behind the couch. By now, you’d already cum on his fingers twice, and on his cock once, this was your fourth round and this shit still had you on fire. “Yes!! Oh fuck, Cooper!” you moaned as your legs wrapped around his hips, keeping him as close to you as you could get, your fingers digging crescent shapes and puffy red lines into his back that unfortunately he knew wouldn’t stay long thanks to his ability to heal stupidly fast. “Doin’ so good for me, baby doll. Look so pretty like this for me, all splayed out like a needy little whore” he praised and degraded through his groans, making you moan and roll your eyes into the back of your head at the praise mixed with degradation as his cock was drilling deep inside you like tonight was all you guys had. “Yeah, you like that, huh sweet thing? Like it when I tell you how good it feels and call you names?” He asked, making you nod your head yes because there wasn’t a single thought in that brain of yours other than his name, which you spoke like a mantra. “Never knew such a sweet lil’ thing like you would be such a dirty little minx. Fuck…enough to make a man like me go feral, ya know that?” he said, making you giggle as you moved his free hand up to your throat, urging him to choke you, and he groaned at the sight. Your kiss swollen lips all puffy and shining with spit, your cheeks dusted a constant pink that grew darker anytime his cock brushed that spot deep inside that made you cling to him, your eyes half lidded, looking up at him like he was your savior. It made him absolutely rock hard knowing you’d pick him over anyone else in this god forsaken wasteland. “My, you are just a little freak, ain’t you? Oh we are gonna have fun together, you and me honey” he promised, squeezing your throat tight enough to restrict your airflow but not enough to hurt or cause any damage. Just enough to get that puddle of a brain of yours all fuzzy as you got closer to your fourth orgasm of the night. “Cooper…’m so close, so close please!!” You begged, feeling the heavy drag of his cock as he pounded into you, leaving you damn near screaming as it nudged your cervix and that spongy little bundle of nerves deep inside. “Go on honey, I gotchya. Let go for me, wanna see those pretty faces and hear those pretty noises you make” he said, angling his hips just right to hit that spot over and over again. “Oh fuck, oh fuck I’m gonna cum again, I-“ you warned before your moans rose in pitch as your walls clamped around him, gushing on his cock as your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your body arched off the couch, stars filling your vision for a moment as you felt your release gush out and coat your inner thighs, screaming his name like it was your only chance at salvation. “Well ain’t I just the damn luckiest man in the wastelands right now, got me a pretty little vaultie and she’s a gusher” he said, making you whimper at his teasing but judging by the way he emptied himself inside you for the second time, you took it as a sign that he liked that about you. “Holy shit, I-I didn’t know I could do that” you said, thoroughly shocked with what your brain and body were doing as they almost seemed to almost be working against each other. “Do it again for me” he said, grabbing you and moving you both to where you were straddling him this time. His hands rested on your hips, helping guide you as you speared yourself on his dick with ease from how absolutely soaked you were, making you both throw your head back and moan. “Now that’s a damn good sight” he said, making you lean in to kiss him once more as his hands helped you start and keep a steady rhythm with your hips. It was definitely going to be a long night, but one you two have been needing for months, maybe even longer.

It’s a good thing ghouls have remarkable recovery time, because in order to finally get you sated and back to normal, you both had to spend all night going at it. Granted, it was aided by the mix of pent up sexual tension and pent up sexual frustration, but it was dawn before you both had gotten to a point where you could even *try* and fall sleep. First few times was on the couch between missionary, doggy and you riding him, next was you bent over it, with your pretty legs spread and ass in the air for him. Then, you used the arm rest of the couch as a pillow beneath your hips as he stood up while you laid out on the couch. He liked that one a lot for the way your tits would bounce with each and every forceful thrust into you, jolting your body. After that, it was done standing up with your back pressed against a wall, your legs and arms wrapped around him to keep him deep inside of you and fill you til he had nothing left to give you. From that point on, the rest of the night was all a hormone-hazed blur, but you knew well that he took care of you. You woke up unbelievably sore, your joints aching in places that you had no idea could even ache, a swollen, angry throb between your legs for the harsh, almost punishing treatment to your pussy followed by bruises, bite marks, scratch marks, hand prints etc. littered your skin as you woke up curled into Cooper’s side. You gave a gravelly groan as the sun shone in your eyes through the windows, making him chuckle at the way you were such a ray of sunshine except in the morning. Coming to learn that you absolutely *hated* mornings. Though you suppose you started to enjoy them more since traveling with him. “Mornin’ sunshine” he said coyly, making you groan disapprovingly at the way the sun was in your eyes, making you hold your hand up to cast a shadow on your face and grant you some relief. “Morning” you answered, your voice hoarse and half gone from sleep and all your activities that transpired the previous night. “Ain’t that a pretty sight” he said, turning and seeing you curled up to him, naked, your hair all messy from sleep and the hickeys and bite marks littering your skin, making you chuckle. “Last night was definitely something, can’t believe you’ve been holding all *that* out on me” you joked, making him give a dry laugh. “Could say the same thing about you, sugar. Had no idea that mind a yours could be so filthy. You’re a wild thing to party with, lil’ lady” he teased, sliding his arm around you to keep you close, making you hum as you lay soft, appreciative kisses to his collarbone and chest. “You’re fun too, and thank you for taking care of me last night. I’m sorry that it ended up happening the way that it did, I wanted to work up the courage and tell you some other way, I really did, but I guess life had other plans” you said making him chuckle as he saw you blush when he kissed your head. “Drunk words are sober thoughts they say, so I’d say I made out pretty good. But don’t sweat it, not sure how I deserved someone as good as you, but it’s good to know I ain’t as hard to stomach as most people say” he said, pulling you in for a soft, heartfelt kiss. “I think you are just perfect, Cooper” you said, your hand resting on his scarred chest as you looked at him with that gaze he swore he’d do anything to see pointed his way.

“You really wanna be my girl?” He asked softly, sounding shocked and with some self doubt still lacing his tone, but he had to be sure this was what you wanted outside of the drug’s effects. He cared for you deeply, in a way that he hasn’t felt in a very long time, but maybe you were just the right person for him to finally open his heart up to. His question made you giggle as your heart fluttered in your chest with excitement. “I absolutely do, I meant it when I said it last night, I mean it just as much now. I think we’ve danced around it for long enough, don’t you?” you replied, making him smile the most genuinely happy smile you’ve seen him wear since you’d met. “Just checkin’” he said, before laying a sweet kiss to your lips, wishing every morning could be like this one. Maybe it could, now that you were here with him.

#fallout x reader #fallout smut #fallout #cooper howard smut #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard #sole survivor #cooper howard x you #the ghoul #the ghoul smut #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #asks

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ittybittyfanblog · 8 months ago

Text

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 2

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a–less–oblivious player. That’s it, that’s the plot. A/N: Ok, I’ve decided to make this by series, so this one’s just going to be purely Sylus. I hope nobody minds the specific names/places/etc. I wanted to create a personality for the “player” and add a bit of backstory work (loosely based on yours truly lol) for the sake of storytelling, but there won't be any distinct description of the player’s physical appearance <3 Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language, bouts of delusion

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

Riiiiing– RiiiNGGGGG––

...

“Huh… whazat—?”

A shrill—earsplitting, headache-inducing, completely fucking loud—noise wakes you up rather rudely from your peaceful slumber at… Jesus Christ, what time is it?

You blink your bleary eyes open, once… twice—fuck, all you know that it’s too goddamn early for all this ruckus. Groaning, you clumsily try to find the source of the unexpected wake-up call. Quite literally in this case.

Your hand bumps the vibrating phone straight off the edge of the mattress—along with the charger cord still attached to it—and you cuss up a storm when you hear it clatter on the hardwood floor.

The ringing finally stops, and you’re perfectly content to leave it there and fall back to sleep when, not even ten seconds later, the blasted thing rings back to life, taunting you awake.

Angrily, you wrestle against the threadbare blanket wrapped around your body like a warm cocoon, pushing yourself out of bed with all the rage of a sleep-deprived insomniac who’s been up til the buttcrack of dawn to grab your—huh, relatively intact—phone off the ground, while the charger cable swings haphazardly from the weight of the power brick on its tail end.

Without checking the caller, you swipe right to answer. “What?”

“Don’t use that tone on me, young lady,” Your mother grouses on the other end of the line. “It’s almost noon! Did you just wake up?”

Barely five hours of sleep. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you shut your eyes and sigh. “No, mom. Sorry, just had a late night,” you clear your throat in an attempt to sound more composed. “What’s up?”

“Oh, dear. Is it because of work again?” Something akin to sympathy replaces the sternness in her voice, and you dread the all-too-familiar spiel that comes next. “You know, honey, there’s a job opening for a– what was it again? I have to double check, but it’s where your Auntie Helen works. You know your Auntie Helen—”

“Mom,” you interrupt, before she could go off on a tangent. “Work is fine, don’t worry. Why d’you call?”

“Should I need a reason to call my daughter who's living by her lonesome, a country away from—”

“Mom!”

“Oh, alright,” she finally relents, sounding slightly exasperated. “Were you able to book me and Jodie the roundtrip flight to Orlando? Your cousin’s wedding is barely a month away and I want all the documents ready by now, sweetie.”

Shit. “Ah— yeah. I’ll email you the flight itinerary in a bit, I’m just–” you catch sight of your protruding hamper, innocuous but an eyesore nonetheless, right by the doorway of your humble studio unit. “I mean, I just left the condo. To do errands and stuff. I’ll send the details to you when I get back home, okay?”

“Okay, honey,” she sighs. “You stay safe outside now. Don’t talk to strangers.”

“I am a perfectly responsible adult—” The call disconnects. “Hello? Great.”

You rub away the remnants of sleep from your eyes, fully aware that your day’s already started, despite your reluctance. Might as well get a head start on today’s agenda.

First thing’s first– brunch. Oh, it’s almost one. Lunch, then. I could maybe grab a hotdog from the corner store before heading to Landers. Oh wait, laundry. Gotta pass by the laundromat downstairs, too. Ugh, c’mon, chop-chop.

Just as you’re about to stand up from your supine position on the floor, another ping! pulls your attention back to your phone. “Mom, I swear–”

Ah, you’re finally awake. You’ve had a very long night, kitten. Take it easy for the day – make sure to get enough rest between errands.

I’ll know if you don’t.

Your heart skips a beat.

Oh! Um. That’s… new.

… Apparently another one on the growing list of “new features” from the latest update. It doesn't sound like an invitation for you to open the game, strangely enough. It's not a call to action to claim your daily stamina, nor a prompt for you to check your Galaxy Explorer rewards.

It’s nothing more than a greeting, really. Just one that’s particularly targeted at you, with unnerving accuracy.

You recall the weird (?) events from last night, and the now-erratic beating of your heart suddenly picks up a notch. From the unexpected dialogues to the outrageous amount of dias you’ve somehow ended up with—something you still think is some kind of glitch in the system—you can’t shake the feeling that you’re living out the plot of a Black Mirror episode, as fucking dumb as it sounds.

Not to mention during Quality Time, Sylus_v2.0 (as you so lovingly dub this version of him in your mind) had been acting more aware of you.

And you’re not talking about the pre-programmed glances that you usually get. No– it’s like he actually hears you.

He doesn’t say anything. But whenever you make a comment, or utter something under your breath, he reacts with a huff or a hum—depending on the context. If it’s a slew of expletives aimed at your boss, the reaction you’re met with is one of amusement. A snort; sometimes a quiet laugh, if you’re lucky. When you say something self-deprecating, however, it elicits the heavier sighs, the sharp clicks of the tongue.

At one point, you heard him make a low sound of dissent, something close to a... growl, almost, after making a casual joke about being just another cog in the machine and how offing yourself wouldn’t really matter in the grand scheme of late capitalism. As you oft do.

Your eyes met, and for a split second, it felt like you weren’t looking at just pixels. His gaze weighed heavy on you—almost accusatory.

It made you feel… naked, somehow. Perceived.

You recall how quickly you averted your eyes from his, face flushing hotly from a feeling you couldn’t put into words.

Bone-tired from last night’s (morning) overtime, you didn’t have the time to look up the news on this recent version update—although you really don’t remember any notifications in-game—so you quickly Google, “sylus acting sentient in rcent update loveamd Deepspace???” on your phone browser.

You scroll down for a bit, but none of the search results yield any relevancy, nor are they in any way similar to your current… predicament.

(Okay, so calling it a predicament is a little unfair. You’re not exactly complaining about anything per se. No complaints from you. At all.)

Deciding that you’d do a deeper dive on Twitter (X) at a later time instead—probably tonight when you do your daily login—you briefly press the side button to lock your phone… not without a final peek at the banner notification from Sylus.

You press your lips together in an effort to hold back the stupid giggle bubbling up your throat.

Unfortunately, all the self-control in the world can’t help you and your need to have the last word—from what even—so you ask aloud, to no one except the person you've deluded yourself into thinking is a valid recipient of your one-sided conversation:

“... Yeah? And what if I don’t?”

You’re not really waiting for a response (or were you?), but the nervous flutter in your stomach betrays the impatience you're trying to mask with casual indifference. It’s small, unassuming—but there.

Impatient for what, exactly, you’re not sure. But maybe, just maybe—

Feeling a bit braver now, are we? How bold. Care to say that to my face, sweetheart?

Oh.

An inhuman noise escapes your throat, embarrassingly loud, almost a keen, and you fumble with the device in your hand; the new banner notification still in full view—taunting you.

You don’t know what to think, you don’t know how to feel. You–

Spring up, like an agitated jack-in-a-box, and the sudden rush of blood in your head leaves you dizzy. You’re a molotov cocktail of emotions; one more bombshell surprise and you might just blow.

“I’m– later, okay? Uh,” Whew, girl, keep it together. “I need–I need to go.” You almost stumble as you speed walk towards the bathroom.

If you hadn't switched your phone to silent, hadn't made the conscious effort to ignore any incoming messages, notifications, and whatever else, in a rush to get dressed and go about your day as if it's just like any other weekend—nope, nothing unusual here—you would’ve seen one last cheeky reply:

Of course, sweetie. You take care now.

Don’t talk to strangers. X

Endnote: This one's pretty short, but I’m world-building, trust.

Thanks for reading!

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #sylus x non mc reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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daydreamerswriting · 5 months ago

Note

hiiii!!! do you think you could do something with the gang (separately) being protective of reader? its okay if you dont want to though!!! totally up to you 💕💕

The Gang Being Protective

The outsiders x fem!reader

an: I tried to give them all different plots so it wasn't repetitive. Thank you for the request and sorry this took SOOO long. (This request is so old and this took me WAY too long I'm sorry 😭) please leave more requests guys!

W: men being gross and creepy, swearing, not proof read

Darry Curtis

Darry Curtis normally isn't one for parties, but you convinced him to go to one with you. He was, unfortunately, not having the best time. But you were. You were drinking and dancing and having the time of your life. You pulled Darry around with you as you chatted with your friends, acquaintances, total strangers, anyone.

Some time into the party, the two of you got separated. You were getting another drink and talking to a old classmate from high-school. A guy approaches you, and you immediately get a bad feeling.

"Hey sweet thing." He slurs with a smirk.

You grip your drink tighter and it takes everything in you not to show your disgust on your face. "Hi."

"You look good enough to eat. Let's get outta here, yeah?" He steps way to close to you.

Ew. "No thank-"

"No, she doesn't." A familiar, stern voice cuts you off as a muscular arms is wrapped around your shoulders.

You glance up at him. He's glaring daggers at the man who talked to you.

The man scoffed. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Her boyfriend. Now why don't you back the hell up?" His voice is stern, deep, and angry.

The guy scoffs again, rolls his eyes, and walks away. "Whatever.."

Darry turns his attention to you. "Are you alright, y/n?" He asks tenderly.

You nod. "Thank you."

"Of course, darling, you don't have to thank me." He kisses your forehead.

Sodapop Curtis

"Can you hand me a wrench?" Soda asks you as he sticks his hand out from under the Curtis's truck. The poor old thing had broke from the hundredth time and he was in charge of fixing it.

You grab a wrench out off the tool box beside you and hand it to him. "Here."

"Thank you, sweetheart."

The only reason you're here, sitting on the curb while Soda fixes up the car, is because you had come over to tell him something. You were a little nervous to tell him. You've heard stories from your friends about how their past boyfriends weren't cool with stuff like this.

"Hey, Soda?" You say while staring down at your hands.

"Yeah?" He calls back from under the car.

"I'm going with my friend tomorrow, so we have to cancel our date."

"Oh." He slides out from under the car and sits up, looking at you. "You can't go any other day?"

You shake your head. "He's only going to be in town a few days, and tomorrow is the only day he's free." You explain.

His eyebrows furrow and he looks untrusting. "He?"

You nod. "We were friends in elementary school, but then he moved away."

"Oh." He thinks this over for a minute. "It's not like a date, right?"

Youre taken aback. "What? No, of course not. We're just hanging out as friends, babe."

"Good." He nods and ponders this again for a moment. "Can I go?"

"Do you not trust me?" You ask, feeling slightly hurt.

He shakes his head. "No, of course I trust you. I don't trust this guy I've never meant. Plus, if he's your friend, I wanna meet him." He smiles. Soda did like knowing all the people in your life. He had wanted to meet your family and friends as soon as possible.

"I- I don't know. I haven't seen him in so long, and it might be weird with you there. He doesn't know you, you don't know him. I want you to meet him too, but I don't want to make it awkward with you there the whole time. Don't you think it's annoying when people drag their partners to every hang out."

"Yeah, okay. Hm.. how about I drop you off and meet him when I drop you off." He smiles, knowing that that's a good suggestion.

You smile too. "Sure. That sounds like a good plan, Soda."

Steve Randle

Shelves don't restock themselves, so Steve was stocking them while complaining to you. You ate some chips he bought you while he ranted.

"I got this job so I could work on cars, not restock shelves." He told you.

"Do you want me to help you?" You offer.

"No, no. Its my job. And I don't need us both losing our minds cause of how boring this is."

You laugh. "Okay."

He finishes stocking everything in the box he had, so he goes into the back to get another. He kisses you before going.

You crumple up your empty bag of chips and look for a trash can to throw it away in. The bell by the door rings, meaning someone entered the gas station. You find a trash can and toss the chip bag from a short distance, but somehow, you miss. So, you bend down to pick it up.

And then you hear a whistle. You think it's Steve trying to tease you for a moment, until you turn around and see some random guy. He was smirking at you too. What the hell?

"What the hell?" A familiar voice asks angrily. You turn your head and see Steve walking over to you while glaring at the guy. "Why're you whistling at my girl?"

"Hey, man. I didn't know that she'd been claimed." He raises his hands.

Claimed? You scoff.

"Claimed? " Steve says, "She's a human being, not a, fucking parking spot or something. Why don't you get the hell outta my store." He crosses his arms.

The guys shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and huffs. "Whatever." Then he turns and leaves.

"Fucking asshole." Steve shakes his head then looks down at you. "You okay?"

You smile. "Yes, thank you."

He uncrosses his arms and reaches for your hand, taking it in his. "You don't have to thank me, baby."

Two-Bit Matthews

It was a chilly afternoon, and you and Two-Bit were walking around town together. You were wearing his jacket and his arm was around you. You were talking about random stuff and laughing together. The two of you had just left a diner and were now walking to your house.

You always had a blast when you were with Two-Bit. He was funny and surprisingly sweet. He made you feel lighter and just being around him calmed you down. He was familiar.

The two of talk about school, friends, life, anything that pops into your minds. All is going great until you pass a guy who's leans against the side of a building, smoking a cigarette. He whistles at you. A somewhat small sound that was absolutely unnerving. It immediately made you uncomfortable. And of course Two-Bit heard it and noticed your change in energy.

"Has that ever worked for you?" Two-Bit asks the guy angrily as he wraps his arm tighter around you.

"Huh?" The creep looks you the both of you.

"I said, 'has that ever worked for you?' Because I'm guessin' it hasn't." Two-Bit had stopped walking and was looking back at the guy.

"I- fuck off, man." He turns to leave.

"Leave girls like mine alone, wacko!" Two-Bit calls as the guy walks away. Then he turns his head to look at you. "I'm sorry, baby." He says.

"Oh, it's okay. I'm fine." You say as you two begin to walk down the sidewalk again.

"But it's not okay. Guys shouldn't be whistling at or cat calling you, baby. Ticks me off." He lets go of your waist and holds your hand.

You squeeze his hand, appreciating his concern and protection. "Thanks for standing up for me."

He shrugs. "Don't mention it, I owed you, you got lunch."

Dallas Winston

Dallas loves to show you off. He loves getting to let people know that you're his. He loves watching other guys disappointed faces when you're all over him.

You were hesitant to wear such a short skirt to the party at Buck's, but Dallas was quick to reassure you.

"You look absolutely gorgeous. Good enough to eat, doll." He held you from behind as you gazed into your mirror. So it was settled. You wore the skirt.

Unfortunately, that meant you got stares.

One man in particular had been staring at you all night. At first, you thought you were imagining things, seeing him the corner of your eye, but you kept making eye contact with him. It was making you uncomfortable.

"That guy over there is staring at me." You whisper to Dallas, peeking over your shoulder at him.

Dallas tightens his arm around your waist. He looks in the direction you're looking. He makes eye contact with the man, causing the man to look away.

"I'll talk to him."

Only Dallas Winston doesn't "talk" to people who have pissed him off, and he's clearly pissed off. Now, you'd be happy to see this guy get slugged, but you really didn't want Dallas getting into a fight. So, you grab his hand when he starts to walk away.

"Dallas–"

"I'm just gonna talk to him, I promise." He squeezes your hand then pulls his away. He walks over the man and you lag slowly behind him, really hoping this doesn't end in violence.

Dallas approaches him. "Hey man, my girl doesn't like being stared at by creeps like you. I think should you cut it out."

The man scoffs. "Maybe she shouldn't dress like a that then. I can look if I'd like."

"She can dress how ever the hell she pleases, doesn't give you any right to watch her like a fucking creep."

Oh boy was he getting mad. You walk up behind him and put your hand on his shoulder. "Dal, it's not worth it, c'mon."

The man smirks at you. "Well, hello sweet cheeks."

Ew. "Excuse me?" You say at the same time Dallas's fist lands on his face.

Johnny Cade

Johnny trusts you mote than anyone he knows, so why was he so worried? Sure, you'd hung out with a friend for yours that happened to be a guy and didn't tell him, but that guy's just your friend, right? Well, he better be. Johnny knows that he should talk to you about it, but he's not sure how to bring it up. Luckily, you do one day while walking through the park with him.

"Last weekend I went to see this movie, Viva Las Vegas, that new one with Elvis in it, with my friend Aaron. It was just okay." You say.

He hesitates then asks, "Who's Aaron?"

"My friend." You say simply.

A faint smile appears on his face from your answer. "Well, yeah, but who is he? Why're you going to the movies with him?" He feels awkward asking.

You can tell what he's thinking about, and you feel a bit guilty for making him worry. "Oh, it's nothing bad, I swear. Me, him, and this girl, Margaret– we were all three going to go together, but Margaret never showed. We learned on Monday that she'd been sick."

"Oh," he nods. "I mean, I don't really mind that you're hanging out with a guy alone. If it was Soda or Steve or Ponyboy, ya know, I wouldn't care. It's just cause I don't know him, that's all."

"Yeah." You pause then smile. "You were jealous." You tease as you take hold of his arm.

"I'm wasn't–" He pauses and looks at you. He sighs, "I was worried about you. I trust you, but I can't trust people I've never met."

You think quietly for a moment, then make a suggestion. "How about, next time we make plans, I'll ask if you can come, so you can meet him."

He smiles and nods. "Okay, that sounds perfect, sweetheart, thank you." He slips his arm out from your grasp and instead puts in around your shoulders. He pulls you in, towards him, and places a kiss on your forehead.

An: idk why this took so long. Please leave me more requests! The more specific, the more fun!

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darkredsugarcookie · 2 months ago

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Hi!! I’m new here so I’m sorry if I do this wrong. Just want to send some Thunderbolts!Bucky ideas maybe he called his girlfriend (the reader) for backup (maybe she’s a former shield agent) but didn’t share too many info with the group and they all a little surprised to find out he has a girlfriend

Let me know what you think, thanks!

i absolutely LOVE this!!! Ever since I saw Thunderbolts I've been thinking about almost this exact thing and I got another ask for something similar, so here we are! I'm also tempted to make a part two of this but focus on the two of them more and make it a comfort thing to apologize for my shame room fic LOL

love you 3000!

Signed Up For This

Word count: 1,143

As far as the media knew, the two of you were nothing more than acquaintances.

But it was a bond that had gone back a lifetime, from when the two of you had first met when you were fresh out of escaping the Red Room, to when he was the contact you had made to get a fresh start on life and he was in the process of trying to make amends with his existence, so he had offered to get coffee. “We both need some… new connections,” he had said, offering that awkward smile that you had fallen for almost as quickly as he’d fallen for you.

It was your idea to keep it a secret. You knew how he felt about weaknesses and you were currently the only one he really had. If anyone knew the truth… God, it terrified him. The idea of losing the one pure and right thing he’d gained in this side of the century drove him into a panic more often than he’d admit. So he was glad you had brought it up, worried you might be offended or think he was ashamed of you.

Which was what made him making you the head of his security when he decided to run for Congress a little out of the blue, but you took it. Any opportunity to be close. Plus… who said sneaking around at work was for teenagers?

But tonight, you had a different reason for asking to speak to him in private in the middle of the fundraiser gala. You knew that look on his face. That look that said he was plotting when he very much should not have been.

“What are you thinking?” you asked, peeking around the corner for a moment before your gaze fixed on him again. It was a miracle his hair had stayed in place, but there was a reason he always made you do it for him. “I can see that look.”

“What look?” he replied, that dumb grin you’d fallen for years ago pulling at his mouth. “I’m not thinking.”

“You are such a liar, James Barnes. I can see it. Whatever you’re thinking, leave it alone. We are past our meddling days.”

“I’m not meddling,” he said.

You tilted your head. “Do not let this stuff with Valentina get personal. You can’t afford to get in trouble with all this.”

“The politics don’t—”

“I’m not talking about politics,” you said. “I’m talking about you, Buck. We don’t know for sure what’s going on and we can’t act until we do. Otherwise we’ll be in just as much trouble as she is.”

“I talked to her assistant,” Bucky said.

“Her assistant? Mel?”

“Yes. She’s on the fence.”

“Okay. Tell her to call you when she’s made a decision. Don’t make it your job to change her mind,” you said, taking a step closer. He just stood there a moment, looking you over. Not in that ‘get in the office and take off that dress’ kind of way he normally did, but like he was just taking in your existence. “You told me that my job as your security is to keep you safe. But my job as your fiance is to make sure that we’re not making dumb decisions. Let Mel come to you.”

He nodded, reaching for your waist to tug your body closer. Normally you’d pull away in a setting like this, even hidden, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. Not now. Not when you had that feeling in your stomach that something was just off. And that feeling had never led you astray. “I just make your job harder, don’t I?” he said with a small, teasing smile.

“You do, but I signed up for it,” you replied.

“I’ll be good,” he said, nodding. “But… Mel’s just a kid. If she needs help—”

“Help her,” I said. “And if she needs more than that, call me.”

He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your mouth. “My best girl,” he whispered.

“Always.”

And you should’ve known after that conversation that it was only a matter of time. Within thirty-six hours, you were sent a pin drop link to some place in the middle of nowhere and a message that just said “need you.”

You’d tugged on that leather uniform jacket you hadn’t touched in a long time and braided back your hair before pulling up to some abandoned garage in the middle of nowhere, intel in hand. You could hear voices from inside, something about a “Bob” and exclamations of words you hardly understood.

You shoved through the rusted door, swiping up on the tab in your hands. “She took over the old Avengers tower,” you said, approaching and offering Bucky the tablet. “Heat signatures say she has the place crawling with security and I ran facial rec on the guy she brought in early this morning.”

“So guns blazing is the only way in,” Bucky said, reaching to squeeze your hand in a silent thank you.

You shrugged your shoulders. “Guess so,” you replied before turning to the abstract group of circus people tied up in front of you. And John. “What the hell happened here? Bucky, I told you to just leave Walker alone, he’s been through enough.”

“Who are you?” the little blonde in black asked. If you squinted, you might recognize her. Like some sort of really distant, childhood memory.

Bucky blew out a breath before you could answer. “She’s my fiance.”

“Your what?” came from all four of them.

“He’s married?” the brunette asked.

“In the process,” I corrected.

“How did that happen?” Walker muttered.

“Oh, that is cute!” the large one exclaimed, seeming to be way too happy considering the circumstance.

You glanced at Bucky, your arms folded over your chest. “This is… who was so important?”

“They’re witnesses,” Bucky said, giving you a look as if to tell you to be kind.

A sigh escaped your lips as you looked at the others. “Most ragtag team I’ve ever seen,” you said, shaking your head. “What, exactly, is the plan here?”

“Well, originally, they were my witnesses,” Bucky said, tucking his phone into his back pocket. “But now the agenda looks a little different. Take out Val, help Bob. Then we go home.”

“Bob?” You asked. “Like Robert?” You took the tablet from his hands and swiped it open. “Yeah, he’s a big deal now. If we’re gonna move, we need to do it fast.” You swapped a knowing look with Bucky as he nodded. “I’ll start the car.”

As you made your way towards the door, you heard the voices behind you.

“So you’re really not all bite, huh?” one of the girls said.

“Someone really does have a soft spot.”

“Isn’t that cute."

And despite yourself, a small smile pulled at your lips.

#fanfic #marvel #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #bucky x reader #marvel fanfiction #self insert #james bucky barnes #the avengers #thunderbolts #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #writing

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joeloverture · 2 years ago

Text

hook 'em horny | j.m. x f!reader

masterlist : coach!joel masterlist pairing: college football coach!joel miller x reader summary: [no outbreak] seeking petty revenge on your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you somewhere you shouldn't be — and then it lands you over the knee of his coach. warnings: (18+ mdni, don't make me say it again.) cheating done by a referenced oc, briefest mention of drugs, porn barely garnished with plot, age gap (22/52), smut, unprotected piv sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, potentially dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, daddy kink, sir kink, 'punishment' spanking, degradation, praise, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, joel spits on her ass but otherwise no butt stuff, mild choking, body writing, so many pet names of so many varieties, aftercare, surprisingly fluffy [no use of y/n] word count: 6.4k a/n: this is a crazy idea to have considering joel can hardly handle ellie. i don't think he'd be able to handle ~118 college-aged boys. however, the idea of football coach! joel is hot to me (i mean, seriously, look at those sluts on the sidelines) so i made it happen. on a serious note, i am so sorry to the unnamed university this is based on. i toured you. i'm legacy. but... joel miller. let's make it clear this is for entertainment purposes only. this is a fictional work about fictional people that does not reflect the school itself, which is a fine institution whose head coaches historically do not fuck students in the locker rooms. shoutout to my dad who, unknowing what this information would be used for, explained to me how he snuck into this stadium 3x. don't do that, either.

You can’t even remember the last time you made a good decision.

Your track record definitely isn’t the cleanest: you chose to go to school in Texas, and then chose to stay there for four years. Choosing to go to that frat party in late junior year wasn’t your brightest moment, either, evidenced by the resulting hangover from hell and, predictably, frat flu. All things considered, those choices pale in comparison to hooking up with their all-star quarterback, Lucas Scott.

Dirty-blonde, blue-eyed, muscled Lucas Scott. He’s the sort of guy who looks like an eight when you’re looking at him after a few shots of tequila and a four when you’re sober. The sort of guy who, after over a year of dating, makes you split the bill halfway after ordering the more expensive entree. Crowned as the most efficient, precise, and instinctive quarterback the Longhorns have ever had. Apparently that instinct hadn’t been enough to drive him away from dipping his wick in every sorority girl’s candle wax.

No matter how much post-orgasm Lucas panted into his ear that he loved you, you weren’t stupid enough to trick yourself into believing it. Staying with him was the easier choice, not yet wanting to reduce yourself to locker room talk. Walking in on him sloppily fucking some redhead nursing major was the breaking point. When it became less about you and more about your dignity.

So, yeah, you’ve never been one for making good decisions, and you certainly aren’t about to start now.

You thought breaking into the stadium would be some sort of monumental task. Trespassing here was normally reserved for campus rooftops and after-hours exploration, but once you’d gotten this batshit crazy idea in your head, you knew it wasn’t going to shake until you at least proved it couldn’t be done.

The open garage at the back of the building doesn’t help to deter you. It’s like there’s a welcome-mat outside saying, ‘Come on in and get what you deserve!’.

Who would you be to decline such a sincere invitation?

The garage is empty apart from some cushy golf carts, and the steel door behind them couldn’t be more tempting. If it’s locked, you tell yourself, you’ll go back to the dorm and forget about your incident of near-trespassing.

You take small steps to the door, testing the handle. It springs right open, and all thoughts of leaving dissipate from your mind.

Who leaves the garage open and forgets to lock the door? Probably people with just as little between their ears (and legs) as Lucas. You scoff in half-disbelief, half-luck as you close the door behind you.

The energy feels stagnant this late at night, no announcer on the loudspeaker or swarms of burnt orange hats and T-shirts standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Industrial lights flicker above, their hums loud enough to make you wonder if you have tinnitus. Concrete lines the hallways, interrupted by a few silver-painted pipes arranged in a labyrinth up against the walls. A few security cameras are pointed at you. Before going any further, you pause to raise the hood of your Longhorns sweatshirt.

Even if you should be, you aren’t in much of a rush; you amble about, really taking in the sterile ambiance of the empty stadium. You turn a few corners, going in what feels like the right direction. You figure you’re getting closer when you spot what looks like it could be a security tower. Crouching behind a trash can, you wait it out, trying to peer through the untinted windows to figure out if there’s anyone in there at all. When you’ve determined it’s unmanned and let out a shallow exhale, you go back up to full posture and keep wandering around unsupervised.

You know you’re in the right place when you find your toes hovering over a red line painted on the oil-stained concrete: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT.

Bingo.

Crossing that line without really thinking about it, you stick to your (so far) tried and true method of going wherever feels the most promising until you’re standing in front of the two black doors you were looking for. The door’s handle is an obnoxiously large longhorn, and you quite literally have to hook ‘em to get inside.

You’re starting to understand where the rest of the university’s funding is going when you walk into the locker room. After dating Lucas for a year, you know the football team is full of itself, but the Longhorniness of it all is… excessive. There’s the silhouette of the logo glowing on the goddamn ceiling, and if the jerseys the players are wearing on their digital nameplates isn’t enough of an indicator of who they play for, every backlit locker has a drawer with, you guessed it: a longhorn painted at the center. A brown vinyl couch wraps around the front of the room in direct view of a powered down videoboard that you can only assume replays highlight reels.

You roll your eyes. Again, your track record with decision-making isn’t the best, because you chose a school who puts every penny towards sweaty frat boys with brain damage from the amount of concussions they get.

And then you see it: a sign tacked onto the middle aisle of lockers that reads CORE VALUES. From top to bottom, HONESTY, TREAT WOMEN WITH RESPECT, NO DRUGS, NO STEALING, and NO WEAPONS. You have to physically clamp your jaw shut to restrict your laughter at the second one.

It doesn’t take you long to find what you’re looking for. Lucas Scott, #10.

His sweat-stained jersey hangs limply from the rack, and you eagerly tear it off, tossing it down onto the floor. Eager like a child ready to color outside the lines of a coloring book, you kneel down in front of it, pulling out the one thing you had prepared for tonight. A bold black Sharpie.

You pop the cap with your teeth, spitting it out somewhere on the floor as you start scribbling. Disguising your handwriting isn’t intentional, but you’re writing so carelessly and on such a foreign material that it comes naturally. Your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you work. In a year and a half, you’d never felt such satisfaction about — and certainly not from — Lucas.

TWO PUMP CHUMP along the side. FIVE INCHES FULL MAST on the other. CHEATER at the bottom. WHORE across the front.

A throat clears behind you. You drop the Sharpie, a blot of ink forming on the mesh. You startle backwards, scooting until your back hits that stupid longhorn drawer. You’re expecting a janitor, maybe a security guard if you’re extra unlucky.

That isn’t the worst of your options, apparently, because when you look up, it’s at Joel fucking Miller, head coach of the longhorn’s football team.

Your lower lip starts trembling, and that moment is when you decide maybe you need to start making good decisions. You’ve heard enough about Joel from Lucas to know he’s a total hardass. He could drag you by the ear to the dean and have you kicked out at the tail end of your second to last semester in this hellhole.

He glares down at you with his head cocked, hazel eyes far darker than they ever seem on TV. His scruff stipples his hardened jawline, lips thinned out like the worry lines pressed onto his forehead. If you were interested in digging yourself any deeper, you might stall to think about how good he looks: the faint trail of chest hair vanishing down into the neckline of his longhorns polo shirt, his fitted khakis, broad leather belt slung around his waist, and the slight bulge of tummy above it. You swallow hard and kick yourself for it.

“What exactly,” Coach Miller drawls, voice syrupy and sticky. “do ya think you’re doin’?”

Your mouth moves, but no words come out. He doesn’t seem very amused, his muscled arms crossing over his wide torso.

Joel shakes his head. “Ain’t a good look for you, hun, scrawlin’ that chicken scratch all over my QB’s jersey. Could get a real ugly charge for that.”

Heart crashing into your ribcage, you bite down on your lip. “I can pay the damages,” you blurt out.

He sizes you up all over again, eyes dragging up and down your body. They linger on your chest for a few extra seconds that you’re convinced that you just made up. “Can you, sugar? ‘Cause to me, looks like you’re the type to be chasin’ tips at whatever joint hires you.”

You don’t have the bandwidth to be as offended as you should be, especially because he’s right. You settle for glowering at him instead. A huff of laughter pinches out of him. “You give everyone you vandalize that blue look? Or is that lil’ number jus’ because you found out Lucas really ain’t that loyal?” With ease, Joel bulldozes over whatever thinning resolve you have remaining.

“What’s that sign over there say? ‘Treat women with respect’?” You say. Joel’s backlit like all of those over budgeted lockers behind him. You squint your eyes. “You know that’s fucking bullshit. So what if I give him a taste of his own medicine when he’s been a minute man for every girl with a pulse on this campus?” You cap your Sharpie and clip it back onto your collar and get to your feet. So much for good decisions. “Fuck right off with that.”

“Hey, hey. Down, hun.” Joel holds his hands out to you, and you notice just how heavily you’ve been breathing, just how close you are to him. “Never said you were wrong. Kid’s a fuck up in all sorts ‘a ways. But I don’t like how you’re mouthin’ off at me, Miss Priss. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in dire need of a spankin’ to set you right.”

Your breath cuts short and your cunt bottoms out without your permission. You don’t need a mirror to know your eyes just went glassy, your lips parted as your mouth goes desert dry. As discreetly as you can manage, you squeeze your thighs together.

Joel doesn’t miss it. You can tell from the moment his brows raise and his eyes sparkle, the corner of his mouth picking up a smidge. “Oh, yeah? That do somethin’ for ya, hun? Nasty little girl.” There’s a dangerous, uneven grit to his voice that has arousal burning like a candle in your stomach, the wax of your arousal syrupy against your thighs already.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Fuck.

“No,” you breathe out stubbornly, but you’ve already given yourself away, even to yourself. The insides of your thighs are molten, twitching with every throb of your clit between your legs. That flush of warmth from your pelvis is spreading, overheating.

Joel tuts. “You really think that? You can whine all you want ‘bout wantin’ respect, but at the end ‘a the day, you just wanna be treated like some whore, huh?” And, yeah, he has you figured out, has you in the palm of his hand. Even though you have no idea what someone like him could do to someone like you, you want him to do it. You want to find out. “I’ll tell ya what, sugar, you walk outta here right now and nobody but me’s gonna know you came pitchin’ a hissy fit in my locker room.”

You frown at that, a small arc of your pouty lips that has Joel’s eyes gleaming.

“Or,” he says. “You can pull those wet fuckin’ panties down – don’t gimme that look, I know they are – and I can give ya a real lesson in respect.” He shrugs, hands going to his waist as he looks you up and down.

He knows he has you the same way you know, but you aren’t just going to give in that easily. You flare your nose and counter, “If there’s nothing keeping me here other than a firm hand, why should I stay?”

He’s looking at you like he wants to take you apart. His fingers jump against his hips for the opportunity to break you down.

“Sweetness,” Joel shakes his head as if it’s obvious. “if you let me, I could make you feel good. I’m guessin’ you got some vibrator sittin’ in the back of your desk drawer to use when your roommate’s out ‘n about, but you don’t wanna use that tonight, do ya? You want the real thing, hun, and I’d give it to ya real nice once I teach ya to behave.”

There it is again: Coach Joel Miller has you all figured out. Every syllable he says is doomed to send another shiver up your spine, and damn it, fuck playing coy.

You’re too busy tearing off your hoodie to think about how unsexily dressed you are, but the rushed nature of your actions punches a chuckle out of Joel. “Eager thing.” You’re halfway through kicking your shoes and leggings off when he saunters over to the couch, plopping down on the edge and patting his broad, khaki-covered thigh. Your mouth waters when you look back and see just how much the fabric strains against his leg. “Whenever you’re ready, hun.”

You waddle over to him, stripped down to the basics of your sports bra and everyday panties. It’s the furthest thing from erotic, but the way he’s looking at you isn’t. It’s primal and ravenous, enough to have you forgetting all about how you’d even gotten there in the first place. He licks his lips as he trails his eyes all over you, darkening a couple of shades when he looks at your cleavage. “Lucas is a fuckin’ idiot, baby.”

“Knew that already,” you mumble.

He pats his thigh again, bounces his leg. “C’mon, over my knee like the good girl I know you can be. Hurry up and I’ll only give ya five.”

You shuffle forward, relishing in the rubbing of your thighs that comes from it. He’s sitting on the corner of the couch at the perfect angle for you to rest your head on the arm. It doesn’t take any more convincing for you to put yourself over his lap, not that he needed to do much in the first place. You feel so much smaller than him. Your ass is up for him to do whatever he’d like to; it’s a tantalizing feeling you hadn’t gotten out of any intimacy – if you could call it that — with Lucas.

“Mmmmmm,” Joel groans as he runs a hand between your legs. He rubs at your slit through the soaked gusset of your panties. You can’t stop the way your hips buck, or the pitiful shout that jumps off your lips when he pins you down by the small of your back, robbing you of any friction. Between one arousal-riddled breath and the next, Joel tugs your panties off and flings them to the side. You know how it feels, tacky and cold on your core and thighs, so you can only imagine how it must look. Joel gives you a pretty good idea when he reveres, “Goddamn, pretty cunt is throbbin’ for it.”

He pulls apart your folds and you think you hear him lick his lips above you before he lets them go. The schlick noise your dripping pussy makes is nothing less than pornographic. Joel gropes you carefully, kneads the skin of your ass like you have all the time in the world. Under his ministrations, it’s easy to melt into the couch, forgetting why you’re there in the first place until his palm cracks down on your ass cheek.

The stinging impact has a slurred hnnnngh leaving your lips, and a fresh gush of wetness between your legs to accompany it. You keep your head tucked into the sanctuary of your folded arms, eyes squeezed shut so tight you swear you’re seeing stars. Joel’s quick to rub the spanked patch of skin, his palm soothing his ache. “That’s one, baby.” You nod into your arms. “Think you can take four more?” Another nod.

“I need to hear ya, hun. C’mon, head up f’me.” He taps the side of your cheek, and you prop your cheek up on your forearm. “Think you can take four more?” he repeats.

Your voice hitches, courtesy of the beating that echoes in your chest and between your legs. “Y-yes…”

When the second hit lands, you don’t expect it. You flinch away from his hand when it comes down with a clap that leaves you squirming in his lap. “Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you whine out, back arching. Although a punishment, that spank has the same effect as the last: a live wire of arousal strung from your spine to your cunt.

“Takin’ it well,” he praises, squeezing your ass cheeks together. “Sure didn’t expect anyone to come crawlin’ in when I left that garage open, ‘specially not some slut like you with an ass that needs a spankin’ six ways to Sunday.” Just as quick as he can build you up, he can take you down a notch, but you can’t mind when it has you moaning all the same. “Oh, she likes that,” Joel clicks.

He rubs your ass again, and you’re bracing yourself for that next strike, pulled stiff with an arousing, anticipatory sort of fear. Only when you convince yourself it isn’t coming do you let all of that tension flood out of your body — and that’s when Joel smacks his hand across your far-too-trustworthy ass.

You cry out, pouting over your shoulder at Joel, who has a proud smirk drawn all over his face. You don’t even feel your hips rocking down, seeking whatever pleasure you can get until he reprimands, “Ruttin’ against my fuckin’ leg, now, huh? Don’t pretend you don’t like this.”

With a particularly good grind of your hips, you feel his bulge pressing into your thigh. From a mere graze alone, you can tell it’s huge. A whimper tears out of you at the same time he groans above you. “You got nothin’ to prove, ain’t gonna change the fact you’re a slut who needs to get spanked ‘n stuffed to talk ‘er into behavin’ a bit.”

“Can’t even follow your own rules,” you huff, apparently still interested in shooting yourself in the foot even when Coach Miller has you ass-up over his knee.

“Don’t see how you care…” Joel slides a hand down between your legs. He rubs at your clit, an intense pressure that has you wanting more and less all at the same time, before dragging a thick finger across your opening. Arousal squelches between your legs and your hips jump – a dead giveaway to just how turned on you are, whether you like it or not. “when it gets you this turned on,” he finishes. Then that same finger is prodding at your mouth, glistening with your wetness. You whimper before tasting yourself, sucking obediently on his finger until he pulls away with a pop.

You sulk, “Don’t act like I can’t feel you ripping a hole in your jeans, Miller–”

The fourth spank is the hardest by far. The skin of your ass feels bitten by Joel’s ‘firm hand’. It’s the kind of hit that makes your legs kick in his lap and your fingers clutch in the couch’s arm for purchase. You wail, “Daddy!” Pain disappears from your mind when you realize what exactly you just said, quickly replaced by the churning coolant of embarrassment. If you were paying attention to anything else other than the shame suddenly inhabiting your chest, you might’ve been able to feel the twitch of his cock in his pants.

“Daddy, huh?” Joel hums, rubbing your hurt ass with one hand while the other strokes your shoulder. You bury your face back in your arms as an apology takes shape in the back of your throat. “Lucas your daddy, too?”

“No!” You squeak, adjusting in his lap. The hood of your clit catches on the rough material of Joel’s pants. Unable to stop yourself, you hump his knee again, shallow rolls of your hips. You can still feel his hardness against you. Needily, you tip your head up, panting as foggy pleasure hangs over your head.

“Stop makin’ a mess of daddy’s dress pants, baby, unless you wanna be on your knees, lickin’ it up.” You keen, and he chuckles knowingly. “Shoulda known, little whore like you gets off on that.”

Joel gives you a longer reprieve between the fourth and fifth spank. Instead, he strokes your ass and asks, “One more gonna be enough to set you straight, sweetheart?”

“Y..yes daddy,” you whimper. He hums in approval.

You shift back and forth, waiting for it to come — and when it does, it’s softer. It’s by no means a love pat, but it pales in comparison to his previous work. You still sniffle, squeezing your thighs together as he coos, “I know, I know. Poor baby, actin’ all high ‘n mighty. Can’t be on her high horse when she’s over Daddy’s knee.” Gentle, he pats your ass and guides you on all fours at the edge of the couch. He hums in approval. “See? Not throwin’ a hissy fit anymore. She’s all nice ‘n obedient when you get ‘er to act right.”

Joel spreads your pussy with his thumbs, and you hear the vulgar noise of him collecting his saliva before you feel his spit landing on your clenching hole. You’ve never felt so empty, not when your bottom drawer vibrator is buzzing against your core, definitely not when Lucas fucks you in the same old missionary. Whimpering for him, you arch your back to try to rub against his crotch.

“Quit your whinin’,” he snips, his thumb finding your clit in one swipe. Joel’s touch is firm, but not too firm, just enough to make your hips push down with a need only he’s ever made you feel.

Without warning, his middle finger slides inside of you, thick and calloused and so, so right. “Fuckin’... tight.” Another slides in as he starts scissoring you open, apparently satisfied enough when he crooks his fingers deep in your cunt. Instantly, he catches that spongy spot that you can never reach on your own. You nearly crumple with the sensation, limbs going weak and buckling. “That the spot?” he asks, but he already knows.

“Mhm,” you moan, chin instinctively tucking against your chest as if you can get away from the pleasure he’s giving you, as if you’d ever want to.

Then — he stops.

His fingers sit heavy inside of you, so close to where you need them to go. “What the fuck, Joel?”

"Baby, s’that how you get what you want?” He rubs your thigh with his free hand and gives it a quick swat. “Help daddy out, tight girl. I'm not just gonna let you get away with bein’ a spoiled brat. Work yourself on my fingers."

You’re putty in the palm of his hand – malleable, docile for him to treat or mistreat you however gets him hard. You whine, punching your hips back nonetheless. Grinding down, down, down, your cunt unresisting when he gives you another finger. It’s crude, the way you moan for him.

Even though he’s hardly doing anything, just the hand you’re getting yourself off on, that all-consuming strain in your body only gets stronger. “Daddy – close, please…”

“Attagirl, atta-fuckin’-girl, give it to me.” He rewards you with a press of his fingers against that golden spot inside of you. Your orgasm splinters through you, an ecstasy-charged mist fanning over your body. Your release runs down Joel’s hand and your thighs with every clench of your cunt, like you’ve been skinned and set ablaze by your own desire. You fall forward on the couch, no longer able to hold yourself up, arms a tangled mess as you gasp into the cushion. “You come so pretty, baby. Messy pussy, too. Soaked me up to my goddamn elbow.”

You’re still reeling from the best orgasm you’ve had in months, maybe ever, when you hear obscene slurping noises from behind you. You cast a look at him, your arousal returning with a vigor at the sight of Joel sucking his fingers clean. He groans at the taste, and you swear you see his cock jump in his khakis. Stomach warped with desire, you’re about to plummet off of the very dangerous edge of doing just about anything for him right now.

“Please fuck me, daddy,” you plead, and in any other position, with any other person, it might be mortifying, something worth clutching your pearls over. But this is Coach Joel Miller, the last person you ever expected to be fucking, giving you the best fuck you never expected.

“There’s those manners,” Joel praises, leaning over you to press a brief kiss to your shoulder blade. You can smell your release on his lips, a sweet smell that’s so distinctly you. He eases off of you, presumably to take off his pants. There’s the shuffling of fabric, and when he returns to your side, you’re disappointed to find he hasn’t even unbuckled his belt.

You pout at him again, still desperate to get your way. Eye-level with his bulge, you’re salivating over it. You had made a mess of his dress pants, a wet spot formed just above his knee, taunting you. You lick your lips.

“Think it’s only fair,” he says, looming over you. He’s holding the Sharpie you’d brought along with you. Your brows furrow as you look up at him through your lashes. “If I give ya the same treatment you gave his jersey.” His gaze is cocky as he pops the cap with his thumb, giving the marker a twirl.

Oh.

It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. Nothing about this should turn you on as much as it does, yet here you are, in a puddle of your own sweat and cum, itching for the next thing he gives you. And if it’s marking up your body before he fucks your brains out, so be it.

He nudges his head, gesturing for you to get down on your stomach. You lift your knees up and flatten yourself out on the cushions. The vinyl sticks and pulls from your skin as you get where he wants you. A soft, surprised noise leaves you when he straddles your thighs, his clothed cock nudging at your seam.

“Holy fuck,” you breathe out, because it’s the only phrase you can think of that even holds a candle to what all of this has become.

A laugh fans out from under his breath as he starts at your freshly spanked, raw ass. The Sharpie is cold and foreign, tugging at your skin as he inks you up. “Gotta make sure you match before I dick you down, don’t I? What is it you wrote on his jersey? ‘Whore’? Between the two ‘a ya, I woulda put my money on you for that one.”

If that wasn’t enough indication, you figure out what he’s doing by the time he gets to the right cheek, what feels like an ‘R’ taking shape across your ass. He finishes the ‘E’ and sets down the Sharpie for a moment, his meaty palms spreading your ass. It still thrums with the afterglow of his spanking. You don’t think you can throb any more than you already are, but then he spits on you for the second time that night, this time landing it on your puckered asshole. A gasp flutters from your lips as you grind down into the couch, his spit dripping down your folds.

“See? Real whorish, fuckin’ my couch.” He taps your ass for good measure. “Asshole makes a perfect fuckin’ ‘O’, baby. Looks a whole lot better than that chicken scratch shit you put on his jersey.” You think maybe, just maybe, he’ll dismount you and pull his cock out, but instead he keeps writing, scribbling on your back and upper thighs. Every pull of your skin under the bleeding ink has you aching for him.

When he’s content with his work, he lifts off of you, hands fumbling to undo his belt. It snaps apart, dangling open around his waist as his hands open up his khakis. “You let Lucas fuck that sweet lil’ cunt raw?” he asks.

“No, I don’t,” you admit, unable to tear your eyes away from his cock as he pulls it out, and fuck you. Your eyes don’t even feel big enough to take all of him in, and you have no idea how you’re going to fit him between your legs. You almost go cross-eyed at the sight of it, his head leaking precum.

“Thought so. You gonna let me fuck it raw?”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathe out, drool pooling in your mouth at the thought of having him inside of you, having him inside of you bare. Yet another thing you never gave to Lucas in a year of disappointing sex, but are eagerly giving up to Joel.

“Gotta be a real nasty slut,” Joel says, returning to his place atop your thighs, his thick ones framing yours. Your breath hitches when you feel the weight of his cock gliding through your ass cheeks and down to your cunt. “to let your ex-boyfriend’s coach bareback ya in the locker room.” A heady gasp tears from you when the head of his cock bumps your clit. He teases you — his cock, slippery with a combination of your arousal, skating from your clit to your spasming opening, not quite nudging in.

“Daddy, please – I need it… need you to fuck me, fuck me–”

He doesn’t make you wait any longer.

When he pushes in, it knocks the air out of your lungs. The only proof that you’re still breathing is when you let out a pitchy, desperate moan. Joel grunts, teeth gritted as he flattens himself down against your spine so he can roll his hips into yours. The pain of his size becomes an afterthought just as quickly as the pain of your spanking, dwarfed by the pleasure he gives you just as easily.

“Fuuuuck,” Joel groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and shoulder. Inch at a time, he works you open, grinding his hips into your opening. “Could you be any goddamn tighter?” He bites at your neck from behind with every rock of his hips into yours until he bottoms out.

“Big,” is all you manage to squeak out as he hauls you back on his cock, already prodding your g-spot with his head. Your eyes roll back as you clench around him.

His fingers go up to run circles around your shoulder, soothing you, grounding you when his cock has you anything but. “Mmm, I know, I know. You can take it. All whores can.” With that, Joel starts fucking you, really fucking you, a punishing, relentless pace where he pulls out entirely before filling you to the brim. Each snap of his hips into yours fills the locker room with shameless sounds, the mere background to your depraved moans.

“Never had your pussy stretched by a man double your age before, huh?��

“N–no! Never… never had my pussy stretched mu…much at all–”

Joel slams into you, laughs at the strained noise that you make. “Yeah? Those dumbfucks on my team not doin’ it for ya, baby?” You don’t answer, don’t think he’s expecting one until his hand wraps around your front, forearm pressed firm against your tits. His thick hand wraps lightly around your neck, jostling you. It’s not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he has over you. The power you allow him to have. It’s invigorating. Everything about him is.

Moans spurt out of you as you fumble to answer, “No da– daddy! You — ah! — do it for m–me!”

“And what do you say for that? For goin’ outta my way to show you what a real fuck is?”

“Thank you, Daddy!” you cry out. You’re spilling down his thighs, the wet suction of your pussy around his cock making noises more vulgar than you’ve ever heard in porn.

His hand squeezes again at your neck, and you feel floaty, a bubble just waiting to pop. Pleasure dances in every one of your veins, every nerve ending burning like a match that he keeps striking ablaze.

“There you go, desperate slut just needs a freshly spanked ass, a good dickin’ down, and a hand ‘round her throat to behave.” Joel’s pace stays just as harsh, crushing your g-spot with his cock. “Should keep you back here for when we lose, tie you to the goddamn desk. Let my staff take turns with you, see how much crybaby you have left in ya when a dozen men’s loads are drippin’ outta your reamed fuckin’ cunt. Bet you like it when men use you.” The whine that almost gags you on its way out is enough to confirm it.

If he keeps talking to you and the wind blows the right way on your clit, you know you’ll be coming. You’re wringing out his cock with every flutter of your pulsing pussy. The beginning embers of your orgasm turn into a wildfire when he wedges his free hand down between your legs, rubbing messy circles into your sloppy clit. “Fuck, please, please, please,” you sob out, too riddled with pleasure to care about how pathetic you sound or look as you hump his hand while he pounds you.

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby.” Joel rasps, nipping at your ear. The hand around your throat falls fully to your chest, pressing you solid against him so he can fuck deeper, deeper, deeper. It’s enough to make you scream, hands clawing and scratching down his muscular grip on you. “C’mon, hun, give it to me, come on my cock, fuck.”

With another thrust, he has you pushed right down onto his fingers, rubbing and flicking you every which way. It’s all you need to come undone, your second orgasm of the night unlatching through you like something forked and angry, battering your sore limbs until there’s nothing left of it or you. You’re a mess, spit oozing down your chin as you slur “thank you daddy” like a broken record, thighs clamping around nothing.

Joel groans as you clench around his cock and continues his relentless pace, hips slapping against yours. The hand he’d been using to rub your clit migrates to your tits, grazing and then thumbing and then tugging lightly your nipples. “There it is, told ya you could be a good girl. Lettin’ your daddy use this cunt to get off, lettin’ me use you. I’m fuckin’ close, baby, where do you want me?”

And you want it even if you shouldn’t, want his cum deep inside of you, want it to leak out into your panties as you walk back to your dorm. You’re still no good at making decisions, too fucked out to tell right from left when you beg, “I–inside, fuck, come inside me, daddy, please.”

Joel practically growls at that, thrusts losing their steadiness as his hips jump and he hurtles towards his release. “Yeah, you’re a goddamn whore, beggin’ for this cum. And you’re gonna fuckin’ take it, yeah… fuckin’ take it.” He slams all the way into you for the last time before shooting his cum into your cunt, swearing and moaning. Breathing like he’s run a mile, he goes slack on top of you, pets the back of your head while he comes down from the exhilaration of his high.

With a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he rises, and the fantasy is over. His cock slips from your pussy, and you feel hollow with the loss. This is where he tucks himself back into his pants, runs a hand back through his hair, tells you to never show your face in his stadium again, and shoves you out the door.

And he does: tucks his softening cock into his boxers, zips up his khakis, does his belt, tames his post-sex head of hair. You wince even if you expected it, leaning down over the edge of the couch to grab your hoodie, already moving to tug it over your head.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Joel asks, and his tone sounds much more different than the first time he’d asked you. He sounds offended. You blink confusedly, dazedly at him with your arms halfway through the armholes. “Let me clean you up, hun.” Joel side-steps the pile of your leggings and shoes, adjusting the hoodie on your arms and pulling it down your torso. “I know Lucas ain’t done you right, but you deserve to be taken care of, pretty girl.” Your heart pinches in a way that it shouldn’t, not for a hookup with your ex-boyfriend’s coach.

You shift, and he can’t help but look back between your legs where his cum escapes your hole. He manages to pry his eyes away, but not without licking his lips first. “I’ll be right back, baby. Promise.”

When he’s back, it’s with a damp rag. He crouches down in front of you, taking it to the apex of your thighs and wiping away the combination of your releases, careful not to nudge your sensitive clit. He kisses your thigh gently before pulling back, folding the towel on the arm of the couch you’d been crying into just a few minutes ago.

Joel shimmies your ruined panties up your thighs, followed by your leggings. You let him, breath cut like a snipped wire from the sheer intimacy of it all, intimacy you’d lacked with Lucas even after a year of trying. You’d stayed with him for comfortability at your own expense. How stupid could you have been?

Joel pats your knee, eyes soft and weirdly sincere as he looks at you. “I’m sorry about Lucas, honey, but I meant it when I said you deserve to be taken care of.” He rubs the back of his neck before holding something out to you. A business card, his work number plastered in bold sans-serif font across the bottom. “I know this is in reverse ‘n all, but I’d really like to take you out and treat you right, if you’ll let me.”

Saying yes is your first good decision in a while.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller/f! reader #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic

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lvrclerc · 4 months ago

Text

✶ UNTIL SUNRISE

summary: you and charles broke up a year ago ─ it was messy, brutal, but not unexpected. what was unexpected, though, was to see each other at a monaco party thrown by your socialite friend. between champagne, stolen stares and bittersweet regrets, things left unsaid come back to haunt the both of you.

F1 MASTERLIST | CL16 MASTERLIST | PT2: UNTIL SUNSET

pairing: charles leclercﾉex!f!reader

wc: 7k

cw: angst, bittersweet, smut (oral f!receiving, p in v, unprotected - mdni!), second chance, exes to lovers, reader is BITTER, accurate french, ocs for plot purpose, english is not my first language

a/n: the weeknd the party & the afterparty on repeat, while there is smut it's entirely skippable! if you just want to read the clean vers beginning and end will be marked by bolded words :) i'll still ask minors not to interact

DRENCHED IN SUNSET, Monaco glistened under waves of gold and orange, highlighting the marble of its buildings and the shine of the coast. The streets bustled with laughter dangerously mixed with the motor of fast cars and the crash of the waves. The air smelled like salt, and the tall buildings of the city centers looked like lazy Saturday afternoons spent losing yourself in the neverending streets. Monaco was a country of fast heartbeats and taken chances, and for a time now long past, it felt like home.

It didn’t anymore. As you stepped out of the car, you couldn’t feel more like a stranger.

You thanked the driver with a small smile and a generous tip before he turned around and drove away. The marble structure in front of you shone as the last ray of the sun caressed it ─ it was the stuff of wonder: tall windows and ancient Italian architecture. Your friend, Bridget, always knew how to go all out, but this time she had every right. It was her engagement party after all. You felt ridiculously small as the butlers opened the massive doors when you entered. Monaco and you had been estranged for more than a year now, you should be used to the feeling, but the bitter taste of heartache and tears was stuck in your throat like glue as you made your way up the stairs to the reception.

Enough of that, you thought, you came to celebrate your friend and her fiancé. You came to have fun, not to dwell on the past. You clutched your purse, plastered on a bright smile, and blended in the crowd.

Bridget didn’t make the guest list with a nimble hand, that was for sure. The room was swarming with people, all dressed to the nines, some you did and didn’t recognize. You fit in amazingly well, your dress sweeping the floor and the warm air hitting your bare back, a delicate necklace dropping between your shoulder blades. Soft jazz echoed against the walls, and conversations and champagne flowed as you took laps around the room searching for Bridget.

You knew she found you first when her hands wrapped around your waist in a bear hug. “You came!” She yelled in your ear.

A surprised screech escaped you while your friend twirled around you in ecstasy, all in silky white and tanned skin. Guests turned around, laughing at her antics, while the first real smile out of your evening broke your stunned expression. “What made you think I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know!” Bridget stood in front of you, holding you by the forearms as if she were afraid you’d run away. “You just─ We haven’t talked a lot the past year, and you moved out. I thought that maybe you didn’t want to come back here.”

Your chest tightened a little at her self-consciousness. Leaving was necessary, and you had found a semblance of peace by doing so, but you might have neglected a few connections in the meantime. Bridget included. “I know I haven’t been as present as I should have been, but there was no way I would have missed your engagement party,” you reassured her. “It’s just that with everything that happened, I needed some time to think. But I’m here now! We can celebrate properly. Where’s Jaime?” Her fiancé, soon-to-be husband.

The glimmer of happiness your consolation brought to Bridget’s eyes vanished as soon as you mentioned the events that caused your sudden disappearance. It had that effect on people. Nobody had expected it, except maybe you and the other party involved. “About that… the whole thing… there’s something I need to tell you about tonight, Y/N…”

“There you are, Bree! Look who I found trying to sneak his way to the piano.” You and Bridget turned at the sound of Jaime’s voice ─ and the second he came into view, the blood in your veins turned icy.

Because behind him was the reason you moved out of Monaco. Dressed in a sharp black suit with the trademark red tie around the collar of his shirt, his hair an artful mess of brown, the green eyes that promised you so much widening in recognition.

Charles Leclerc, your ex-boyfriend─ no, scratch that, the ex-love of your life, stood before you, champagne in hand, and you were mentally back in the threshold of his apartment a year ago, where your life fell apart in the slamming of a door.

You didn’t miss the way his knuckles tightened around the glass, nor how his pace faltered behind Jaime when he set his eyes upon you. The overwhelming distance between the two of you, whether physical or emotional, still stabbed you in the stomach.

You shouldn't have been surprised he was invited. He was one of Jaime's closest friends, they had known each other for years. There was a small part of you who knew but didn't want to face the possibility of Charles being here. Now, it was way more than a possibility.

The four of you went quiet. Bridget bit her lip, Jaime awkwardly stepped from one foot to the other, aware of what he’s caused, Charles’ eyes were stuck on you, almost transfixed. The air in the room became scarce, almost impossible for you to grasp fully: your world was limited to Charles. Apparently, a year was not near enough to swallow down the hurt and the gaping hole he left in you.

You couldn’t let the silence go on longer or you’d drown. Almost as a reflex, a fabricated smile made its way to your face and the split second of hurt across your face disappeared. “Doesn't surprise me at all!” You glanced at Charles, and the fake sympathy in your voice seemed to startle him out of his trance. “Well, don't let me keep you longer, Bridget. You have guests to attend to. Jaime, it was really nice to see you again. Now if you'll excuse me.”

You didn't stick around for any reactions. The bar at the other end of the room was practically screaming your name and if you were to survive tonight, you needed something stronger than champagne. Fighting to get out of the suffocating sphere around Charles, you almost dropped your whole weight on the red-cushioned stool, startling the bartender. “Can I have an Espresso Martini? Don't go easy on the vodka. Please.”

You barely had time to sip the sugary drink when the cocktail got in your hand before a dark, warm amber perfume you knew all too well grazed your nose and swallowed you whole, heart with it. Shutting your eyelids tight, you took a deep breath.

“I didn't expect to see you here,” Charles said.

He put his back against the bar, sipping from his champagne flute and carefully avoiding the distrusting glance you threw his way as if he wasn’t the one striking up a conversation with you. You couldn’t help the venom in your voice when you answered. “Well, Monaco’s not that big.” You wished it was. It would have been less painful to come back, to feel him so close to you ,and to still react to it.

That made him look your way, at least. Charles almost looked pained but quickly regained his usual composure. You graced him with a half smile, trying to sweeten your words. “And I wouldn’t miss Bridget’s engagement party.”

He chuckled at that, swirling the bubbly liquid in his glass. “We did play a big role in that happening, it would’ve been a shame.”

Yes, you did. After you and Charles got together, it was only a matter of time before both of your friend groups merged ─ friendships were extremely important to the both of you, and there was no way it was going to work if you didn’t get to know them at some point. During a dinner Charles organized for your birthday, you both noticed how Charles’ friend Jaime was making eyes at your friend Bridget, and how Bridget seemed to laugh a little too loud when he was around. Next thing you knew, you two were playing Cupid between muted giggles and stolen kisses. Not even a year later they were engaged.

And you and Charles weren’t anything anymore. The memory erased the sweetness of the sugar in your cocktail and left you with a bitter aftertaste. You didn’t want to remember anymore. It hurt too much.

“Yeah, well, looks like they’re doing much better on their own.”

You threw your head back and downed the end of your drink. If Charles wanted to answer anything, he swallowed it back, preferring to watch you with the same calculation he used on the track. For the second time in your life, you felt like a statistic in his life. The double dose of vodka you ordered was starting to wreak havoc on your empty stomach, and acidic words flew out before you could stop them. “So, still driving like you have something to prove?”

A flash of hurt distorted his delicate traits, but he didn’t miss a beat. “Still running away from your problems?”

Silence stretched between the two of you, letting the words marinate in the air. Music and chatter were getting louder but the only thing you could hear was the sharp sting of his words. You signaled the bartender for another drink ─ bad idea, but again, everything you were doing right now didn’t exactly fit in the good decision category. “That’s rich,” you laughed humorlessly, “coming from the guy who spent months pretending I didn’t exist.”

He exhaled sharply. “Don’t act like you were the only one hurting.”

“Oh, I’m sorry─ did I ruin your life by walking away? Because I remember doing it and you just─” you gestured vaguely, “letting me.”

“And what, you expected me to beg?”

Your fresh drink barely even grazed your lips before you slammed it down on the bar. The room was suddenly too loud, too crowded, too suffocating. “No, Charles, I expected you to care.” You despised how your voice broke at the end of your sentence.

That lands. His facade crumbled ever-so-slightly, enough for you to see the vulnerability you became all too familiar with. The regrets rippling in your stomach did not correlate with the words you spew out. Charles took a step closer, and suddenly his expensive cologne and something so distinctively him overwhelm you. “You think I didn’t?” Barely contained frustration curled around every syllable, his voice an octave lower. “You think it didn’t kill me to watch you go?”

“If it really killed you, you would’ve stopped me.”

His gaze dulled, and the fingers around his glass twitched. “And if you really wanted to stay, you wouldn’t have left.”

The words settled between the two of you like a live wire, buzzing and electrifying. Charles’ eyes scrutinized yours, and as he put his empty flute of champagne on the counter, you couldn’t stand how your pulse stuttered when his fingers grazed yours. The same hand flexed by his side.

Whatever anger you felt when you started spewing venom at him slowly died down, replaced by something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Acerbic regrets, maybe, mixed with the wet outrage of misplaced resentment. Your limits were drawn at the emptiness of your stomach, the hum of the vodka in your veins, and the hollow of Charles' pupils when he looked at you.

You no longer knew what it meant, and you weren’t sure you could handle the uncertainty.

“We shouldn’t be doing this at Bridget’s party,” you murmured. “She deserves to have a good night. Jaime too.”

“You’re right.” He looked at the ground, and you swore his eyes were shining. “Is there even a right time to do this?”

“There’s none for us. Not anymore, at least. You missed your opportunity a year ago.”

You slowly slid a bill toward the waiter, took your cocktail, and carefully avoided looking at Charles as you walked away. You’d have to shorten your time at this party if you wanted to survive it. Bridget would understand ─ she always did. Something cruel in the back of your mind wondered if Charles would do too.

Most of your time was spent mingling with old friends and acquaintances. You answered the same questions with the same smile and tone for each of them: Yes, you needed a fresh start, that’s why you left. No, you were at peace with your current situation, it was a clean slate. Maybe you’d want to join them for dinner, one day. No, you didn’t care Charles was there tonight, not at all.

Yet, you were painfully aware of the Monegasque’s presence. It was a magnetic pull, in the way you wanted to avoid him like the plague but neither of you could stray too far away: you were both orbiting around each other, far enough for your heart to settle but too close for comfort. It wasn’t enough ─ you didn’t know which one you were talking about.

You found Bridget after another good hour of waltzing around the room, and she dropped on you with a flurry of apologies about not telling you sooner, that she learned last minute Charles was coming. You laughed it off to reassure her, but the truth was that you were already ready to leave. A minute spent there was one more minute dipping your toes in a dangerous type of nostalgia. You didn’t feel capable of handling it any longer.

But you did promise Bridget to stay until the slow dance.

It was fairytale-like, how the jazz music and the incessant rumbling of conversation turned into soft piano and hushed whispers as Jaime and she stepped onto the dance floor. The color coordination of their clothes, their smiles as they basked into each other’s presence, happy, their graceful yet discreet movements to the music ─ they would have a beautiful wedding, and Bridget would make the most beautiful bride. A single teardrop slipped past your lashes.

You were in the first rank of the circle that formed around them. People were elbowing others to share your spot, so it wasn’t much of a shock when Charles ended up next to you. You still had to repress back a sharp gasp at his sudden proximity. “They look perfect,” he whispered, barely audible.

You didn’t know if he spoke to himself or if he noticed you next to him. You answered nonetheless. “They really do.” Charles didn’t look surprised by your interjection, which made you understand the comment was indeed directed at you.

“Do you…” He hesitated, sneaking a glance that you met by accident. “Do you think we looked like that, at some point?”

Music filled the air between you. “Yes. We did.”

A half-smile stretched your lips, though without any substance to it. Slowly, people and couples all around you joined Bridget and Jaime on the dance floor. Their partners took hold of their waist, intertwined hands, and slowly glided around the marble floor. It was hypnotizing.

Charles’ fingers twitched in the dim light of the room, brushing yours oh so innocently. Shivers ran down your spine at the soft contact. It was only a matter of seconds before you subconsciously sought his touch once more, out of habit or homesickness, you didn’t know. Casually, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world, your hands intertwined. It was hesitant, and you just kept staring at the slow dance in front of you, but the feeling of his knuckles grazing yours, the back of his hand you’d trace the veins of during long nights…

The weight of memories made you nauseous.

You needed to get out. Now. You barely even muttered an excuse before snapping your hand back and rushing outside.

The night was sharp against your overheated skin, but the three cocktails you inhaled were enough to keep you warm. Breathe in through the nose, out by the mouth ─ again and again, until the palpitations against your ribcage finally ceased. What the hell was that?

Your fingers still tingled from where Charles had touched them ─ so innocent, so casual, like he hadn’t once held your entire world in his hand and let it slip away. You squeezed your eyes shut: you couldn’t handle this party any longer. You stuck until the slow dance, you fulfilled your promise. Except you were supposed to sleep at Bridget’s tonight, sparing you the added expense of a hotel in Monaco, and she wasn’t leaving her own engagement party anytime soon, even for you. You could hitchhike or call an Uber if you knew where her house was.

No hotel booked. No backup plan. No escape.

A familiar voice broke your thoughts. “Running again?”

You turned abruptly to see Charles at the grand entrance of the building. He stood there, hands buried in his pockets, the soft light of the entry hall graciously dancing on his features. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes─ God, his eyes. They held something between concern and something else, something unreachable and unspoken. You swallowed with difficulty.

“Not everything is about you, Charles.”

He hummed. “Didn’t say it was.”

Silence. He took a few steps closer, and the thick fog of the situation tightened around you ─ the past, the present, the fact you had nowhere to go. Charles titled his head, studying you. “You don’t have a place to stay, do you?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hating how easily he could still see right through you after everything. “I’m sleeping over at Bridget’s.”

“But you don’t want to stay until the party’s over.”

You prayed somebody would make him shut up as you answered through gritted teeth. “I’ll figure something out.”

At this point, the Monegasque was close enough that you could see the muscle ticking in his jaw, like the idea of you wandering through the city alone at this hour physically pained him. A few seconds passed before a sigh escaped him and he spoke up again.

“Come to mine.”

You blinked. “What?”

Charles' gaze softened, almost making your knees buckle under the heaviness of it, but his tone remained steady, if somewhat quieter when he confessed, “I still have some of your things. It makes sense. I know you’re not capable of waiting until the end of the party.”

It makes sense. Like it was logical, like it wasn’t dangerous for your heart to step back into the house that held so many feelings and memories. Your lips parted, forming a protest, but Charles beat you to it. “I’ll sleep on the couch if that’s what you want.” His voice dipped, now lower with insistence and blatant worry. “But don’t be stubborn. Just let me take you home.”

Home.

You exhaled shakily. The word was enough to make you shudder, or maybe it was the hopeful way Charles’ tone curled around it.

Any person in their right mind would have said no. You should say no. You should call a cab to a random hotel and make do like you always did. But your body betrayed you: you nodded, slowly, before your mind could catch up with your actions.

Charles didn’t gloat or smile. Instead, a visible tension seemed to leave his shoulders and he stepped aside as if waiting for you to move first to his car, you could see the familiar shape of it in the distance. He was giving you the opportunity to leave, the one he never gave you back then.

You still sat in the passenger seat.

The city lights blurred past during the short ride. It was quiet, not awkward ─ just heavy. You couldn’t forget the way to his house, your house, even if you tried to. It was a tear in your soul, a reminder. Every streetlight brushed against his features in flickers. You tried your best not to stare, but his sharp jaw, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tight… Neither of you spoke. Maybe that was safer.

When he pulled into the garage and killed the engine, you finally exhaled.

“Come on,” Charles said softly, as if he was afraid too much noise would break whatever fragile thread held you together.

Walking into his house was like stepping into the remnants of a dream when the morning came.

It smelled the same ─ clean, and the faint trace of his amber cologne clung to the air and your skin like melted plastic. “I’ll get you something to sleep in,” Charles said, disappearing into his bedroom. Once, it was yours.

A few things had changed, you’re pretty sure the lamp in the corner of the living room wasn't there before and he changed the rug ─ you always hated it anyway. But some hadn’t. A red sweater you used to steal regularly hung over the couch. You ran your fingers along the kitchen counter, a ghost tracing the memories of a past life. How many times had you leaned against this exact spot, laughing at some dumb joke he made while he cooked?

When Charles returned, he was changed into a simple white tee shirt and gray sweatpants. He held out something all too familiar ─ white shorts and a tee-shirt of his, brown, soft, and worn. After a while sleeping at his, it became more yours than it was his and he ended up giving it to you. It was your favorite.

You hesitated. “You kept it?”

“I kept most of it.” He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

Your fingers brushed his as you took it and for a second, neither of you moved. “Thank you,” you whispered. Charles just nodded and you made your way to the bathroom.

You changed, hands trembling as you slipped the shirt on. It smelled like fresh laundry and something so undeniably him. You hated how much comfort it brought you. How good it felt on your skin. You looked around the bathroom, noticing some of your leftover skincare products aligned next to the mirror of what used to be your side, and you swallowed with difficulty. He kept most of it. Your heart threatened to give out right here and there. When you walked out, Charles was sitting on the couch, staring into the emptiness.

You should go to sleep. You should pretend this is normal and turn away. But there are a lot of things you should have done tonight and didn’t do, so what was one more?

Instead, you walked over and hesitantly settled beside him, a little bit closer than you should be, the pounding in your chest so loud you were afraid he could hear it. The city lights poured through the windows, drenching his face in long shadows and nostalgia. Neither of you said anything for a while, basking in the stillness of what was.

Then, so quietly you barely caught it─ “I missed you.”

The corners of your eyes started burning the second the words left his lips. His head sharply turned toward you, eyes searching for something in your face. “I know… I know I don’t get to say that, but it’s the truth.”

Your breath hitched. If you were a better person, you would have let it go. Let it sit in the air, fade away like all the things he should have said but never did. But the weight of them, the sheer audacity they let transpire after everything ─ it would kill you to just let it be. Your fingers curled against your knees as you forced out a wet, bitter laugh that didn’t even sound like yours.

“That’s your problem, Charles. You always tell the truth when it’s too fucking late.”

His jaw visibly tensed. “That’s not fair. You’re not innocent either.”

“Isn’t it?” This time, you fully turned to face him. You were angry, but underneath all that rage was something fragile hiding in the depths of your facade, something so desperately broken, begging to be fixed. Your voice wavered as you continued. “You missed me? Where was this when I was actually there? When I was waiting for you to show up, to choose me over everything else for once?”

“You think I didn’t want to?”

You scoffed. “I think you didn’t.”

The silence was deafening. Charles leaned back against the couch, and he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You don’t understand.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and the feelings you spent a year trying to bury under the pretense of peace rushed to the surface, drowning you with it. “Then help me,” your voice broke, “make me understand, Charles, because all I can remember is feeling like I was never good enough.”

His head snapped toward you. His expression─ Raw. Devastated. Emotions painfully obvious in every trait. “You were enough. More than enough, you were everything. And I─ I just didn’t know how to keep you.” His voice was just as teary as yours, if a little stronger, as if he was mad at himself. Your heart twisted violently in your chest.

“Then why did you let me go?”

Charles ran a hand down his face, looking up at the ceiling like the answer was hidden in the dark lights. His next sentence came out in something next to a whisper. “Because I thought it’d be better for you.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” You let out a wobbly breath.

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to argue, like he wanted to take back the words and shove them back in his mouth in shame ─ but he didn’t. He let them simmer between you two, like so many other things.

You had spent so long thinking that Charles didn’t love you enough to fight for you. But now, here in the dim glow of his house, the faint sounds of cars and laughter coming from the streets echoing against the walls, you realized the truth was even crueler. He loved you enough to let you go. It didn’t make it hurt any less ─ for all you knew, it wrecked you even more.

Everything was so fragile. The tension between you, the past, the feeble source of city lights shining on you both. And then─ his fingers twitched. Just slightly, resting on the couch beside you, brushing against yours, remnants of what happened in the party hall. It was small, hesitant. A question.

You knew where this would lead. You knew that nothing had changed, that the past still sat uncomfortably between you like an open wound. But, God help you, you turned your hand over almost immediately, allowing your fingers to thread through his. A shaky breath left his lips. Relief, surrender, and his thumb traced soft circles against your skin, old habits reignited like they never left.

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Charles murmured.

“Then what do you want?”

He swallowed, his grip on your hand tightening as if he was afraid you’d disappear.

“You. Just you.”

Your heart rate picked up, your resolve crumbling like sand through an hourglass. Because you wanted him too. Maybe you always would.

And so, Charles leaned in, imperceptibly, hesitant and almost afraid in his gesture. His eyes darted from your eyes to your lips to your eyes again, and there was no coming back from that. Your lips crashed onto his.

It was different, distinguished from all the other ones you shared before. It wasn’t fueled by anger, desperation, or habit. The way his lips moved against yours in perfect synchronization, the ghost-like touch of his fingers running up your arms, his shaky breath against your skin when you parted for a split second too long. It was soft, lingering. The kind of kiss that felt like home.

And maybe, just for tonight, you’d let yourself believe that was enough.

You threw your arms around his neck, and melted against him when his rough palms found the dip of your waist. It was a rhythm you didn’t forget, no matter how many months passed. Charles lifted you up easily, as if you were nothing, settling you in his lap and his lips never once leaving yours. The kiss, so delicate and gentle, grew more and more erratic and his hands started roaming your sides, lower, right above the curve of your ass.

A quiet sigh escaped you when his head buried in your neck, nibbling against your supple skin, breathing you in like a drug. Your hands tangled in his hair. Charles’ grip on your hips got tighter, pressing you against him. He hissed, and you could feel every centimeter of him through his sweatpants touching your throbbing core. The effect you still had on him would have made you smile if your senses weren’t completely captured by the feeling of his mouth on your body, the delightful friction sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Please, Y/N,” he pleaded, high-pitched and desperate into your neck. He pushed himself up against your shorts, and a moan drew out of you, louder than any of your silent sighs. “Bordel, please, let me…”

There was no hesitation in your voice when you answered. “Yes.”

Charles wasted no time. His hands grabbed your thighs hard enough to leave marks and lifted you up, lips still on yours. You locked your legs around his waist and, carefully, he walked you to the bedroom.

He set you down on the silky sheets as if you were made of porcelain, yet the way he kissed you was anything but gentle. His tongue slipped past your lips, demanding access you offered without a second thought. You could finally taste your shared breath, remnants of champagne, espresso, and tears lingering in the way he angled his mouth. He bruised you with his kiss. How you missed it. Him. The both of you.

Charles’ hands traveled further up, slowly dipping underneath your shirt. It didn’t take long for it to end up on the floor. He leaned back, staring at your body, leaving you panting from the sudden lack of contact. He took you in like a priceless painting, breathless himself like you hung the stars in the sky for him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Charles whispered, and the ache between your legs only intensified. One hand came to knead your naked breast, fingers ghosting over your erect nipple. You whimpered at the sudden contact. “Fuck, I missed seeing you like this. Hearing you. You can’t imagine how many nights I spent thinking about what I’d do to you if you were mine again. Just once.” He pinched your sensitive bud, and this time, his name slipped past your lips.

“Charles…” You gasped, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes. His gaze darkened at the sound of his name, and you saw how cock twitch through the thin fabric of his pants.

Your hands reached to untie the knot tying his sweatpants. His hands simply grazing you weren’t enough. He wasn’t the only one who spent nights reminiscing and gasping alone at night in an empty room ─ you needed him close. In every way. You needed it to be real.

Gently, he pushed your hand away and you couldn’t stop the whine that came out of your mouth. “Doucement,” Charles whispered.

He leaned down and dragged his lips on the curve of your neck, tasting your skin. He planted a kiss in the middle of your chest, took a nipple in his mouth he swirled around on his tongue and let out with an erotic pop, followed the line of your stomach until he reached the dangerously low hem of your shorts. He would look patient if the iron grip he had on your hips wasn’t betraying him.

Your breathing was uneven, and anticipation stained your underwear and shorts with a wet patch you would be ashamed of if you weren’t so desperate for touch. Charles untied and slipped off your shorts with a timed precision, and when his fingers started playing with the border of your panties, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Please…”

Charles dropped a kiss on your clothed cunt, and you squirmed beneath him. “Tell me you want me.”

His words didn’t register in the fog of want clouding your mind. He repeated, this time with a little more force. “Tell me you want me, Y/N. Please.”

Your chest tightened at the pathetic need in his voice. “I want you. I want you so bad, Char─”

You didn’t notice him push your panties aside. All you knew was the feeling of his tongue, a slow lap along your folds, and any words you wanted to say died on your tongue with a silent cry.

It wasn’t soft or relaxed. Charles ate you out like a starved man as if the air he needed to live was between your legs. It was messy, a newfound fervor found as he circled your clit with his tongue, sucking on it, torturing it. You bucked under his mouth, pushing your hips against him, always craving more, more, more. More of the tightness in your lower stomach, more of him. When he lowered himself further and started exploring your warmth, you could barely breathe through the gasps and whines spilling from your lips.

Charles watched you eagerly from his point of view, hooded eyes glazed over by pure lust and need. His arms were hooked beneath your thighs, smothering himself in your cunt, and with his tongue pushing deeper inside you, the pad of his fingers came pressing down on your clit, making rapid and hard circles. The pace, fast and needy, his drunken look, the familiarity of it all… it was all too overwhelming. You were a writhing mess underneath this man.

After a year, he still knew your body by heart.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him as close as you could, eliciting a groan out of him that reverberated straight into your core. The knot in your stomach grew tighter and tighter, your breathing erratic. “Charles, I’m gonna─ Fuck! I’m close, please, I’m─”

And right as you were about to let yourself go, he stopped.

The high slipping through your finger was enough to throw you in deep confusion as you glanced down at him, your hands falling from his hair to the side of his face. Charles’ lips were glistening with your arousal, his gaze dark and hair messy, heaving. He looked downright pornographic.

He spoke up before you could word your protest. “Need to be inside of you, mon amour. Need to feel you coming around me.” His voice was hoarse and possessive, leaving no room for argument. The familiar pet name sent shivers down your entire body and you couldn’t find it in you to oppose him, not when you craved the same.

Charles was a man possessed, fumbling with the waistband of his sweats as you hurriedly helped him out of his shirt. His lean muscles on display, you traced them with your palm, feeling every scattered breath and the hitches of it when your nails grazed his skin. You stopped at the waistband of his boxers. You wished you weren’t as impatient, otherwise you would have savored the begging scrunch of his eyebrows, or the quiet whimpers escaping him. Instead, you released him from torture and helped him take it off.

His cock sprung out and tapped his stomach. At some point in your life, you got used to the size of it ─ now, you weren’t sure if your body knew how to take its length anymore. Slowly, Charles' hands gripped your hips to slide you closer to him, grinding his engorged member against your entrance. The sensation, so little and so much at the same time, had you release a strangled cry.

Charles leaned in closer, upper body above you, palms pressed next to each side of your head. “D’you want it? This? Me?” His tip nudged your hole a little harder, and the small shock had you seeing stars. “Us?”

The question was charged with emotions and tears pricked your eyes. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him as close as you could. “Yes. More than anything.”

Those were all the words he needed. In a slow, agonizing push, he slid inside of you.

Nothing in the world could ever matter after that. It was dizzying, you could get drunk on the feeling: Charles filled you up so completely, reaching every sweet spot inside of you without even trying, and your back arched as if answering to his command. He took the opportunity to capture your back with one arm, bodies flushing against the other. You couldn’t remember the last time something had felt this right.

“Fuck… you feel so good, so tight,” he moaned in your ear. “Made for me. You were made for me.”

You answered between sharp intakes of air. “Yours, Charles.”

You felt his cock twitch inside of you at your words. He bottomed out, sucking in the thin skin of your collarbone. You croaked as he asked, “Mine?”

“All yours. Always have.”

All you could remember from here was the tangled mess of limbs you both became. His thrusts were erratic, slamming his hips upon yours like he was trying to mold your body to fit his. Your nails dug into his back ─ you dragged them down, finding no other outlet for the ache within you. Twisting, biting, moaning and kissing, lips and tongues at war to see who will leave the biggest imprint. Charles’ iron-clad hold on you only intensified the feverish state of the two of you, your skin glistening, panting. You couldn’t think straight anymore. All of you was his and all of his was yours.

“Shit, ‘M getting close,” Charles managed to articulate. “Need you to finish first. Fuck, need you to fall apart so I can see.”

You could only cry out his name in response, an unanswered prayer spilling from your lips. “I’m right there,” his pace picked up, his thrusts uneven between the plush of your thighs. “C’mon, I know you can do it. Let go for me, mon ange.”

The pad of his fingers drew slow circles on your clit, his rhythm relentless. It did it for you: in a flash of white, the knot in your lower stomach snapped. Everything narrowed down to the stuttering of Charles’ hips, spilling soon after you. He coated your insides with his warmth and broken pleas escaped you as he fucked your high and his with languid movements, gradually slowing down, bringing you down in the softest way possible.

The sheets were tangled, the air of the bedroom thick with heat, but neither of you spoke as Charles collapsed next to you. It was the type of silence that only came before something inevitable.

Your chest was still rising and falling unevenly, skin warm, raw from the way you had just taken each other apart. Charles laid on his back, one arm draped over his forehead, taking steady and measured breaths─ like he was trying to regulate something deeper than exhaustion. In the dim glow of his bedroom, reality finally settled in.

What you just did, with the guilt, heartbreak, and relief coming with it.

You sat up until you reached the edge of the bed, gazing emptily in front of you, wrapped in the sheets that smelled like you and him, your fingers playing with the hem of the fabric as you tried to remember how to breathe. You didn’t know what you should do from here and desperately dug in the depths of your mind to find an answer.

Behind you, Charles shifted. The mattress dipped under his weight, and before you could register his sudden closeness, you felt the warmth of his palm grazing up and down your spine, featherlight.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

You swallowed hard, staring at the Monaco lights outside his window. “I don’t know how not to.”

Silence. Then, a whisper- “Come back to bed.”

You closed your eyes. The words shouldn’t have made you feel anything. They should have been meaningless, casual, something you could ignore ─ this whole ordeal should have been a one-time thing you could have forgotten when the morning came. But they weren’t.

Because you remembered this.

The way he used to whisper it on nights where you’d get up at ungodly hours, restless. The way he always reached for you, even in sleep. You turned slightly, catching sight of him in the semi-darkness of the room: messy hair, kiss-bruised lips, green eyes heavy with a feeling you knew too well but were too scared to name.

“Charles…”

“I know,” he said, almost frustrated. “I know we─” He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair. Softer─ “I know it doesn’t fix anything. I know we’ll wake up tomorrow and we’ll still be…”

Exes. Strangers.

People who still fit together in every way that mattered, except the ones that actually kept them from breaking.

“But… just for tonight, can you stay? With me? We can talk about it tomorrow. Just… stay.”

You hesitated.

Then, gently, you let the sheets slip from your naked shoulders as you turned fully, shifting back onto the mattress beside him. For a second, neither of you moved or even dared to breathe, too afraid to ruin it. Hesitantly, carefully, Charles reached for you. It wasn’t demanding, nor possessive like he was when you were busy unraveling each other ─ it was in the heat of the moment. This was raw, emotional, uncertain. Like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to.

You made the choice for him. Moving closer, you tucked yourself against his side, tangling your legs with his and resting your hands on his chest in an all too familiar fashion, the heat of skin warming you up.

Charles melted and released a slow, shaky exhale as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. His fingers retraced the same patterns he did earlier along your back. The contact made your chest twist.

You chose to ignore it. You chose to ignore it all ─ tonight, this will be enough. You, him, and the unsaid. Everything else could wait until sunrise.

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cregansdingdong · 11 months ago

Text

ᴍᴇʀᴄʏ.

Cregan Stark x fem!reader | no use of y/n | warnings: NSFW, porn without plot, m!receiving oral, very sloppy blowjob good stuff, starts off slow but then there's some face-fucking, swearing, one *tiny* face smack (its not bad i promise), he’s gonna come in her throat for giving him attitude; yeah the gif is the perfect representation for this tbh

Hot stuff under the cut. 18+ only. I'm not responsible for the content you choose to consume. ty.

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“What was I supposed to do then? Refuse the Lord Commander?” Cregan raises a brow, head tilted up at the ceiling as his wife stood there in front of his desk, hands on her hips. “I didn’t say that, Cregan. He could’ve waited a moment rather than storm into breakfast. And for what? To report a runaway from Castle Black? He could’ve sent a raven and saved himself all the trouble. I think he just wanted a small getaway.” He barks out a laugh at her accusation. “And I think you’re spoiled. My spoiled little wife who does not like having my attention taken away.”

“And so what if I don’t?” She huffs, lips morphing into a scowl. “Especially not during meal times—you’re a busy man and breakfast is Cregan time, not Lord Stark. My time with my husband. Lord Commander Markus surely was exhausted from his journey—but the entire thing was needlessly frantic. You are not a dog he may call on the moment he prefers it.” Cregan, since the day they'd married, had been a fairly patient man. She had a southern temper, which he had to learn how to douse and maintain just as she did. That's not to say his wife wasn't capable of controlling herself—she merely didn't care how she spoke to him.

His glance is lined with warning, but she either didn't catch it or ignored it completely. He guesses the latter. “Those sorts of matters are my responsibility. Deserters must be punished by my hand, wife. That is the way of the North, which you know well by now. Refrain from comparisons.” Neither of them were backing down. “Of course that is the only thing you take away from what I'm saying.” She scoffs. “My comparison is correct. When he calls, you bark. When he arrives, you heel. Are you his Warden Wolf or his pup? Because I'm not sure I can tell the difference any—”

“Get on your knees.”

“...what?” The surprise on her face would be etched into his memory forever. “On your knees. I won’t tell you again, wife.” His voice was low in the quiet of the room; daunting, even. “Right here.” Cregan scoots his chair back from the desk, thighs spread, gray eyes unblinking as he waits. She debated walking away, but she knew better. He watched as she took a few meager steps around his desk, the hem of her gown slowly gathering on the floor. Maybe she'd pushed him too far this time. “I think you've forgotten yourself—who's wife you are.” He squeezes her chin in his large hand, pleased by her soft sound of protest. “Yes, you have.” He grunts, stopping the words from leaving her mouth. “And now, you’re going to do exactly what I tell you—when I tell you. Do you understand?”

He seemed fairly satisfied with her little nod. “Good, pup. Unlace my breeches.” His wife reaches out to fumble with the ties after only a moment, his hand releasing the grip on her flushed face. She tugs the laces with a fervor, feeling him harden under her fingertips. It didn’t take much, honestly. He murmurs something she doesn’t catch as she gently wriggles him out of the confines of his breeches, brows furrowed in concentration. “You don’t deserve my cock in your mouth yet. Kiss only. Use your tongue if you have such a lack of self-restraint. You’re good at that.” The jab was directed and shot, but the weight of him in her hand had her head spinning too fast to say anything smart in return. Her lips meet his tip with a quiet, pleased hum, her tongue dipping into the crease where his precum dribbled.

Cregan’s reaction was immediate. “Like that…” He sighs, head tilting back, just savoring the relief. Fire thrummed in her stomach. She kisses down the underside of his cock, ignoring the tickle of the dark hair at the base of him as it brushed against her jaw.

His arms were slack on the rests, fingers twitching with every small suction of her lips on him. Kiss by kiss, he hardens fully under her hands, and lines of swears erupt from his throat like mantras. “In your mouth now, pup.” He looks down at her with hooded eyes, looking like he was trying not to smile but failing anyway. To be fair, it was Cregan. The slight quirk of his lips was upturned enough to count. She situates herself a little further between his thick thighs, resting her elbows down midway as her palms lay over his. And then she took him into her mouth.

“Fuck..” He groans, something low and sinful that brought her butterflies. It was quite the sight to see the Warden of the North melt so easily by a tongue. He wasn’t like most men sometimes—usually. This, though. He certainly was. Not much longer before he’d forget what she said to him in the first place. The thought drove her to sink deeper on him, barely able to go halfway but that was already enough to get his tip in the far end of her mouth. He curses more—although entirely unintelligible this time—and his hands lift, presumably to tangle themselves in her hair. But they don’t make it there. She might’ve been trapped there on the floor between his legs, but that didn’t mean he was going to get all that he wanted. Her nails dig hard into the back of his hands, close to the wrists, and keep them firmly planted against the armrests.

He hisses momentarily in surprise. With his thick skin, it was more likely his ego was more hurt than his hands. She bobs her head with a vengeance of her own, and he slumps in the chair with a growl, thoroughly annoyed to be held back. “I’m going…to give you…five seconds...wife. Release me.” Her nails dig harder in response, pinching the skin hard enough for him to react. Cregan’s thighs tense more under her elbows. She counted down in her mind as she was sure he was doing in his. It was absolutely worth a bit of punishment. Saliva coated his cock, the drool slithering down the underside of it enough to make it sound even more lewd. He loved it when she abandoned her manners. “Wife.” He warns again. What happened to never repeating yourself twice, husband? The thought would’ve made her laugh if it weren’t for his cock.

He bucks his hips toward her throat—on purpose, obviously—and the force of it surprises her entirely, gagging in the slightest as she loses her grip on him. His hands are snatched from under her ruthless nails, and although out of view as he clutched her cheeks together, she didn’t fail to catch the pinkish skin around the moon-shaped indentations. They would certainly leave a mark tomorrow. Cregan pushes her back from his cock, seething, and his dark eyes never leave her face. His fingers dig into her cheeks unconsciously before letting go—and as quick as they go, a warning smack makes her face turn to the side. It didn’t hurt, by any means, but it sent a thrill right down between her thighs. “If you ever hold my hands back again, I’ll fuck you so full of my seed that all of Winterfell will hear your pathetic little mewls for me to stop. Do you understand me, pup? Answer me.”

“I understand.” She relents, eyes darting from his face to his red cock, the beat of her heart following every throb of the pretty veins. His eyes narrowed at her, not entirely trusting but he’d gotten his point across. “Make me come, wife.” She didn’t need him to say another word, her lips instantly wrapping around his tip to pick up where she left off. This time, she kept her hands planted on his thighs, breathing harshly through her nose as she took more and more of his cock. Her fists clenched around his breeches tightly, her gaze flicking up at him. He was watching, panting, the last of his restraint hanging by a thread. Cregan never lasted very long in her mouth, not that either of them thought he needed to. “To the base.” He mutters, holding off the urge to fuck her throat. He wanted to see if she could do it herself first.

His wife does her best attempt three-fourths of the way—close enough for the tip of her nose to brush against the coarse hair. The feeling nearly brought him to the edge anyway, close to falling off entirely. His grunts were louder, less composed. He was getting desperate. He reaches out to grip her hair, his own strands drooping down into his line of sight. “I’m gonna come—hold your breath for me.” She does. He doesn’t waste a moment, cupping her face gently, thumbs soothing the skin of her cheeks as he starts to buck up into her mouth like he was rabid. The sound of his tip sliding almost into her throat was enough to do it. Cregan was snarling now, fucking her face with purpose as the come dribbled down her tongue and mouth. “Good girl! Good fucking girl! Taking me so well!”

Eventually, he slowed, spent and breathing heavily as she recuperated through long inhales and exhales through her nose. She was still sucking on him though, eager for every drop. Leaned back in his chair, limp like a rag doll, Cregan gave her one of his sweet, lazy smiles. “...Told you not to compare.”

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#cregan stark #hotd #house of the dragon #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark x female reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #cregan x you #hotd cregan #cregan fanfiction #cregan stark smut #hotd smut #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #cregan stark x female reader smut

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celuere · 4 months ago

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New to this whole requesting stuff and leaving this b4 i forget but here goes nothing, sorry for the language. You work as arlecchino's maid in a mansion except everyone absolutely fears her, and here you are on her lap with dick/strap inside you scared for your life

I swear to you that sounded so much better in my head BELEIVE ME

help me get away from myself.

pairing: vampire!arlecchino x fem!maid reader

cw: bloodsucking, cockwarming, arle‘s fat dick, kinda forbidden relationship, no actual plot arle is just a horny fuck for you

anon i allowed myself to add a little extra to your request because vampire arle with her human maid... oh i’m SOLD. also kinda shirt but i really like this nonetheless, will probably be making a lil nasty series out of this… please go wild about this in my inbox. ignore the request break. just throw them at me.

thursday 3pm: dust off lord arlecchino‘s study.

that was your task. one might think it couldn’t get any easier than that.

she was by no means an easy person and there was barely a subordinate or one of her children who didn’t fear and/or respects her.

but trying to do your job turned out extremely difficult when you were sat down on your lord‘s dick as she buries her fangs into your neck.

„m-my lord-”, you couldn’t help but press yourself closer against her, wanting a bit of comfort to the stinging sensation that spread like a wildfire over your shoulder.

she only hummed against your skin, a low moan getting swallowed up from her side at your sweet taste. cursed hands coming up to further strip you of your already messed up attire, freeing your beautiful tits and rubbing her index fingers over your hardened nipples.

it only contributed to how tightly you were clenching around your master’s cock you were nestled onto. like a doll she was keeping in place.

she slowly let go of your burning skin, letting the blood run down your perked up tits before staining the fabric of your dress „you‘re tasting particularly sweet today, my dove…“, she leaned in before you felt her tongue gliding over your dirtied skin and savoring the crimson fluid. you tasted like salvation and sin at once. the forbidden fruit she wasn’t allowed to have. mocking her lack in self discipline. an ancient vampire- a vampire turned by her majesty herself- unable to keep her hands off of the sweet human maid that stumbled into her mansion a few months back. poor you was merely looking for a shelter from the rainy weather. you didn‘t plan on becoming your lord‘s pretty little bloodbank. her very own sanctuary. but the tip of her dick oh so gently pressing against your cervix wasn‘t exactly helping you to feel at least a little humiliation from your decision. you choose to stay here after all.

her fangs suddenly piercing the soft flesh of your right tit caused you to yelp, hips buckling into her as you watched arlecchino suck on your breast for all you were worth. the other hand resting on your thigh was now digging its nails into your muscle, trying to somehow fuse her very being with your poor soul. you didn’t know how much more your pussy could take like this with how arlecchino was practically moaning into your breast.

usually the lord was a feared figure within the fatui ranks. the clan was known for their ruthless agenda, yet its leader was kind right down to the bone. arlecchino forgot the details of her mortal life long ago, but something about the fragile mortal taking her cock while allowing her done on her crimson nectar. she was absolutely besotted with you.

the metallic taste spreading over her tongue with each gulp made her feel… alive. she forgot what it felt like. to feel. to be able to look at herself in the mirror. to be human.

to be weak.

you tried pulling away when she started taking bigger gulps of you. her grip no longer desperate but almost hurtful.

arlecchino often debated wether she should kill you or not. to leave you alive meant leaving a weakness in her profile. a weakness she couldn’t allow to influence her.

but who would suspect the knave having a soft spot for the mortal maid she kept hushing around like a dog?

the soft plea for her to let go of you pushed her out of her thoughts and surprisingly… she obliged. retreating her fangs from your flesh before pressing a soft kiss to your wounded skin, your consciousness was hanging by a simple thread. a thread she loved playing with. wether it by having you pump your fingers in and out that greedy cunt or watching you strip in front of her. she always found new ways to entertain herself with you.

just when she wanted to open her mouth, the soft knock against the door to her study reached your ears „my lord, some letters have arrived for you.“

your heart rate picked up and suddenly warming your master‘s cock seemed like a horrible idea to you but the hand resting on your ass kept you firmly pressed down on her shaft. she only clicked her tongue in slight annoyance.

„not now. i have…“, two fingers delicately rubbed over your already hard nipple before pinching it. you barely managed to cover up the yelp.

„important business to tend to.“, the corners of her lips quirked up at her wording. that terrified look amused her way more than she‘d like to admit.

„mh… did you really think i‘d just… let him come in?“, the black hand palming your behind was now gently tapping against your skin. she wanted you to start moving.

your mind was still hazy from her huge blood intake, but you were still the master of your senses enough to stay put on her aching dick.

„a-ah… m-maybe… i-i wasn’t sure…“

„now, now… i have no desire to show you off to the world while you’re riding me senseless.“, the woman leaned back in her chair, legs seemingly spreading wider as the red crosses in the void of her eyes lit up, „get to bouncing, pet.“

#albarequests #genshin arlecchino #genshin impact #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x female reader #genshin x female reader #x reader #genshin smut #arlecchino x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #fatui x reader

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blublublujk · 2 years ago

Text

closer

oneshot

word count: 12.7k

genre: step-siblings to lovers, dead dove (proceed with caution)

pairing: dongsaeng jungkook × noona reader

summary:

Jungkook had always known there was something wrong with him when he realized his obsession with his Noona was far too intimate consider their relationship, but she was perfect for him. Can anyone really blame him for falling in love with his beautiful older step-sister?

warnings: [PLEASE READ] dead dove, eat with caution (they are step-siblings and it's a bit romanticized), there's mentions of the pairing as minors but nothing too oversexualized and in detail, mentions of violent behavior (not towards reader), mentions of jungkook possibly being asexual or gay (he's not lol), pairing has shit parents and jungkook's father is an alcoholic, parent issues to the max, petite reader (fit the plot better), explicit sexual content: dirty sexual thoughts, jk has a huge dick and he jacks off so much, someone's a virgin in this and it is NOT the reader, there's a lot of crying in this one, jungkook probably needs therapy and the reader lol, extremely possessive and obsessive jungkook, DADDY KINK, hickeys, unprotected rough vaginal sex, dubious consent but they both want it, dirty talk, the reader slaps jungkook, squirting, blowjob, cunnilingus, come tasting/swallowing, slight ass play, choking, multiple orgasms, passing out and overstimulation, creampie, pregnancy (oopsie)

a.n: well i have no fucking words. im actually a bit shy and embarrassed to release this after my last post but we move on! this wasn’t apart of my drafts either SIGH. wrote this because i was insanely horny and ovulating so have fun ig. please enjoy it nicely. i certainly did. if you look past all the dark stuff you might find it’s actually pretty hot. i cant even believe i wrote this. im really scared … if anyone is crazy enough, please comment your thoughts. tempted to do more of these deranged stories. since tmr is christmas i leave this as a final parting gift for this year though it has nothing to do with chirstmas. byebye angels and merriest of chirstmas to you all <3

—> m.list

—> find me on ao3 & twt

Jungkook has officially hit rock bottom.

He has officially lost his mind. Again and again he comes back to what he knows he shouldn’t and knows that, but he’s only a man after all. Can anyone really blame him?

For the third time that night, Jungkook has fisted his cock empty. The younger’s dick was raw and swollen– sticky from the amount of beatings he had pumped. His ballsack had nothing else more to give him and Jungkook started to grow frustrated. His dick was still heavy in his palm, aching for something he knows he could never fucking have. It simply wasn’t fair.

Jungkook pants loudly, wiping his dirty come all over his black sheets. He’s dripping sweat and he feels his dick might fall off if he keeps masturbating this much, but it was simply impossible. He’s a growing man after all, it was totally normal for him to have such a high libido. His doctor even said so (he asked him during a typical yearly routine exam and the professional confirmed it was more than normal, that usually as he ages he’ll simply grow out of it). Jungkook doesn’t even believe him anymore. The more he fucks his hand, the more he grows the urge to stuff his cock in his step-sister’s tempting pussy.

He knows it’s disgusting. He tried to overcome the disgusting need to fuck her until she begged for more, the compulsive thirst to eat her juicy pussy from behind, the lustful desire to ruin her for anyone else that dared lay hands on his older step-sibling. Jungkook has had too much time to think about these sinful– incriminating thoughts. He imagines how his step-sister would look all heavy and round, carrying Jungkook’s seed for nine months straight. What amazing mother she would be. He thinks about this all the time.

And he’s not just saying this out of his ass. His step-sister saved him. He had one-on-one, firsthand experience to all her angelic glory. She’s patient, extremely caring, and she’s the sweest thing he’s ever known. Jungkook is in love with her.

Can anyone really blame him? His Noona is the best. He’ll say it over and over, a million times until the whole world gets to hear it because his Noona deserves that and much more.

Jungkook believes he’s the only one that could please his Noona. He truly believes that there is no better man in this world for her than him. He doesn’t care how selfish that seems. His Noona has been hurt too many times and Jungkook has unfortunately witnessed it all. Every heartbreak, every break-up, every stupid relationship he has had to tolerate. He falls sick to his stomach every time because he knows she deserves so, so much more and only he could do that for her. He knows how happy he could make her.

After all, only Jungkook knows what is best for her.

Jungkook hears the living room door close hard, the house shakes from the harsh movement. The noise startles him from his current position. He quickly wipes the come off his abdomen and the sweat off his body. He’s sure he probably stinks or at the very least his room does, but the heavy footsteps coming from the stairs worry him more.

“Noona?” He calls out and nobody answers him, by the time he’s shoving on the first pair of sweats he can find his bedroom door opens wide. Jungkook still has sweat dripping down his bare back, praying that it goes unnoticed. He simply got carried away, fucking his cock into his hand for thirty minutes straight.

“Noona…” Jungkook reaches out the second he hears you whimper. The second he has you in his arms you completely let go. Tears stream down your face with no plans on stopping and Jungkook feels his heart break in two. In a way, he feels conflicted.

On one hand, he’s extremely upset about whatever caused you any trouble and he’s willing to do anything to make it up to you. Buy you your favorite ice cream. Take you to watch a movie. Cook you a yummy home meal. He would do anything if it meant he could make you smile again.

But on the other well, Jungkook’s fucking pissed. He needs to know exactly what happened, who fucking did this to you, and how the fuck he even let this happen. He’ll kill whoever did this to you. He will. Jungkook would do anything for his Noona, even if that meant killing someone with bare hands.

“What’s wrong, Noona?” Jungkook’s gentle when asking the question, watching you cry your heart out. The younger rubs circles into your back, comforting you in a time of need. “What happened? Tell me. Jungkookie will help.”

You sob into his chest hard and Jungkook can’t help the way his insides flare. He wants to burn the world down. That way, nobody can harm you and he can take care of you like he’s meant to. Jungkook was born to love and care for you. He feels that deep in his (dark) heart.

“Oh, Jungkookie…” He keeps rubbing circles, desperate to make it all go away for you. His Noona didn’t deserve this.

“I found the messages.” Between hiccups, you cry harder trying to explain the problem. It hurts. It hurts so bad, maybe you’ll never be good enough. For him, or for anyone.

“What messages, Noona?” Jungkook’s nose bumps into yours, cautious doe-eyes stare down at you. Fire lights deep inside them, but they don’t scare you because Jungkook could never hurt a soul. Not your innocent little step-brother. Certainly not your sweet dongsaeng.

“S-Seojun’s.” You have trouble breathing and Jungkook pats your back softly, being extremely patient, but deep inside him, he can’t wait to beat Seojun’s ass regardless of whatever you say next. “He— he cheated on me.”

Jungkook no longer exists in the same universe you do. The first thing he sees is red. Jungkook’s going to fucking murder Seojun. How fucking dare he!

How could he ever cheat on you? Seojun must have a death wish and Jungkook can’t wait to deliver his wish personally. He should cut off each fin—

“Jungkookie… m-my heart hu—hurts.” He snaps out of the dark space in his head and starts drying your tears with his thumbs.

“Noona… he— he doesn’t deserve you.” Jungkook starts, holding you up with a strong grip. He could feel your squishy breast pressing hard against his upper stomach. In a different moment, different situation, he would have popped a boner and it would have been extremely awkward. Jungkook is not small in any sense but he’s a bit insecure. He wonders if you would love the feel of his huge cock invading your guts, but that’s for another time. “I’ve told you this before but you deserve someone that doesn’t make you question their love for you. Someone that loves you so much it could kill them. They should love and care for you so much that they would be willing to do anything for you. You shouldn’t have to deal with this, Noona. He doesn’t deserve you. Nobody does. They can’t ever love you. They won't. You’re safe here Noona, I love you.”

“My sweet Jungkookie…” You sigh as tears begin to slow down and stick to your face. “That’s right. Only you could ever love me this much I think. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Jungkook snaps. If anything Seojun should be crying buckets, begging for forgiveness and mercy because after Jungkook’s done with him, he’ll regret ever meeting you. Jungkook can’t wait to make the motherfucker pay for his unforgivable crimes. “He’s just a coward. Not a real man.”

“Oh my Jungkookie, when did you become so big? Huh? So grown up.” Your tone wavers as you continue. “You’ve always been such a romantic. Isn’t that right? Noona’s so proud of you Jungkookie, the best dongsaeng I could ever ask for.”

Jungkook melts with every compliment.

When you first met Jungkook, he couldn’t even look you in the eyes. He would get so fucking nervous around you. His stomach would flip whenever you stepped into his line of sight. He doesn’t remember a time he didn’t have the biggest crush.

Like anyone else, Jungkook assumed this was nothing but a minor crush. It was his first crush. Jungkook didn’t have experience with girls or dating for that matter. He wasn’t at all interested in any of that. For a cool minute, the younger assumed he must be gay, clearly it was the only explanation that made sense at the time, but then he realized not even then he felt anything. His best friend, Taehyung is extremely gay and pretty handsome (if he must admit), but he could never be with him, much less fuck the man.

His next thought is he has to be asexual. Jungkook didn’t ever think about sex, much less want to participate in any sexual activity. The thought used to disgust him. There was no one worthy. No one he would like to stick his dick into. Jungkook was broken!

Then, his father came home one night, shit-faced couldn’t even hold himself up. Jungkook had to carry him to bed that night. He was only fifteen years old, he had no busy doing that, yet had no choice.

“Son. W-Wan you to meet someone tu—tomorrow.” His father begins, Jungkook winces when he reels him in close, breath stinking of some sort of strong alcohol. “Yu— got you a ma—mother. S-Stepmother.”

Jungkook’s heart drops. He doesn’t need a fucking mother. Jungkook is happy with the way things are right now. Just him and his dad. No matter how broken their relationship is. He doesn’t need a mother.

“Appa, I don’t—”

“Quiet. Shh.” His father ends the conversation with a finger tap to his mouth. Forbidding the younger to get another word out. Jungkook feels he could sob because knowing his father, he was impending doom. “Sleep now child. Come here. Sleep with Appa.”

That night, Jungkook unfortunately sleeps in his father’s bed which reeks of musk and cheap cologne with a hint of mixed perfume. He doesn’t sleep all night, worried that he’ll wake up and his father will have choked during his sleep. He’s afraid that if he turns his head, he’ll find his father dead. Maybe that would have been better. That his father never woke up that next morning. Then he wouldn’t be stuck in the situation he was in today. His father’s at fault.

Jungkook’s father brings his “step-mom” over the next day and Jungkook doesn’t know how to feel. He hates her. He absolutely despises her. Jungkook feels it in his heart that she will completely ruin his life.

Jungkook already has a mom. She died giving birth to him. It’s not her fault. Jungkook’s mom is incredible and he’s heard great stories. Nobody will ever compare to his mother. Even though Jungkook never got the chance to meet her, he knows he would have loved her and she him. In another lifetime, Jungkook would have loved to spend his entire life in the warm arms of his mother.

What he wasn’t expecting was his step-mom to bring company. Jungkook obsesses from the very, very start.

“Jungkook-ah, meet your step-sister, Y/N. She’s two-years older than you. They are moving in with us, so I hope you will be a good dongsaeng to your Noona. We’ll live as a happy family from now on. Ain’t that right, Yeobo?” His father leans in kissing his step-mom with passion. Jungkook thinks if the situation was different he would have thrown up the sandwich he had for lunch, but as he looks up at you, he finds you playing with the ends of your sweater. You’re tiny. He doesn’t believe you’re older than him. You can’t be. Barely seventeen, but you have yet to grow into your lady parts. Jungkook couldn’t stop staring at you. Your lip was swollen from how hard you were sucking it from nerves. This had to be just as difficult for you as well.

With careful steps, you stretch your hand out, making peace with your new step-sibling. “Hello Jungkook, it’s nice to meet you. I promise to be a good Noona. I look forward to moving in. I hope you can accept me. I promise to take good care of you.”

The younger almost falls to his knees. He’s never seen a more beautiful smile. Jungkook takes your tiny hand in his. His hand is bigger than yours, he’s tempted to compare sizes. He’s even slightly taller than you. Jungkook puffs his chest thinking about how he’ll only grow taller. He’ll soon tower over you.

Jungkook doesn’t even say anything to you that night. Not a single word. He can’t. He shakes your hand awkwardly with a deep blush setting on his cheeks. Jungkook promises one thing. He promises to care for you too. That promise stays in his head for now, but Jungkook is certain now. He’s definitely not gay and he isn’t fucking asexual. Not anymore. Not ever.

Since then, it’s like you’ve been attached by the hip. Jungkook grew to become a man. Now twenty-three and you twenty-five. And you grew into a woman besides him.

He was the best dongsaeng you could ever ask for. Jungkook was sweet. He would cry about everything and anything. While trying to get closer to one another and build a bond, you thought it would be a good idea to watch classic romance films. Jungkook would cry to every single one. A true romantic at heart and you, being the best Noona ever, would be there to comfort him. Like you would your own baby brother.

Back then, you used to dream of having siblings, you’re extremely lucky you get to live that with Jungkook. You didn’t mind that he was a big cry-baby, it was endearing that a boy could have so many emotions and show them without holding back.

He was extremely sweet. Jungkook was protective, like any usual brother was. Always looking for ways to watch out for you and even though he was the younger, he took care of you, a lot.

Your mother wasn’t present much. And his father was much worse. They simply weren’t there. Not then, not now. But Jungkook was there. He was the shoulder you could cry on, the person you could run to, the only person you could fully depend on. Jungkook was always there.

Jungkook was very kind-hearted, so innocent and pure. He was never the kind of guy to bring girls home. Talk about sex. You aren’t even sure if he’s ever had a girlfriend or even ever had sex for that matter. He even watches his mouth around you. He doesn’t cuss and he certainly doesn’t act out. He’s a very good boy, the best and kindest dongsaeng.

“Thank you, Jungkookie.” You pull him closer, hands wrapping around his solid back, with a sniffle you question. “You— you’re hot?”

Jungkook blanks, very confused. Were you realizing your love for him? Is this the way it will happen? Jungkook’s not sure he wants it this way. Not after he just helped you get over another man. He hopes this time for fucking good. He cannot bear hearing about Seojun and his stupid face ever again.

“Do you have a fever, Jungkookie? You’re sweating!” You start to pat him all over, trying to measure his temperature with your hand. “Oh no my baby, let’s get you to bed!”

Jungkook nearly awes. You went from having one of your worst days to completely being concerned about his well being. The younger beams in relief, he’s lucky his Noona is clueless. So fucking unaware. Doesn’t even realize the sheets are still filled with his filthy release. All thanks to her beauty.

“I’m okay Noona, you should head to bed. It’s been a long day.” The younger leans in for another hug, a thank you for being so kind.

You keep insisting. “But you’re dripping! You have a fever, Jungkookie!”

Jungkook chuckles with you in his arms. “I worked out before you came home. I didn’t have time to shower. I don’t have a fever, everything’s okay. ”

You fake a gag. “Yuck! Don’t even warn me either! Jungkookie, you’re an animal!”

Oh, if only you knew. :)

Jungkook doesn’t allow you to slip from his arms, only holding on tighter.

“Scared of a little sweat, Noona?” The younger teases with a sly smirk.

“When it's you, yes. Don’t want my dongsaeng’s sweat on me.” Jungkook tries to look past the “when it’s you” because what the hell does that mean? Would you like sweat if it came from someone else? Would you touch him if he was someone else? Would you lick it off if the situation was different? Jungkook swats all those thoughts away. He almost popped a boner and he doesn’t understand how that’s even possible after the day he’s had today. He is done for today, but his dick sadly has a mind of its own.

“Whatever. Go sleep!” Jungkook unfortunately has to let go which is the worst part, but is surprised when you’re blushing against his still, very bare chest, your smaller hand resting on his abs.

“Can… can you come sleep with me Jungkookie?” You get so shy Jungkook has to hold back from babying his own Noona.

Like music to his fucking ears. Of course, he’ll sleep with you. He silently thanks Seojun for being a fucking dumbass. Jungkook’s about to pick up all the pieces he just broke earlier and never, ever give them back.

“Don’t get all shy on me Noona, of course I will! What type of dongsaeng do you take me for?” Jungkook dramatically in offense holds his chest.

“Only the best, my sweet Jungkookie, but go shower first. You reek.” The younger gasps, feigning offense.

“No I don’t!” Jungkook is quick to defend himself, coming close so he could smell his pits. He’s probably smelled better, but he actually doesn’t smell, not that he knows of. If anything he’s surprised his room doesn’t reek of that crappy lotion he uses to get himself off. “See!”

The taller brings you in once more and you push him off hard. “Absolutely not you maniac! Go shower now!”

“Fine!” Jungkook gives up and just as he’s about to retrieve the stuff he’ll need for his shower, he asks. “Your room or mine?”

He silently prays you pick your own because he cannot stand the smell of his own room any longer. Plus you still have yet to notice the come on his sheets. Jungkook would be so embarrassed if you saw his soiled bed like this. His Noona deserves nothing but the best. A clean, comfortable environment. His room was probably a safety hazard right now and he wasn’t willing to risk the chance for conversation.

“Mm, mine!” You decide with a pretty smile.

“Okay, Noona. I’ll be there in five. Don’t wait up for me.” With one last hug and a kiss at your temple, Jungkook goes off to shower and you retreat to your room.

Yes, it was a bit strange. Sleeping with your grown step-sibling and all, but that’s the bond you and Jungkook had grown. The bond was so strong. You guys did just about everything together and by each other’s side. There was never anything super strange about that to you.

Your friends once commented how it was just a bit weird. The strange relationship you carried with your step-sibling and that maybe you were just slightly a bit too close. That made them uncomfortable.

Every time they would come over, Jungkook was just there. Jungkook always came first. They heard it too many times and saw it with their own eyes. When they finally decided to speak to you about it, you freaked saying it was nothing like that! Your relationship was nothing short of platonic, if anything. Jungkook was just your sweet little dongsaeng. Nothing more, nothing less. What was so strange about that?

After that, your friends never brought it up ever again. There was no use. You would never see things in the way they would. It still made them uncomfortable from time-to-time, but Jungkook made you so happy so they kept to themselves for your sake.

Jungkook rushes while in the shower. He scrapes his body clean and practically flies out the shower. Jungkook knows it’s useless right now, but he applies a bit of his costly cologne. Only because he knows you love it so much, you compliment him every time he wears it. Since then, he has bought at least eight more times because he doesn't go a day without wearing the damn scent. He knows you will likely be dead asleep by the time he gets to climb in bed, but he wants it to stick to his skin and last until tomorrow then you will cling and smell the cologne until your nostrils get used to it.

With one last look into the mirror, Jungkook makes it to your room. The younger is obsessed with your room as much as he is with you. Your room smells, tastes, and looks just like you.

Every time you aren’t home, Jungkook practically lives in your room. The amount of times he’s masturbated in this exact bed. Your sheets are incredibly soft, very pink and the best part is you leave your scent all over them. Jungkook smells and smells your honey-like scent until he grows desperate, then he’ll make a mess all over himself, being careful so he doesn’t leak into your sheets. However, sometimes he’ll catch himself leaking all over your stuffed animals. The younger doesn’t even feel bad about it, not one bit. He probably should, he’s disgusting and shameful. For now, Jungkook lives with himself and his rancid thoughts.

When Jungkook gets to your room, he finds you already fast asleep, leaving the left side of your bed open for him. The younger salivates when he sees that your blanket isn’t covering your body, not at all. It’s almost like you’re inviting him, the whole world wants him to fail miserably and you clearly don’t care about his well-being.

By now, Jungkook is used to the way you dress. It kills him inside whenever he watches you walk out the house, perky breasts and that fat juicy ass tempting every walking man alive the minute you step out that front door. When you’re off to bed, you wear these little boy shorts that drive him insane because they cover nothing. Your plump ass falls right out from the stretchy material and Jungkook desperately wishes he could touch and squeeze until his heart’s content, but he would never touch you without your consent. He’s not an animal!

“Kookie?” He hears you slur in your sleep, small grabby hands reaching for him. Jungkook immediately places himself in bed, letting you wrap around his broad, strong figure. Even in the dark, he can see your ass hanging from outside your shorts. You must have gotten hot while waiting for him given that your blanket was nearly kicked down to the floor. Jungkook doesn’t care to pick it up.

And why would he? He’ll keep you warm now.

Jungkook falls asleep with ease that night. His nostrils breathing that sweet scent and your light calm exhales lull him straight to dreamland, where his dreams consist of a love so precious and extremely forbidden.

The next morning, Jungkook wakes up before you, which wasn’t usual at all. He was used to finding you up and running bright and early, cooking him breakfast before leaving to work, like you usually did for him.

Before he even gets to open his eyes, he feels something push up against his stiff morning wood. It’s almost like he feels something constantly rocking against him, little-by-little. Jungkook shoves his erection deeper into the pillow-like sensation, chasing the enticing— irresistible feeling.

Jungkook’s hips start moving on their own accord, pushing and thrusting into the soft feeling of clouds. His morning wood grows tenfold when he hears a quiet whimper. He only drives his cock faster and further into that unknown realm, searching for heavenly release. Cock heavy and aching inside his briefs.

The younger almost jumps out of the bed when he hears the prettiest moan. He’s heard this delightful sound before. Only his Noona has the sweetest of sounds. He hates to admit it, but he’s heard these same moans before. And they didn’t come from his own doing, but Seojun’s. There were nights Jungkook couldn’t catch a wink of sleep because he overheard his step-sister getting fucked for hours on end.

…

“Fuck. Oh my god. Don’t stop.” He would throw his pillow over his head and squeeze, praying the fucking ended soon which it probably did because Seojun was disappointing as fuck. Pathetic fucking punk. He prayed for that or that he suffocated himself to death, either was fine for him. As long as his suffering was put to an end.

You sounded fucking perfect though. Jungkook could admit that easily. His Noona sure had a filthy mouth on her. Jungkook wanted to plug it with his fat cock. He wishes it was him instead and maybe one day it will. For now, he’ll continue dreaming.

“Yeah? Like that?” Seojun would grunt while Jungkook rolled his eyes until they would hit the back of his head. He couldn’t do this anymore. Jungkook knows it’s as easy as bringing it up, but how could he look at his perfect step-sister and say that to her! He simply refuses.

“Yes, like that. Yes please. Fuck, fuck, fuck— nghh!” And Jungkook was truly the worst. He could only hold himself back so much!

Jungkook rips the drawer open in his room, feeling around for lube, lotion fucking anything that will get his dick wet and when he finally finds it, he squirts a considerable amount and starts fisting his slicken cock. He grows thicker in his own hand. Jungkook wonders how his cock would look if it were your hand instead. He moans just imagining the idea.

“Coming.” Seojun’s muffled groans also echoed in his room. He doesn’t know how you do it and to be frank, he wishes Seojun would just shut the fuck up and do his job. The younger smirks knowing he’s struggling, leaving you in disappointment. He’s positive he’s never had his dick wet for more than ten minutes. What a bum! Can’t even please his girl.

Jungkook hears your moans grow louder. He swears he can hear them ringing in his fucking ears. Like you purposely wanna get caught. Jungkook gets too much into his head because he starts growing desperate, nearly coming all over himself.

If the situation was different, Jungkook knows he wouldn’t stop fucking you until you were passed out. It was only fair. You needed a real man, someone who could satisfy you without question. He knows he could do it. Fuck being experienced. Why does someone need all this experience if Seojun is proving that even by being a manwhore that doesn’t guarantee you a happy sex life or jackshit.

Point is, Seojun sucks and Jungkook will imagine it’s him instead of that lame fucker. He’ll imagine it’s him that’s making you feel all those things, that’s making you scream into the pillow. Though if it had really been him, Jungkook would snatch that pillow away from your mouth. He would want to hear every single sound that comes from your pouty mouth. Fuck, Jungkook couldn’t wait for you to be his and only his.

That night, Jungkook came all over his hand, some landing on his face. He wishes you were there to lick it clean.

…

Even in his fucking dreams, Jungkook feels like he can’t catch a fucking break.

His hips still, he doesn’t wanna further embarrass himself by humping into his step-sister’s ass like some horny desperate teenager. Jungkook knew this was a terrible idea, especially considering that he’s had the hardest time keeping his dirty— filth of thoughts to himself. Jungkook didn’t know how much longer he could live without knowing the taste of that perfect little pussy. How snuggly you would fit around his huge cock. He knows you could take him so well, you were made for him after all.

“S okay Jungkookie, ‘s normal. Noona isn’t mad.” The younger pretends to be asleep while he hears you babble in sleep, but you know he isn’t and to save his dignity (and yours) you allow it. Jungkook can’t help, but to think maybe you wanted it too. Was that crazy?

You both fall back to sleep. This time Jungkook gives you a respectful distance so he doesn’t commit the same mistake as before and when he wakes up, you act as if nothing happened and Jungkook appreciates that. He had the absolute best Noona, always looking out for her dongsaeng, no matter the situation.

As the days pass, you and Jungkook spend a lot of time together. Maybe it’s because you are single again or maybe it’s because you just wanna spend time with your (not so) little step-brother.

Jungkook’s the happiest. He no longer has to listen to you talk about Seojun and he gets to spend all the time in the world with you. For some time, he believes things are perfect.

Every night, you fall asleep on his chest. Waking up in his arms and Jungkook falls in love harder. Sometimes he steals kisses while you are sleeping. You wouldn’t mind, right?

He kisses your chubby cheeks, kisses your cute button nose, he’ll even kiss your smaller fingers, one-by-one. He has yet to taste those plump lips, but he doesn’t doubt they don't taste of flowers and honey.

“Jungkookie, you think you could fetch me my shoes? I left them near the closet door.” The younger hears you call out to him and being the good step-brother he was, he snatches your shoes up and starts walking away. It seems you forgot something else because Jungkook snaps his eyes to your phone, which starts buzzing with notifications.

Jungkook knew your password of course, you didn’t hide anything from your baby step-brother and he knows it would be wrong to invade your privacy, but he simply wants to see who it is. There’s absolutely no harm in that!

The taller snatches up your phone, disconnecting it from the charger and he sees red for a minute.

Three missed texts and two missed calls, in bold texts your phone reads, Seojun❤️.

He immediately smashes in your passcode without hesitation and any permission. What he finds is absolutely disgusting. Jungkook feels sick.

Seojun❤️: i miss you baby :( been thinking of that pussy can’t wait to stuff you full soon

Jungkook goes back to the messages from before, his ears are hot. He doesn’t know whether to scream or cry his eyes out.

Seojun❤️: coming over

Asshole doesn’t even ask for permission, just does what he feels is right and that only riles Jungkook further.

Me: don’t can't tonight jungkook's home

Good girl, good Noona. He knew he could trust you, if only this asshole understood that you didn’t need anyone else and left you alone. Jungkook took care of you just fine. Just you and him. Always.

Seojun❤️: that never stopped us before?

Me: jun, please. not tonight.

Seojun❤️: so when? you guys are close again or what? you know how i feel about that guy.

Jungkook’s burning inside. He knows how you feel about him? The fuck was his problem. Jungkook’s tempted to smash your fucking phone in pieces. He’ll buy you a new one and it certainly won’t have this asshole’s number.

Me: he’s not just some guy. he’s my younger brother. of course we are close. soon. i’ll come see you soon.

Seojun❤️: step. step-brother.

Me: what does that have to do with anything jun? he’s like a little brother to me.

Seojun❤️: can he say the same?

What. The. Fuck.

Jungkook was gonna kill this stupid fuck.

Me: don’t talk about him that way. talk to you later.

Seojun❤️: whatever.

Then Jungkook rereads the messages over and over again. He’s fucking fuming. The younger hears the door before he hears you coming.

“Jungkook.” Your voice drowns in his ears. He snaps a mean gaze towards you, your phone is in his hands and he’s shaking. “Oh Jungkookie… I can explain.”

Jungkook throws your phone, landing hard against your bed, it bounces and falls to the floor. You jump in fear, your eyes widen, mouth parting slightly.

“Don’t. I’ve seen it all.” Your step-brother’s voice trembles. His voice is cold and rough around the edges. “How fucking could you Noona?”

You gasp at the sudden use of cuss words. Jungkook doesn’t cuss, not in front of you, not ever. He was a good boy, a very good boy.

“Jungkook, listen—”

“Shut up!” Jungkook snaps harshly. Those doe-eyes turn violent. “How could you!”

“H-He— we were just testing the waters.” You explain with a pout, your tears already threaten to fall. Jungkook isn’t a yeller. He never loses his patience, no matter how upset he could be, but you’ve officially cracked him.

“Testing the waters?” Jungkook ridicules with a dry laugh, eyes rolling. He couldn’t believe his ears.

“Y-Yes.”

“You’re back with him.” The younger one says as if it’s a statement. His tone is sharp, dripping of disbelief and hatred. Jungkook scoffs. “I can’t fucking believe you, after everything!”

“Puh— please stop yelling at me.” Jungkook’s eyes soften for a little when he hears your voice shake and eyes dampen with tears.

His voice is still rough as he continues to spew the fire. “You really think he could keep you happy? That he could satisfy you? When will you finally see it, Noona? He’s fucking pathetic. Loser excuse of a man.”

Your pout grows bigger and you start crying softly, embarrassed that the scolding is coming from someone younger, coming from the one person that should be learning from you. Shamefully, you can’t even look him in the eyes, you avoid his sharp gaze and continue crying pretty tears.

Jungkook keeps spitting his words at you and you can’t bear them much longer. “You really think he will ever know what is best for you? That he could provide for you? I bet he—”

“And you do?!” You yell between your blur of tears, feeling like shit.

“I do! I fucking do. Everything I do is for you, for us Noona. I’m here working my ass off to rebuild you and you let him break you over and over! Aren’t you sick of him? Sick of this? Because I am. I fucking am. I hate him and I hate that you let him come between us!” The taller uses his height to his advantage, towering over you while he spews his truth.

“For me? For us?” You speak in disbelief, scoffing and wiping off your tears roughly with your long sleeve. “Jungkook, you speak like we are together! This isn’t normal. The way you care for me, it— it isn’t normal. You should be getting lost in the lights at your age, dating around. I’ve never seen you even speak to another girl besides me! It’s strange! Plus, Seojun… he’s truly the only one that cares for me. Besides you.”

Jungkook explodes. The taller tugs you towards him, a strong hand on your throat while he squeezes mercilessly. You immediately wrap your hands around his wrists, trying to shove him off, but Jungkook’s much taller, much stronger than you are. It’s no use, the more you pull, the more he tightens his hold. You struggle to breathe, hiccuping dry tears.

“I really tried to do this your way Noona. I tried to be patient and do this at your pace, but you’re fucking clueless. I love you. Don’t you see it? Of course I care. I’ve always cared. I’ve loved you since the very first day. I tried to overcome these emotions but the more I denied them, the stronger they became. I let them consume me. I’ve never been more at peace, but I can’t stand here and watch you ruin yourself any longer. I can’t. You and Seojun are done. Do you understand?” Jungkook’s hand is still on your throat and you just nod desperately, hoping that he lets go some time soon.

You should have known, should have seen it coming. People warned you, at least, they tried. You wouldn’t listen and refused to believe it (or see it). Jungkook wasn’t a bad person, he still isn’t. He’s just confused and young. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s not in love it’s just fascination, yeah, you’ll say that for now because it makes you feel better. Not because you definitely feel something splur in your own (tainted) heart.

“Good baby, good. I never wanna see, hear, or know anything about that stupid fuck ever again.” Jungkook loosens his grip a bit and you immediately take a gush of breath. “He’s not good for you. Never will be. You deserve so much more Noona, isn’t that right?”

Between a few tears, you keep nodding.

“Yeah, only Daddy knows what’s best for you. Right?” The younger one doesn't even blink when saying the words. For a second, you think about who he is referring to as daddy, but then you realize. This was so fucking wrong, and yet you feel yourself slipping already. Maybe he was right. What’s the point of denying it? “Only I could ever love you the way you deserve to be loved. Uh baby?”

You nod with a muffle cry.

“Speak.” Jungkook orders. “Tell Daddy that he’s right. Let me hear it.”

“Y-Yes Daddy.” He hears you sweetly comply and even through a blur of tears, you see him smiling down at you.

“Good, good girl. Now, give Daddy a kiss baby.” Jungkook leans down and you hesitantly meet him halfway. The kiss is very sweet considering the pressing situation. Jungkook curls his lips around yours like there’s nothing off or wrong about this situation. He doesn’t seem to mind this at all, like he’s been dying to get to do this with you. You don’t know whether to be happy about that idea or fall sick to your stomach. Either way, you continue to kiss him.

The taller pries your mouth open with his tongue and you allow him access, pouty lips slack. Jungkook sucks and licks into your mouth, greedily tasting the juices on your tongue. His tongue clashes with your messily, spit mixing in the process. It's dirty and filthy. And it is extremely wrong.

You feel so guilty because you’re the older one of the two. You should be the one putting a stop to this, but the more his tongue explores your mouth, the more you dip into the dark— alluring abyss.

“Been dying to do that.” Jungkook breathes into your lips savoring the taste of your salty tears and cherry chapstick in his mouth. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited.”

You whimper quietly and the younger soothes you in his arms. “W-We shouldn’t, Jungkook, not yu—you.”

His smile wavers for a second. “Don’t be scared, Noona. Who else other than me huh? Who can love you like I love you?”

You close your sad eyes to imagine what would have happened if you just came to grab your shoes yourself, wishing you had done that instead. You would have seen your phone and picked up the call instead. This was so wrong. With a deep sigh, you let the darkness consume you too.

“I love you, Noona.” Jungkook whispers, his eyes awfully speaking the truth.

“I-I love you too.” The taller smiles and kisses you once again, this time you don’t even fight it. You don’t hesitate. You take time to enjoy the feel of his lips moving passionately against yours and let yourself be loved. For once, you feel loved and that’s enough for you.

Jungkook takes your cheeks in his calloused hands and starts kissing everywhere. Leaving his trace all over your face. He kisses your nose, your forehead, your lips again. Jungkook brings his nose across your jaw, leaving little pecks here and there. When he reaches your neck, he starts licking and sucking every inch of sensitive skin, hoping to leave his marks behind.

The younger is satisfied when he sees the dark spots he’s left to beautifully decorate your skin.

“Open.” He taps two fingers against your mouth, wrapping his other hand around your neck and you slightly slack your jaw on command. Jungkook shoves those two fingers into your mouth, pushing them down against your wet compliant tongue. He watches you struggle to take them further, gagging a few times around his sloppy fingers. Jungkook was right, you look so fucking good when something is fucking your mouth. “So good for Daddy.”

Whining against his fingers, Jungkook pulls them out. Cock already feeling tight and heavy inside his pants. He couldn’t wait to get out of these and you weren’t doing any better. You could feel slick start to dampen your panties.

“So pretty, Noona. The prettiest.” Jungkook starts to kiss you again. It starts off a bit slow, but there’s hunger in the way he looks at you. He’s waited so long for this moment, he doesn’t wanna hold back any longer. The younger wants to let it all go tonight. It’s only right. There’s no more hiding, no more secrets. Jungkook was gonna claim what was so rightfully his.

“J-Jungkookie, maybe we should–” The taller licks into your mouth before you can continue and you grow really desperate, feet shuffling from nerves. You need to stop this before it gets any further, before it gets to the point of no return. “Wuh-we should s-stop.”

Jungkook ignores you. He sucks and bites your bottom lip into his mouth and you’re starting to lose sense of everything so quickly. Suddenly, Jungkook’s hand is at your throat again, but he doesn’t squeeze it. He just holds it, kisses around your face with gentle movements. “You have the nerve for sure Noona, don’t you think you owe me an apology. Huh baby?”

“I– I’m sorry.” Jungkook would be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on the way you quickly adapted and complied.

He shakes his head, squishing your cute cheeks together, tempted to kiss them both and he does after he’s done speaking. “That simply won’t do. Think that’s enough for everything you’ve done to Daddy? For all the hurt you caused? Get on your knees baby.”

And what else can you do, but drop on your fragile knees. The second your knees hit the hard, cold floor, you whimper in pain.

“Hurts? Here, my love.” Jungkook awes with empathic doe-eyes, without hesitation he reaches for one of your softest pillows and places it down below your knees, helping you onto the comfortable cushion. “Better?”

It is shocking and not at the same time, how quickly Jungkook seems to be okay and fine with this whole thing. If it’s true that he’s been dying to do this for years then in a fucked up way, it kinda makes sense, but it doesn’t change the fact that you guys are family, on paper and in every way that it matters. Your parents are married for fuck’s sake.

“Yes.” You simply respond and Jungkook smiles contentedly.

“Yes what?” He asks, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You hesitate, but end up giving in. Does it even really matter anymore? The deed had been done. You fucked yourself over the second you let him take control of the situation. Jungkook owns you. “Yes Daddy.”

Jungkook towers over you, thick muscular thighs stand tall before you. He hums satisfied with your response. “Open up wide for Daddy.”

The taller has quick hands on his belt, snatching it off himself. Then he pulls his jeans down and tosses them aside without care. He keeps his briefs on for now. Jungkook needs to have you work for it, just a bit. It’s his right after all.

“Pull my dick out.” He rasply orders and you gulp at the sight. He’s packing, you can’t even see it yet, but you are sure the real thing is not much different. Your hands shake as they come up to the waistband of his boxers. You’re about to see your baby step-brother’s cock and you don’t even seem bothered enough to care.

Carefully, you pull them down slowly, revealing inch-by-inch. The tip of his dick pops out first, his slit already dripping pre-come. You practically salviate, gums aching to feel the weight of it on your tongue. Jungkook swears he might fucking burst all over your face before he even gets to stick it in. Though he hates Seojun’s guts, he kinda gets it now. Your soft touch on his sensitive girth nearly makes him shiver.

To be fair, it is Jungkook’s first time! He’s never, ever done this before. He saved himself for the only person that deserved to have him. It was easy for him actually. There was not a damn person that made or could ever make him question his choice. He knew from the very beginning, it was you or no one else.

Jungkook would be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit terrified. He doesn’t wanna ruin this whole thing, he’s seen plenty of videos online, mainly through Twitter courtesy of Taehyung. Jungkook is extremely grateful. Seriously, he doesn’t know what he would have done without him. He doesn’t trust much people, but when he confessed at his grown age of twenty-two that he was still a virgin during a night of mixed drinks, Taehyung simply brushed it off and told him there was nothing wrong about that!

Taehyung understood him to some degree. Sex is an intimate experience and you should only ever share it with the people who you truly love, but he was a manslut, through-and-through, so he couldn’t comprehend how Jungkook has lived so long without it. Major respect and props to him, but Taehyung could fucking never.

Either way, Taehyung would send clips here and there as pointers to what some people could possibly like and enjoy during sex. Jungkook took plenty of mental notes, he was beyond ready. He shouldn’t be this nervous, but now that he has you right where he wants you, he’s shaking inside. He doesn’t know how sex workers do this on the regular.

Finally, his dick is out, the whole nine-inch monster and you don’t even have the ability to face him anymore. His cock weighs heavy on your smaller hand. It’s the perfect fit, Jungkook thinks.

With a shallow swallow, Jungkook tugs your head toward it. His tip leaks a bit and Jungkook hopes you don’t notice that he has no clue what he’s doing. After watching porn for so long, he can only hope that everything he’s doing so far is pleasurable for you both.

“Lick it.” He says, voice rough and you do as told.

Cautiously, your pink tongue slips out and experimentally starts licking. The second your moist tongue is on his cock, Jungkook’s guttural moan escapes his throat.

This was gonna be much harder than he thought, but Jungkook’s been practicing. Jungkook is determined to last longer than any other fuck you’ve ever had. He’s determined to be the best and show you exactly what you’ve been missing, wasting all that time on stupid fucks that could never please and love you the way he could.

“Open wider baby, yeah just like that.” Along with the tip of his cock, Jungkook shoves his thumb inside. Your mouth is so wet and warm, taking him exactly how he imagined you would. The younger wonders how much more you could take.

“Gonna fuck your mouth now.” With one last warning, Jungkook plants his feet firmly and thrusts himself deep, causing you to gag so prettily around him when the tip hits the back of your throat.

Clearly, you aren’t used to taking so much cock at once, Jungkook supposes he could go easier on you. But do you really deserve that from him?

Jungkook doesn’t think so.

So he fucks into your mouth harder and faster, his thumbs cleaning the tears that run down your face. Jungkook doesn’t hold back any sounds, he moans roughly when you suck a bit harder on it like you want it to hurt him. Good thing Jungkook likes the pain. It’s why he tatted himself so many times. Jungkook embraces everything, even punishing pain.

“Easy with your teeth baby, don’t wanna hurt Daddy, do we?” The younger is a bit taken back when he sees you nod furiously, mouth full of cock, struggling while taking him deeper. God, you truly do look the best this way. “Oh? How will Daddy fuck you then silly?”

You whine muffles with his girth down your throat, secretly rolling your hips on the pillow, rubbing friction against your clothed sex.

“Huh? What’d you say?” Jungkook teases as he continues to brutally fuck your sloppy mouth, spit leaking down your chin. “I can’t understand you. Sorry!”

But he’s not sorry, not one bit! He practically eats you alive with his eyes, feeling the heat start to form in his stomach. Jungkook’s ready to come.

He forces you to deepthroat him with a ruthless thrust, pushing your head down on his length, as far as you could go. Jungkook doesn’t dare let go until your eyes water beyond control and he doesn’t hear you breathe through your nose. When he releases the tight grip on your head, you are desperately breathing heavily, coughing spit.

“Puh—Please.” Your voice breaks. Jungkook looks down and almost feels bad, you look a mess. Pretty little mess. “N-No more.”

He considers it, but he won’t let you go that easy. “Make me come, then you can beg for mercy after.”

Even after all this, Jungkook’s words surprise you. How? How was it fucking possible? For so long, you believed Jungkook was a certain person, a kind-hearted, romantic sweetheart. In a way, he still is. Jungkook truly believes that this was meant for him. That his whole purpose was to be yours. He never showed this side of himself ever and maybe that’s why it terrifies you. How much is he capable of and how much are you willing to give up for him?

Jungkook throws his head back and moans loudly when you start sucking with purpose, your intentions set clear. He’ll come within seconds if you continue like this.

You don’t let up. If he wants to come, he will. You suck down hard, taking his cock as far as your throat allows. There’s no need to lie, Jungkook tastes and even smells amazing down there. You’ve always known he’s been a clean freak, but he really does take care of himself well.

Gargling him down, Jungkook starts to whine and slow down his pace, but you continue your menacing behavior, sucking him off the way you imagined he would like it. And Jungkook starts seeing stars. He knows that after this, he’ll never want to not do this. This was much, much better than fisting his own cock. You’ve completely ruined him.

“I— I’m gonna come.” Jungkook says and almost immediately comes, bursting his release inside your mouth. “Swallow it.”

There’s no doubt that you won’t. You continue sucking until he’s completely empty and swallow him down.

Jungkook’s eyes are unrecognizable. Not that he looks any different besides his fucked out state, but they are so sharp and dangerously sexy. “Show me.”

You stick your tongue out as far as you can and show him how nicely you’ve cleaned up after him, Jungkook could come again.

Once he’s satisfied, his rough voice booms. “Come here.”

You stand on two feet, your cunt is surely dripping because you feel your panties sticking to your folds. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to take you back in his mouth, not bothered one bit about the fact that you just swallowed his semen. He licks into your mouth like he’s famished, tasting himself on your tongue. Jungkook doesn’t know how he will survive without this now.

“Lie down. On your stomach.” Even though you’ve pretty much gone as far as you can with this, you still hesitate. Maybe it's your guilt or maybe it’s because you are liking this much more than you should, that you still comply even when you shouldn’t.

Your pillow gets left and forgotten where it currently sits and you lay down, stomach pressing into the mattress. Jungkook pats your head and you nearly purr.

“Lift yourself up baby.” Jungkook’s so fucking hard still, he doesn’t get how this is possible. Staring at your perfect petite figure, he starts to get it. “Gonna take these off now.”

Jungkook slowly tugs on your shorts and you shake your head, stopping him once again, your hand flies to his wrist. “N-No.”

“Don’t make me tie your hands Noona, be good for me pretty.” And once again, Jungkook wins. You don’t see yourself winning any time soon. “Gonna undress you now, keep those precious hands away from me for now.”

Repeating his actions from earlier, Jungkook pulls down your shorts and your ass falls right from out the lousy material.

“Fuck.” Jungkook curses, taking in the view as you whimper softly. Your ass is even better, almost bare, your fat pussy peeks through your thin panties. He runs his finger along where your slit should be, feeling your slick dampen his fingertip over the fabric, moaning quietly. The large wet spot on your soiled panties, told him all he needed to know, you wanted this just as much as he did.

With his index finger, he curls his finger along your waistband and brings your panties off as well and the sight doesn’t disappoint. Jungkook licks his dry lips and starts to get to work.

The younger spreads your folds into a “V” and sticks his nose so far into your glistening cunt without warning. Jungkook starts to eat you out like never before and you crumble, moaning and squealing against the feeling of his perfect lips munching on your dripping pussy.

The taller doesn’t let you get any further, heavy-hand on your hip while he keeps you in place. He slurps your sweet slick into his mouth, swallowing down every drop greedily without any fucking plans on stopping soon. Jungkook has found his purpose.

Jungkook was made to eat your fat juicy pussy. There wasn’t anything better than this. Not even the blowjob felt as good as this is making him feel. Jungkook knows that it has nothing to do with your skills or anything of the sort, but because he loves the way you push and pull away from him. The more you run, the more he feels like chasing. He’s addicted to the strangled sounds that escape your lips, crying out loudly against your will. It was perfect!

You squeal when you feel him suckle on your sensitive bud, playing with it between his teeth. He’s almost tempted to bite, but he’s hurt his baby enough. “S good Noona, tastes like candy.”

His words vibrate inside your cunt and you already feel your climax coming in heavy. He was gonna drive you insane!

“Please… oh my god. Please. I can’t.” You swear you feel Jungkook smiling even as he’s eating you out, nose deep inside your cute little cunt. Guess that answers his question, you are definitely enjoying yourself way more than you should.

“You can baby, you fucking will.” He nearly growls into your folds, licking and eating everything he could swallow like a madman. Jungkook didn’t wanna stop until you had nothing more to give, until your pussy stopped oozing out that sweet essence. But it seems the more he licks, the more that squirts out!

Jungkook doesn’t mind though, not at all, not even one bit. He’ll eat your pussy until it kills him.

“Ohhhh, nhmmm fuck. I- Daddy, I’m cominggg.” He hears your fucked out slur and sucks harder on your clit, lapping at all the juices that kept drizzling down. He’s surprised to hear you call him Daddy, he didn’t ask you to, but you were so good for him either way. Jungkook didn’t need to ask anymore, you were so far gone to care about anything else when his tongue kept slipping inside your messy hole.

“Come on my tongue baby. Come for Daddy.” With a strangled cry you come and Jungkook feels the second you explode, because your pussy almost flushes out everything it can give him. He sucks it all up though and doesn’t stop until he feels you trembling under his touch, barely holding up. “Good, so good for me baby. God, I love you.”

Jungkook tosses his shirt aside because he’s grown super hot and looks down at your fucked out figure. All he did was eat pussy, imagine what else he could do with that humongous monster cock he drags around.

He didn’t fail to notice how pretty your tiny hole was from behind, both of them. Jungkook wanted to eat your ass too, but maybe that was for another time, when he gets the pleasure to focus on one at a time.

“Turn around for me baby.” The younger one softly speaks.

There’s a bit of a struggle, but you land on your back successfully and whine when you see his bare figure. Jungkook’s worked his ass off to get it. He’s so strong and shredded, but nonetheless, the sight of his sculpted body makes you drool nearly every time.

“Gonna put it in now.” The way he says it throws you off, he seems a bit embarrassed, shy maybe? And it doesn’t make sense because not even seconds ago, the younger was so confident about every little thing he was doing to you, ruining you entirely for anyone else.

“W-Wait.” You rush, pushing your hand against his chest. Jungkook freezes in place, his hand already wrapped around his cock. “Condom?”

And like that, he snaps again, those once innocent doe-eyes turn dark again and you regret even reminding him. “We won’t be needing that silly Noona, I’m gonna fuck a baby into you and you’re gonna be the perfect Mommy. Won’t you?”

You wanna shake your head so bad, your mind is screaming at you to say no, to fucking stop him before it’s too fucking late, but your body speaks for you. Your pussy keeps leaking your arousal and you can’t believe your reality. You want it so bad, you don’t really care what comes with the consequences of your actions. If your step-brother wants a baby, well then…

“Isn’t that right Noona? You’ll be the perfect Mommy.” Jungkook’s voice sounds sinister and you can barely recognize the person he is. “Daddy will take care of you both. Don’t you want that? Huh my love?”

With sick, deranged thoughts in your head, you slowly nod in agreement and Jungkook scrunches his nose into a sweet, kind smile. “Of course you do. You're the best Noona. Gonna fuck you now okay?”

You nod again. This time, you pry your legs open for him. Letting him use you the way he wants and needs. Jungkook licks his lips and takes his heavy cock in hand. Before he lines it up, he spits perfectly along his length, coating his dick all around so it could slide in without further complications and then he pushes the tip inside.

The minute you feel the intrusion, just the fucking tip, you gasp loudly, trembling into his surprisingly gentle touch.

“C-Can’t. Won’t fu—fit.” You say breaking between whimpers.

Jungkook’s gaze is dark and heavy on you and he gets right into your face when he whispers the next words. “Oh but you will. You already did.”

Just as you are about to question him, in one powerful blow, Jungkook thrusts himself all the way inside your tight velvety-walls and you run away from his hold.

And like always, there’s no point. Before you realize it, Jungkook’s pulling out and ramming back inside you. Doesn’t even seem bothered by the painful whines coming from your lips, his eyes are too focused on the way his cock disappears into your perfect pussy.

There was no better way to lose his virginity, Jungkook thought. This was exactly what he’s been fucking missing all his life.

The pain simmers eventually and it starts to feel overwhelmingly good. Your pained whimpers turn into high-pitched cries and Jungkook sticks his face into your neck, moaning roughly against your ear while he continues to work his way into your walls.

Jungkook will never, absolutely never, go back to his fists. The heat, natural slick, and tightness. His fists don’t even come close.

Skin is clapping on skin, brutally setting a rapid pace. His dick is so sensitive right now, he’s surprised he’s even lasted this long. Jungkook doesn’t even know how fucking long it’s been. Or if your guy's parents will come home soon. He doesn’t even give a fuck. You are his.

His to fuck. His to play with. And his to love.

“Gonna come so deep inside this pussy. Gonna make sure you end up swollen and pregnant once I’m done with you. Noona’s so tight.” He breathes heavily into your neck, sweat dripping from the younger.

His words start to rile you up for some reason. Do you even get a fucking choice? The dicking is almost that good you let yourself fall for a few seconds, allowing Jungkook to fuck into you like some fuck-doll.

Without thinking, you reach for his fluff of sweaty hair and tug. Hard. When he comes up to question you, you slap him so hard that his face snaps towards that direction.

Jungkook’s merciless pounding stills.

For a moment, all you hear is heavy breathing, yours mixed with his. It takes Jungkook a while to look back at you and when you do dare look into his eyes, all you see is dark, dark lust. Lots of it.

Jungkook pulls you in roughly from your throat for a bruising wet kiss. His cock slips from inside you and you whine into his mouth at the loss. You already want him back inside, you took it for granted.

The taller chuckles dryly, almost too sexy for his own good when he catches you grinding your folds desperately against his wet length. “Baby already misses Daddy’s dick. This is how it’s gonna be huh? Okay. I’ll play by your rules baby, don’t fucking say I didn’t warn you.”

You don’t even get the chance to catch your breath when you are already pressed face down into the mattress. Jungkook parts your fat ass, slides his cock between them and teases your sweet little hole menacingly.

Jungkook slaps his cock down a few times, the whole nine inches, right onto your dripping folds. They practically were screaming for attention and not to worry, Daddy was home. Slick would stick to his cock, maybe he should make you lick him clean.

“Why?” The younger one hears you crying softly.

“We’ve been over this Noona, only I’ll ever love you how you deserve to be loved. Stop worrying so much. Want you to come on Daddy’s cock. We’ll talk after m’kay?” Jungkook reasons and stabilizes the situation like if you have any choice in this and as if this wasn’t absolutely sick. “Let me take care of you Noona.”

The choice was made before you even realized it.

“Okay… but don’t— don’t come inside Jungkook. I’m not on birth control.” Seojun would always make use of a condom, you forgoing those hormonal-consuming pills. You don’t get to see this, but the younger one smiles wide like if you just gave him the green light. What you don’t know doesn’t harm you. One day, Jungkook thinks.

“Okay Noona, whatever you say.” Jungkook spits on his cock one last time before he carefully pushes back inside. The prodding feeling still leaves you in between sharp gasps and painful whines, ripping right through you.

“Oh my god… Jungkook- too big.” You grab your closest pillow nearly tearing through the thin fabric, using it to have something to tug and bite on.

“Yeahhh, but Noona takes it so well.” Jungkook moans when he feels you squeeze hard around him, basically watching your asshole wink at him too. “Fuck baby, maybe I should fuck this tiny hole too.”

You whimper when you feel his thumb brushing against the fluttering muscle, back arching into the frail sensation. “Mff—no please, I’ve n-never done it. Please.”

“Okay. Not today baby.” Not today or ever again you hope. You pray that whatever is happening today starts and ends today, but for now, you settle for that answer.

But the second Jungkook’s thumb leaves your delicate asshole, he grips onto the fat of your ass cheeks and starts mounting you from behind like an animal. The stretch still burns, not used to taking so much at once, but he can tell when it starts feeling equally as good for you because you squirm on his cock like a worm. He watches you pull away from him, but he’s gripping you hard, feeling that ass bounce back on him. Jungkook curses when he hears you start moaning into your pillows.

“Nu-uh, wanna hear it.” He pulls you by your throat, your back flushing against his sweaty rising chest. In this position, he’s reaching deeper inside your cunt, g-spot being constantly abused.

“Fuck-k-k, oh fuck —nghh.” Jungkook practically soaks in every noise that comes from your mouth, hips clapping hard into your ass. He takes the time to enjoy this, squeezing the fat that jiggles. Maybe he’ll convince you next time to let him fuck your tight ass. After all, he knows Noona could never say no to her sweetest dongsaeng.

The younger sucks more hickeys onto your skin, anywhere that he can really. Jungkook sucks one on the side of your neck, shoulder, and your back. He’s obsessed. Tomorrow he shall do the exact same thing, he’ll keep you on his cock forever now that he knows what it is like. Taehyung was so right. Sex was amazing.

“Let me hear you Noona, think I’ll come just like this.” Jungkook moans roughly in your ear as he continues to pump your walls full of cock, pussy dripping buckets around his length.

You let out moans like water, feeling his dick destroy your insides, he must have rearranged your guts by now. “Think—think m’ gonna come Daddy.”

Jungkook smirks, grabbing your chin roughly and kisses you sloppily, including tongue and all. He loves the sound of his name and title from your pouty, gasping mouth. “Fucked you so good baby doesn’t know if she’s coming or not. Daddy’s the best, isn’t he?”

“Ye–yeah Daddy.” You slur in a trippy haze and just like that, you’re dropped into the sheets again, and flipped with ease in his hold. Jungkook’s dick surprisingly doesn’t even slip out and you don’t know if you moaned again because of the feeling of his dick impaling your pelvic walls or because he can toss you around like some rag doll and have his way with you. Daddy’s the strongest.

Either way your moans are like sin, high pitched whimpers and incoherent mumbles coming from your plump lips like hushed prayers. “Gonna come Daddy, ‘m gonna come ‘s hard.”

“It’s okay baby. Come on Daddy’s cock. I got you.” Jungkook goes feral when he sees the way you practically convulsate on his dick, squirting all over yourself. He’s only ever seen this on those shitty videos Taehyung sends him and he warned him that it wasn't an easy thing to do, not unless done right and when the other person is really into it. Jungkook’s flying over the moon right now knowing that he’s the reason why you can’t help, but squirt messily all over his cock. “Perfect. Noona’s perfect.”

The taller grips your thighs for support, fucking you through your intense orgasm until your inner thighs are all covered in your silky juices, being pounded into overestimation. Jungkook is really close himself and he knows nothing would compare to coming deep inside your walls, but he should respect his Noona’s wishes, at least this once.

“Where should I come baby? Huh? Tell me.” Sweat accumulates on his forehead, dripping loads of it. Jungkook’s thighs burn from the same constant movement, practically bunny jackhammering into your pussy. He never imagined such a practice could be so tiring, he doesn’t even have to go work out tonight!

By this point, you are in and out of consciousness. Jungkook hasn’t stopped splitting you in two, your aching everywhere, but the feeling is mind-blowing. Not even Seojun could make you feel this good, not anyone.

You were in doubt. Jungkook had to have been experienced by the way he fucked. There’s not enough stamina to fuck the way he does. Jungkook’s a beast and he fucks like one too, using your cunt like a toy he can stick his dick into. Your pussy is stretched in ways unknown to man, perfectly molding around his cock, squeezing him in all the right ways. The more you feel his cock pressing into your pelvic floor, the more you start to realize, Jungkook belongs right here. Where he has been.

“Tell me baby. Want Daddy to come all over your pussy, give you a little facial? Tell me— fuck!” Jungkook’s pants grow hot and heavy, his orgasm approaching him hard. His cock is sensitive to the max, but he doesn’t stop, fucking you relentlessly through it all.

Another realization hits within that moment. It’s already gone to the point of no return. You’ve sucked your baby step-brother off and let him drop his seed in your mouth. He’s kissed and licked every part of your pussy, like any good boy would. You’ve let your dongsaeng use your most intimate parts for his own personal pleasure and the worst part is you’ve actually enjoyed it all. Selfishly, you decide he’s the only one that could ever be right for you. Jungkook had been right all along, he was made for you.

“Inside Daddy, wan— you inside.” Jungkook’s hips freeze as he hears you plead so prettily, tears streaming down your flushed face. God, he almost busts the moment he hears your honey-like voice begging for his release. “Please Daddy. Come inside muh— Noona’s pussy.”

“Yeah, want me inside baby?” He goes back to thrusting, but this time it’s slower, more precise and spot-on, deeper. You’ve completely lost awareness of time as well and maybe a sense of who you were to him. Jungkook fucking you senseless and watching you fall deeper into the heat of haze with no remorse or regret. After this, there was no more to discuss, you were completely his.

“Yeah— yeah wan it Daddy. Want it.” Jungkook happily complies, knowing you would come around if he just fucked you good enough to forget that you were off that horrid pill and that he could plant his ssed in your fertile little pussy and give you his child to bear.

His brows furrow as he concentrates on the mess between your legs, it’s beautiful and all his fucking fault. He wants to bury his head into it, but first, he’ll come deep inside that swollen pussy and finish you off. Jungkook takes a moment to adjust and starts jackhammering your cunt again, this time his only purpose is to plant his seed as deep as it can go, claiming even the most sacred parts. Birth control be fucked!

Jungkook’s thrust grow sloppy by the minute and you don’t know how much longer you can take until he’s fucked you completely faint. Mouth starting to feel parched, Jungkook attaches his lips to yours, kissing you through rough strokes. He devours your lips like honey and feels you start to clench around him again. He feels a little gash of juices trinkle along his slit and Jungkook realizes he’s made you come again by the way your walls clench around his cock.

“Fuck baby, Daddy’s gonna come inside now.” All you can do is nod between blacking out, not wanting to waste his precious, healthy come.

With one last growl, Jungkook’s coming deep. The last thing you remember is the heavy weight of Jungkook’s cock twitching and releasing the milky substance across your plushy warm inviting walls.

—-

“Hey honey, how was work today?” Your voice is soft and light as petals while you watch the food come to a boil on the stove, whisking it around and adding a bit more salt for taste while you wait for your husband’s response.

“Fine baby. Had a long meeting with one of our staff members about missing numbers, but the problem was taken care of.” Your husband’s voice is manly and smooth all around, almost husky-like. He goes to kiss your delicate cheek, watching your eyes flutter as he wraps hulky arms around you, bringing your back flush to his front. “Hope you haven’t been on your feet all day, my love. You should be resting, my love.”

You smile at your caring husband, enjoying his musky scent and broad body. “Of course not babe, I’m almost done with the stew. Help me grab a bowl?”

“Mm.” Your husband hums and retreats to grab a bowl from a cabinet that is far too high for your reach with a quick pat to your ass, giving it a quick squeeze. “This one okay baby?”

“Yeah!”

The taller comes back with the empty bowl and you are quick to serve the steamy stew into the dish, always making sure your husband comes home to a warm homemade meal after his long days at work. He watches you from afar admiring the beauty and power his precious wife holds.

You barely had time to pamper yourself today, but you managed to clean up well. Your hair was in a beautiful half-up half-down pony with the cutest white bow attached. Your makeup was perfect, a little bit of everything to fix the small imperfections you saw in the mirror earlier. And the most perfect little flowy dress with flowers decorating the material to fit your current body shape. You were absolutely perfect. An angel drawn to Earth.

“You’re so beautiful baby.” Jungkook whispers into your ear, tickling your neck with his cool breath. “Smell so good.”

“That’s the food.” You both laugh a bit, a hand cupping your swollen stomach pressing himself against your back-end yet again. The feeling was alike anything. He was starting a whole new life alongside the center of his entire world. Jungkook was the happiest he could ever be.

“Nu-uh, that’s all you. Although, the food does smell impeccable. My tastebuds are craving for something else. Can’t wait to eat you—”

“Stop!” Jungkook laughs as you wack his hands away from your belly and continue to serve his bowl full.

“Okay, okay.” Jungkook takes his bowl and waits for you at the dining table, you follow closely behind and sit beside him. “Thank you, Noona.”

You don’t get to hear that word often these days, mainly because it reminds you both of your previous relationship, but the younger one lets it slip from time-to-time, still as sweet as before, always by your side and doing his absolute best to please and look after you and the new addition.

Coming from a broken family, Jungkook never imagined a life could be so simple and beautiful. Lately, Jungkook’s life is like a movie. He can’t believe this all belongs to him, what more can a man ask for. He has the kindest, most beautiful wife and she bears his healthy infant in her huge pregnant tummy. He owns a huge house, working his ass off to get it and established himself pretty early in his career, buying his wife only the best of things. Jungkook settled only for the best and he found that besides you, a true happily ever after, if you will.

The rest is simply history, unimportant through your eyes. The only thing that mattered now is that you were both happy and extremely loved.

The end!

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