#First Choice Auto Body

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

bluetooth j.t.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: A little suggestive if you squint

Word Count: 1.2k words

You don't know how you allowed yourself to get manipulated into being a girlboss and moving out of your childhood home to live in your own apartment. While it was nice to have your own privacy and decorate your home however you liked, you realized just how many privileges you lost now that you weren't in the care of your parents.

There was no one there to make sure you woke up on time in the few cases where you slept through your alarm, no one that you could call on your way back from work to ask to switch on the water heater so you could take a steamy shower immediately.

You didn't have your mother's homecooked meals and you didn't have your father to pick you up snacks from the grocery store.

And one of the biggest thorns in your side was the reason you were dreading the entire day. Car maintenance. The auto shop was one of the most daunting places in your life as a girl who knew nothing about cars. Never once had you regretted not learning how to take care of your car or even the procedure required when you eventually take your car down to the auto shop.

But now standing in the hot and dusty garage, you were seriously rethinking your life choices. You should've scheduled these things for when your dad was visiting so you could ask him to take it instead. Or, even better, you should've gotten a boyfriend.

You were complaining in your head, dragging your feet about having to be here in the first place and whined about handing your car keys, with a bunch of adorable keychains attached to some rando.

But when Jason Todd, 6'2 man with biceps that were larger than your own head and a body that looked like he was shaped out of marble by Michelangelo himself walked out with a form for you to fill out, you were all too happy to be there.

Perhaps you'd be leaving here with a boyfriend after all.

"I have to admit, I don't really know much about cars so please don't scam me."

Jason chuckled, a deep, hoarse laugh that made you a little weak in the knees honestly and the boy-crazed fraction of your brain began to imagine how he would sound as soon as he woke up next to you, after a night of—

"A bit of advice, you probably don't want to let scammers know that you have no idea what they're talking about."

You giggled, scolding yourself mentally for finding that funny.

'Come on, (Y/N), pull yourself together it wasn't even that funny. His face is just great delivery.'

"Or I could keep coming here and have you check my car, since you're so trustworthy." You mused, sparing him a teasing smile.

Jason was completely picking up what you were putting down, giving you a coy smile of his own before responding, "Or perhaps this is just a tactic to get you to keep coming back."

You narrowed your eyes playfully, "Devious."

Looking back at his little clipboard, a thin metal rod of some kind tucked behind his ear instead of a pen, Jason asked, "When was the last time you got your car checked out? If your battery and brake pad was replaced recently, we could probably skip that and just do a routine check to make sure everything's running smoothly."

You winced, "I couldn't tell you, honestly. My dad usually handles this kinda stuff for me, I'm still kind of a new lamb when it comes to taking care of my car."

Jason raised his eyes from the clipboard for a second, "Your boyfriend can't do this kinda stuff for you instead?"

"I don't have a boyfriend."

He perked up immediately and you ducked your head to hide your smile, "I'm sure you probably have a record of it in your glovebox or something. Most places keep a little sticker with the date of your last service under the dash. I'll check it out for you, do you have somewhere to be, or do you have a couple minutes so I can make sure?"

You shook your head, shrugging your shoulders with a carefree smile, "It's my day off so I'm free as a bird."

He grinned, "Noted. Just give me a second."

You watched his back receding as he walked toward your car, shoulders looking like they could span the entire ocean and it was only when he was sat in the car and had turned on the engine did you whip out your phone at lightspeed.

"Ohmygosh Julie, I think I just met my future husband. Holy shit. He's so cute—gorgeous actually. He's working on my car right now and God, those arms, wow. And those eyes? God, I feel blessed just by looking at his face." The end of your message was interrupted by another mechanic running the engine.

You waited patiently for the sound of the engine to die before replaying the voice message so you could re-record the part that got cut off. Only you couldn't hear a thing.

Confused, you increased the volume, taking a sip from your coffee to soothe the inhumane squeal that you had let out while sending Julie the voice message. Once again you heard nothing.

You bit your lip at this, swiping down at the corner of your phone at access your control center and realizing the reason you couldn't hear anything was because it was connected to the Bluetooth on your car.

Wait.

THE CAR?!

You whipped around in horror only to find Jason smirking at you from the front seat of your car. If the world were fair, you'd be struck down with lightning right then and there. Or, since you were at an auto shop, a sentient car might run you over.

Alas, you continued to stand there in horror, completely unharmed no matter how badly you wished to be reduced to a puddle on the ground.

You called him your future husband. The ground should've swallowed you then and there. Instead, you just stood there in complete mortification and embarrassment while you stared at his amused expression.

Something startled him out of his gaze for a second and he pointed at your console, making a gesture like he was taking a call. Confused, you glanced at your phone.

'Incoming call: Julie'

Ah, saved by the bell.

*

"How much do I owe you?" You asked, quickly popping open your purse to fish out your credit card. You had stretched out the conversation with Julie as long as possible, begging her not to hang up and only interrupting her tangent when Jason finally came up to you, saying that your car was good to go.

"It's on the house." He gave you a charming grin, leaning an arm against the counter, "Can't have my future wife paying for anything, can I?"

Your cheeks flared red, still holding out your card for him to take, "O-Oh, I couldn't, really."

"If you insist, then you can always repay me with dinner. Today's your day off, right? Think you can pencil me in for 7?"

A shy smile grew on your face, your body so warm you had to resist fanning your burning cheeks, "Sounds like a plan."

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

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DC Taglist:

@emmacata

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[defmaybe]

Wrecked (Deluxe Expanded Edition): Bonus Track - Yunjin

LE SSERAFIM’s Huh Yunjin x Male Reader

1k words (as of now)

Base album

Bonus Track - Sakura

A/N: Title gore, yes, I am aware, my apologies. Need to post this to give myself some motivation to write the entire piece out lol. My first time writing daddy kink. Also, thanks to yieldtotemptation's Easy for inspiring a lot of prose choices!

—

Yunjin’s lips sure are the pair that you’re going to remember.

She kneels down on the floor, painting your length with the fire-engine red of her lipstick and her slick, thick saliva. Hot breath from her nostrils brushes against your cock, making you strain on your couch. Her hair is tied up into a ponytail, eyes looking up at you—pleading, begging for your cum.

Her hands grip on your thighs tightly, effectively holding you in your place. The suction is perfect, immaculate, deliberate. You squirm and moan loudly. Good thing the walls are thick here. Never have you gotten a single noise complaint from the other residents fucking women raw—both in the mouth and in the cunt (sometimes even in the ass).

“Keep sucking it, babygirl. You’re doing well,” you whine drunkenly, hands playing with the locks and messes in her hair. They are soft to your touch.

“Won’t leave you hanging, daddy,” Yunjin says, muffled by your thick cock, eyes staring into yours. She breaks the suction with occasional licks on your shaft and balls, pressing her flat, filthy tongue against your sensitive spot, and you’d shriek when she does that. Her hands help, rubbing on your cock while the warmth of her mouth is missing, and you just can’t help but to moan.

“Daddy loves it, doesn’t he?” Yunjin says with a soft giggle, running her hands on your thighs, overstimulating you. “My pussy’s even better than this. Think about it.”

And you think about it—the way her warm mouth envelops you, so unbelievably tight and wet. The image of you fucking her even-tighter cunt elects itself up in your mind as she squirms under you like a slut. Her legs are lifted in the air while you thrust into her with such merciless roughness. Her tight walls contract and heave around your throbbing cock. Both of you moan in unison from the pleasure cutting through your bodies. She’s going to fucking milk you for all you’re worth if you only get a touch of her hole.

“Bet you wanna wreck my pussy so bad,” Yunjin teases, hands cupping your balls, nuzzling her nose on your waist as her tongue laves around the base of your cock. She laps her tongue up your cock once more, making you groan from the depths of your lungs, before taking you whole with her mouth again. “Bet you wanna breed me with that white, hot cum, putting that baby batter inside my womb.”

You growl as a response, “You’re a such a fucking slut, Yunjin.”

She only giggles, diving on your length again, and again, and again. Each time brings you such incomprehensible pleasure through your body. She stretches her lips as far as they’ll go, taking your cock into her mouth like she has been built for it. Her puffy, plump lips take you like she was hard-coded into sucking your cock. Syntax be damned, auto-complete all abused. It’s that hot, slick mouth. She’s a total professional, and you can’t help but squirm and thrash in her execution.

Yunjin doubles her efforts, gaining her tempo on your cock while taking you in deep. You can feel the tip of your cock hitting the back of her throat. She begins to gag, making those poor retching sounds from the depth of her lungs. Her throat pulses and convulses from the sheer size of your cock. 

“Nasty cockslut.”

She looks up, lashes fluttering. “I’m honored to be your little cockslut, daddy,” slurs Yunjin, sounding so slutty that it’s sending you into overdrive, mouth still so fucking full of your cock, tip poking her throat.

“Bet every guy in your department has thought about fucking that mouth of yours,” you snarl, barely coherent, cock aching and throbbing so desperately inside the cavern that is Huh Yunjin’s mouth. Your hands dig into the fabric of your couch as her head goes haywire on your cock, so eager to drink your white, hot nectar.

“You’re the first in the company to fuck my mouth, daddy.”

The idea spurs you on, and you feel it, that wave from afar, ready to crash into you. You’re straining, hands moving to grip her ponytail at the back of her head, thrusting your cock into her slutty mouth clumsily. Her mouth is begging, pleading to be fucked like this, you tell yourself. The suction, the plumpness of her lips, the sound she makes when the tip of your cock hits the back of her throat. You use her, making her take you fully, making her mouth yours, making her yours.

The feeling builds up inside your loins. Your body arches into her, rutting into her mouth roughly. You hear Yunjin gag and retch around your cock, tightly gripping on your thighs for holds. God, she’s such a perfect cocksleeve, taking you in so hungrily.

Until you break.

“Fuck!”

You press Yunjin’s head against your crotch, unloading your balls into her mouth, spraying seemingly an endless amount of cum onto the back of her throat. Yunjin gags on you, but she takes it—every, single, drop. She lets it run down her throat into her stomach, swallowing all of you. Your cock twitches painfully against the confines called her mouth, body unable to stay still on the couch. The sight is nothing short of ugly and obscene—you pressing Yunjin’s head against your crotch while your body twitches from the sheer force of your orgasm.

The orgasm slowly subsides, as you let go of Yunjin’s ponytail, giving her the much-needed space to breathe again. She’s shaking in front of you, trying to recompose herself back up again. Yunjin languidly drags her mouth off your cock, making a loud pop sound once it detaches. She smiles, showing you her prize, showing you the mess she has made. Strings of cum latch onto her teeth, and she moans, so drunk on your cum, so fucking lewdly you swear that you can just cum again. She absorbs your flavor into her tongue, licking the tongue around her teeth.

And she’s doing all this while she looks you in the eye.

“Any errors, daddy?”

“Not at all.”

—

[felassan]

Snippets.

A user asked if there are instances wherein Rook will be referred to by their last name. "Yes, there are places where we refer to Rook by their last name. It's very contextual - we don't want to awkwardly insert a reference in where it doesn't make sense - but it does happen, though it is going to be more common with some backgrounds than others."

Q. "Does Solas have a type of tea he doesn't mind as much as others? Or are all of them equally detestable?" A. "Orange zinger."

A user asked about the ages of the companions. "We're not getting into specifics right yet, but the companions cover a broad range of ages and experience. They're all pretty established in the world and in their expertise by the time you meet them, though. You are recruiting a team of experts after all."

You can have body tattoos!

John Epler: "Echoing Corinne, the last few weeks have been an absolute whirlwind but also incredibly rejuvenating. I'm so excited to share more with y'all."

A user stated "There are no restrictions on lineage/faction/class combinations other than dwarves cannot be mages". Corinne added "Correct. I've really been enjoying the different combinations."

Q. "Will the gender identity of a trans/non-binary Rook be acknowledged in game by other characters? (beyond just pronouns I mean)". A. "There are moments when you can disclose and discuss, however, disclosure remains the right of the individual so you have to make that choice for yourself." (!!)

Re: release date. ''Exact date has not yet been revealed. Fall 2024 is as much as we can say right now.''

''Lots of great cameos in the game, but I'm not going to spoil anything. You'll have to play to see who shows up for yourself.''

''We can't reveal our upcoming marketing beats or media presence just yet. Stay tuned.''

Q. ''Can companion AI be customized - ie. DAO/DA2 style tactics or even something like Aggressive -> Defensive'' A. ''Very different system this time around. In the skill trees you can affect their behaviors, like setting you up for combos, or auto-healing you when health gets low. Each Companion is a little different mechanically.''

Q. ''Will we get the option to give our Rook more fantastical hair colors, like purple, blue, pink?''. A. ''Yes''

Q. ''How about heterochromatic eyes?'' A. ''Yes''

Corinne: ''We're so excited too! As much as I've played, I absolutely cannot wait to do my first playthrough when the game is out. Also cannot wait to hear about all of your decisions and experiences.''

Q. ''Will I be able to make a short qunari and a tall dwarf or are there limits to that? Do the qunari have to be buff?'' A. ''There are limitations, of course... but yes, you can make a Dwarf that is tall or a Qunari that is short, relative to their lineage. We stan the skinny Qunari''

Corinne: ''Need to get back to it, all. But it's always a pleasure to check-in and see the great questions. We'll do this again soon :)''

[source: the official BioWare Discord]

(emphasis mine)

[eddieslunchbox]

desire

summary: you've never been kissed and eddie has been crushing on you since the day you met

18+ [bestfriend!eddie x female!reader]

contains: hurt/comfort, mutual pining, fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, brief mention of alcohol, swearing

word count: 4k

a/n: this is my first time writing for eddie and I'm excited to share him with you! this is very self-indulgent but I hope you like it. please consider reblogging/commenting if you do, my blog is brand new! enjoy ❤

There’s a romantic comedy playing on the television, something you picked up from Family Video for your bi-weekly movie night with Eddie. It was your turn to pick, and after sitting through a terrible slasher film he claimed to love, you wanted to get him back with a movie you didn’t necessarily have interest in, but knew would make him squirm in his seat. 

He grabbed the snacks while you got the movie, and you met up at his trailer after Wayne left for work, the sun setting beyond the horizon and leaving a cold autumn breeze in its place. A routine that had been kept for almost six-months straight.

A bowl of popcorn sat between the two of you, an open bag of sour patch kids resting against your thigh and a half-empty bottle of beer was clasped in Eddie’s hand, resting lazily on his knee where he sat on the opposite side of the sofa. 

You always looked forward to these nights, but today you felt particularly resentful about your choice of film, the two main characters falling in love mere days after meeting. It’s cheesy and cliche, and not all that realistic. You know that. But it makes your chest ache with longing for something you’ve never had. 

And now, unbeknownst to you, you’ve been watching the movie play out with a pout sitting on your face while Eddie has to bite back his smile each time the male protagonist kisses the girl that looks a little like you if he squints hard enough. 

The two of you had been best friends since high school and now you were spending most of your time in college while Eddie worked at an auto shop, which left your get-togethers pushed to the weekends unless one of you showed up at the other's place without warning after a long day. You’d also been crushing on him practically since the day you met, but had kept your feelings to yourself, ignorant to the fact that Eddie also had eyes for you for longer than he was willing to admit to himself. 

You’ve watched him go through a handful of relationships in the time you’ve known him. 

From hearing the disbelief in his voice when he scored a date with Chrissy Cunningham and seeing her hanging off of his arm around school for four months, before you all graduated and she broke it off with a voicemail left on Wayne’s home phone and headed off to university in Indianapolis; to random hookups from his evenings spent at The Hideout that you encountered in awkward meetings when you showed up at his trailer to spend the day with him, finding girls in his clothes sipping coffee that they helped themselves to while Eddie snoozed for another hour. 

Eddie has been your best friend for five years. Six in only a couple of months. And he has been with a total of nine different women. 

Not that you’re counting or anything. 

His relationships never bother you. Not really. But the nagging thought in the back of your mind every time you think about him, was that you haven’t been with anyone. 

You’ve had nothing more than a brief conversation with boys in required discussion groups in college. And other than the frequent hugs you receive from Eddie, the furthest you’ve ever gone with someone was a kiss on the cheek from one of your girlfriends that was slightly too close to the corner of your mouth, and left your body erupting in tingles. 

But Eddie had game. He knew how to make a girl swoon. How to wrap them around his finger and kiss them until they were weak in the knees and red in the face.

You had seen him kiss a handful of times and were ashamed to admit to yourself that you had crawled into your bed with your hand between your thighs more than once, wishing it was you he was kissing and touching and making crumble with one particularly smitten look on his face.

He glances at you when you haven't said a word in over an hour, seeing the frown on your face and the crease between your brows that he desperately wants to smooth over with his thumb. You never had a great poker face, unintentionally putting most of your emotions on display, and he knows you have no idea you’re pouting. 

“Did you run out of candy?” He asks suddenly, making you turn to him, the wrinkle in your forehead deepening in confusion. “You’re grumpy.” 

“I’m not grumpy,” you huff, plucking your aforementioned candy off the sofa and popping one into your mouth. 

Your knees are pulled up to your chest, body leaning away from Eddie with your legs resting against the arm of the sofa. He knows something is up when your eyes don’t return to the movie, lips pursing as you suck on the candy in your mouth and stare at the bag in your hands, pretending to read the ingredients. 

He quietly sets his beer down on the coffee table, moving the barely touched popcorn off of the sofa and clicking pause on the remote, filling the room with silence. You look up at him and he rests his arm on the back of the sofa, the palm of his hand pressing into his cheek. 

“Are you going to keep pouting for the rest of the night, or tell me what’s wrong?” He asks, brow arching in question and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

“I’m fine,” you mutter, dropping your candy onto the table and bundling your hands together in your lap. 

“You’re a liar, is what you are,” he accuses. 

You sigh, slumping further down into the sofa with your cheek resting on the cushion as you turn to meet his gaze. 

His brown eyes sparkle in the dim light of the room, his usually untamed hair pulled back with a bun at the base of his skull, stray pieces falling softly to frame the sides of his face. He looks pretty. He always does, but your current state of mind has you looking away as your heart skips a beat, gaze falling to his chest which is covered with a well-worn Dio shirt. 

“I want that,” you admit quietly, voice barely audible to yourself. 

“You want what?” He questions, brows furrowing. 

You flicker your eyes over to the television and he turns his head to look at the screen, the film paused on a scene of a girl lounging beside a pool with a fluffy dog in her lap, sipping on a bright purple cocktail. 

“A dog? A pool- or do you want a drink? I can try and make you something but I don’t know what we have…” He trails off in confusion and you sigh, rubbing your hands over your face. 

“Just forget it,” you mumble into your palms before crossing your arms over your stomach and tilting your eyes up to the ceiling. 

Eddie feels clueless as he tries to work out your unspoken desire in his head, gaze shifting around the room until he spots the fictional couple on the cover of the rented VHS tape. 

A lightbulb flicks on in his head. 

“You want someone?” 

Your eyes dart to him quickly enough that he knows he’s right before you give him a subtle nod of your head, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over your hands as you feel your face grow hot. 

“You will one day,” he assures you but you just shake your head, that being the last thing you want to hear. 

Eddie knows about your relationship history, or rather, lack thereof, but you never talk about it. So he’s surprised with your next statement, his heart leaping into his throat and the energy in the room shifting. 

“No one has ever found me attractive… or at least not enough to do something about it. It’s hopeless.” 

He keeps a straight face but curls his fingers into a fist at his side, silently cursing himself for never telling you how pretty you really are. He thinks you’re the prettiest and most attractive person he’s ever known, but has never said a word out of fear that you’ll stop being his best friend. 

“It’s not hopeless,” he says quietly. “The guys who haven’t made a move on you are pussies.” 

His partially self-degrading comment was meant to make you laugh, but you don’t. Not even giving him a pitying laugh or a half-forced smile. 

“No one has ever even glanced in my direction,” you say and he frowns. 

“That you’ve seen.” 

“Eddie…” you sigh, unsure of why you start to feel emotion welling up in your chest. 

"Sorry."

“I just… I grew up surrounded by friends who had boyfriends, or flings, or were flirted with- kissed stupid outside of bars or on the bench behind school. And no one-” your words get caught in your chest and you swallow down the lump forming in your throat. “No one has ever even looked at me. Do you know how that feels?”

You look up at him but he doesn’t reply, his eyebrows threading together as he watches you bare your heart to him like this for the first time. 

“To have guys look at everyone around you, but never you? To never have anyone like you enough to say something about it? To… to have maybe had three guy friends who never saw you as anything more, that you haven’t even spoken to in years?” 

You know he doesn’t get it. Not at all. But it doesn’t matter. 

“God, Eddie.” You scrub at your eyes when tears gloss over your vision. “I’ve never even kissed someone,” your voice cracks and falls into a whisper. 

He immediately reaches forward to wrap his hands around your ankles and pull you towards him, swiftly maneuvering you to sit with your legs thrown over his lap and your head buried in his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, running his hand over your waist. You sniffle sadly. “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m sorry.” 

He knows that all of the potentially comforting words forming in his brain won’t make you feel better. Because he doesn’t understand what it’s like to be your age and never kissed. 

You don’t want to hear that it’ll happen one day. You don’t know what you want. 

Maybe comfort isn’t something that words would necessarily give you right now. 

“I know that it’ll probably happen one day but… what if it doesn’t?” You whimper, curling into him as your vulnerability takes over. He holds you tighter to him, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what it feels like to be wanted. I can’t even imagine anyone wanting me. No one ever has.” 

His heart feels like it’s going to crumble into pieces in his chest as he lets you talk out your feelings, his hand gripping your thigh tightly. You’re almost completely perched in his lap, but he can’t focus on how you feel against him when your tears are wetting the collar of his shirt. 

“God I feel fucking pathetic,” you mumble, wiping your hand over your eyes and sitting up. “Sorry.” 

“You’re not pathetic,” he says, making you scoff quietly as you dab at your cheeks with your sleeves, staring down at your lap. “You’re human. It’s pretty human to want to feel desired.” 

“Yeah,” you whisper, sniffling back the remainder of your tears and lifting your eyes to find his pretty brown ones staring back at you. 

There’s something different in his gaze now. Something you’ve only seen a few times. Something loving and soft, and so sweet that it makes your breath hitch in your throat. 

Eddie figures that now is as good a time as any to potentially make a complete fool out of himself in an attempt to make you feel better. To make you feel like you’re worthy of being desired. Because god knows he’s been desiring you since the day you accidentally fell into his lap in the cafeteria after being shoved out of the way with a harsh shoulder by some prissy cheerleader on the second day of school.

“You’re beautiful,” he says so quietly that you almost don’t hear him. 

“Eddie…” you mumble, shutting your eyes and moving to climb off of his lap. 

His hand on your thigh tightens and you pause, his eyes tracing delicately over your features. 

“You want someone to look at you,” he says, the corners of his lips quivering in a small smile. “So I’m looking, sweetheart.” 

His eyes flicker down to your lips and you want to say something. To pull away and turn the movie back on, get off of his lap and pretend like you were never there in the first place. But the way he’s looking at you is something you’ve only ever seen him do with his past girlfriends or someone he’s crushing on. Never to you. 

Your cheeks feel warm as he looks at you and you can almost feel his eyes as they trace over your hairline and down the bridge of your nose, past your lips and dropping down to your chest before meeting yours again. Your stomach twists with nerves as his hand leaves your thigh to rest on the side of your neck, his thumb smoothing across the skin of your cheek. 

“Eddie,” your voice is a whisper, heart pounding in your chest. “Stop.” 

He can feel the nerves radiating off of you but he doesn’t move, one of his brows quirking up in question. “What’s wrong?” 

“I-I don’t… I-” you stumble for a reason why you want him to stop looking at you like that. 

You wrack your brain while he sits patiently for an answer, but you quickly understand that you don’t want him to stop. You’re just terrified. 

You don’t have to speak to understand what could happen, with how he’s gazing at you and touching you so softly as if you’ll break under his palms at any second. Holding you in a way he never has before. 

“Please don’t be making one of your stupid jokes right now,” you say, a plea that has his face softening and his thumb brushing across your bottom lip. 

“I’m not joking, baby,” he murmurs, the pet name making your heart stammer in your chest. “You’re gorgeous. And I was too afraid to say anything in case you didn’t feel the same and left because you were uncomfortable around me.” 

You suddenly feel like crying again, a wave of disbelief washing over you as you realize that your best friend and the person you’ve been silently wanting for almost six years wants to give you everything you were just begging for. 

“I could never be uncomfortable around you,” you say and he smiles, hooking his arm around your waist and twisting you so that you’re facing him, your knees pressing into the sofa on either side of his hips. 

“I mean it,” he said and all you can do is nod. 

The position you’ve found yourself in is foreign in more ways than one, but especially with it being Eddie who has put you there. You feel slightly overwhelmed with your shorts riding up on your thighs and your skin cold where the metal of the chain on his belt presses against you. Rough denim scratching softly at your legs and a subtle heat radiating through the fabric that makes you slightly dizzy as you get a whiff of his cologne. 

Your hands are clenched into fists around the fabric of his t-shirt and he can feel your heart racing where his palm is still pressing against the side of your neck. 

“It’s just me, yeah?” He says and you swallow the sudden dryness in your throat. “There’s nothing to be scared of.” 

He knows you need him to make all of the moves right now and he’s okay with it, even despite the way his heartbeat is quickening to catch up with yours. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

His question makes your head spin and your stomach tightens. “I… I’ve never-” 

“I know.” The gentle reassurance that falls from his lips soothes you and you give him another quick nod. 

There’s still a hint of a smile on his face when he leans forward to brush his lips against yours.

He doesn’t kiss you right away, the tip of his nose nudging yours as he pulls back just enough to gauge your reaction. Your eyes are closed and your lips part slightly with a shaky sigh, hands unknowingly pulling the neckline of his shirt down to grasp for any semblance of reality as you sit in his lap. 

He slides his hand to the back of your neck, guiding you forward an inch to meet his mouth, lips slotting against yours. His lips are soft and slightly chapped, and when a strand of his hair brushes against your cheek, you don’t bother to pull away even when it tickles your skin. 

The hand on your neck is a grounding touch and you think you’ve never felt so safe and comfortable in Eddie’s arms before.

He can feel the way you relax into his kiss, your body slumping just enough to rest your chest against his and fingers untangling from his shirt to drop into his lap. You’re not breathing so he pulls away after just a few seconds, lips parting from yours with a quiet click and you immediately take a deep breath through your nose, your eyes fluttering open. 

You think if your brain was working properly, you’d be worried that this was all a ploy for him to get your first kiss out of the way so you’d stop crying, but the only thing floating through your mind is how nice it felt to have his lips on yours. 

His face is close to yours, lashes brushing his cheekbones as he sits with his eyes closed, the hand on your waist sliding down to rest on the top of your thigh. The tip of his tongue pokes out as he wets his lips before exhaling a long breath through his nose, a tiny smirk tugging at his mouth. 

“Shit,” he breathes, squeezing your thigh before tipping his head back to rest on the sofa cushion. “I really can’t believe it took me this long to kiss you.” 

“You mean that?” You fight the urge to bring your hand up to feel your lips, wondering how long you might have to wait to feel his again. 

He peels his eyes open and looks down at you. “You have no idea.”

You feel a smile begin to form on your face and you duck your chin to hide against his chest, fingers still trembling from clutching his shirt so tightly as you lift your arms to slink around his neck. He chuckles and curls his arms around you, tilting his head down and burying his nose in your hair. 

“Don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart,” he says, a shiver running down his spine as you slide your fingers into his hair, loosening the elastic holding it back. 

He doesn’t care about his hair as your nose presses into his neck and your breath warms the skin beneath his shirt. “Did I do alright for your first time?” 

Your face goes flush at his choice of words and he fights back a moan when you press a quick kiss to his neck before lifting your head, unable to hold back the coy grin that sits on your lips. 

You nod and he smiles, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. 

“Yeah? Think it’d be okay if I did it again?” 

“Please,” you say and he wastes no time in kissing you again. 

Your hands blindly tug the elastic band out of his hair, sliding it onto your wrist and tangling your fingers into the mess of curls at his neck. His lips drag over yours in lingering kisses that make your stomach twist with heat, tasting a hint of the candy he was munching on earlier in the evening. 

You’re consumed by the new sensation of his lips moving against yours and the frizzy curls hooked around your fingers, the thick of your thighs resting on his own with a silent invitation to scooch your hips a little closer to his if you wanted to. 

Eddie is kissing you. Keeping his advances small but addicting, pushing back a smile each time he feels you chase his lips when he pulls back. You can’t get enough. 

So you don’t really notice when he relaxes back against the sofa, resting his hands on your soft thighs with his fingers dipping just below the edge of your shorts. You let out a quiet noise against his lips as your chest comes to rest on his, your arm getting trapped beneath his shoulder and the cushion. His nails press softly into your skin at how pleased you sound, his arms erupting in goosebumps when you unintentionally tug at his hair. 

You’ve been letting out quiet gasps between every kiss he plants on your mouth, your lungs stinging in your chest, yet reluctant to pull away. It’s only when you feel the tip of his tongue nudge against your bottom lip that you pull back, resting your forehead on his and panting to catch your breath. 

“Too much?” He mumbles, sliding his hands over your skin. 

“Not at all,” you breathe, swallowing hard and letting out a soft laugh. “I just couldn’t breathe.” 

Eddie smiles, tilting his chin forward to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. You lift your head and your eyes instantly fall to his lips, now slightly swollen and a darker shade of pink. 

It’s hard for you to think straight, to wrap your head around the fact that you just had your first kiss, and second, and third, and fourth… all with Eddie who is looking at you now like you hung the moon just for him. 

As much as your insecurity is wanting to take you away from this moment, you know that he isn’t that good of a liar, and if he really didn’t want you like this in at least some capacity, you’d be able to see it in his eyes. But all you can see is the sweet, loving gaze of your best friend as he lets you settle, no matter that all he can think about now is kissing you stupid for the rest of the night. 

You’ve gotten further than you ever thought you’d get and you mindlessly pull the tangles in his hair apart, wetting your lips and taking a deep breath. “I like you, Eds. A lot.” 

You figured he might make a teasing comment at your admission, but he just smirks and lets his eyes fall closed as you play with his hair. “I like you too, sweetheart. Have for way too long.” 

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and slide your hands from his hair to drag down his chest, his stomach twitching beneath your innocent touch. 

“Do you want to keep watching your movie?” He asks, glancing at you and you shake your head. “You sure?” 

You think this is the happiest you’ve ever been, and Eddie feels the same- just happy that he could be the one to make you feel truly wanted for the first time. He wishes you would’ve confided in him about your lack of romance earlier in your friendship so you wouldn’t have missed out on so many years silently pining for one another. But he thinks this will do just fine.

“I want to keep doing this,” you quietly admit and he lets out a soft groan as he brings his hands up to his face. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me…” He drops his hands to his sides. “Wanna get comfy in my room then?”

He chuckles at your eager nod, patting your thighs and moving to sit up. “Hop up then, baby. We can clean up later.” 

You get up and he follows suit, grabbing your hand and interlacing your fingers to drag you down the hallway with an urgency that makes you laugh the entire way into his bedroom.

[jesusatemysnatch]

“anything? that right?”

old!logan howlett x f!reader

summary: you end up in logan’s shop with an oil leak and can’t afford to pay him

wc: 2.3k (i’m in hell the brain rot is BAAAAD)

authors note: plot is very cliche like ik eat me. while writing this i took a break and got an edit of logan to tulsa jesus freak. yes i’ve lost my sanity. also i don’t know shit about shit with cars so yea

warnings/tags: MDNI. dubcon. unspecified age gap. logan is a little mean?? reader has no description besides hair long enough for logan to grab, wearing short skirt. logan grabs readers face. hair pulling. big dick logan (canon). pussy pronouns. spanking. throat fucking. degrading. tears. dirty talk. pet names. daddy kink. fingering. aggressive sex. unprotected sex (wrap it up). cream pie. orgasm denial.

your type doesn’t frequent this place, the auto shop on the edge of a town that’s seen better days. most of logan’s customers he’s had for years, he’d grown used to the faces that come through the shop, greeting people on a first name basis at this point in his career. like hell did he ever expect you. you, who stood behind him when he’s hunched down, working beneath the hood of a truck. he didn’t hear you coming, the radio on his workbench drowning out the sound of your footsteps. “shit,” he hissed, peeling back from the piece of shit he’d spent his afternoon working away at, white beater stained with oil and god knows what else. he paused abruptly when he finally noticed you, drawing in a slow breath. if he didn’t have enough on his plate, here you are. a pretty, young thing. in the thick of the summer you’re hardly dressed in much at all, a little top and a short skirt. “ain’t hear you come in,” the clear of his throat echoes off the walls as he walked towards his bench, wiping his hands with a greased up towel. “can i do for you?” his teeth clamp down on the toothpick stuck out his mouth, an oral fixation to try and keep his mind off smoking while on the job. it hardly worked for shit, nicotine always in the back of his mind. the radio gradually softens, pair of glasses pulled onto the bridge of his nose. “think i have an oil leak?” you sound unsure of it, logan nods, scribbling it down onto a forum he kept for his records. “bring ‘er in. take a look,” his boots thud quietly across the floor, walking past you to pull open the garage door. the wiring had gone out a couple months ago and he’s yet to get around to fixing it, muscles straining as he pulled the door up an over his head. he watched you pull your car in, sighing as you stepped back out. “well.. ain’t even have to look. engine sounds like shit, definitely a leak. i’ll pop underneath anyway, see f’somethin’s loose or if it’s a crack.” he nodded, wheeling his creeper out from beneath the bench with his foot. he tries not to groan as he sunk to the floor, his body too old for this shit. he pushes himself up underneath the car, brow knit in a tight furrow as he took a look around to access the problem. “oil pan has a crack, s’pretty fuckin’ bad. i can change it out for you, take me an hour.. hour an a half at most.” he nods, sat upright, an elbow propped against his bent knee. your expression flashes with annoyance and he thought to himself that you looked like a fucking brat, but god damn did you wear it so well. he fights back with the corner of his lips that threatens to tug up.

logan gathered up what he needed, not paying you any mind as you’re left with not much other choice but to sit and wait for him to finish on your car. dressed like this he figured you had better places to be, but he didn’t give a fuck. you came to him, and the way he saw it was your choices were limited to accepting the help and learning some patience or ruining your car. he’s good at the work he does, it’s why he has so many loyal customers, why he’s been in business so long. he could’ve given you some grief for the look you gave him when he told you about the wait- and he still might. “she’s good as new.” he nodded, sliding out from beneath the car with your cracked oil pan. his chest is slick with sweat, glistening under the dull lighting. he brushed his dirty hands against the thighs of his jeans as he stood, tossing your old cracked pan into the trash as he approached his work bench again, quickly jotting down the work that he’d done. “s’goin’ to be.. nine hundred fifty three. s’for the replacement, fresh oil and that god damn look you gave me earlier.” he nods, dropping the clipboard onto the desk. “take cash or card.” his arms cross over his broad torso, forehead creasing as his brow sunk in. “this is a joke, right?” you ask, scoffing out a laugh as you look up at him though his expression doesn’t let up, unamused. “do i look like m’makin’ a fuckin’ joke, sweetheart?” his jaw is clamped tight, his tone flat, serious. “you can’t charge me for a look?” “i can charge you whatever the hell i feel like. i had other shit goin’ on.. could’ve made you wait a hell of a lot longer.” you scoff out in disbelief at him, shaking your head. “i don’t have nine hundred dollars.” you finally admit and logan’s head dropped forward, a low chuckle coming from his lips. when you didn’t pull out a card he knew this shit was going happen. he saw right through you. “alright so.. let me get this straight, sweetheart. you came here for me to look at your car knowin’ you didn’t have the god damn money to pay for it? is that right?” he lacks sympathy for you, pretty as you were you had another thing coming if you thought you were going to pull a fast one on him. “i might be old, girl, but i ain’t no fuckin’ fool. i tell you what.. no money, no fuckin’ keys.” his voice is low, your keys dangled around his finger and he shoves them down into his pocket. he walks away from you, too god damn angry to be stood in front of you, having wasted enough time on you already. “please, you don’t understand.. i need my car. i can pay you what i have right now and bring you the rest next week, please.” you beg, coming up behind him where he’s hunched over again beneath the hood of someone else’s vehicle, the same one he’d been working on when you arrived. “ain’t my god damn problem.” he muttered, biceps flexing beneath his tanned skin as he tightened a bolt in place. “i’ll do anything.” you plea again and logan slowly stops what he’s doing, looking down at the truck battery he was working at. he sighed loudly, recomposing himself as he peeled back from the truck, walking towards the garage door. he reached up, muscles flexing across his back as he pulled the door shut, closing off the inside of his shop from the street view.

“anything? that right?” he’s standing before you now, looking down at your shorter frame. “anything.”* you repeat in a whisper. he drew in a slow, deep breath as your palm slid over the front of his dirty jeans, stepping closer into you until you’re tucked between him and the truck. he groans when your squeeze your palm around him through the denim, your lips curling up to a sinisterly sweet smile when you tug at his belt. he grabs your face hard, lips puffed out slightly when he pulled you in for a kiss. it’s sloppy, his tongue lapping across your lips before dipping into your mouth, an anger filled hunger. he’s pissed off, but you’re pretty enough that he’d be willing to accept your throat as some sort of payment. he looks down at you as you pull back from his kiss, sinking to your knees. he appreciates that you had no issue getting to the point. “i reckon you must’ve been thinkin’ about this the entire time, sweetheart.” logan mused as you grabbed his cock out from inside his jeans, moaning at the sight of him. “bet you ain’t ever seen a cock that big huh, girl?” the palm of his hand pets against the back of your head as you stroke him slowly, his shaft filling out your small palm. “hands behind your back.” he nods slowly, gathering your hair into his fist, holding the back of your head with a tight grasp. he taps the weight of his cock against your tongue before he lays his base flat against you, slowly pulling his hips back as your warm tongue licked over the veins that protrude from tightened foreskin. “nice an wide.” he mutters, feeding the head of his cock into your mouth, a grunt parting his lips when he brushed the back of your throat. god damn. “you’re goin’ to sit here and take it like a champ. reckon you ought’a think about havin’ my god damn money next time. stupid girl.” he warned you before his hips draw back and roll forward, pushing the length of his cock down the curve of your throat. it’s lewd, the repeated squelch of your throat as he pushes himself inside again and again. “should’a known you’d be this big of a slut when i saw you. cute little fuckin’ outfit, barely wearin’ anythin’ at all. just knew how to get an old man goin’.” he grunts, unbothered by the tears that have begun to roll over your cheeks. he’s selfish, using your throat to his advantage, balls slapping the underside of your chin. the cute outfit you’d turned up in ruined by your own slop of saliva as it dribbled out the corners of your mouth. “good fuckin’ girl. payin’ off every fuckin’ dollar.” his skin is slick with sweat, head lulling back against his shoulders, blinded by the dull white light above him. your throat is exactly what he needed at the end of a shitty week, and he had no shame in taking out his stress on you, sure you wouldn’t be forgetting him anytime soon.

when he finally lets up you choke out a cough, spit strung between his soaked cock and your mouth, breathing hard as you look up at him with watery eyes. still, you come chasing for more, hands sat on his denim clad thighs as you licked your tongue along his cock, gasping in a breath of air before you took him back into your throat, craving the feeling once more. “fuck’n hell.. look at you. must really need that god damn car, huh?” his fingers move into your hair again, yanking your mouth back off his cock so he could pull you up from the floor. “ain’t that right, princess? you’d do anythin’ for those keys back, huh?” “yes, daddy.” you choke out and what patience logan had left snaps, swiftly turning you around by the hold he has on your hair. he lifts the skirt up over the swell of your ass, palm of his hand roughly swatting against. you. once, twice, three times. your cheeks are stained red as your legs tremble, impatiently waiting for him to give you more. “let me see ‘er.” logan nods, bent over you and he pulled your panties to the side, spreading your cheeks so he had a perfect view of both holes, your pussy slick with your own arousal.

“you like gettin’ treated like a slut.” he acknowledged, spitting against his fingers before he brings them to your pussy, fingertips swirling your clit before he pressed two long fingers into your core, free hand wrapped around your throat. he stroked his fingers slowly at first but gained speed as your arousal coated him, making it easier for him to plunge his fingers into your tight hole, biceps flexing with each stroke of his fingers, feeling out the warmth of your walls, infatuated with the way your pussy sucks his fingers back in. he grins at the gasp you take in when he replaces his fingers with the head of his cock, pushing yourself up straighter as he sunk himself deep into your pussy. “daddy,” you softly grab at the hand he has around the middle of your throat, moaning as his chest presses up against your back. “you ever been stretched out this good before?” he asks beside your ear, breathing out a quiet laugh when you shake your head no. he grabs your face again, pulling your lips back to his when he fucks into you, hard strokes that press your hips against the grill of the truck, sure to leave you with bruises in days following. he swallows the moans you cry out, roughly driving his hips into yours. he’s unrelenting, giving himself to you hard the way you deserve it, the way you so evidently love it. it’s been a long god damn time since he had pussy this good, and fuck was he obsessed with yours, cursing himself for fixing the troubles your car had given you instead of giving you the run around to keep you coming back for more. hell, with the way you’re fucking yourself back onto his cock you just might anyway. “you’re going to make me cum, daddy,” you choke out, and he grabs at your hips, pulling him deeper into your sopping cunt. “that right? this ain’t even about you, princess. this was for me, remember? who says you’re allowed to cum?” he is brow furrows, getting a rise out of the way you while beneath him, small hands grabbing at the truck. “please, i know it’s not about me but please let me cum, daddy.” you whine, legs trembling beneath you, threatening to cave under your weight. he doesn’t respond, just fucking into your stretched core while you beg him to cum again and again. he ignored you until he spilled first, filling you with thick ropes of his cum, hips flush against yours so you take every drop deep inside. “you want to cum now, sweetheart?” he asked and you nod, rocking your hips back against him as your chase your own high.

needless to say, logan was more than willing to return your keys. and you.. well you might purposefully pop a tire soon.

[sneaky-tank]

Working on building a cutie a new body.

Walking them through the configuration process of their new skeleton, taking measurements like a tailor, fine tuning offsets and sizes via VR motion tests.

Either ship of theseus conversion of their brain or taking a scan while holding their hand.

Helping them build the skills to control peripherals from limbs to sensors.

Starting the print for their brand new skeleton, nerves, and the tooling for molding their soft features.

Watching their body slowly coalesce from different lentil-like plastic pellets used artfully and intentionally.

Installing and sealing their brain into their skeleton, so they can feel and enjoy the process of being freed from their soluble support structure.

Manually washing them down with solvents to melt away all the support scaffolding, freeing up their joints for the very first time and testing their range of motion before they even have their motors installed.

Taking them out of the spray down station and dutifully bolting each of their motors in place, crimping ferrules onto the leads, and connecting their motors and encoders for the very first time.

Giving them a few moments to amble around on their own, doing the pre-overmolding checklist to ensure they can hold the right position as their soft features are molded on.

Finally, you lead them gently by the hand to the molding machine, they stand in place, and a suit of armor specifically tailored to them assembles around them to have the spaces filled with their soft artificial skin.

Indecent for the first time in their new life, you kiss them on the cheek and dress them in the standard hospital gown and guide them to the auto-tailor that has already sewn their new outfits of choice to perfectly match their new form.

For the first time in their life, everything fits. Perfectly. Not a single hitch or tear, everything just as tight or loose as they want it. They fill out their outfit perfectly and you stand there in awe even though this is your 6,735th time. It really never gets old.

This time is special though, because you'll be spending the rest of your unnatural lives together. This is the last hour of your last day, and you walk out for the last time. For the first time hand in hand with your gorgeous handsome beautiful cute adorable pretty breathtaking perfect partner.

It's time to enjoy eternity, together, no need to worry about 'in sickness or in health', and death will never do us part.

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: There is no choice, not really—just the weight of a decision that will haunt him for the rest of his days. Joel moves forward, because he has to, because stopping means losing, because if he looks back, he might see what he’s done.

warnings: psychological warfare and im really sorry. read with caution. Ellie hospital scene. It's a long one!

Joel

Joel gasps in a ragged breath as he breaks the surface, lungs burning, throat raw from swallowing half the damn river. His body is done, legs barely kicking, arms aching from the weight of what he’s dragging with him. The current fights to pull him back under, but he fights harder. He has to.

When he reaches the work ramp, the water slows, lapping lazily at the concrete as he collapses onto solid ground. His knees hit hard, pain ricocheting up his legs, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the two unmoving bodies beside him.

Neither of you are breathing.

His hands tremble as he leans over both of you, chest heaving, mind spinning. Water drips from your clothes, puddling around you, your faces too still. Too pale. His heart is hammering against his ribs, panic flooding through his veins like a sickness.

He needs to move. He needs to do something, he can’t fail, he won’t fail. There's only so much time the brain can handle without oxygen.

But how is he supposed to choose? Who does he reach for first, who does he save first? It’s a paralyzing thought as he looks between you. 

Ellie . She’s immune, she’s the only hope left for the world. What started as a promise to Tess, the reason Henry and Sam died, the reason he’s still moving after losing everything. If she dies here, if this is where it all ends, the Fireflies won’t have a cure. Humanity won’t have a chance.

But then there’s you.

And if he loses you, if he watches you slip away under his hands, he doesn’t know if there will be anything left of him to keep going. 

The thought digs into his ribs, carves something hollow and aching in his chest, a terror deeper than anything he’s felt in twenty years. You aren’t just another person he’s had to protect, another responsibility thrown on his back. You’re something else entirely—something he wasn’t supposed to have, wasn’t supposed to let himself care about, but he does, God, he does. 

His breath catches, his hands hovering, twitching, desperate to do something.

He has to pick. He has to pick.

And he doesn’t know if he can live with his choice.

There isn’t a clear path here, no choice between right and wrong anymore. His chest tightens as the seconds bleed away, each one too precious to waste. Then, finally, he moves, pressing his hands down, forcing his hands into the chest cavity. It’s robotic at this point, panic melting into auto pilot, too sick to his stomach to think about what he’s doing.

“Hands in the air!”

The voice barely registers.

“She’s not breathin’,” Joel mutters, barely aware he’s speaking. His hands don’t stop, pressing harder, trying to force the chest beneath his palms to rise again.

“Hands in the fucking air!”

Boots slam against pavement. Rifles shift. He doesn’t stop.

“Come on,” he pleads, voice raw, broken, desperate. “Please, please—”

The footsteps close in. He refuses to look up. Someone moves fast, a shadow rising over him.

The weapon swings.

There’s a bright light above him the next time his eyes crack open, stark and unforgiving. For a moment, he wonders if this is it—the moment they all talk about, the light at the end, the peace after all the hell. Maybe this is where it ends.

Then his mind catches up.

It slams into him all at once—your lifeless body, Ellie’s motionless form on the cement, the desperate press of his hands, the gasping prayers caught in his throat. His breath hitches, his body jerking like he’s still trapped in the current, still fighting to pull you both to safety.

His eyes snap open fully. His pulse pounds against his ribs as he scans the room, unfamiliar walls closing in around him. The air smells too clean. The sheets beneath him are stiff and thin, the bed hard and unforgiving. There’s a deep, pounding ache in the back of his skull, his limbs heavy in a way that makes his gut twist. Something isn’t right.

He looks to his right, and sees someone that, for all he knew, was dead.

“Welcome to the Fireflies,” Marlene says, sitting beside him in a chair, legs crossed, her expression unreadable. 

She gives him a moment before saying, “Sorry about the…” he points to her head, reminding him of the source of the thrum in his skull, “They didn’t know who you were.”

Joel barely hears her. His throat is dry when he finally asks, “Ellie?”

“She’s alright. They brought her back.”

His stomach knots. He inhales, but the breath feels shallow. “And…?”

Marlene’s expression flickers—regret, maybe, but it’s distant, weighed down by something else.

“They were only told to bring in you and Ellie,” she says. “By the time I heard there was another girl… they told me she wasn’t moving, Joel. I’m sorry.”

His body stiffens, his back pressing against the hard mattress as he takes it in. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. The words are there, clear as day, but his brain refuses to take them in fully.

You were already gone when they got there.

His hands curl into fists, nails digging into his palms, but the pain doesn’t pull him out of it. His mind lingers in the space where you might have had more time, where if someone—anyone—had just tried a little harder, you might be here. If he had just worked faster. If he had made the right call.

But Ellie is alive. Ellie made it.

Marlene’s voice cuts through the fog, like she’s trying to process it all herself. “You came all this way… How’d you do it?”

“It was Ellie,” he mutters, his voice hollow. “And…her. They fought like hell to get here.”

“Maybe it was meant to be…” He whispers it more to himself than her, like if he says it enough times, he’ll believe it.

Joel pushes himself up, ignoring the way his body protests, but then he realizes—there’s a guard by the door.

Marlene exhales, shaking her head. “You were the one person I never wanted to be in debt to.” She doesn’t look at him when she says it, just stares ahead, like she’s still working through the reality of it all. “I pretty much lost everything. Most of my crew died getting me here. And then you show up, and somehow we find you just in time to save her.”

Not in time enough. Not for both of you.

Joel squeezes his eyes shut.

Marlene glances at him, voice softer. “Maybe it was meant to be.”

The words don’t feel right coming from her. They don’t feel right at all.

Joel swings his legs off the side of the bed. “Take me to her.”

“You don’t have to worry about Ellie anymore,” Marlene says. “We’ll take care of her—”

“I worry,” Joel snaps. “Just let me see her. Please.”

Marlene’s arms cross over her chest. Her eyes flicker to the guard. “We can’t. She’s being prepped for surgery.”

Something sharp lodges itself in Joel’s gut, cutting straight through whatever daze had been dulling his senses. The exhaustion, the grief, the weight of loss—all of it clears in an instant.

His voice is tight. “The hell you mean, surgery?”

“The doctors tell me that the Cordyceps, the growth inside her, has somehow mutated. It’s why she’s immune.”

Joel feels the guard shift behind him, closing in, but he barely registers it.

Marlene doesn’t flinch. “Once they remove it, they’ll be able to reverse engineer a vaccine.” She exhales, like she’s still convincing herself of the importance of it all. “A vaccine, Joel.”

His mind stumbles over the words, trying to put the pieces together. “But it grows all over the brain.”

Marlene just looks at him.

“It does.”

A thick silence settles between them.

His chest rises and falls, the pieces of the puzzle clicking together with sickening clarity.

“Find someone else,” Joel demands, voice cold.

“There is no one else.”

“Listen,” he growls, teeth clenched, hands curling into fists. “You’re gonna show me where—”

The guard moves before he can finish, slamming him down, pinning his arms behind his back as his chest hits the floor.

Joel grunts, pain sparking across his ribs.

“Stop,” Marlene says, and as Joel groans, pressing against the cold tile, she continues, “I get it. But whatever it is you think you’re going through right now is nothing compared to what I have been through.”

His jaw clenches so tight he feels his teeth creak.

Oh , fuck her .

Didn’t she get it? He was losing both of you. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

“I knew her since she was born,” Marlene’s voice cracks, just slightly, but she keeps going. “I promised her mother I would look after her. No one understands more than me.”

Joel barely hears her over the blood pounding in his ears.

“Then why are you letting this happen?” His voice is hoarse, nearly pleading.

“Because this isn’t about me,” she says, jabbing a finger into her own chest, anger flashing across her face. “Or even her. There is no other choice here.”

Joel exhales slowly, shoulders rising and falling as he pushes himself up just enough to sit back on his heels. His voice is dark, low, edged with something dangerous.

“Yeah,” he growls. “You keep tellin’ yourself that bullshit.”

Marlene straightens, glancing at the guard without a second thought. “March him out of here. He tries anything, shoot him.”

Joel doesn’t move, doesn’t fight, just glares at her from the floor.

She watches him for a moment, something almost unreadable flickering in her expression before she turns to leave. Just before stepping through the door, her voice lowers.

“Don’t waste this gift, Joel.”

Then she’s gone.

Joel stands there, Marlene’s words ringing in his head. Don’t waste this gift, Joel. Like this was some grand gesture, like they were offering him something instead of taking everything from him. Like he had a choice.

But what other fucking choice was there?

Going back to Jackson alone? Failing the both of you? Failing everything he had fought for, everything he had clawed his way through hell to protect? He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t.

The guard orders him up. Then a second time, the barrel of a gun pointing down at him.

Joel obeys, moving slowly, forcing his mind to focus through the pounding in his skull. He needs time. He needs his weapons.

The gun shoves harder into his back now, an irritated breath hissing through the Firefly’s teeth. "Give me an excuse."

Joel tilts his head slightly. "Which way?" His voice is quiet, measured, just enough distraction.

The man jerks his gun to the left. Joel follows.

The hospital is dim, the only light flickering weakly over the center desk. It looks abandoned, half-dead already. But something catches his eye as he passes—a bag. His bag. His weapons.

His fingers twitch. He watches them until the wall cuts off his view, then slows his pace, working it through in his head.

The Firefly bristles behind him. "What the fuck are you doin’? Keep walkin’."

Joel doesn’t answer. He waits.

The second the guard’s gun nudges his back again, he moves.

It’s fast—an elbow thrown back, a sharp crack as it connects. The gunshot rings out, echoing through the halls, but it slams harmlessly into the wall. Joel is already turning, wrenching the gun from the Firefly’s hands, twisting his arm, shoving him back. The man grunts, dazed, and Joel slams the barrel against his face. Once. Twice. The Firefly’s head snaps back, blood splattering the wall.

Joel shoves his forearm into his neck, pinning him, pressing the gun to the man’s groin.

"Where’s the operating room?" His voice is low, controlled, cold.

The man grits his teeth and stays silent. Joel exhales through his nose, then pulls the trigger. The Firefly howls , sagging against him, body crumpling.

" Where ?" Joel growls again.

Still nothing.

Joel squeezes the trigger again.

"WHERE?"

The man’s head lolls, breath ragged, face twisted in agony. His knees buckle, Joel’s arm the only thing keeping him upright.

"Top floor," he chokes out. "Far end."

Joel lets him drop. A moment later, he doesn’t hesitate, firing a final shot into the man’s skull.

He grabs his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder, hands locking around his rifle just as the sound of footsteps barrels down the hallway. More Fireflies. More obstacles.

Joel doesn’t think. He just moves .

He pushes forward, steps calculated, rifle raised. The first Firefly barely sees him before he drops. Then another. And another.

One by one, he clears them.

His mind is razor-sharp, focused, his grip steady, his body moving on instinct. But your face keeps creeping at the edges, pulling at his resolve, yanking him back to the cement, to the cold water pooling beneath you, to the way your hair had fanned out, damp and lifeless, as he made his choice.

He shakes it off. He has to. He can’t lose both of you. He has to get to Ellie.

More bodies fall, but he doesn’t care. He isn’t leaving until he finds her. If he couldn’t save you, he would save her. He couldn’t leave alone.

His boots pound against the linoleum, moving faster, fueled by something deeper than adrenaline, something darker. The halls flicker in and out of shadow as the emergency lights struggle to stay alive. He follows the signs—pediatrics—how fucking ironic that they’d still use the same rooms meant for saving children, even now, in this ruined world.

It’s quieter here. The distant echo of gunfire fades, replaced by the steady, rhythmic beeping of machines. He moves down the hall, toward the bright glow spilling out from the small glass window of a red door. His stomach twists as he swallows thickly. The scrub-in room is sterile, lined with sinks, the scent of disinfectant cutting through the blood drying on his skin.

Ellie is on the operating table, too still, too pale, wires and tubes snaking around her small frame. His chest tightens. She looks lifeless. Just like—

No. Not now. He shuts it down.

There are voices. A murmur of surprise and confusion as he steps inside. The second the door swings open, the surgeon’s head snaps up.

“What are you doing?!” the man exclaims, instinctively moving back. His hands fumble for something, grabbing a scalpel—a scalpel , like that could stop Joel now.

He pushes through.

“I won’t let you take her!” the doctor shouts, voice cracking with desperation. “This is our future! Think of all the lives we’ll save!”

But those lives won’t be Ellie’s. They won’t be your life.

Joel moves forward, slow, measured. The surgeon bristles, stepping back until there’s nowhere left to go.

“Don’t come any closer! I mean it!”

Joel barely hears him. There’s only red. The bright light of the room turns crimson in his vision, flooding everything. His body moves before his mind even registers it.

The scalpel is in his hands. Then it’s in the man’s neck.

A sickening gurgle fills the air as the doctor stumbles, hands flying up to the wound as blood pulses between his fingers. He slumps to the floor, his body twitching before going still.

“No!” a nurse screams, voice sharp with horror. “You fucking animal!”

Another one hisses at her to shut up. Joel doesn’t care.

He’s already at Ellie’s side, unhooking her, pulling tubes from her skin, tossing aside the oxygen mask suffocating her small face. His hands are shaking, but he works quickly, murmuring low as he cradles her limp body in his arms.

"Come on, baby girl. I got you, I got you."

Then the alarms begin to blare.

A loud, shrieking wail rips through the hospital, the red emergency lights flashing in jagged bursts. Shadows move beyond the glass doors—flashlights cutting through the darkness, the rapid stomp of boots, Fireflies closing in.

He needed to move. Now.

With Ellie secured against his chest, Joel turns and runs.

You

It’s warm.

Not just warm—golden, like the kind of sunlight that filters through leaves in late summer, shifting and flickering in the breeze. The air is soft, thick with something comforting, familiar, wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. You hear the faint rustling of trees, the slow hum of cicadas in the distance. Somewhere close, a creek bubbles, the gentle rush of water against stone.

You’re lying in the grass, the blades tickling your skin, the warmth of the sun pressing against your cheeks. You should get up. You know that. But your limbs feel heavy, too relaxed, too comfortable.

Then, fingers brush against your temple.

A slow, careful touch, tucking the loose strands of hair behind your ear. It’s gentle, warm. Safe.

“Hey,” Joel murmurs, voice low and steady. “Come on now, sweetheart.”

You hum, eyes fluttering, but they don’t open. Not yet. Just a little longer. Let me sleep.

His thumb trails lightly across your cheek. “Need you to wake up, baby.”

Something in his voice makes your chest ache. There’s something wrong there, something pleading beneath the softness.

You want to stay here. You want to keep breathing in the warm air, feeling the sun, listening to the steady rhythm of his voice.

But then his hand is slipping away.

No.

You reach for him, but the warmth starts to pull back, the golden light fading . The sound of the creek dulls, the hum of cicadas fading into something else—something colder.

“Joel,” you murmur, voice thick, slow, like you’re trying to hold onto something slipping through your fingers.

“Wake up,” he says again, but his voice is changing, shifting, deeper now, rougher.

Then everything disappears.

Suddenly it’s freezing.

Your body seizes as cold slams into you, sharp and biting, cutting through the softness in an instant. Your chest tightens, lungs spasming, and then—

You’re coughing, choking, water spilling from your mouth as your body jerks violently, muscles convulsing as you fight for air. Your fingers scrape against rough cement, nails dragging as you push yourself onto your side, gasping, spluttering, your throat raw, your ribs aching.

You blink, forcing your eyes open, the dim light of the tunnel swimming in and out of focus. Your limbs feel leaden, frozen through, but you push up onto shaky elbows, sucking in a breath that burns all the way down.

Your heart is pounding.

The warmth is gone and so is Joel. Where was he? Where was Ellie?

Your stomach knots, panic rising through the exhaustion. You scramble up, your body swaying, head spinning as you look around, searching for them.

But the tunnel is silent, just the sound of water lapping against the cement of the tunnel. You grab your backpack, thankfully still here with your bow and arrows, and begin to move.

Then you see it, a glint of metal in the grass. Your breath catches as you stagger forward, fingers wrapping around it before you even register what it is. Ellie’s pistol. Your grip tightens around the handle, stomach twisting. She wouldn’t have left this, not on purpose.

Your breath comes quicker now, uneven, your pulse thrumming against your skin as you turn, eyes lifting toward the skyline.

The hospital stands in the distance, stark and still against the gray sky, its windows shattered, its walls stained. They had to be there, didn’t they?

The wind is sharp as you move forward, pushing through the lingering dampness clinging to your skin. Each step is heavy, sluggish, but you force yourself to keep moving, the weight of exhaustion trying to drag you down. The hospital looms in the distance, cold and silent. 

You keep your grip firm on Ellie’s pistol, fingers tightening and loosening as you scan the building for movement. Nothing. No signs of people except the lights glowing in the upper windows. No signs of Joel or Ellie. But they had to be here. They had to be.

The place is too quiet, too still, but that only sets your nerves on edge. Then you hear the voices.

You freeze, pressing yourself behind an abandoned car near the entrance, listening.

“…can’t reach anyone upstairs.” A man’s voice, low and tense. “All units should be responding, but I don’t know what the hell’s going on up there.”

“There were gunshots. You think it’s them?”

“I don’t know, but keep your eyes open. If they’re here, we put them down.”

Your pulse spikes. Joel.

He’s still inside. He’s fighting. Why is he fighting? What went wrong?

You duck lower, peering through the broken-out window of the car. Two Firefly soldiers stand near the side entrance, rifles ready, scanning the area. They’re blocking the way you were planning to go, and you know you aren’t strong enough to take them both in hand-to-hand combat. You barely have the strength to hold yourself up, let alone fight someone trained.

But distance. Distance you can work with.

You ease Ellie’s pistol into your waistband, keeping your breath steady. If you miss, you’re dead. If you alert the other Fireflies, you’re dead. There’s no second chance.

Carefully, you pull your bow from your shoulders, fingers brushing over the few remaining arrows. Not much left. You grab one, nock it, draw back.

The first man drops before his partner even registers what’s happened. A clean shot, straight through the throat. His body crumples soundlessly to the ground.

The second turns, eyes going wide, mouth opening to shout—

You loose the next arrow before he gets the chance, and the thud of his body barely makes a sound.

You don’t wait to see if anyone heard. You run. More voices crackle over their walkies, static-filled and frantic.

“ —we need backup now! He’s got the girl—”

Gunfire erupts from inside the building, but you keep moving, ducking low, keeping to the perimeter as you round the building. You’re almost to the parking garage when something grabs you from behind.

A thick arm wraps around your throat, yanking you backward, your vision tilting as you struggle. Your lungs seize, hands clawing at the arm crushing against your windpipe. He’s strong, too strong , and panic explodes in your chest as you thrash, kicking wildly.

Then you remember your knife.

Your fingers scramble for the handle strapped to your hip, yanking it free and plunging it backward, twisting the blade deep into his thigh.

The man startles, his grip loosening just enough for you to tear free, stumbling backward as you gasp in air. He’s still moving, staggering, reaching for you, so you don’t hesitate. You grip the knife tighter and slam it into his throat.

He gurgles, then slumps to the pavement.

You shake out your trembling hands, yanking the blade free, wiping the blood on your jeans. Your breaths come sharp and ragged, but you don’t stop to dwell on it. You won’t let the haze that had covered you for weeks in guilt come over you now.

The parking garage entrance is open, a long ramp sloping downward into the dark. You slip inside, sticking to the walls, careful to avoid making noise. The air is heavy, thick with the scent of oil and damp concrete, the overhead lights flickering dimly.

Somewhere above you, voices echo.

You follow them.

The stairwell is narrow, the metal steps cold beneath your fingers as you climb, moving slowly, cautiously. The closer you get, the clearer the voices become.

Then you hear him. The voice you would follow anywhere, even if it was into the dark.

Your stomach knots as you reach the top landing, peering through the crack in the door. He’s there, moving steadily, his arms wrapped around Ellie’s limp form as she wears a thin, blue covering, holding her close to his chest. Her head rests against him, her body slack, and something deep inside you twists so hard it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

Then you see the gun in the woman’s hand. It’s trained on him, steady and unwavering.

She stands just a few feet away, her stance firm, both hands gripping the pistol as she keeps her aim locked on Joel.

Your breath catches, the weight of the moment settling over you like a vice, pressing down on your ribs, squeezing your lungs. You swallow hard, moving to switch your bow for Ellie’s pistol, gripping it tightly in your hands as you desperately try to work out your next move.

“It ain’t for you to decide,” Joel growls.

“It’s what she’d want,” the woman says, circling him. You push deeper into the shadows, but she doesn’t see you, her gaze is locked on him, “You can still do the right thing here.” the woman says, holding her hands up, the gun beginning to point away from him.

And then you step out of the shadows, and pull the trigger. The shot rings out, splitting the air like a crack of thunder.

The woman stumbles, a sharp, gasping breath hitching in her throat as the bullet tears through her shoulder. She lurches forward, her pistol clattering to the ground as her hands fly to the wound, crimson blooming against her shirt.

Joel jumps back, and you can see the panic flare. He’s ready to fight anyone who comes in his way. He shifts away from Marlene, gripping Ellie tighter to himself, and grabbing his own gun and pointing it out from under her knees.

He twists around to face the threat, and his gaze lifts and meets yours.

For a long, few heartbeats, he doesn’t move. He just stares at you like he’s seeing a ghost, like he’s trying to convince himself you’re standing there, real and breathing. His chest rises and falls in ragged, uneven breaths, his arms locked around Ellie, his body trembling with something too big for words.

Your name slips from his lips, barely a whisper, his voice hoarse, breaking on the syllables like it physically hurts him to say it. His knees threaten to buckle, like his body is giving up on him, but he forces himself to stay upright, forces himself to hold onto Ellie because he has to.

Your eyes narrow on him, had he thought–

“What the hell is going on?” you whisper, stepping toward him, heart hammering.

Your eyes drop to Ellie, her small, limp frame cradled against him, her face pale beneath the flickering parking lot lights. Panic claws its way up your throat as you reach for her, your hands hovering over her body, searching for signs of injury.

“She—she’s okay,” Joel breathes, like he can barely believe it himself.

“She’s not supposed to be.”

The voice comes from behind you, sharp and raw with pain.

You turn to see the woman on the floor, her hand clutching her bleeding shoulder, her face twisted in something between agony and fury.

“He’s killing everyone,” she rasps, glaring up at you.

Your stomach tightens. You look at her, then at Joel. He shakes his head immediately, a storm building behind his eyes, anger and pain clashing so violently across his face that it scares you.

“He’s stealing her because he’s a selfish animal,” the woman spits, voice cracked and ragged. “He’d rather save her than the entire world.”

Joel only looks at you.

“Baby,” he whispers, his voice desperate, pleading, willing you to listen to him . You swear you can almost see tears in his eyes now, “Please. They were going to kill her. You have to understand.”

Your breath catches. Your throat feels tight, dry, like the walls are closing in around you. “Kill her?”

He nods, but the woman speaks before he can.

“It’s what she would’ve wanted, Joel, and you know it,” she says, her voice raw. “She would’ve wanted to save everyone, even if it meant sacrificing herself for it.”

Your head spins, everything shifting at once.

Ellie…Ellie would’ve had to die to create a cure?

You look down at her again, at her peaceful, unconscious face, your hands tightening into fists at your sides.

Disbelief and desperation crash into you like a tidal wave. You’re not entirely sure who the whirlwind of feelings is pointed towards at the moment. Joel was taking her. Taking her from her life’s purpose, from what she was meant to do, what she had fought so hard to become. They were going to make a cure. They were going to save everyone.

But to do that, they had to kill her.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you look back at him. His grip on Ellie is ironclad, his knuckles white where they clutch at her shirt. His jaw is clenched, his entire body coiled so tightly you think he might snap apart.

And suddenly, you see it.

The way his breath shudders, the way his fingers tremble against Ellie’s skin, the way his eyes shine with something close to madness—he couldn’t lose her.

Not again. Not after Sarah. This wasn’t just about Ellie. It wasn’t just about a cure or a choice. This was about a father who had already buried one daughter and refused to bury another.

Your stomach twists. Your chest tightens. You don’t know what to feel.

But you know what to do.

“Get her in the car,” you say, pointing to the truck behind him.

Joel doesn’t hesitate.

He moves, carrying Ellie toward the vehicle, his arms still locked around her. You don’t look at him. You don’t let yourself think.

“No!” the woman cries from the ground, her bloody hand reaching toward you, desperate, grasping at anything . “Please, don’t—”

But Joel doesn’t let her finish. He sets Ellie down and turns, moving so fast you barely register it, “You’re just gonna come after her.” he says with eerie quietness.

Then the gunshot shatters the silence, and the woman’s body jerks, then slumps, her outstretched hand falling limp against the blood-slick floor.

Joel exhales, shoulders heaving, his grip tightening around the gun as if it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His chest rises and falls in sharp, ragged bursts, his head tilting back as he drags in a breath like he’s trying to steady himself. But there’s nothing steady about him right now.

He turns to you.

His eyes are wild, his face drawn tight with something raw, something too big, too heavy to carry alone. The way he looks at you sends something sharp through your chest, something painful, something close to grief.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, his voice breaking, barely more than a whisper as he reaches for you.

And then his arms are around you.

It’s not gentle—it’s desperate, crushing, pulling you so tight against him that for a second, the air is knocked from your lungs. His fingers dig into your back, gripping you like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real, that this isn’t just another cruel trick of the world taking from him again. His breath shudders against your hair, his whole body trembling with something he can’t name, something he doesn’t even try to hold back.

“I thought—” His voice catches, cracking in a way you’ve never heard before. “I thought you were gone.”

Your chest clenches. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say. So you don’t. Instead, your arms wrap around him, pressing your face into his chest. He’s warm, so warm, his heart pounding hard beneath your cheek, his entire body still coiled tight like he can’t fully let go. Your fingers fist into the back of his jacket, holding him just as much as he’s holding you.

Neither of you move.

Then you hear more voices. They cut through the moment, distant at first, but quickly getting closer. Heavy boots against pavement. Shouting. Orders being given.

Joel stiffens, his arms tightening around you for just a second longer before he pulls back, his hands lingering on your arms like he doesn’t want to let go. His eyes dart past you, his expression shifting instantly, something hard and determined settling over his face.

“We gotta go,” he says, voice low, urgent.

You nod, stepping back, wiping a shaky hand to your tear streaked face as you turn toward the truck. Joel is already moving, carefully setting Ellie’s legs up in the backseat, his jaw tight as he checks her over one last time. The sound of approaching voices is growing louder, closing in fast.

Your fingers fumble as you grip the passenger door handle, heart hammering as you climb inside. Joel slams the driver’s side shut just as he twists the key in the ignition, the truck sputtering to life. Thank god it runs.

Joel is throwing it into gear suddenly, the tires screeching against the pavement as you speed out of the garage. The hospital vanishes behind you, swallowed by the night.

Joel’s hands grip the wheel, knuckles tight, his eyes locked on the dark stretch of road ahead. The truck hums beneath you, the only sound cutting through the thick silence that’s settled between you.

You sit stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, still chilled to the bone, but you can’t tell if it’s from the cold or from everything that just happened. Your fingers twitch against your thigh, your mind racing in circles, trying to grasp the full weight of what you just walked into.

Joel exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face, the muscles in his jaw twitching. His body is wound tight, like he’s still ready for a fight, like he hasn’t let himself breathe since the moment he ran out of that hospital with Ellie in his arms.

You glance at her now, curled in the backseat, her chest rising and falling with steady breaths, unaware of what’s just happened. Of what Joel has done to keep her here.

The road stretches ahead, endless and empty.

Whatever it is, whatever he’d done… it would change everything, but it wouldn’t change this.

You shift slightly, leaning toward him. For a moment, he doesn’t react, his mind still miles away, lost in thoughts you can’t begin to unravel. But then, after a beat, he exhales, his grip on the wheel loosening just enough. His arm lifts, hesitates, then opens to you.

That’s all you need.

You move into him, pressing against his side, wrapping your arm around his middle. He’s warm, solid, the heat of his body seeping into your frozen skin, grounding you like it always does.

Joel sighs, the sound low, tired. His hand comes down to rest on your back, wide and steady, fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt like he needs the reassurance that you’re really there.

“Joel?” Your voice is small, uncertain.

“Hm?” he grunts. Then, like he only just realizes you’re talking to him, he pulls in a breath, his palm splaying flat against your back, holding you closer.

“Yeah, baby?”

You hesitate, feeling the weight of what you’re about to ask settle thick between you. The warmth of his body, the way he’s holding you, it almost makes you want to let it go. To pretend, for just a little while longer, that you don’t want to know the answer.

But you need to hear him say it.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

His body stiffens against you. His eyes flicker down, just for a second, before returning to the road ahead. His grip tightens just slightly against your back, and you can feel the shift in him, the way he withdraws just a little—not from you, but from the moment.

You don’t let him retreat.

“I want the truth,” you say, firmer this time. “I can handle it.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, his jaw working, but he doesn’t answer right away. The silence stretches between you, tense, filled with all the things he isn’t saying.

Then, slowly, he leans his head down onto yours. His breath is steady, but the weight of him resting against you feels different than before—like an apology, like a confession without words.

“I know you can,” he murmurs, voice rough, low.

You wait, holding onto the warmth of him, listening to the hum of the tires against the road, waiting for him to speak again.

When he finally does, it’s quiet.

“I saved her,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

But somehow you know that’s only the half of it. 

You watch him for a long moment before you say: "From the beginning," 

The road stretches endlessly ahead, bathed in the soft light of morning. Hours have passed in near silence, the weight of everything settled heavy in the truck. Your hands grip the wheel now, your body aching from exhaustion, but the need to keep moving outweighs it.

Joel sits beside you, his posture slack but tense in ways only you would notice. His head rests in his hand, elbow braced against the door, his eyes a thousand miles away like he’s trying to keep his thoughts from spilling over. You glance at him, and he exhales deeply, the sound barely audible over the hum of the truck.

Then, a rustling from the backseat.

Your breath stills. Your fingers flex around the steering wheel.

Joel hears it too. His head lifts immediately, eyes flickering over his shoulder before shifting back toward Ellie, something raw and bracing settling in his expression.

Behind you, Ellie stirs. She groans, shifting sluggishly against the seat.

“The hell am I wearing?” she mutters, her voice groggy.

Joel turns in his seat, his voice softer than you’ve heard in days. “Just take it easy,” he says. “The drugs are still wearing off.”

Ellie blinks sluggishly, disoriented, her limbs heavy from whatever they pumped into her system. You can see it in her face, the confusion settling in, the questions forming.

“What happened?” she whispers.

The air in the truck shifts. You knew it was coming, knew the second she woke up she’d ask. But hearing it out loud so soon sends a sharp twist through your chest. Your gaze flickers to Joel. He’s looking down at his seat, his fingers twitching before he forces himself to sit forward again, watching the road like it might give him the right words.

Then, he speaks.

“We found the Fireflies,” he says, voice steady, measured. “Turns out there’s a whole lot more like you, Ellie.”

The words settle like a stone in your gut.

“People that are immune—dozens of them,” he continues, pausing briefly. “Ain’t done a damn bit of good… They just—”

He hesitates. Just for a second.

Then he turns back to her, eyes softening, but his voice firm.

“They stopped lookin’ for a cure.”

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, inhaling through your nose before focusing back on the road. You can’t bear to look at her, can’t bear to see the way she processes it.

She turns slowly, facing the rear of the car, her back now to both of you.

You swallow thickly, shifting in your seat, the weight of it pressing harder into your ribs.

“We’re headed home now,” you say, voice quieter than you meant it to be.

Joel looks back at her, something unreadable in his expression. A long silence stretches between you all, the hum of the tires on the road the only thing filling the space.

Then, his voice—low, almost inaudible.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

But Ellie doesn’t turn back.

The car hood slams down with a sharp metallic clang, echoing through the empty stretch of road. You scoff, wiping your hands against your jeans, smearing grease and dirt into the fabric. The truck had held out for as long as it could, but after hours of hard driving, it had finally given up on you.

“Looks like we’re walkin’ the rest of the way,” you say, shaking your head.

Joel comes around the front, glancing at the road sign half-covered in ivy. Jackson City, next right. The paint is weather-worn, but the words are still clear enough.

“Should be a straight shot through, anyway,” he says.

You nod, adjusting your pack as he takes the lead, stepping off the abandoned road and into the thick woods beyond.

The transition is instant; gone is the cracked pavement, replaced with the uneven, damp earth of the forest floor. The trees are massive, their trunks stretching high into the afternoon light, patches of blue sky barely visible through the tangled branches. A mix of pine and bare oaks crowd the space, the ground littered with dead leaves, rotting wood, and scattered patches of bright green moss. The air is cool, crisp with the lingering bite of winter, but there’s a freshness to it, the first hints of spring creeping back into the world.

As you walk, the sounds of civilization disappear entirely. There’s no hum of an engine, no wind rattling through empty cars. Instead, it’s just the woods, the crunch of boots against damp leaves, the distant rush of a river cutting through the valley below, the occasional rustle of a bird taking flight from the canopy above.

The trek is slow, the terrain uneven, but Joel moves with ease, pushing past overgrown ferns and low-hanging branches like he’s done this a thousand times before. You follow close behind, stepping over fallen logs, climbing small rocky slopes, your boots sinking into the soft patches of dirt still thawing from the last snow.

After a while, you find yourself walking alongside Ellie.

She’s been quiet for most of the trip, but when she finally speaks, her voice is so soft, so uncertain, that you almost don’t catch it.

“Were you there?”

At first, you don’t react, thinking she might not be speaking to you at all. But when you glance at her, she’s already looking at you, waiting.

There’s something in her expression—not just curiosity, but something deeper. A challenge. A plea. Like she’s giving you the chance to be honest before she even knows if she can trust the answer.

Your breath tightens in your chest.

You shake your head. “When we went underwater in those tunnels, I think I almost drowned. I don’t really remember much.” You keep your voice light, simply recalling everything that she knew, like the weight of this conversation isn’t pressing into your ribs. Stepping carefully over a patch of exposed roots, you sigh. “Then I woke up and the two of you were gone.”

Ellie listens. Hard.

Her boots scuff against a patch of damp moss, but she keeps her gaze ahead, her fingers curling into the sleeves of her jacket. You can feel her hanging onto every word, studying the way you say it, the space between the things you do and don’t tell her.

Your hands ball into fists at your sides as you glance up at Joel ahead, weighing the right words.

“I found you when Joel was already getting you into the car,” you say carefully. That much is true. And right now, the truth—or at least, parts of it—is all you can allow yourself to give her.

Ellie nods slightly, absorbing it. Then, after a pause—

“Did he tell you what happened?”

You hesitate for just a second before nodding. “Yeah, yeah. I met…” you pause, not even knowing the woman’s name that you shot, “I met a someone there. She was with him.”

Ellie’s face shifts with recognition, “Marlene?” she asks. “She knew my mom too.”

You glance at her, watching how carefully she’s watching you.

“Must’ve been her then, yeah,” you say, choosing each word with painstaking precision. “Joel said she was—is—the leader of the Fireflies.” The correction slips out, accidental and you hope she doesn’t catch it.

Ellie doesn’t press you further.

Instead, she just nods, pulling her jacket tighter around herself as she steps over a fallen branch. Quiet again.

The two of you keep moving, the only sound between you the rustling of wind through the leaves, the distant trickle of a stream winding somewhere nearby. The trees seem to stretch on forever, the mountains looming in the distance, their peaks still dusted in winter’s last snow.

Joel remains ahead, moving with a silent focus. And Ellie stays beside you, thoughtful, distant.

You don’t know if she believes you.

You come up upon a crest in the hills, where the trees thin out, and the view opens wide. Below, the valley stretches out beneath you, Jackson nestled safely between the mountains. Smoke curls from chimneys, dotting the landscape with the unmistakable signs of life.

Joel exhales beside you, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a little as he takes in the sight. His voice is softer when he speaks.

“You know, I used to take hikes like these with Sarah all the time,” he says, his eyes still on the town below. “I think you both would’ve liked her.” There’s a pause, a faint, almost wistful breath before he adds, “She would’ve liked you.”

Your eyes find his, and you can’t help the small, warm smile that tugs at your lips. He’s letting you in. Talking about Sarah like this, openly, with both of you, it means something. A comfort settles deep in your chest, softening the sharp edges of the last day and a half.

“Yeah,” Ellie says, her voice quieter. “I bet we would’ve.”

Joel nods, his gaze lingering on the valley a moment longer before he moves forward, leading the way toward the dam. You follow, stepping carefully over the uneven terrain, the cold, damp earth soft beneath your boots. Small streams snake through the land, feeding into the massive dam that marks the entrance to Jackson.

It’s close now. You’re so close.

But then—

“Hey, wait,” Ellie calls softly.

You and Joel stop immediately, turning to her.

She stands there, hands fidgeting together, her shoulders drawn tight, her face etched with something so raw it makes your stomach drop.

She sighs, almost more of a groan, rubbing her hands over her face before finally speaking.

“Back in Boston...back when I was bitten. I wasn’t alone.”

Your brows furrow as you listen, feeling something shift in the air, something heavy.

Ellie keeps going, her voice steady but distant, like she’s pulling the words from somewhere deep inside herself. “My best friend was there. And she got bit too. We didn’t know what to do so… she says, ‘Let’s wait it out, y’know? We can be all poetic and lose our minds together.’”

She pauses, swallowing hard, her fingers curling back into fists.

“I’m still waiting my turn.”

Joel takes a step closer, his expression tense. “Ellie—”

But she isn’t done.

“Her name was Riley, and she was the first to die.” Her voice hardens, gains strength, even as pain flickers behind her eyes. “And then it was Tess. And then Sam.”

The words drive a splinter deep into your gut.

Tess.

Your breath catches. Your mind reels, searching through old conversations, through Joel’s words back at Bill’s, in the kitchen, arms crossed, walls up. He hadn’t told you the truth. He never told you she died. But what had he said? Your brain tries to search for it, for what he told you that had happened, but for all you know it was a made up story.

You glance at him now, looking for something, for anything, in his expression. But he doesn’t look at you. His eyes stay on Ellie, his jaw clenched tight.

Ellie lets out a slow breath, eyes burning.

“None of that is on you,” Joel says firmly.

Ellie shakes her head, frustrated. “No, you don’t understand.”

Joel folds his arms over his chest, his voice gentler now, but still steady. “I struggled for a long time with survivin’,” he tells her, his expression softening. “And you. No matter what, you keep findin’ somethin’ to fight for.”

His arms unfold, his fingers brushing over the broken watch strapped to his wrist. Ellie shifts slightly, already turning away, but he isn’t done.

“I know that’s not what you wanna hear right now, but it’s—”

“Swear to me.”

Ellie’s voice cuts through his, stopping him in his tracks.

She turns back, eyes burning into his, demanding,“Swear to me that everything you said about the Fireflies is true.”

Joel shifts on his feet, and you watch him carefully, your heart pounding hard in your chest.

And then he looks her in the eye and says: “I swear.”

The silence is thick, stretching too long. Ellie’s eyes flicker to you, searching, waiting.

Your throat is dry, your pulse hammering, but you force yourself to nod.

“I promise. ”

It feels like acid on your tongue.

Ellie doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Then, after a long moment, she nods.

“Okay,” she says.

[crowsofdarkness]

The Bet: Two

-gif not mine. credit to owners-

Pairings: Eric Draven(Bill Skarsgard) x OFC! Lucinda

Content Warnings: language, fluff, angst, mentions of smoking/drinking, Eric is kind of a dick sometimes in this, fire, mention of someone being trapped in the fire, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions fo stalking.

Summary: Eric didn't give a shit about the new bakery that opened up across the street from his auto shop. And he definitely didn't give a shit about the pretty owner that seemed to always catch his eye. He told himself and others that she wasn't his type. So, why did Eric agree to a bet that involved making her fall in love with him within the month and then ghost her as soon as she uttered those three words? The answer is simple: he loves the thrill of the game.

Authors Note: I'm not sure how many chapters this series will be. I'm kind of going with the flow for this one. This story will have a lot of angst and kind of mature themes so please read with caution. Tags are open!

Tags: @muchwita @loushaw131460 @mariaenchanted @sassysteph56 @bonnyclydecat @whisper-it-to-my-ear @immernixia @unlimitedlust @voidofsunlight

ERIC

I rolled out of bed, immediately reaching for the discarded pair of jeans before slipping into them. My back had been turned towards my guest the entire time I dressed so when I turned to see she was still lying in my bed, naked, I let out an annoying groan. 

“You haven’t left yet?” I questioned through thin slits for eyes. 

The blonde rolled her eyes and patted the empty space next to her on the bed. “Come on, Eric. It’s too early to get up.”

“Early? It’s eight in the morning and I have to open up the shop,” I stated while walking around my loft bedroom to gather my phone and cigarettes. 

“You can keep the shop closed today. I’ll let you do that thing you like again,” she wiggled her overly bleached eyebrows, trying to entice me to get back into bed with her. 

Why the hell did I even get in bed with her in the first place? 

Because you were horny for a raven haired girl but didn’t want to rush things yet. 

Snarling at the voice in my head, I gave a sharp nod towards Tori, who still refused to get out of my bed. “You need to leave, Tori.” 

The slight edge to my voice had her sitting up in bed, letting the sheet fall away from her body. Last night, I was drunk and needed someone to take the edge off. Now that I was more awake and sober, I realized the mistake I made in sleeping with her. She already had this weird notion between us, now she probably thinks we're dating. 

“Can’t I stay here while you work?” She asked in a sweet voice, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers.

“No,” I deadpanned and extended a tattooed arm towards the staircase that led down to my shop. “Now leave.” 

Five minutes and a few choice words later, I led Tori out of the front of the shop and nearly ran into someone on the busy sidewalk. It never mattered what time of day it was, there were always large groups of people walking. 

“So, call me?” Tori peered up at me through fake lashes. 

I placed an unlit cigarette on my lips and shook my head. “Won’t have the time.”

“Well,” she slinked up closer to me, resting a hand over my chest. “Maybe I can give you a reason to make the time.” 

When her cold lips pressed against my neck, I shivered and gripped her elbows tight ready to push her off when movement from the shop next door halted me. Lucinda stepped out in an olive green sundress and her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, showcasing off those pretty freckles that lined her face. 

For someone who doesn't give a shit about her, you studied her face enough to know she has freckles. 

Almost immediately, her eyes locked on Tori, who was still kissing my neck, and very briefly I saw the muscle in her jaw clench. Finally pushing Tori away, I motioned down the street. 

“Good bye,” was all I said, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans. 

Tori gave me a sly wink and brushed her hand over my limp dick, trying to squeeze life into it. 

“You’ll definitely call me,” she purred before finally walking away. 

Lucinda didn’t bother to watch Tori leave, instead she kept staring at me, and it was then that I noticed what she’d been holding. 

A blueberry muffin. 

My favorite. 

Well, aren't you an asshole? 

“She seems nice.” 

Lucinda’s voice pulled me out from my thoughts causing me to gaze up from the muffin to her bright eyes although dulled for some reason. 

“Hm,” I shrugged while lighting the cigarette, blowing out the smoke. 

We both stood there on the sidewalk as the morning commuters walked past us until she spoke again. 

“Smoking will kill you, you know.” 

I shrugged again, letting the cigarette hang my lips as I spoke. “I have better chances of dying in a fire than I do dying from smoking.”

“Geez, that’s kind of morbid,” Lucinda giggled and I swore my heart did that stupid fucking futtering people talk about in those romance movies. 

I didn’t watch them. Noah did and he never shut up about them. 

Right. 

I gave her a wink before motioning towards the muffin in her hands, noticing the red nail polish. 

My favorite color. 

“Is that for me?” I asked, leaning a shoulder against the brick of my building. 

Her petite nose scrunched up. “Kind of bold to assume, no?” 

“I mean, I mentioned last night how blueberry muffins are my favorite and here you are holding a freshly wrapped one,” the corner of my lips tilted up in a playful smirk. 

I carefully watched the way her bottom lip caught between her teeth as Lucindia shifted on her feet before eventually nodding and extending the muffin towards me. 

“As a thank you for last night.” 

“No need to thank me,” I said after taking another drag from my cigarette, making sure to blow the smoke away from her. “But I’ll still take the muffin.”

When I took it from her, our skin brushed together and I reared back almost as if I’d been shocked. Lucinda noticed the random spark as well, but before she could say anything, a deep voice called out her name which instantly made her stiffen. 

“Everything alright?” I questioned seconds before a man slinked up beside her, throwing an arm around her shoulders. 

“Hey babe.” 

The man tried to place a kiss on her cheek but Lucinda finally snapped out of her frozen state and pushed him away. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Brandon?” 

The venom in her voice made my body shiver, thankful I wasn't on the receiving end of it. Brandon ran a hand through his wavy blonde hair before stuffing it into the pocket of his khaki shorts.

“I was on my way to play some golf and I figured to stop by at my girls place for some breakfast,” Brandon said. 

As I finished off my cigarette, I felt my stomach drop. Girlfriend? Lucinda had a boyfriend which meant this bet would be a lot more complicated to complete than I thought. 

“I’m not your girl,” Lucinda seethed. “We broke up, remember?” 

They seemed to have forgotten that I was still here, silently watching. I knew I should give them privacy but it was kind of fun watching. 

“It was a misunderstanding,” Brandon pinched the bridge of his nose on a sigh. 

Lucinda scoffed. “A misunderstanding? I told you I loved you and you fucking bailed. What the hell am I supposed to think of that?” 

Well, fuck. 

The thought of the bet with Noah crept into my mind for a moment and I decided that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to continue on with it. Hearing that she previously went through this already, there was no way I could do that to her again 

Aw, you care. 

Internally I snorted at the thought when it struck me. I don't care about Lucinda. I simply didn’t want to be seen as an asshole. 

Brandon was about to retort back but he finally caught sight of me, leaning against the building with my arms crossed over my chest. 

“Who the fuck are you?” 

I titled my head to the side. “None of your concern.” 

He pointed between Lucinda and I. “You fucking her?” 

“Oh my god!” Lucinda gasped, covering her face with her hands. 

I knew I probably shouldn’t have egged this piece of shit on but I was looking for some sort of entertainment to start my day off right. 

“If I was?” I tossed back. 

“Son of a bitch!” Brandon cursed, ready to take two steps towards me before 

Lucinda stepped between us, extending her arms out to create more space. “That’s enough, Brandon. You need to leave.” 

The blonde snapped his eyes over to her and for the briefest of moments, I saw white hot rage fill them. 

“Leave?” He snorted. “It’s a public place, Luci.” 

Lucinda flinched like she’d been slapped across the face but was quick to recover, placing her hands on her hips. “I hate it when you call me that. You know this. Now I’m going to say it one more time, leave. Nothing good ever happens with you around.”

I smirked at Brandon when he looked back over towards me, ready to egg him on some more but refrained because I noticed how uncomfortable Lucinda was around him. 

“You always were a fucking bitch,” he muttered before pushing his way past us. 

Making sure he was out of sight, I glanced towards Lucinda and saw that she was hastily wiping away fresh tears as they fell. Some unknown feeling twinged deep in my gut seeing her cry so I placed a tender hand on the sunkissed skin of her shoulder. 

“Are you alright?” 

Even with the busy noise of the street, I heard her softly sniffle and then gave me a curt nod, not bothering to look in my eyes. 

“I’m fine. I’m sorry you had to see that,” Lucinda cleared her throat before motioning towards her bakery. “I should get back to work.”

She was inside of the bakery in a flash, not letting me get another word in. I stood there with my hands deep in the pocket of my jeans for a few moments, smelling her scent linger in the air. As I turned on my heels, I nearly ran into Noah who was sporting a teasing smirk. 

“What?” I gruffed, while walking back towards the auto shop with him trailing behind. 

“You two seem pretty chummy,” Noah noted while throwing his long hair up into a bun, then began setting up his station for the day. 

I sighed while hitting the button on the wall that unlocked and opened the garage doors. 

“We need to talk,” I said, looking back at Noah and finally unwrapping my blueberry muffin. 

LUCINDA

Fuck today. 

I probably said those two words a million times today. After this disaster of a morning, I kept myself busy with work not wanting to remember what happened. First, seeing a girl all over Eric when I tried to deliver him a muffin and having this weird feeling of jealousy flow through me. I had no reason to be, I didn’t know him. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find him somewhat attractive. I couldn’t deny that last night there was some kind of tension between us. 

Did you forget the promise you made to yourself a few months ago?

I sighed at the thought when it crept in my mind. After my break up with Brandon, I was so hurt by it that I swore off of men for at least a year. Spend all my free time getting my bakery up and running. The last thing I needed was another disastrous relationship. When I finally was feeling better about the whole break up, Brandon waltzes his way back into my life, destroying all of the good I’ve done. 

Brandon was very mentally and emotionally abusive during our relationship yet I stayed because I loved him. When I finally admitted that to him, he left. 

I spent the entire day thinking back to every part of our relationship. At the time, I thought it was perfect but now that the haze that covered my eyes were gone, I realized how fucked up it was. There was so much more I wanted to say to Brandon but the moment I saw him again, I froze. It wasn’t until after he left that I chastised myself for being such a wimp in front of him. Again. 

Then when he accused Eric and I of sleeping together, a hot flash flittered throughout my body. I’d been so consumed by images of us together that I found myself staring at the tattoos that littered Eric’s gorgeous face while he and Brandon went back and forth. 

Pulling the locked front door behind me, I dragged my tired feet over towards my car that was parked in front of the bakery. It was a 2006 Chevy Malibu, there was more rust than paint and the leather seats were worn but it got me from point A to point B so I couldn’t complain. I couldn’t afford a new car since I needed every penny in my savings to get my bakery up and running. Even though business was doing extremely well, I couldn't afford to buy a new car yet. 

Throwing my things into the front seat, I pulled the creaking door shut and tried to turn the key in the ignition but instead of it roaring to life, my car stalled. 

“Oh, no, no no,” I whined, trying to turn the engine over a few more times only to be met with nothing. 

No noise. No lights. Pure darkness. 

“Fuck me!” I groaned, smacking my head on the steering wheel. 

I was so fucking ready for today to be over. 

Spewing a few more curses under my breath, I popped the hood of the car and clambered my way out to stand in front of it, pretending I knew what was wrong with it. I didn’t know anything about cars, I knew how to bake. 

“You’re so fucked up, Noah. I can’t believe I agreed.” 

“Come on, Draven. You’re the one who suggested it, I just sweetened the deal. You can’t back out on me now.”

“I’m not. She’s been through this before and I can-.”

Voices halted when I glanced away from my car over to the two men who walked out of Crow Automotive. Eric and Noah were walking out of one of the large garage doors with cigarettes hanging from their lips but once they saw me, their conversation ceased. 

“Everything alright?” Noah asked, seeing me stand in front of my car. 

“No,” I groaned, not bothering trying to lie that everything was fine when it wasn’t. “My car won’t start.”

“Did you try turning the key?” Noah teased. 

I sliced my eyes over at him while cocking my hip out. “No, how could I not think of doing that?”

“Someone is sassy,” Noah chuckled while slapping Eric on the shoulder. “I would stay and help but I have a date. I’m sure Eric won’t mind helping.”

Noah was quick to leave and when I met Eric’s bright eyes, I noticed something dark was clouding them. I shifted on my feet while tucking a piece of raven hair behind my ear. 

“I don’t want to keep you from going home. I can call for a tow,” I said. 

At the sound of my voice, he seemed to snap out of his weird daze with a shake of his head. “I live above the shop. Was there any smoke?” 

I shook my head now while moving to the side so Eric could look at the engine. It was dark, nearing nine in the evening, so it was barely illuminated by the street light which made things difficult to see. 

“Can you try starting it again?” He asked. 

Quickly, I got back in my car and we spent the next few moments trying to figure out what was wrong only to come up empty. 

“I can’t do anything about it tonight since it’s already dark out. But I can take a look tomorrow,” Eric said while shutting the hood and coming around to the driver's side of the car as I stepped out. 

“I don’t want to be a bother, I know you already have a lot of cars you’re working on,” I said. 

He waved me off with a small smile. “I don’t mind. I’ll take a look first thing in the morning.” 

“Thank you,” I smiled warmly at him and then pulled out my phone. “I should order an Uber.”

“I can take you home,” Eric offered, zipping up his blue sweater. 

I shook my head again. “You’re already offering to look at my car. I can’t have you driving me home. I feel terrible.”

“I offered, Lucinda. I don’t mind.” 

Hearing my name fall from his lips made my spine tingle and I had to hide my face underneath my hair so he didn’t see the way I blushed. Before I could reject his offer again, Eric pulled out a key from his pocket, hit the button twice, and a car parked a few spaces down from mine flashed to life. 

A shiny black Jeep Wrangler. 

Quickly gathering my things from my car, I hoisted my bag on my shoulder and slowly followed behind him towards the car. I gave him a smile of thanks when he opened the door for me and I noticed it still had the new car scent. 

“Where do you live?” Eric asked once he clicked in his seat belt. 

I raised a teasing brow, turning my body slightly towards him. “How do I know you won’t come to murder me later tonight?” 

“If I wanted you dead, I could do it right now,” Eric leaned towards me with a curve to his lips, those dark eyes swimming. 

Instead of feeling fear, arousal pulled me under and I mentally smacked myself for even thinking of leaning closer towards him. Instead, I playfully pushed his shoulder and told him my address. Eric pulled away from the curb and we sat in a surprisingly comfortable silence. I lived less than ten minutes from the bakery and honestly, I could have walked but I knew the neighborhood wasn’t the greatest after nine p.m. 

I let the noise of the car gliding along the street and Eric’s breathing ease me deeper into the passenger seat with a content sigh. 

“Tired?” Eric asked, side glancing at me. 

I nodded in a yawn. “Yeah, it was a long day. And I have to be back at five a.m for a private party that’s coming in at nine. I need to bake one hundred cinnamon rolls.” 

Thankfully I had prepped everything before I left tonight so all I needed to do when I arrived in the morning was throw them in the oven. 

“Do you ever have any days off?” Eric asked while taking a left turn. 

I raised a brow. “Do you?”

I’ve noticed that I saw him working nearly every day in his shop and that’s only because I, too, worked every day. 

“Fair enough,” he chuckled, the sound making my heart flutter. 

Silence fell between us again but Eric was quick to fill it. 

“Your ex seems like an asshole.” 

I groaned, letting my head fall back against the headrest. “That’s being generous. We broke up a while ago but he keeps trying to get back together.”

Eric pulled the car to a stop in front of my apartment complex and turned his body to face me. “Is there a chance?” 

My brows furrowed as my heart rate picked up. “Not at all. Why?” 

“I need to know if I have any competition,” he shrugged, a smile daring to cross those perfect lips. 

Competition? As in, he wanted to date me?

“Are you asking me out?” I asked, resting my elbow on the center console to hold my chin up with my palm. I batted my eyelashes up at him and noticed his gaze flick down to my lips.

“If I was?” 

His voice had taken a deeper edge to it, bringing bumps to my skin as electricity charged between us. I knew Eric felt it as well because his body shivered especially when I tilted my chin up towards him, nearly brushing our lips together. 

“Thank you for the ride, Eric. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I breathed, slipping out of the car with a giggle in my wake. 

Before I shut the door, I saw him shaking his head with a smile. “How about one date?”

As much as I wanted to go out on a date with him, mentally I wasn’t ready to start dating again. Especially after seeing Brandon earlier. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t have fun teasing Eric. 

“Fix my car first then maybe we’ll talk,” I winked, letting the door shut behind me and skipping up towards the door of my apartment complex. 

[falafels]

FAMILIE GORDON of Birmingham, Alabama

For the purposes of the socmed, which has spawned lore in my horrible little rat mind

Obviously none of this is relevant or real, but this is just for reference when they come up in the socmed au. I also might change my mind on half this shit. never let em know your next move

oldest to youngest: Marcus, Jeremy, Tabitha, Ricky, Seth, Jessie, Michael, Jamie, Scotty

EC canon says 7 boys and Jeremy as second oldest who was basically in charge after Bryan Sr. left and Rebecca (mother) gave up when Seth was 8 and started going by Seth (Bryan Seth Gordon officially). Seth was 22 at the start of tfc i believe so the ages are going from there

Marcus (33) was born when Rebecca was still in high school so he’s a bit older than the others and had moved out, which is why Jeremy ended up raising the rest of them. Also because Marcus lowkey sucks. He means well and gets involved for big stuff but is generally just a bit unpleasant and directionless. He offers Seth his first joint at 11 years old and it doesn’t occur to him that maybe don’t do that

Jeremy (29) was the only one to leave Alabama. When Bryan Sr. left and Rebecca checked out, Jeremy ended up pretty much raising the rest of his siblings. Marcus didn’t, but the unofficial deal was that Marcus would deal with Rebecca- her stumbling in as the sun came up, her missed bills, her drunken vitriol about Bryan. This arrangement went on for years, and when Jeremy was confident they could take care of themselves, he packed his shit into the car and didn’t look back. He drove to Atlanta and stayed in Georgia, where he now lives with his fiancée May and his dog Pedro, and he’s training to be a pilot. He stays in contact with some of his siblings, mostly the older few, but those years took a huge toll on him in a way he never really processed. he feels guilty for how he handled it and how order just came from beating the shit out of each other, he feels angry for having been put in that position, angry for the childhood that ended so abruptly, angry at every adult who stood by. He doesn’t talk much to Marcus and he never speaks to their mother again, but he does come to Seth’s final college exy game and his graduation.

Tabitha (27) looks just like her mother and inherited her horrendous taste in men. She goes by Tabby if she’s in a good mood, which is rarely but you don’t find that out until she’s backhanded you for calling her Tabby. Having also taken on a decent amount of responsibility when their parents gave up, Tabitha never really got the time or energy to grapple with teenage self-loathing so it followed her and manifested in a string of men who treat her like shit, more than one of them violent. She stayed in Birmingham because she’s more attached to her family than she’d like to admit, and because she’d become a bit obsessive around Jessie. As the only two girls, their relationship with each other was a bit different to the others and for someone who comes off as cold as Tabitha can, it seemed suffocating to Jessie. Tabitha did genuinely mean well and was trying to stop Jessie from making the choices she did, but ended up alienating her by coming off controlling or cruel. Like Seth, Tabitha has a bit of a history with harder drugs, but she’s less willing to name it or the grip that addiction had on her and writes it off as phases with boyfriends.

Ricky (24) is Seth’s closest brother and greatest tormentor- all in good fun, but he has also locked Seth in the trunk and done doughnuts in his car before. Ricky wanted to be a race car driver and ended up working at an auto body shop and loves it. it’s not entirely above board but he gets to throw tyres around and sometimes drive the cars really fast down dirt roads so what the hell else does he want. He got Seth a job there in high school (didn’t last) and everyone there has been there forever so it’ll probably be his someday. he has an on-and-off girlfriend called Rita but she’s a bit too into oxys for it to work. he tries to cut it off with her for good after seth’s first overdose but ultimately it’s just endemic and so many people in his life are on drugs that it barely makes a difference and he stays with her

Seth (22) is closest to Ricky and Jessie just because of ages and he’s the only one to have gone to college so they all think he’s gay (idk if the american south has this as well but the meth division of my family all think im gay because i went to uni. thats not why) and half of them just call him college or treat him as wikipedia, which aaron finds out one day and has to physically school his reaction. Seth is teaching him how to make a bong out of an egg when Jamie calls and asks Seth what language they speak in Indonesia and when to know if you need to amputate your foot if it’s been stuck inbetween trees for six hours

Jessie (21) is probably chained to a tree somewhere in South America. Jessie was the one who taught Seth (and the others) Sylvia Plath, mostly through brute force, because she thought the bell jar was important reading. She wasn’t the smartest student, but she’d engage hard with the work that she did do, hence getting very into poetry, feminist theory, climate science, canadian history, and cajun cooking, and making it all everyone’s problem - if Jessie has an interest you are Going to hear about it and you are Going to care. or your ass is getting beat. climate science was the one that really stuck, and Jessie joined some environmental groups, initially largely for the freely shared weed but the cause is important to her, something about being able to save something or preserve it. She’s the one that found Seth after his first overdose and she threw out every drug in the house as well as Jamie’s vape, which earned her a broken wrist from being thrown at the wall by a teenage boy who doesn’t realise his strength but would probably have done it even if he knew that would happen. Jessie is the only one to speak plainly to Seth about his addiction, and she’s the one that convinces him to accept Wymack’s offer. Matt is terrified of her.

Michael (19) and Jamie are twins (non-identical so what’s the point of all that nonsense really) but Michael is the quieter of the two. this isn’t to say he isn’t still a primary actor in any gordon sibling shenanigans, it just means he’ll sit thoughtfully in the corner while the others debate whether a chainsaw or punching is the quickest way to take down the fence before he gets up and drives the big sit on lawnmower right at and through the fence. Michael is very bright in a way that’s overlooked by his teachers because he isn’t particularly enthusiastic, but he would like to study more if he got the chance. Seth used to make Michael and Jamie be defenders if he was practicing exy out the back of the house, but this just meant giving them motorbike helmets and diy body armour (bbq lid duct taped to chest) and running at them full force. Michael would just kind of let this happen because he knew Seth would beat him in a fight if he said no, but resisted enough that Seth realised a bribe would be necessary if he wanted Michael to actually participate, so brought him books (as recommended by the elderly local librarian Seth had been flirting relentlessly with)

Jamie (19) would be easy to write off as a moron, but it’s actually just that he genuinely enjoys a lot of stupid shit. makeshift exy was his favourite- he didn’t know or care what a backliner was but he got to chase Seth with a stick and slam him to the ground. he went through a bit of a skater boy twat phase (think like a young carl gallagher with a vaping problem and a skateboard) where he mostly just hung out with dickheads that only really ended when a girl in his class was so unbelievably vicious to him about it (justifiably) that he changed his ways and also decided he was in love with her. it will never work because his idea of a fun date would be tasering each other in a car park then shooting fireworks at each other and hers is. well not that

Scotty (16) also responds to ‘cuck boy’: having eight older siblings who have all heard the song “Scotty doesn’t know” is basically a death sentence RIP Scotty. Scotty is so much younger than the rest of them that he’s kind of living in a whole different genre- Seth is on his whole college sports underdog thing and wrestling with addiction, Jeremy coming to terms with parentification and quietly looking into CPTSD, Tabitha in her limbo of trauma, Jessie determined to save the world because she can’t save anything in front of her, Ricky in the fast and furious franchise driving fast enough that he never has to think too hard about why he needs the adrenaline, while Scotty likes science but wants to be a musician and is finding this to be the primary source of inner conflict in his life. He’s a sweet kid who barely knows Rebecca and drags Ricky to most of his parent-teacher conferences (his teachers, horrified, try to end it quickly, having survived him and come to consensus that Ricky Gordon was the worst student they’ve ever had. Scotty knew that and it’s why he chose Ricky), and hands out flyers and demo CDs for his band around the city centre.

I’ve also decided in the socmed au that Seth didn’t die but that overdose did still happen and he was hospitalised and in and out of a coma for the rest of the season, and given that his contract with PSU was five years on the team, he’s redoing his senior year.

[ncillary]

Self Aware AU (Rafayel)

Summary: You have the lowest Affinity with Rafayel. The reason is because you hate being the destroyer of everything he loves. His kingdom. His people. His life. Maybe he is better off without meeting you.

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Masterlist Self Aware AU

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|  1  |  2  |  3  |  4  |  5  | 6 [final...] |

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No way.

You're on auto. Hand immediately went to shut the door.

*Thunk*

Your head moved downwards in a quick session to see a luggage was wedged between the door and the wall. He kicked the luggage inside causing you to reeled backwards in surprise. Effectively letting go of the door handle.

"I'm not going to let you shut me out again this time, lil' missy."

He intruded smoothly inside. His form stands between you and the open door. Your escape route.

"You're free to go but know this... I'm always going to find a way to meet with you."

He stepped aside confidently. Hands in the air as if surrendering to whatever choices you made.

Your fight or flight mode didn't go away. But the words he said sounded so broken that made you focus on him better.

Bellboy attire. A complete set with the hat. Curiosity gets the best of you. You pointed to it.

"What's with the hat?"

He glanced up and sighed, "If you're ready, cutie. I don't mind."

You gulped. A single nod.

*Gasp*

"YOU'RE A BRUNETTE!"

That did it. You're no longer tense. You just stood there in shock. Taking in the supposedly "a game character came to live" situation

He pouted, "It's my natural hair colour. You don't see people with dusky purple as a natural hair colour, right? Dye, maybe. I'm a natural person. Oh, right... there's wig too." He pondered to himself.

You raked your hair. Stumbling backwards. Legs started to give out. Your eyes catching the bed, a much needed furniture to rely on now except your jelly legs betraying you.

"Careful."

*Thump* *Thump*

You stared at the red uniform. A single hand gingerly covered the sound, the rhythmic expression under your skin. Caressing it ever so slightly.

He cleared his throat. You're a bit startled by it as you look up to meet his oceanic orbs.

"Cutie, you better sit down."

He sat both of you down on the bed. He shuffled a bit to move away from you.

Stuck.

The orbs staring at the hand clutching on his uniform. You stared at your hand too which was currently clutching on his uniform.

You looked at it confusedly and accusingly as if it was no longer your trusted hand.

He unclasped it gently and gingerly moving it to his cheek.

"Let me get this off. I'm not a roleplaying enthusiast if I may remind you first."

You chuckled, pinching his cheek unconsciously.

He liked that. His cheek was nuzzling your hand as he removed his red coat revealing a more comfortable white shirt underneath.

A familiar attire.

"You're the one wearing it. No one's forcing you."

"It's a surprise for you. I had it all planned out. You ruined it by logging in at that perfect time."

"Why blaming me?"

"Because you took my breath away before I did. You called me "My Rafayel" and-"

"Aaahhh! Stop. Stop. I'm going to destroy you if you tell anyone about this." You covered your ears, shaking your head and closed your eyes.

You felt a slight shuffle on your side. Heat premeating from the body next to you. Effectively heating you up. You felt something soft touch the back of your hand.

"Go ahead. Destroy me." His lips enunciated every word on your hand that was cupping your ear.

You jerked away only to be met with a hand firmly on your waist.

His orbs never leaving your widen eyes.

"You're the only one that can destroy me and piece me back together like a touch of an innocent maiden unraveling the wave in the ocean."

Blush creeping on your cheeks to your ears. He laughed as he caress your ear.

+---------------------------+-------------------------+

"That was a roundabout way to this ridiculous situation."

You massaged your forehead.

He was serving you a meal all the while explaining a lot of things. A lot. He somehow enjoyed continuing his bellboy services specifically for you.

Not into roleplay, huh.

"This entire level was booked out by you for as long as I'm here."

He nodded.

"And my sister is a cahoot in this?"

Another nod.

"Well, she's my assistant. The "Thomas" if you want to compare the one in the game. Only... she's a she, ya know."

You looked at the food. The residing tension made your stomach grumble.

"Bon appétit, ma cherie."

He sat opposite from you. Looking at you with all the smiles he could give you in the world.

"No accompanied band for this lovely date?"

His eyes widen to your teasing smile. He gave you his own seconds later.

He scooped your hand and held it gently.

He hummed to a tune you didn't recognize.

It was soothing.

You squeezed his hand gently then he kissed the back of yours before continuing his tune.

The dusk basked the two longing hearts in this unforgettable moment.

Their moment.

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Credit note for full version of the music :

Infinity Nikki - Nonoy's Music Box _ Lolo Haii

Mark time : 40 seconds.

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|  1  |  2  |  3  |  4  |  5  | 6 [final...] |

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Masterlist Self Aware AU

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Taglist:

@irandial

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[bigwishes]

I’m sick and tired of the asian stereotypes. Others keep saying that we’re small, short, weak, polite, smart, sexually repressive, submissive and so many more. Can you make me a complete opposite of what people expect from an Asian man as a hypersexualised, hyper grown and hyper masculine piece of bull meat?

I definitely think I can help with that. It sucks when people press assumptions on you, especially if you don't like the assumptions they make so I think its time we shake up your life to make sure the worlds sees you for how you want to be seen.

First lets start with your first wish, to be hypersexualised. I'm sure you already have an obsession for mega muscled beef cakes with little to no brains but lets turn that obsession up to eleven. You find that whenever you see a buff meat head you are instantly hard, and everyone else will notice it too with a new 15 inch dick, but lets not stop there. Once you get hard your body will almost instantly go on auto pilot as you cant help yourself but rub your dick through your pants, adjusting it, sometimes even straight up soft core jerking off in the middle of the gym. An alpha sex and masturbation addict. You just can't help yourself no matter what you try once you get hard you are forced to cum. Trying to ignore it just makes it worse as you'll get so hard and pent up it will almost be painful and your dick will be forced to leak pre until you give it the attention it demands, and you'll need to take care of it at least twelve times a day or else risk immediately cumming in your pants as soon as you get even slightly turned on.

Second, the hyper grown part of your wish. One of my favourites, there is no such thing as too big and you've got no other choice to agree. There is no going back now. We could just go and make you have to wear 4XL shirts and and baggy work out shorts but honestly dudes like that art still too small for my taste.

You find every inch of yourself growing, You slowly get taller and taller until you stand at a freakishly tall 8ft, your already muscled arms swell with extreme size as you feel your biceps and triceps start to compete for space with your over grown chest and lats. The sound of tearing fabric fills the room as you thighs inflate into thick muscled tree trunks. You watch as your feet burst out of your sneakers. Your underwear feels strange and rubbery as it begins to stretch, and you feel your ass get bigger by the second and the fabric of your new rubbery underwear ride up giving you a uncomfortable roid wedgie.

The thing about wanting to be Hyper-Grown means you dwarf even the biggest bodybuilders but a body like that has its limits. 8ft tall and over 500 pounds of muscle the only thing you can wear is uncomfortably tight stage posers.

and leggings so tight it feels like its crushing your dick.

If you want to get naked it'll take a good fifteen to twenty minutes of struggling and wrestling with the skin tight fabric and your extreme size just to get it off yourself.

and now for the final stage of your transformation Hyper masculinity. Say goodbye to clear communication dude as a majority of your vocabulary has been replaced with grunts, groans and moans. You spend more time grunting than speaking some people might mistake you for a cave man. Your blood also boils at the drop of a hat, any guy who even makes a joke about your freakish size you take as a personal challenge, stumping up to him and pressing him against the wall and your roided out body.

Your body starts to sweat, and a raw masculine stench fills the air around you. Even if you cared about washing the sweat off your body it wouldn't work anymore. You love how bad you reek, you love how your stench and sweat communicates to weaker men that you are a fucking beast. You don't clean any machine at the gym after using it, you leave a disgusting sweat puddle over everything like marking your territory.

Your mind starts to feel empty, like you have forgotten how to think, the only things that you seem to remember is you love muscle, getting bigger, flexing, your own sweat and jerking off. Even when dominating a guy smaller than you, you can't help but check yourself out in the mirror and love how big you are and how much bigger you're gonna force yourself to become.

Your head being so empty now means your personality has devolved into nothing more but the word bro, grunting and giggling like a typical gym bro.

But that hyper masculinity you wished for keeps that happy go lucky attitude in check as the slightly thing can set you off and make you go on a roided out rampage.

There we go, all your wishes granted, nobody will ever look at you and think of the typical Asian stereotypes ever again.

Unfortunately I can't stop people from assuming you are nothing more than a stupid sweaty roid bull, but honestly how far away from the truth is that.

[papyriasks]

Hi! Looved the previous ask you did for the Papyri, so i was wondering if youd mind doing another one for me? 🥺🙏 How about first time cuddling with crush? Its late and crush is tired and just drags the skeleton down on the couch to nap with them bc theyre too tired to think straight, how do the boys react?

Cuddling with the Papyri for the first time

(Underfell, underswap, fellswap, swapfell & Swapfell gold)

I'm rlly glad you liked it, thank u for the ask :]

UF (Boss): Explodes. As soon as your hands reach out for him he stiffens like a board, his first instinct is to push away from the sudden contact, but as soon as he realises what you're doing he practically topples over as you pull him down to the couch. His skull is illuminated so red you could probably forgo any lamps in the room in order to see. Lackly his jaw clacks in a loss for words as your arms are curled around him. He will be at a loss of what to do for the first 10-15minutes until his brain resets, but as soon as he notices your slip into sleep he will find himself staring, taking in every aspect of your face, and only when he is absolutely certain you are dead asleep he might return the gesture and wrap an arm back around you, breath caught in his throat as he keeps having to remind himself to breath. By the time you wake up in the morning he will be long gone, and will not say a word about it, as if it never happened.

US(Slim): he's surprised, enough so to send a jitter of nervousness through his body, but he'll play it cool, even though internally he's sweating. He'll laxly throw an arm back over you in return secretly panicking about every and each placement of his arms, he might make a quick joke or light comment to break the mood but upon noticing your sleepiness his tone will soften as he stares gently down at you. He won't say anything after that but it will take him a long time to fall asleep himself, both from being in awe at your closeness and the nervousness of accidently fucking it up. He'll run his fingers through your hair until he's fighting sleep himself, Soothed by the sounds of your breathing, but you best be prepared for relentless teasing when you wake up.

SFG(Coffee): he'll probably squeak at the sudden motion and then practically melt into the couch out of embarrassment but he will have no problem sinking comfortably into you back. Everytime you breathe differently or make a small motion he'll hold his breath praying you don't wake up because frankly he isn't ready to let go of you yet. A million thoughts will race through his skull and you best believe this boy is not getting a wink of sleep. You will wake up with his skull a breath away from your face, sockets wide open in surprise at your awakening as he quickly gets up and disappears like the wind. When you next see him, He will fake pout and make comments about if you wanted to sleep with him that bad you could just ask until you are just as much of a bashful mess as he is.

SF(Cash): bold of you to assume you will be the one to initiate the first nap cuddling session, this man will find any and every excuse to lay on top of you, the first time was probably when you were just lounging watching TV and next thing you know you've got the air knocked from you as you've now got a big ass skeleton sitting right ontop of you until minutes later he's snoring and you've got no choice but to accept it until you've slipped away into sleep yourself. That being said the first time you actually go to initiate he will be oddly quiet, processing that fact that you didn't actually hate how on top of you all the time he was and actually want to be close to him. His auto response when nervous is to make stupid little jokes or teases, he will probably tell you to take a guy out to dinner first or something as he makes a show of getting comfortable. Internally his chest squeezes uncomfortably. The lax and unperturbed image he is trying to desperately convey is not reaching his eyes, in fact his eyes never leave your face, not even for a second. He can't help but stare and process if this was really real. Every instinct in him is telling him to push you away, despite how handsy he could be, something about this felt...vulnerable, which was not a feeling he was used to. But despite he cannot find it within him to pull away from you. You will wake up with him almost entirely ontop of you, hogging most of the couch but clawed onto you , you will just have to wait until his stirs himself or wake him up yourself if you have any plans of escaping.

FS(Mutt): he won't even budge, as soon as your arms reach up and around him his footing doesn't even stutter, instead he just turns to look at you lowly with a quirked bonebrow and ask you if you wanted something , a smirk curling at his teeth. If you hesitate a response he'll grab you back up by the shirt himself and promptly pull you back down right utop him, a arm laxly resting over your stomach and tug his hood down over his sockets to kick the sack himself. If you squirm his grip will tighten loosely until you slip to sleep yourself. Despite his fake snoring he's wide awake, his soul humming a beat quicker than it usually does. He will make no indication of it but he can't help but melt into the feeling of your warmth, a threat of orange dusting at his cheekbones arise but he will just as quickly swallow it. You are right where you belong, and for the first time in a long while he will sleep more comfortably than he can remember ever doing.

[youngroyals-events]

Young Royals Kinktober 2024

For our first YR Kinktober, we thought we'd do it bingo style! Full explanation below.

If you haven't taken part in a bingo type challenge before, the rules are very simple: it's just like regular bingo but with no prize at the end. (Except bragging rights or that warm glow of satisfaction of course!) You mark off a square on a bingo card by posting a fanwork that fills that prompt.

Rules and guidelines are behind the 'Keep reading' link.

Bingo rules:

You can choose any card (A to E) you like, or more than one if you're feeling brave.

There's no minimum number of works to participate, and no requirement to fill a whole card - if you post one work, that's a win!

Equally, there's no maximum - feel free to post as many works as you like.

It's absolutely fine to combine different prompts into one fanwork as well.

'Free space' is creator's choice - you can steal a prompt from another card or do your own thing altogether.

BINGO is a row of three (down, across or diagonal) on one bingo card.

FULL HOUSE is hitting all nine squares on one bingo card.

SUPER BINGO is getting a row of three on two or more different cards.

Or if you're feeling really inspired (and don't need food or sleep!), ULTRA BINGO is a full house of nine on more than one card.

Just don't forget to post your completed card(s) and brag about it at the end of the month so we can all see how you've done!

General rules/guidelines:

All types of fanworks are welcome! Fics, art, edits etc. or anything at all.

This is a fandom-wide event, not Wilmon-specific - though Wilmon focused works are welcomed of course! Your works can focus on any of the characters/pairings/polyships from the world of Young Royals. And no need to stick to one set of characters or ship on your bingo card either, you can mix it up as much as you want.

You can post your works on any day within the month of October, in any order.

You can post your works directly to Tumblr, or post them to AO3 and link them on Tumblr.

Remember to tag us (@youngroyals-events) in the body of the post so we can reblog it.

Please post your AO3 works to the collection 'Young_Royals_Kinktober_2024' (you can type out the name in the box if it doesn't auto-fill).

Kinktober is traditionally focused on explicit works but any and all ratings are allowed if it fits the theme.

If you are posting an explicit work, please use the tag #NSFW and we'll do the same when we reblog.

For fanart, please tag it #NSFW and follow Tumblr community guidelines so that people can avoid the post if they want to. You may want to use a cut/read more or add a mature content warning.

For fics, please include tags and/or warnings for everything they contain. This makes it easier for those who want to read the things you've written to find them, and for those who don't to avoid them.

Any questions on any of the above, please leave a comment on this post or in a reblog (that's easiest for us to see and respond to the question quickly).

Have fun!

[1americanconservative]

In 1947, a teenage boy escaped a reformatory school in California by hiding in a freight train car. He had no destination, no money, and no clear future. That boy was Steve McQueen, a rebellious soul who transformed that same grit and defiance into one of Hollywood’s most magnetic careers. His rough childhood, marked by abandonment from both parents and stints in gangs and juvenile detention, shaped the edge and authenticity that would later define him as the "King of Cool."

McQueen’s film journey began humbly with a few stage performances and minor TV roles, but he grabbed national attention with the Western series "Wanted: Dead or Alive" in 1958. As bounty hunter Josh Randall, he introduced a new kind of hero, stoic, quietly intense, and effortlessly commanding. That charisma propelled him to the silver screen, and with his breakout role in "The Magnificent Seven" (1960), McQueen began crafting a legacy unlike any of his peers.

He followed that success with the war epic "The Great Escape" (1963), where his motorcycle jump, performed largely by stuntman Bud Ekins, became one of cinema’s most iconic moments. McQueen wasn’t just an actor; he embodied the roles he played. Whether as the gritty soldier Hilts or the detached loner in "Nevada Smith" (1966), his performances were powered by authenticity drawn from real pain and rebellion.

His choices were never conventional. In "The Sand Pebbles" (1966), McQueen played a tormented Navy machinist during the 1920s China conflict, earning his first and only Academy Award nomination. The film reflected his growing preference for complex characters in morally ambiguous situations, men burdened by their past and caught in violent systems they couldn’t control. He carried that same weight into "Bullitt" (1968), a crime thriller that revolutionized the action genre with its raw, unfiltered car chase through San Francisco. As Lieutenant Frank Bullitt, McQueen traded polish for realism, and audiences couldn’t look away.

Behind the camera, he was fiercely involved in every detail, especially with stunts. Obsessed with speed, he insisted on driving in scenes and was a skilled racer off-screen too. Whether it was auto racing in "Le Mans" (1971) or his passion for motocross and vintage bikes, machines were an extension of his character, wild, fast, and uncontainable.

He was at the peak of his career when he starred in "The Thomas Crown Affair" (1968) and "Papillon" (1973). In the former, he played a wealthy playboy-turned-bank-robber with a subtle intensity that made the performance thrilling without overstatement. In "Papillon," he stripped away glamor completely, depicting a wrongly convicted prisoner’s brutal journey through the French penal system. It was one of his most grueling roles, emotionally and physically, and he threw himself into it with complete abandon.

Despite his popularity, McQueen avoided the Hollywood spotlight. He rejected easy fame and lived on his own terms, often clashing with directors, co-stars, and producers. He turned down leading roles in films like "Dirty Harry," "Apocalypse Now," and "One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest" because he either disliked the characters or wanted control over the project. He didn't act for the money or glory; he wanted honesty in his work, even if it meant walking away from big opportunities.

By the late 1970s, McQueen had stepped back from acting. His final films, like "Tom Horn" (1980) and "The Hunter" (1980), carried a somber tone, reflecting both his age and personal battles. Diagnosed with mesothelioma, he sought unconventional treatments, including surgery in Mexico. He died later that year, leaving behind a short but electrifying body of work that redefined masculinity on screen.

Steve McQueen lived every second like it could be his last, both on-screen and off. His roles weren’t performances, they were revelations. On his birthday, we remember the man who outran every label placed on him and built a legacy out of pure, unfiltered rebellion.

He didn’t follow rules, he outran them like a motorcycle over barbed wire, leaving dust, noise, and unforgettable silence in his wake.

[laniluvsuu]

Lust.

GhostfaceErenXblackreader!

I apologize for typos if there are any!!

You bit the inside of your cheek in curiosity, while you sat your blunt in its holder, and read the description to the phone number link your friend sent you as a joke. You contemplated on the outcomes. One was possibly dying because this is some sketchy shit, the other one was getting fucked…this should’ve been a harder choice for your intoxicated mind.

You played with your thumbs after you sent the first text, thoughts flooded your mind like are you the only one texting him tonight?…Are you going to go to him or is he going to come to you? Your rapid thoughts were interrupted by a ding coming from your phone.

The text from the number was an auto-generated message. You were supposed to send in your name and address and he would be on the way shortly. After this any person in their right mind would’ve stopped, but you weren’t in the right mind so you sent it anyway.

You decided to watch a movie to wait out the time, took two hours until you heard a knock on your door. When you approached your door to look out your peep hole you saw ghost face. Confusion ran through your body until your phone went off once again with a text that confirmed your “bootycall” was here.

“Hi Mr Ghostface.” You said as you stared up at the man in front of you with the black costume.

“Hi pretty girl.” You heard from behind his mask. It was a bit muffled put you could still understand it clearly. You moved to the side to let your mystery ghost guy in. You watched as he made his way into your house and turned his body back to you and said.

“You just gonna stand there all tense or you lead me to where you want me for the night?” He said as he watched you through his mask.

“Well how do I know you wont kill me or something?” You said tilting your head to the side as you asked the question, leaning back onto your now closed door.

“You dont.” You heard come from him as he chuckled and continued to say. “But im here to fuck you baby, not kill you.” He said answering your question.

“Mm..okay, whats your name then?” You said turning your head back waiting for his response.

“ “Ghostface” isn’t good enough for you?” He said letting out another one of his chuckles once you shook your head. “Its Eren, and yours is?”

Instead of responding, you just nodded your head and made your way to your bedroom with him following close behind.

“So ghostface, are you gonna fuck me with your mask on? Or are you gonna take it off?” You asked him as he sat down on your bed, man spreading as he stared up at you.

“Are you gonna tell me your name?” He asked tilting his head to lay on his covered shoulder. His head fell back once you shrugged. He got up so he was towering over you, with his head now down looking at you.

“Then I dont know either. But what I do know is Im going to fuck you regardless.” He said as he wrapped his arms around your waist and gripped your ass and moved his head towards your ear and whispered. “Get on the bed pretty.”

You did what he said, lying on your back watching him pull your tights and panties down. You couldn’t see it but behind his mask he had a huge smirk on his face, while his eyes glistened looking at your pretty pussy seeing her already dripping in arousal. He watched as your face reacted once he started playing with your pussy.

Soft moans fell from your lips as his fingers went into your dripping hole, keeping his thumb moving side to side at your clit. He moved sickeningly slow, which made you cry out to him.

“Please Eren!” You said as you reached your hand down to his, his strong hand slapped yours away quickly.

“Please? Please what?” He knew what you wanted, but he also wanted something from you. You whined before answering.

“Move faster please.” You said looking at him, fluttering your eyelashes while you spoke. You threw your head back once you felt his fingers start moving faster, it was the right pace made you feel like you were on cloud nine.

Soon you were brought to your release, seconds from it until his fingers slowed back down. Your teary eyes shot open at him, your lips formed a deep frown.

“Eren…please. Im so close.” You said while you pushed your hips into his hand, desperate to cum. You pouted once he took his hands away and turned his body the other way to take his pants and shirt off, leaving him in his underwear.

“You know what I want from you pretty, you’re not gonna cum until you tell me your name.” He said as he continued to take his underwear off and stroke his hard cock with the leftover arousal on his hand. He heard you sigh before you answered.

“Y/n.” You said while you laid back and relaxed your body, ignored the shuffling coming from him until you felt his tip right at your puckering hole. You jumped as you looking between your legs, his dick was huge and so pretty, made you even more wet just looking at it.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, now was it baby?” Eren teased as he pushed into you throwing his head back feeling your warm pussy tighten around him.

“Mmph fuck!…you’re so big ren.” You let out in broken sobs as he fastened his pace. You couldn’t think about anything else but the way his veins on his cock rubbed your insides. You couldn’t take it.

“Ren!..let me see you!” You moaned out to him as you moved your hand to his pelvis trying to slow him down.

“Fuck. Move your hand mama.” He groaned out, upset since you tried to stop him. “You wanna see me baby? Hmm?” He said as he smirked behind the mask watching your face then letting his eyes fall down to your chest. He moved his hands up to rip your tight tanktop open, his cock twitched inside of you at the sight of your perky nipples moving with each of his thrusts.

“Yes! Yes Eren..please!!” You said as you felt the knot in your stomach begin to tighten. You moved your hands to rub on his chest, everything felt so good to you, you’ve never been fucked like this and you needed to see his face.

Eren didn’t say another word just removed his mask, your eyes were closed shut because of all the pleasure.

“Look at me Princess.” He said as he leaned down to kiss your cheek, moving faster making it harder for you to breathe.

“Ouhhh! Ohhhh f-fuck ren! I cant!” You cried out as you scratched down his back, tightening your eye lids at the pleasure he was feeding your body. You felt him grab your face tightly to look at him.

“If you aren’t going to look at me, im going to stop.” He said waiting for you to open your eyes, and slowing his thrusts down. He smiled once he saw your teary brown eyes looking up at him. He could cum just from looking at your pretty face, he didn’t let you say anything, just sped up his thrusts once again faster than before and leaning down to kiss you.

It wasn’t long until you threw your head back moans spilling from your swollen lips. You brought your hands up to pull his long hair. Listening to his nonsense spew from his pink lips as you came around his cock

“Doing so good f’me baby….pussy’s so good mama, want me to fill you up baby? Hmm? Gonna be my good girl?” He whimpered out as he felt you cum, tightening around his cock, he moved his hand to press down on your stomach, as he gave his last deep thrust before he came.

“Yes! Yes!!” You cried out still coming down from your high. You moaned louder once you felt him paint your walls, hearing him whimper and moan into your neck as his hips stuttered emptying his load into your pussy.

[anthonyed]

tony being the eccenterically dramatic piece of mess in a relationship sometimes auto assigns him as the one who loves the most out of the two (at least, monogamy has been the way of his life up until, well, now)

there was a question about that when he got involved with pepper but he threw all arguments off track when he left her for her best - at least pepper endorses his actions as such and seems to be pretty much in peace with that decision so tony kinda rides with that sentiment too

he loves pepper so much to keep giving her heart attacks over his radical choices in battle fields so he left her for her peace. et voila

happy looks at him funny ever since but that's just - well, that's not something so earth shatteringly unusual for him to start questioning, especially when pepper got happy in said divorce

point is, he thinks he's the matryr, the ultimate sacrificial lamb and the person who carves out the largest section of his heart for his lovers until he stood in front of steve and steve said no

well, not as much verbally as much as he put his foot down and dragged tony to his bed, closed the blinds and when tony woke up 15hours later and well rested, steve brought a tray of breakfast in bed, sat silently until tony finishef everything and asked, "still wanna break up with me?"

because steve is a fighter and he thinks tony is worth fighting for

"i love you," he told tony aplenty. "unless you don't love me anymore and would like to end this relationship because you got tired of it and not because you think i got tired or scared or whatever you assume i am feeling for you - i want you to stop trying to write us of."

"because i won't" steve said. "i will never write us off."

so it outright stumps tony when he dropped the shield and tony, picked bucky barnes and walked out of that bunke without ever looking back

"should i assume or not, now?" he snorts, lips pressed tight as his fingers leave imprints on the letter steve wrote him

he wonders - sat in steve's office on steve's chair behind steve's desk where steve had fucked tony once past midnight after a heat of a fight and he wonders if this is steve writing them off

because for once, with steve, tony truly believed that steve loved him more than tony loved steve

because when steve used to hold him so tight in the night as if the slightest space between their bodies will physically break him, tony thought, how could i ever leave him

and because when steve remembered every event on tony's calender and what he likes to eat and what not and every bit of his quirk and even more miniscule things tony was used to bypass as peeves that can be tolerated with a little more ounce of strong will, tony truly believed that steve cared for him unlike anyone ever did or can ever do

well, jokes on him cause steve could also, evidently, break him like no one ever could

funny, cause tony trusted him so much. funny cause that was the first thing howard and maria drilled into him ; never trust anyone but howard also dug a hole in little tony and planted a seed of inherent faith in captain america and maybe there is a sick correlation between tony's trust for that icon being mistaken as trust for steve and steve is not just an icon, he is a man of his own and, and -

maybe it's tony's own fault but if that's the side of the coin he's committing on, then that would mean tony did a blatant disservice to steve by lying to him that he loved him when he actually loved captain america which is just absurd and insane and every bit wrong because tony loved the steve who sat on his couch with legs spread wide, stubbles on chin, tomato sauce under his lip as he laughed merrily while tony lost on a video game and no captain america can do that

no captain america can beg tony to just please hold it in while he hoisted tony up the wall and rammed into him until he rode his high and when tony complained of his back aching for the next whole month, all he got was a devilish smirk and a loose shrug and no, not the captain america howard told him about would do that

it was all steve rogers.

from his bared legs, and boxers with naked torso, slumped on tony's bed with a sketch pad and smearing charcoal on his leather headboard and sure, tony could easily get rid of that smudge but he still feel something when he looks at it even now, with all of his shattered heart

maybe steve should have gone for the head, break tony's neck in half and just finished it cause that would be more merciful than abundance of memories of steve whispering, sighing, whining, gasping, telling, choking out and moaning i love you into tony's ears

that would just be kind but steve is not kind. he's a fighter who fucking fights even if its dirty because he's here now, stood next to that charcoal smudge on tony's headboard with both of his palms out, arms outstretched and just waiting while tony stands, breathless, choking on his bleeding heart trying to blink past his tears and ask, "what do i do now?"

because the truth is, tony still loves steve and steve once told tony to never assume anything about steve so he's kinda stuck now on that day in that siberian snow, still on his back with broken armour encasing his mundane body, awaiting for steve's next move