#Gabriel x ofc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angelsnkisses · 11 months

Note

sub gabriel smut where he just needs a lot of praise??? and like reader is giving him a handjob and telling him not to move but he accidentally thrusts up his hips and reader calls him a bad boy n he s like nononnonono im your good boy:((

A/N: i love this idea :(( ofc anon, ty for the request <3

Good Boy ♡ - Gabriel x gn!reader

‼️ NSFW - MDNI ‼️

warnings: sub!gabe, dom!gn!reader, handjob, edging

disclaimer: i am not romanticizing or sexualizing mental illness, nor do i intend to upset or harm those struggling.

holy shit sorry for the gifs quality 😭

You had worked late that night, and you were so excited to finally be home. You had missed Gabe all day, craving a hug from him more than anything.

You shuffled into the apartment from the freezing cold outdoors, shuddering gently as you shut the door. The heated living room was comforting, warming you up as you slipped off your jacket.

You didn't call out for Gabe, not wanting to wake him if he was asleep by now. You wouldn't be surprised if he was, it was later than you expected. You quietly walked down the hall, opening the bedroom door as slow as you could manage.

Light from the hallway leaked into the dark room. You were right, Gabe was already asleep. You kicked your shoes off, stripping down to your underwear before getting in bed with him and cuddling close to his chest.

He whined softly at the disturbance, his eyes blinking open. When he processed that it was you, his irritated face relaxed immediately, a sleepy smile breaking out across his lips. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close.

"Hi, baby," he mumbled, pushing his face into your neck so he could kiss the soft skin. You hummed, heart swelling with adoration. He was so sweet, always happy to see you. It always made you feel better, no matter how bad your day was.

"Hey there," you chuckled, hands falling on his shoulders. You rubbed them gently, enjoying the warmth he was providing. "I missed you," you added, feeling him nip at your neck a bit.

"Mhmm.. I missed you, too," he agreed, clearly distracted. You grinned, your hands slipping to his chest. He was getting more eager with his movements, pulling you closer and biting your neck lightly.

"I can tell," you giggled, pulling back. He huffed in protest, trying to get his lips back on you. You held him back with your hands planted firmly on his torso, shaking your head. "No, no.. that's not how you get what you want, honey," you cooed, and it was like a switch flipped in his mind.

"I've needed you all day. Please," he begged quietly, sounding more awake now. You could feel his hands running up and down your sides, making you shiver gently.

You pulled back, tugging him up so you were both in a sitting position. You leaned on his shoulder, looking down at his pajama pants. He was already semi-hard, making your lips twitch into a smile.

"My pretty boy, were you waiting for this? You poor thing.." you pitied in his ear, listening to his shaky breaths. He whined softly, embarrassment tinting his tone as he nodded. You pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder, one of your hands rubbing his thigh lovingly.

"Use your words, hm?" you encouraged, ignoring his humilated little noises. He parted his shaky lips, forcing out an agreement.

"Y-yes, I was."

You smiled at his obedience, allowing your hand to tug on his pants. "Good boy, Gabe.. take these off for me," you ordered. More blood rushed to his dick at your words as he scrambled to do as you said, pushing the pants down before pulling them off his legs. He didn't have underwear on, making you bite your lip absentmindedly.

He was almost fully hard now, precum leaking from his tip as he shuddered, cold air hitting the sensitive area. He attempted to turn away and hide his face again, but you shook your head, your hand inching closer and closer to where he needed you.

"No, Gabriel. Watch what I'm doing, like a good boy," you motivated quickly.

He whined again, but still did as he was told. He thrived off your praise, he needed it. He would do anything to earn it.

You took hold of his throbbing cock, his hips jerking when your cold fingers wrapped around the heated skin. You sighed at the weight in your hand, not realizing how much you'd really missed it.

"I need you to be still, baby. Can you do that for me?" you asked gingerly. He nodded, his eyes watching your hand as he was told. "Yes, I can do that f-for you," he muttered shyly, earning another kiss to his shoulder.

"Hm, good.." you said before you started pumping your hand slowly, listening to the low moan that left Gabe's throat. His head feel back, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling. He remembered your order to keep watching and quickly corrected himself.

"Such a pretty cock, just aching for me," you mused. He let out a shaky whimper, trying not to move when you started speeding up.

He moaned loudly when your thumb brushed over his reddened tip, involuntarily bucking his hips up into your touch. You stopped moving, tutting in disappointment.

"Oh, no.. what did I tell you? Bad boy.." you scolded in a quiet voice, looking up at him. His eyes widened as he shook his head, his eyes watery at the lack of touch.

"N-no! Nononono, I'm your good boy- please, I won't do it again. I'm s-sorry, please. I'll be good! I'll be good, please," he begged in a cracked, panicky voice, a couple tears slipping down his red cheeks. You had never seen him beg so frantically before, he must of been really pent up.

You shushed him, leaning up and pressing a silencing kiss to his trembling lips. He kissed you back, his eyes squeezing shut. He released a broken moan against your lips when you started moving your hand again, faster this time.

"Oh, f-fuck! Mmh, please," he whimpered, the sound music to your ears. He was extra good for you, pulling back to watch what you were doing. He stayed still for you, other than his dick occasionally twitching in your hand.

"A-ah.. I'm gonna cum, fuck," he moaned, his voice shaky and his whimpers more consistent.

"Yeah? Hold on a bit longer, baby. Be a good boy and wait," you purred, ignoring his whines. "I can't! Please, I can't," he cried, his legs trembling and his lower abdomen spasming.

"Yes, you can. I promise you can," you assured him, your hand stroking him feverishly. He was fighting back his orgasm for dear life, praying he didn't accidentally finish against your orders.

You tormented and edged him for a bit longer before leaning up, pressing a kiss to his cheek before your lips moved to his ear.

"Alright, baby, you can cum for me. Good boy," you mumbled, feeling his cock throb as he moaned. He tossed his head back, a whimper escaping the back of his throat as he released white, sticky ropes of cum all over your hand and his torso. His hips pushed up a little, but you didn't mind anymore. You just let him get through the orgasm, kissing his neck.

"Oh my god, oh shit~ thank you, th- oh, thank you," he moaned pathetically, slumping against you.

You smiled when he turned, catching his lips with yours in a slow, affectionate kiss. He had done so well for you, and you were immensely proud.

"Good job, baby.." you started, pulling back. You looked at your cum soaked hand, beginning to lick it clean while you held his eye contact. He moaned quietly at the sight, his dick pulsing subtly.

You leaned your head down, lolling out your tongue and beginning to lick up the salty cum from his abdomen. His breath hitched, his dick already starting to harden again at the sight.

"My turn," you said against his skin, slowly moving up so you could hover over his cock..

A/N: sorry for robbing you guys 🤭🤭. i loved this request, it's so sweet! i haven't proofread this yet, but i hope you enjoyed <3. thanks again, anon!

#rory culkin #rory culkin smut #angelsnkisses #mdni #gabriel 2014 #gabriel #culkin cult #dom!reader #gn!reader

288 notes · View notes

dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year

Text

Running From The Flames {Epilogue 1/2}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x OFC Warnings: parenting - that should be a warning lmao, sexual themes

F1 Masterlist || Previous Chapter - Epilogue 2/2

There was only one word to describe my life and that word was: chaotic. That being said, I still wouldn’t change it for the world.

The family calendar on the fridge was completely full and colour coded so we could all see where we were needed on any given day. Even so, I still lost track of my husband or our kids at least once a week.

“Sydney, honey, have you seen your father?” I asked the spitting image of Pierre who was in the race simulator. He was always in the machine, practising for his upcoming debut into Formula 4 now that he had turned 15 and could move up from karting.

“Picking up Addie from the airport.” He barely looked away from the triplet of screens in front of him as he answered with all the attitude of a teenage boy being interrupted in life. “It’s on the fridge.”

I looked at the calendar and realised I was looking at the completely wrong day. “Shit.”

“Ha,” he laughed loudly as he navigated the virtual track of the Red Bull Ring. “You forgot.”

“I didn’t forget,” I said as I scanned over the correct day and saw I had a board meeting to prepare for tomorrow. “I just thought it was Tuesday today.”

“Whatever you say, maman. You can tell me I’m your favourite, I won’t say anything.”

“I don’t have a favourite, I love you all equally. Now, can you finish that game and go do your homework? You still need to pack your bag for the weekend too.”

Addie was coming home from London for the week, taking a little break from her own busy schedule, to watch Sydney’s first race with us in Austria.

It had been difficult to let her leave home at 18 but she had worked hard to get a place in the Arsenal Women’s Under 21 team. I had left home at the same age and Pierre had left even earlier, so we were hardly the exemplary figures to deny her. All we could do was make sure she stayed safe and she knew she could call either of us 24/7 if she needed help. It was also never that long between visits, making plenty of stopovers in England as we travelled.

The travelling for work was tiresome but so far we had yet to miss a football match on Saturday or a karting race on Sunday. It did help being our own bosses so Pierre and I could manage our schedule around the kids. He had been running Strauss Fashion for the better part of the last ten years, after Granny finally retired properly, while I had been the Chief Technical Officer at Alpine, which Grandpa had purchased.

When Harry passed away three years ago I found myself suddenly thrust into the ownership of the team and though there were plenty of offers to sell it, I decided to take the leap of faith and see where the journey would take me. I hadn’t looked back and so far we had two Constructors' Championship wins with our seasoned pilots, Gabriele Minì and Oliver Bearman.

We had come so far, it was hard to believe until I saw the wisps of grey hairs among the dark strands.

“Maman!” I was pulled from my reminiscence and looked at my watch to realise how quickly the afternoon had gotten away from me as Clare bounded through the front door and leapt into my arms. “Maman, look!”

Clare had been a wonderful surprise that completed our family two years ago. After Sydney’s unexpected and frightening early arrival Pierre had been reluctant to try for another child, though he had always wanted three. I thought maybe he would change his mind after the terrifying memory faded with time but then a few years passed, we both got caught up in work, and after that it seemed too hard to imagine returning to sleepless nights with a newborn.

But, the universe had other plans for us. What I thought was a long-enduring hangover, after celebrating the rebranding of Alpine into Gasly Racing, actually turned out to be morning sickness. Those final weeks before her birth were stressful enough to send Pierre to his doctor for a vasectomy but thankfully her arrival went exactly to plan and he could breathe calmly once again.

“Hello my Clare-bear, wow, you have another bracelet.” You quirked an eyebrow at Charles as he arrived with Clare’s backpack on his shoulder and her spare carseat under his arm. “Uncle Charles has absolutely spoiled you.”

“Of course. A princess deserves it,” he stated proudly as he placed her belongings down and nodded his head to the simulator. “Is he all ready for the big day?”

“He is, I’m not sure I am,” I admitted as I put Clare down and she immediately went to interrupt Sydney by climbing onto his lap mid-race. If it was anyone else they would have received an earful but he just paused the game and listened as she told him all about her day at Uncle Charles’ house. “God help me when he gets to Formula One, I think I’ll have to revert the car back to a slower predecessor for my own sanity.”

Charles laughed but I wasn’t completely joking. The cars were so much faster than they were when he and PIerre raced. Though the safety features improved along with the technology that made them rockets on wheels it was still difficult to imagine putting my little boy inside one and sending it off.

“You could keep him as a reserve driver,” Charles offered before shaking his head at the thought and taking a seat at the kitchen island. “But he’s stubborn like his father, he’d just find another team to race for.”

“No way, I can at least trust my own team to keep him safe. Same goes for Marc.”

Charles chuckled at the mention of his son who at 8 years old he was already a junior karting champion. “He said someone called him Il Predestinato after his race last weekend.”

“Yikes, I’m sure they meant it in a good way.”

The front door opened again and Addie blew in with all the gusto of a tornado, whipping around the rooms to greet everyone before she was up the stairs to her old room. Entering a little more sedately was my husband, his arms laden with more suitcases than anyone needed for a week away, especially when she still had a wardrobe full of clothes upstairs.

“You are lucky you only have sons,” Pierre said to Charles as he kicked the door closed behind him. “I don’t work out enough anymore to be carrying this shit.”

He dropped the suitcases in front of the elevator and hit the call button rather than carrying them up the stairs before pushing them inside as the door opened. After a few bad winters, where not even the central heating could keep the aches of my bones at bay, Pierre had made the call for the elevator to be installed and it had been a godsend in moments like this when heavy items needed to make it to the floors above.

Sticking his head up the staircase he called out, “Addie, your entire life and everything but the kitchen sink is heading your way.”

“Thanks, dad!”

“What was that about?” I asked after he joined us in the kitchen while the coffee machine churned out our usual drinks. “I thought she outgrew the ‘I’m too cool to hangout with my parents’ phase.”

Pierre's lips pressed together and he took a seat next to Charles, picking up Clare who had left Sydney to return to his practice. “Elias.”

“Vettel?” Charles asked, his eyebrows lifting when Pierre nodded and pushed his mug away so Clare couldn’t reach the hot liquid.

“They have been out on a few dates, apparently. I’ll have to ask Davis about it, assuming he went with them, it’s not like it’s his job or anything. Did you know that?”

I shook my head at the news, cradling my mug in my hands as I leaned against the bench and wondered if she had ditched her bodyguard once again. “He’s a sweet boy from what I remember, much like his father.”

“I don’t like it. I don’t care who his dad is,” Pierre grumbled before repeating, “You are so lucky you only have sons, mate. Teenage girls are stressful.”

“Ah, but I have two boys who think it is funny to have a competition to see who can fart the loudest,” Charles said as he took a sip of his drink.

“I mean, that’s kind of funny,” Pierre said with a smirk.

Charles sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead. “Not when one always pushes too hard to win.”

The sip I was taking went the wrong way and I spluttered as Pierre laughed, “It’s all shits and giggles, until someone giggles and shits.”

“To think my poor mother went through this too. Drives me insane, mate. Bet you’ve never had to worry about that?”

“Thankfully, no,” I answered after recovering from choking on coffee. “But it also wasn’t bad enough to stop you from having another.”

“And on that note, I should get going. Mia won’t let me back in the house if I don’t pick up her favourite carbonara on the way home.” He smiled as he thought of his wife’s pregnancy cravings. It was the same one she had when she was carrying Marc and Antonio so it came as no surprise at the gender reveal when the backyard was splattered with blue confetti. “Thank you for letting me borrow Clare.”

“Any time,” Pierre chuckled as he clapped his friend on the back. Charles had been busy reinstalling all the baby gates and safety locks in his home, despite the baby boy not even being born yet, and wanted a toddler to help test his craftsmanship. “I won’t complain about a little free babysitting.”

Charles placed his empty mug in the sink and before kissing the top of Clare’s thick wavy hair. “Bye petite chérie, I’ll see you on Sunday.”

“Bye Uncle Charles,” she said with a wave, but it sounded more like Unk Cha and made him laugh as he approached the simulator.

I saw Sydney pause the race and Charles crouched down beside him, sharing a few quiet words of encouragement for the upcoming debut race. I couldn’t help feeling incredibly lucky to be surrounded by so many supportive people and my smile grew as a pair of arms wrapped around my waist.

I turned to meet his lips over my shoulder and the magnetism that attracted us was still evident even after 17 years. Of course, like any relationship, there had been times when stress led to arguments and I would find him hours later in a spare bed, wide awake because he couldn’t sleep without me beside him. Those fights never lasted long enough to even remember what they were about and forgiveness came easy.

I turned in my husband’s arms and draped mine around his neck to admire him. Pierre was truly like a fine wine. Age had made him even more handsome and the small wrinkles at the corners of his lips and eyes were a testament to a life that was full of smiles and laughter.

“Addie said she’ll watch the kids tonight,” Pierre whispered in my ear as he gently swayed to the melodic tune of his voice and I hummed with contentment. “And I got us a table at L'Ambroisie. You’ve been working so hard I thought we could do with a night away, just the two of us.”

“You think I don’t know your game, baby,” I whispered back, all too aware Charles was still chatting with Sydney and imparting some real world advice. “Wine and dine, pretty words, a hotel room. There’s only one thing you want.”

His lips curled into a smile against my cheek. “You know me too well.”

“You would actually get a full night’s sleep if you put your foot down.”

Pierre looked over at Clare who had helped herself to a banana from the fruit bowl and as if sensing she had been caught she looked up with an innocent smile. “How can I tell her no when she looks like that?”

“Mhmm, and that’s why she keeps climbing into our bed. You are a big softy.”

His smirk was flirty and fun as his arms tightened around me, pulling our bodies flush together. His breath was hot on my neck as he hid his face in the curtain of my hair. “Not tonight, ma femme. Tonight you will see just how hard I can be.”

Pierre backed up with a smirk but not before he sucked at the sensitive skin above my racing pulse. He knew exactly what he was doing and the smugness showed as he whistled a little tune on his way to help Clare peel the banana.

Shaking my head, I made my way to the stairs and said goodbye to Charles with the message to remind Mia that our plans for a spa day had been booked - but that didn’t mean he could slack off from the ankle massages he was giving her each night. He gave an amused salut but I didn’t see it as I pressed the button for the elevator. He was well used to the reminders by now, it wasn’t his first rodeo.

Knowing my evening plans had changed I went to my office and shut the door to silence the music drifting down the hall from Addie’s room. As CEO of Gasly Racing there was an endless stream of paperwork to be checked and signed, especially with the new expansion plan for the factory about to break ground. On top of that were the invites to attend fundraisers or speeches to prepare for the various charities I was ambassador for such as Women's Refuge.

When I finally emerged with my inbox up to date I could hear the laughter of all my children from where they lounged in front of the tv and the sound never ceased to make me smile. I had missed the sound since Addie moved out because it was rare to have all five of us here at the same time and I was reluctant to leave even for just one night when it came time to pack an overnight bag.

“We are allowed one night away, mon amour,” Pierre said as he stepped into the master bedroom to see me hesitating to step inside the wardrobe. “You and me, no interruptions.”

I relaxed into his embrace and sighed as he brushed my hair over one shoulder before kissing my collar. “And what were you planning that was so important it couldn’t be interrupted?”

His chuckle sent a shiver of delight down my spine and his fingers trailed down my ribs to the hem of my shirt before they slipped underneath the material to caress the soft skin over my stomach. I had to take a shaky breath when his thumbs caught the waistband of my skirt and I held it as I waited for them to hook underneath.

His lips brushed the shell of my ear and my lips parted in anticipation of his dirty words. “To sleep.”

“Huh?” I blinked twice, peeking over my shoulder to see his green eyes sparkling with amusement.

“To sleep. Why, what were you thinking?” He tried to look innocent but when he drew his bottom lip between his teeth and his hand slipped down beneath my skirt he let the truth show. “Did you want me to tell you how I am dying for a taste of you? How I can’t wait to have these sexy legs wrapped around me when I make love to you tonight? I don’t need to tell you, baby, I’ll show you.”

I knew he could feel how damp my panties were for him from the smirk on his face and I almost whimpered when he withdrew his hand from where I needed it. “Now pack your bag, and make it quick, I’m absolutely ravenous.”

I bit my lip at the depth of his tone and knew exactly what it was he was dying to taste. I didn’t even look at what I was packing, tossing the first items that touched my hands before he stopped me and grabbed one dress instead.

“This one,” he said as he held a colourful sundress that I rarely wore anymore, a soft smile warming his eyes. “It’s my favourite.”

Click here for the final chapter. 🥺

Tagging: @my-only-way-tocooperatewithlife @prrttysposts @alwaysclassyeagle @dr3lover @adalynneva

#pierre gasly x poc!oc #pierre gasly x oc #pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly imagine #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine #running from the flames

180 notes · View notes

des-thefox · 20 days

Text

its so interesting to me the difference between twitter and tumblr suckening ship names like

ofc we have fizzfangs gothgun armored pheasant right like those sre universal

but ive noticed that mostly for ships with gabriel its different

like for gabriel x emizel i usually see it called toxicfangs on twitter cus its like fizzfangs but toxic instead cuz toxic yaoi (yuri, theyre yuri trust but thats a different post) but ive seen bloody rivalry to describe them on tumblr

and then for gabriel x emizel x soda ive seen sucker punch on tumblr but on twitter i see more people calling it toxic waste (hehe i came up with this one and i guess it just became more used by like some people?? i think??) because toxic waste is like a name to call a blend of every drink at a soft drinks station (its not what its always called but ive seen it called that) and also toxicfangs so like

idk just an observation

have a yuriful day tumblr i probably wont ever be back

#jrwi suckening #jrwi the suckening #jrwi #jrwi show #just roll with it #the suckening #gabriel montez #soda collins #soda jrwi #emizel tucker #fizzfangs #jrwi soda #jrwi emizel #text post #?????? toxic waste #toxicfangs #bloody rivalry #godbless america i love gay people

28 notes · View notes

neyslover · 2 years

Note

Can you write a Neymar x reader fic where he and the reader are having family time with their three sons and Davi? Can one of the sons be 3 years old and the other one be 2 years old, and the last one be 6 months old?

aah ofc!!! i love writing dad!ney

ney, the kids, and i were having a pool party,

our family consists of 4 boys:

davi, who's 11 years old. he may not be my biological son, but i treat him as if he is.

gabriel, who's 3 years old.

gui, who's 2 years old.

and finally, paulo, who's only 6 months old,

gui, paulo, and ney were in the kiddy pool, meanwhile davi and i were racing.

he won, multiple times.

in my defense, i had just given birth.

"ma," davi called out for me from the other side of the pool, "we can do it another time, i'll go easy on you."

"okay!" i swam over to him.

"3, 2, 1!" he counted down.

i swam as fast as i could, and surprisingly, i won! just buy a bit, though, but i still won!

"pa!" davi called his father over, "you wanna have a race? i beat ma every time!"

"hey! not the last time."

"yea, because i made you win!"

"whatever helps you sleep at night, davi." i laughed.

"of course i'll have a race with you!" neymar jumped in.

i got out of the pool and went over to the kids.

"ma!" my oldest cried out, "i want pool!"

"okay, wait for pa and davi to finish their race and we'll go in."

when they finished, i gave gab to davi, and gui to ney, while i held paulo.

as i watched them splash each other, i realized that i was so lucky that god blessed me with a family like this.

#neymar #neymar jr #neymar x reader #neymar junior #neymar imagines #neyslover #football #football one shot #football imagine #futbol #futbol imagines #fifa world cup

620 notes · View notes

netherfeildren · 1 year

Text

FEAR OF GOD : Chapter IV : Mouth full of blood

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: A trap is set, the two of you fall.

Content Warnings: canon-typical violence, gore, threat of sexual assault, PTSD, rough sex, heavy angst

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Art is Healing by Laura Makabresku.

Word Count: 6.8K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER IV: Mouth full of blood

Without violence, how do I understand my life as

meaningful?

As if the only tool I owned for finding truth were a knife. -Gabrielle Bates, Eastern Washington Diptych

A silence as vast as it is particular surrounds the two of you. The loud, wheezing gasp of his breath, the only discernible thing he can make out. It was like you’d been sucked into a vacuum, the rest of the world taken through the maw of a black hole. Trees and darkness and your small hand clutched to the back of his jacket as you follow close behind him.

He makes his way slowly through the dark, one precise step in front of the other, rifle trained ahead of him. The two of you’d been separated from Tommy and the others one by one, picked off like goddamn flies. He didn’t even know if they were all still alive, if his brother was okay.

It was a trap. It was a fucking trap. Goddamnit, he’d known. He’d known this was a mistake.

He was going to kill someone, several someones, for this.

They’d come out of nowhere, the so-called group of weary travelers the girl had told you all about. She’d appealed to your soft nature, tears and timidity, and scrapes and bruises you’d tended to with the gentlest hands that’d ever graced this world. You didn’t belong out here. He should’ve never let you come. You needed to be somewhere safe and warm and protected. Surrounded by your books and your soft things, and him there, to watch over you, always. This was all so fucking wrong.

The men had diverted the group, spooking the horses and separating you all, a coordinated attack. Whether they were trying to find an in to Jackson, or if they’d heard rumors of a doctor, the resource you posed was a valuable one any group or community would vie for, he didn’t know. They’d targeted you first, spooking your mare. She’d reared and unseated you, and he’d almost cracked his neck he’d whipped around so fast watching you go down. The small thud your body had sounded as you’d hit the ground, the seconds it took you to open your eyes and start to move again, the longest moment of his entire life. He’d scrambled off his horse and lost it in his rush to get to you. Hands smoothing over you, down your neck and back, your limbs, checking for breaks. And then he’d looked around to find the two of you were alone. The sound of the others echoing off in the distance, accompanied by other, more harrowing noises. The shot of a gun firing, rushed footsteps and shouts going in and out of his ears. He’d told you to stay close and had set off in the opposite direction, away from where he thought the sounds of the group were coming from.

And then the clicking.

Singular in the darkness, the croaking click of an infected. He pauses your movements, halting abruptly so that the soft weight of you thumps into his back. What the fuck was an infected doing so far out here? Was this part of their plan? Had they connived some way to herd infected out here as part of their attack? Who the fuck even were these people? He needed to get you back, get you safe. Now. This was all wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Was that an infected?” your scared, cracked whisper.

He holds up a single hand, listening, listening. “We’re gonna move, slow and steady. Silent,” he whispers. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t be scared, I’ve got you.”

“Joel–” fierce little hand clutched in his jacket. He starts to move again. And then the splintering of a nearby tree, gunshots directed at you, and he’s spinning and grasping the back of your head to push you down onto the ground. “Down, down,” he shouts at you, “Crawl to the tree!” He hunches over your form, knees bent to hover over you and shield you with his body, towards the protection of the trunk. The shooter has shit aim, trees feet away from the two of you fracturing in the ricochet of the bullets. But then there’s a heavy weight slamming into Joel’s side, taking him to the ground, and he hears you scream his name as the man struggles to straddle his middle, get the upper hand. A heavy fist slams into his cheek and Joel grapples to get his arms and legs around the fucker. He can hear your voice sounding in the darkness, but all he can see is the man above him, his sloppy fists swinging without precision or direction. The man is haggard and dirty — months of traveling and wilderness apparent in his face and clothes. Joel manages to get a strong hold on his throat, and then he’s heaving his legs around the man’s torso and cinching him in a lock between his thighs, pulling his face down to meet his fist over and over. His knife is in the holster at his belt, and he’s able to reach it with the hand not gripping the man above him at the same time that he realizes Joel’s reaching for a weapon. He scrambles to knock the knife away and goes for Joel’s throat. Joel manages to turn his head enough to find you in his periphery while still grappling with his attacker.

He watches as the man above you grabs you around the ankle and slowly starts to drag you across the forest floor. Your screams reverberating in his ears like a gong, like the shredding of metal. They’re desperate and visceral and the worst fucking sound he’s ever heard in his entire life. You claw viciously at the ground, nails cracking and bloody, trying to find purchase on anything to pull you away from the man’s grasp, to use as a weapon against him. And then he’s gripping your knee and flipping you over roughly, boot planting his heavy weight on your chest as he pins you in place like a broken butterfly. He bends to say something to you he can’t make out from where he is, but the look of sheer terror and disgust on your face tells him everything he needs to know. Joel sees red, doubles his efforts into a savage mess of limbs and fists, trying to get the man attacking him off.

The dead man standing over you pauses then, turns his head slowly to Joel, and his smile is revolting – dark and rotting, “You ready to watch?” This is every nightmare Joel has had since the end of the world, come to life.

The man crouches down over your struggling form, hand wrapping around the delicate column of your neck. Get your hands off, off, off, get your fucking hands off. There’s fire in his lungs, in his blood. He hears the sound of a clicker again, the screeching monstrosity charging through the dark wood towards you all, and with a burst of extra strength, born of pure terror, he finally finds purchase on the ground with his foot, enough to leverage up and reach his hand towards his lost knife. The sound of the clicker getting closer, closer – and then he’s slamming the knife into the eye of the man above him, the sick crunch of steel meeting bone, and then deeper, until he feels the tip meet the softness of brain – rips it out and then slams it back in again at his neck – blood spurts hot and metallic across Joel’s face. And when he turns his head back towards you, preparing to take in the worst thing he’s ever seen since he watched his daughter die – there you are. Small, trembling frame straddled over the much larger body of your would-be attacker, a hunting knife the length of half your arm stabbing over and over again into his chest and abdomen. He can hear your guttural screams over the white noise in his ears – great heaving sobs shake your chest. Your face, tear streaked and splattered with blood. He sees the eye socket closest to Joel is empty, optic nerve hanging torn and bloody. The gouged eyeball lies a few inches beside his lolling head. The sight of you, his little bird, with hands that hold such power for healing, for care and love, imparting such violence – this is his greatest failure.

He calls your name, loud and sharp, and you pause your massacring immediately. Look up, as if waking from a haze, brought back to consciousness at the mere sound of his voice, eyes glazed and vacant, and his heart is breaking for you, a savage howling ringing within him, his bones vibrating with the very force of it. This is no place for his gentle little bird, no, no, this is all wrong.

“Run, Birdie. Run. Hide. I’ll find you. I promise, I promise. Run.” He can see the refusal in your eyes. The stubbornness threatening to set in. “You promised. You promised you’d do as I say,” he grits through clenched teeth, voice filled with desperation and panic. You shudder, body jerking violently as his words settle inside you, and then you’re shooting up quick as a bullet and turning to run into the darkness. He watches the wood swallow you, and then he’s pushing himself up and squaring himself to face the clicker.

The pounding of your feet in the dark, the rattle of your breath in your chest are the only things you can discern in the black surrounding you.

You have been here before.

You’re terrified that at any second you're going to see your sister. Her ghostly specter, her savaged and torn body, her beautiful, warm face, whole and healthy and smiling at you, the massacred pieces of her torn flesh, scattered along the forest floor.

But you need to go, you need to run, to hide, to do as Joel ordered you. Even though every fiber of your being is telling you to turn back. That the worst thing in the world you could ever do would be to leave him. And then you’re slamming into something, jarring and painful. Something blunt and heavy jabs into your gut, slams into your knee with so much force you see stars, sends you to the ground.

A woman screams, guttural and shrill, as your two bodies collide and a sharp needling cry echoes. Your back slams against the hard forest floor, your head bouncing sickeningly, and white streaks of light flash against the swallowing darkness.

“Fuck, fuck –” she spits, already scrambling back up to prepare to flee, the high pitched cry sounds again. A baby, you think dazedly. There’s a baby here. The baby the girl mentioned? Your head feels hollow, your brain pulsing against the confines of your skull.

“W–wait–” you croak. You can’t get your bearings, too many sounds muddling your pounding head: the far off gunshots – getting closer, the horrible clicking, your memories battering within your mind over and over, Beth’s phantom screams of pain, Joel yelling at you to run, run, run, the baby’s wail fueling your panic to rise higher and higher inside of you. You have been here before. A sense of déjà vu so acute – as if this moment is the only one you’ve ever existed in. Your skin throbs in echoes, a hair raising chill rolls through your body and you shiver, jerking. “A baby–” you stutter, “You have a baby–” you roll over, reach out to try and grasp her kicking ankle. Her boot collides with your wrist, and you swallow an agonized scream, rolling away from her.

“Get the fuck away from me! Fucking murderer!” she screeches, over the baby’s cries. A flash of the moon illuminates the woman’s figure for a second and you see the bulk of the child cradled to her front. And her face, panicked, dirt streaked and desperate. You lock eyes for one interminable moment, take each other in, they’re light, almost glowing translucent in her skull with the reflection of the moonlight.

“Let me– let me help you — Wait–” you urge, you can’t get up, can’t get your limbs to work.

“Get away from me!” she screams again, and then she’s up and gone, fleeing into the darkness. You need to move, the vicious sounds of a fight are drawing nearer – Joel’s pleading voice in your head run, run, run. The thought of having left him behind makes bile curl in your belly, burn your throat, but you’d promised him you’d listen to anything he said, and the instinct to keep your word won out. You hear Beth’s voice more clearly in this familiar darkness, and you force your shaky mind to move, to work. The way she’d say your name so patiently when trying to teach you something, imparting some of her slightly snooty big-sister-wisdom, always well meaning: The trees, the trees are always our friends. They can do so much for us. And then you’re clawing your way to your feet, just like that long past night, and grappling for any sort of purchase you can find with your hands and boots. Up, up the tree, go up the tree. It saved you once, it’ll save you again.

It terrifies you to think that life was only ever a recurring set of events; cyclical in an inescapable way. That you were all doomed to repeat the same steps, relive the same instances, again and again. Beth forcing you up the tree last time, the night of her death. You’d been taken by surprise by clickers that night also, but only you had made it up to the first branches before they were on her. Before you were forced to watch, helpless from your perch as she was ripped to shreds. You had been here before and you’d lost something essential to you last time. You would not survive a second loss.

Joel, please be okay, please, please.

You manage to foist yourself up into the lowest hanging branches, the blood in your head throbs so strongly it’s coupled with a wave of nausea with every beat of your heart, up higher, a little more. You’d perched on that tree branch for hours after she was finally dead. Staring unseeingly at the scattered pieces of her body. A sudden gunshot echoes loudly in the darkness and you almost lose your purchase on the branch, and then it all stops. Like all sound is suddenly sucked out of the air in a vacuum echo – the struggle of the fight, the clicking and screaming – and the vacant wilderness is so consuming, so terrifying, tears stream silently down your cheeks. You can hear your breath rattle in your chest. You feel very, very alone, as if every other human in the world had vanished with the sounding of that gunshot.

Alone in a sick and destroyed world.

But then there’s a sudden bumbling through the trees. A body breaking against the brush and leaves on the ground, and another one of the attackers stumbles into the clearing. You turn your head in the direction the woman had fled, perhaps she’d been part of this group, but the sheer terror in her eyes, the desperation to get away as quickly as possible, her words, calling you a murderer, inclines you to think not. Joel stalks into the clearing after him, and you huddle deeper into the shadow of the branches. The moon slants just so allowing you to take him in.

It’s like he’s grown five inches taller, the look in his eyes – there is no hint of the man who’d touched you with the gentlest hands you’d ever felt in your entire life – it’s terrifying. His gaze swings almost manically in his head, taking in the clearing, and then his eyes stop on your tree, pause on the patch of dirt at the base and slowly travel up, looking into the looming darkness of the branches. He will always find you. You know this as surely as you know your own name. His face, his hands are steeped in blood, his clothing savaged. There’s no weapon in his grasp as the man turns to swing a long, serrated hunting knife at him. He jerks back, smoothly evading it. “I’m gonna find your little bitch, gonna fuck her dead – gut her. Make you watch the whole thing, you motherfucker,” he taunts. He’s laughing, provoking, and Joel’s countenance is so terrifying in this moment – his face seems set in stone, unmoving and frozen in a rage so black. Your whole body shivers so violently you almost lose your perch. The branch creaks beneath you, and you let out a small whimper as your hands scrape and scramble to hold on, your bloody, broken nails clawing at the wood. The man turns at your sound, but Joel’s gaze remains trained on him. The man’s eyes are manic with sick glee. “Oh, there she is,” he croons. His teeth gleam red in the moonlight, and he never should’ve taken his eyes off Joel, not even for a second. He’s on him faster than you can blink, shoulder to the man’s gut, he slams him to the ground and his skull rebounds with a sick crack on the hard dirt, the sound of his skull breaking with the sheer force of the tackle.

Joel is an animal, hungry and vicious, ready to gorge.

The knife is in his hand then, and the sick, slick squelch of it plunging deep into the man’s chest sounds loud and victorious in the night. He lets out a small surprised oh, as he looks down at the knife impaling him, and Joel’s teeth are bared in a snarl, he grinds it harder, deeper.

“That’s right, fucker,” he says, voice low and guttural, almost unrecognizable in this darkness. “Shoulda never put your hands on her.” The sound of it makes you more afraid in this moment than anything else that’s happened tonight, the thought of not knowing the sound of his voice – of losing him so far to his rage you’d be unable to recognize him, to bring him back to you. But then he speaks again: “I’m going to kill you now.” He’s nodding his head mockingly, and that familiar monotone is back. His tone so matter of fact – almost like a reassurance to the three of you. The oily grip of your fear slides off you, and you’re left only to appreciate the magnificence of his violence as he starts beating the man’s face in with his closed first, again and again. The sound of crushed bone and flesh resonating in the dark night air like some gruesome song. And the sight of it: it is lurid, grotesque, but also somehow, erotic. Joel’s huge, heaving body, his fist breaking repeatedly over human flesh; you are mesmerized. You slowly start to lower yourself back to the ground, never once taking your eyes off him, barely blinking. The sight of him, wrathful, murdering, the way he kills for you, the way he protects you; you understand it. It is very much like the moment in which Beth died in its violent inevitability. It will always happen like this; Beth dying, Joel protecting you. The way her body was torn apart piece by piece by clickers as you watched on from above. The basest display of violence imaginable. Joel, meticulous, precise in his strikes, protecting you with everything he has. The man’s skull is an almost bloody mass of pulpy, bone riddled sludge beneath his blows. But in this instance, the scene before you is now something that is being given to you, something being done for you – not something being taken away.

There have been many times where the lines between the infected and the humans blurred in your psyche. Unsure which was more violent, more horrifying, more willing to inflict damage. But there never existed a question of which had a greater capacity for cruelty. It was always, always the humans. Cordyceps had taught you that nature could never be cruel – it only existed as it was meant to, did as it was always intended to. There was no cruelty behind it’s actions, no motivation behind the consequences it wrought besides to go on existing, no choice. But humans, people, the well of cruelty that existed within humanity was endless in its possibility. Endless choices. Nothing else like that lived in the world. The man you killed – his disgusting whispered words ring in your ears as you watch Joel: You think your man over there’ll get off on watching? ‘Cause I sure as hell am gonna enjoy knowin’ he is, pretty thing.

There are no lines in this moment – the way you’d murdered him – there is no sense of division. There is only Joel’s desperate violence existing with the three of you in this clearing – the echoes of your own.

And the sight before you, the violence in him, it is not frightening to you. He is not frightening to you. To see his very basest nature – to see him protect you in this way – that violent heart, beastly, savage – it does not frighten you. You step forward, closer to the massacre, to the man you love, and he instantly stops. Hearing or sensing your approach, he stops and turns his bloody, savage face towards you, chest heaving, fist still raised. The look in his eyes as he registers your presence, that you’ve witnessed him in this way – to Joel, to Joel it is devastating. You can see it in his gaze, the moment it settles within him – catastrophe of the highest order.

The possibility of losing you, of you being hurt, of him not being strong or fast enough to protect you; every fear, every moment of unimaginable danger, every point of no return flashes in his eyes – it’s like you’re reading his mind in this moment. The instance of connection, of knowing, of intimacy you share in the wake of his violence – it tethers you to him in a way that is deeper than anything else the two of you have experienced before. To share this, to know what he’s feeling in this space his violence has forged, to understand his rage – he’s seen this play out so many different ways, so many times, with different versions of someone he cares for. Sarah, Ellie, you.

His eyes like glass, broad chest heaving, painfully out of breath; it’s like you can see him recall another moment like this as he looks at you, as he takes in the familiar look of hungry reverence in your eyes, mirroring another set too young to churn with so much appreciation for violence.

He straightens from his crouch over the massacred form of your attacker, and comes to you, bloody hands fisting in your hair as he takes your mouth, open and fierce. The groan he licks into you is guttural, eliciting a shaky, broken moan in response.

“My brave girl,” he murmurs softly, nose nuzzling your cheek.

His hands roam down, gently pressing for wounds or hurts. “You’re okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” You press yourself to him, gaze peeking over his shoulder, staring out into the empty darkness, only the sound of your shared breaths now.

“There was a woman,” you whisper, “With a baby.” Where did she go? Why did she have a baby out here with her in this hell?

He pulls you back, grips your jaw gently, “Are you hurt?” He demands, ignoring what you’d just said, and you shake your head, wide eyed. Do they have shelter? Somewhere to go? Someone to help them?

“Are you?” you ask him.

“I’m fine.”

“I saw a woman, Joel. She had a baby.”

“Was probably with those bastards. We have to go – find the others. I have to get you back home.”

“But she had a baby–”

“That isn’t our concern,” he says sharply, and turns, clutching your hand in his, pulling you forward to bend for the knife still plunged in the man’s chest. He isn’t letting you go again. You feel the promise in the strength of his grip around your bones. The skull is caved in, and your eyes volley back and forth between the slaughter and Joel.

“But I–”

“Don’t.” There is no room for discussion in his tone, only an urgency that begs for your obedience. His panic, his terror, envelopes you both in its asphyxiating embrace. “Not now. We have to go.”

You make it back to Jackson within several hours. Never coming across the group or the horses again. Joel sets an uncompromising pace that has your exhausted, overwrought body shutting down once you finally set eyes on the gate.

He hasn’t said a word in hours except to check if you’re okay. His breathing, harsh and angry — you’d focused on the rhythm of it, the reassurance it provided you. Let the sound settle in your bones and guide you forward along with his hand. He’d not let go of you since he’d picked it up, and your fingers have long gone numb in his strangling grip. But you know, that like the sound of his breathing, the feel of your palm in his is his own form of reassurance. The embrace he’d not allow himself right now. Not until you’re safe.

The dark, red thread of tension pulls taught between the two of you. His earlier violence, still palpable on your tongue, felt in the rigidity he holds himself with, it buzzes between your bodies like a hive. A restless anxiety overshadowing the exhaustion threatening you, making your skin itch and sweat.

You return to find Tommy safe and unharmed, Kenneth and Pablo being patched up by Nancy and interrogated by Maria. The fourth in your party, Ben, is dead. A group already assembled to go out and search for the two of you. The teenage girl had disappeared from the clinic shortly after your group had headed out – the whole thing was a trap. Joel recounts the fight in tense, short bursts, never letting go of your hand. Pulling your body slightly behind his, as if these people, familiar to you, your friends, your family, also pose a threat. Anyone who dares too close is met with the fire of his glare, bared teeth. He’s yet to shed the blanket of violence he’d dawned to defend the two of you earlier, and your body seems to answer it, a keening cry only he can hear. Shaking and sweating, clutching the back of his jacket, pressing your feverish brow to his shoulder. You know you should pull yourself together, tend to Kenneth and Pablo, clean and wrap Joel’s obviously broken hand and your own scrapes and bruises – it’s your responsibility – but you can’t focus, can’t pin a rational thought in your mind long enough to propel yourself into action. The wet sound of Joel’s pummeling fist plays over and over in your mind, the only thing you can focus on, the feel of his warm back under your touch. You need him, need something from him after that trauma, after your fear of being taken from him, of one of you being killed. You need him to remind you that you’re both okay, alive, that you belong to him and only him.

You block out their conversation, eyes closed, you try to match the rhythm of your breathing to his, try to ground yourself with his body. The feeling of never having left those dark woods, of still being in that tree with Beth, not Joel, beneath you, of being lost, lost, lost, of never finding him, is overwhelming you. And then he’s turning and pulling you into his arms, guiding you away from the group and whispering into your hair, “It’s alright, it’s alright, just a little longer. We’re going home now.” Home, he was taking you home. The words out of his mouth allow you enough clarity of mind to squeeze the wish from your heart into your brain – that you want so desperately for his home to be yours also. That you could both share the same space you call just your own.

“I’ve got you, baby. Stop your trembling now,” he presses into your hair. His voice, so comforting, so reassuring.

Your eyes are blurry, colors passing your gaze in a hazy amalgamation that makes your heart beat faster. You can feel the mass of it pounding against the ribs in your back, the sensation sick and uncomfortable. And then you’re in his bedroom, and his hands are everywhere, ripping aggressively at your clothes, sliding through your hair, squeezing your ass and your breasts and your hips.

“I need you– need you, need you– Need to feel you, Birdie.” His voice pushes an urgency into your skin that has your heart beating even harder against your ribcage, his mouth sliding over your neck, tongue laving into the hollow of your collarbone, teeth biting, sharp and painful, into your shoulder, and you find your voice finally, keening and broken, calling out his name. He’s moving lower, sucking on your breast, biting, as if he could fit the entire heavy weight of it into his mouth, “Joel– Joel, please.” You push and grip at his head, his hair.

“I know, I know, baby. I know what you need.” He pushes you back onto the bed, rips your legs open, fingers and nails pressing painfully into your soft skin, he spits on to your exposed sex, rubbing his saliva into your folds, bends for a long lick, and then two of his thick fingers are shoving into your cunt. He curls them forward and presses, presses, hooks into that spot that belongs only to him and bares his teeth at you. Snarls like an animal. Mine, mine, mine, you’re okay, you’re mine, he chants. He moves his fingers fast, with a lewd squelch that has you writhing and gasping, scissoring them to stretch you open. He pulls them from you, too soon, not enough, you want to say, but you hear the drag of his zipper – he spits again – and then the hot, wide head of his cock is there at your entrance, swiping along you in a wet arc, and then pressing, pressing in, and he’s there, surging into you and fucking hard and fast into your tight heat, hitting the end of you. The groan he lets out when he sinks to the hilt vibrates through you. You aren’t fully ready to take his thick length, and you don’t care, want it harder, faster, want it to hurt more, to remind you that you’re here with him, that you made it out of that dark wood. You curl your fingers under the damp crook of your knees and spread yourself wider for his ravaging. Eyes never leaving his, you arch your back to allow yourself to take him deeper. The moan you give him, pleading, almost pathetic in its desperate supplication – like an animal, like prey, pinned beneath the claws of a savage beast.

“This is what you needed – this is what you needed. You’re okay, you’re okay” he chants. You cannot discern where it is he ends and you begin. You never want to be able to tell again, want to meld your souls, your bodies together like ore.

Still standing over your naked form at the edge of the bed, he lets himself fall forward, rigid arms holding himself up. He takes in your flushed, sweaty face, the glassy, terrified look you’d worn for hours replaced by the glassy haze of arousal. Delirious at the pleasure he’s forcing into you right now, he picks up the pace of his hips, gives it to you harder. Snakes a hand down to give your clit a gentle swirl, then further down, where his fingers part in a V to feel where his cock splits you open.

“Just take it, just take it.” His cock inside you is brutal, cunt stretched to the point of obscenity, stuffed full. “I need you to take it for me, just like this – be a good girl – don’t struggle, lemme give it to you how I need.” His desperation has a flavor, a scent to it. He changes the angle to fuck up, up against something no one but him has ever touched, a space inside you that belongs to him, thumb soft as a whisper on your swollen clit, around and around. He can tell you almost need to tell him to stop, that it’s too much. “Fuck, that’s so good, baby, you’re such a good girl,” he praises, and you make a soft, obscene sound that he feels in his battering cock. He gives it to you harder. It’s a sound of acquiescence, of complete capitulation, that he rings out of you. He’s conquered you in this moment – conquered you in a way that grants you no option of stopping. The sound is his permission to conquer. With his body over yours, within yours – you are completely at his mercy and protected from everything else in the world that could ever hurt you. He feels god-like. There is no fear or loss or hurt, no possibility of failure, only his body moving within yours. Your warm wet heat swallowing, gaping for him as he fills it like you both need him to.

The panic of that darkness surrounding him, of being unable to find you, of killing everything in his path just to fucking get to you, sings through him. He’d kill this dead world over and over and over again a thousand times just to find you in that darkness.

He hooks your knees over his arms, hitches them higher – holds your legs open wider to receive him – your bare tits pressed up against the bloody, savaged cotton of his flannel – too desperate to bother stripping his own clothes, and the rough fabric rubs your soft skin raw. Each time his hips slam against your ass, balls slapping, your breath stutters out of you in broken gasps, and you don’t think he’s ever been as deep in your cunt as he is now. He wraps one of his arms around your back, gripping your shoulder to impale you down onto his cock. His other fists painfully in your hair to keep your head in place and tilted up to him; your jaw hinged open so you can breathe into each other. Your own hands clutch uselessly at his wrists, trying to exert some semblance of force against him – to remind him of your own strength while he overwhelms you with his. He’s fucking you as if he could burrow his way inside of you forever, live within the confines of your skin. You’ve lost track of how many times your cunt has spasmed and come around him, your muscles milking him relentlessly. Your clit engorged and rubbed raw. You’re one unending, throbbing orgasm. Everything is wet and messy between the two of you, the gush of your lust sticky and clinging to the hair on his pelvis and thighs. Birdie, Birdie, Birdie, it’s like a prayer.

“Should’ve never left you alone in the dark, baby.”

He wants to break you, you're sure of it – to turn you into a creature reduced to only the virtue of his whims, ruled by the savaging of his cock. The very nectar of you pooling at his feet, leaking out of your pores under the unrelenting focus of his body and you know you won’t survive him. Not after this. But no, you realize, no, this is Joel breaking, not you. His fear is a living creature sharing the room with the two of you right now. Everything that’s ever held him away from you, everything he’s ever been too scared of to admit, lives and breathes with you in this moment. Like some sort of monstrosity crouched in the corner, bloody and frayed and wanting.

“Birdie, I love you. Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie,” he brands the words into your skin. “I was so scared—” searing kisses pressed to your face, your neck, your breasts, in the wake of his words.

Oh, this is it. Your heart, your heart, it’s going to burst, to cleave in two. He’s wrought a fracture through the core of your very being.

This will never mend.

The rhythm of his hips speeds up, becoming sloppy and stuttered – he’s close – and his grip transfers to your jaw, so tight and bruising; you’ll have the ghost of his fingers on your skin tomorrow. His cock kisses your womb with each brutal thrust, and he bares his teeth at you as he starts to come, the blazing wash of his spend filling you. “You’re gunna take all of my fucking come.” Anger and violence and all the feelings he wishes he didn’t have to experience, churn in his dark eyes. And you’d hold onto his anger soaked skin for the rest of your life if you could, if he’d let you. His eyes flick between yours, still holding your face, he ghosts his thumb over your wet bottom lip. “Birdie, I– I…” His hips are still moving, fucking his come deeper into your messy, used cunt. You see the realization of what he’s just said settle in his eyes, moving back and forth between yours, as if he’s watching him bare himself to you over again in their reflection.

You’re losing him, you can feel the tension – regret, please, please don’t be regret – slowly start to seep into him as soon as he’s finished, to steal him away from you, and you cling more desperately to him, pull his face to yours and press soft butterfly kisses across his cheeks and nose. Joel, Joel, Joel. Please, don’t. His eyes flutter closed – the image of you beneath him already too much to bear.

“Stop,” he growls. Again: “Stop,” and suddenly he’s ripping himself out and away from you. The loss of him from between your legs, so violently abrupt, is almost a physical pain. The emptiness after being so full leaves you clenching around nothing, pushing his come out of you, and embarrassment, shame, fills you so acutely – to have your sex bared to him like a wound he’s left you with. You shut your legs, clutch your knees to your chest and gasp for breath, almost a sob. You gouge your nails into the skin of your knees trying to draw blood – before he can. You know what’s coming.

“I didn’t mean… all that. I– fuck—” he spits, clutches his hand in his messy hair, “I– I got carried away.” He’s backing away from you – other hand outstretched as if to keep you away. As if he could keep the reality of his confession, the betrayal to his own self, away from him with just that outstretched hand.

You’re still on your back, vacant eyes trained towards the ceiling, sucking in painful gulps of air, but you register him from the corner of your eye, the look he wears – you can’t decide if he was more terrified at the possibility of you being ripped apart by the clickers, taken and brutalized by the hunters; or in this moment, if his fear is more acute now, in the wake of his fortuitous confession. At the risk of being laid bare and vulnerable at your feet; as you’ve lived at his since the moment he first took you.

“Okay,” you say – try to temper your voice, slow your breaths, remain quiet and calm. Only one of you can be overwhelmed by panic right now. And yet part of you wants to rage at him. Your heart beats painfully in your chest, and you want to say, it’s not like I’m asking you to open your vein and let me drink – only just to love me.

Birdie, I love you. Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie.

“Okay…” you say again, “I– it’s… it’s okay. I know.” You sit up slowly, your body throbs and aches, still not able to look at him – the sight of him so terrified of all you represent, it would burn you – but you feel his gaze like a brand across your skin. You wrap your arms around your naked breasts, shielding yourself. His own bloody shirt is askew, his pants still open, cock slick with your mingled come, still semi-hard. If this were any other moment you’d tease him – how are you still hard after all that?

You turn your head away, towards the door, a traitorous little tear escapes the corner of your eye, and you quickly wipe it against your lifted shoulder, press your fingers to your mouth to keep in the threatening sobs. One of his flannels is strewn across the ground and you toe it towards yourself. “It was the adrenaline.” Your voice is limp, dead. Diminishing this will be the thing to kill you, you’re sure of it. How can he expect you to turn away from the one thing you’ve wanted from him more than anything else?

Birdie, I love you. Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie.

You shrug on his shirt, and he’s still not said anything else, but you see him move to tuck himself into his jeans now. “I- I’m gonna get some water,” you mumble, give him a moment to recalibrate.

Chapter V

Netherfeildren Masterlist

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #joel miller imagine #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #FOG fic

226 notes · View notes

circle-with-me · 4 months

Text

‘tis the damn season - part 5

Pairing: Will Ramos x OFC (Gen/Viv/Vivvy)

Content Warning/Tags: 18+ MDNI!!! nightmares, psychological abuse, verbal abuse, implications of physical abuse, menacing/threatening behavior, toxic relationship with parent (father), mentions of death, mentions of car wrecks, mentions of alcoholism, panic attacks, unprotected vaginal sex, creampie.

First part of this may be rough for some but after that is pure FLUFF I swear! Tooth rotting. They’re adorable, I love them so much.

Word Count: 3k

tag list: @concretenoah @deathblacksmoke @sitkowski @bngurngheart @malice-ov-mercy @witchyweeb34 @lyschko666 @cookiesupplier @lilrubles @meekahy @lacktoesandtoddlerants @sammyjoeee @collective-heartbreak @agravemisstake @catharsis-in-darkness @0fth34byss

Authors note: PLEASE PLEASE READ THE TAGS BEFORE YOU READ THIS PART!

There is a nightmare scene that can be pretty rough for some and I want to make sure everyone is prepared. You do not have to read that part to know that is going on with the rest of the story so I have divided it up so you can scroll through it. The scene is in italics. Once you reach the snowflake divider you’ve made it to the rest of the story. Love you guys and thanks as always for reading my thing ♥️

thank you to @deathblacksmoke and @concretenoah for being the best beta readers/listening to me go on about this fic incessantly. They’re my biggest helpers and supporters and I wouldn’t know what to do without them 🤍

warning divider by @cafekitsune, snowflake divider by @saradika-graphics, t. swift lyrics dividers by yours truly

“Genevieve! Get down here NOW!”

She stiffens at her father’s booming voice calling for her downstairs. Even with her door closed it sounded as if he was right next to her. Gen sits at the edge of her bed, dreading what would happen next. He would become angrier the longer she made him wait but fear kept her frozen.

“GENEVIEVE!” The voice boomed again. “Don’t make me come up there!”

She whimpers at the threat, knowing if she doesn’t get up immediately he’ll make good on it. Wiping the tears from her cheeks she gets up and opens her door, padding down the hallway to the staircase.

Gen stands at the top of the stairs and peers over in an attempt to catch a glimpse of him. She hears noises from the kitchen, shuffling around followed by shattering glass and a string of curses. He’s drunk, but what else is new?

“God dammit Genevieve, you don’t fucking li-” She jumps as his large frame stampedes out of the kitchen and to the bottom of the stairs. He halts when he sees her, the fury in his eyes turning to annoyance. He grips the railing, taking a step up.

“Mija, why did I get a call from school today telling me you’ve been skipping class?”

Gen feels her heart start to race.

“Daddy, I-I..” She stammers, tears welling up in her eyes. “I only skipped class once so I could..”

He slams his fist against the railing and Gen freezes in place, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort.

“Don’t lie to me, bitch.” He spits.

“I’m not lying to you, daddy! I promise. It was just one time! I wanted..”

He takes another step up.

“What the fuck is so important that you had to skip class for, huh?”

Gen whimpers, she knew he’d be furious to find out the truth but if she lied it would be ten times worse. She doesn’t even look up when she speaks.

“Tomorrow is Will’s birthday and I wanted to get him something special. He likes manga and the only place that sells it around here closes early. So, I left before the last period started so I could get there on time.”

“You skipped school to buy that stupid boy a comic book?” Gabriel sneers, narrowing his eyes at his daughter.

“Daddy, he’s not..”

“And whose fucking money did you buy that with?”

“Mine.” She sniffles. “Mrs. Hart has been having some trouble getting around so she asked me to help her with some housework. I told her not to but she insisted on paying me.”

He barks a laugh but there’s no humor behind it. In fact, it’s so cold it makes Gen’s skin crawl.

“Always taking advantage of people. What would your mother think of you?” Gen winces. He loves to use her mother against her. “I bet you went over to the neighbors begging for money. Just like when you cry to Will about how terrible I treat you.”

Gabriel ascends the step once more, taking two steps this time.

“Maybe I wouldn’t drink all the time or be so ‘terrible’ if I had a better daughter. Did you think of that? I lost my wife and I get to look at her spitting image every single day. You will never be half the woman she was… It should have been you that died in that wreck.”

If he had said that a year ago, his statement would have devastated her. She reasons that in some way it probably still does, but her bitterness and hatred for the man she calls her father usurps that feeling.

Gen looks in his eyes— eyes that have been lifeless and cold for years. She knew the risks, the consequences, the days of recovery ahead of her but she didn’t care. If he was going to sink that low then so was she.

“No, daddy. You can blame your drinking on me if you want to but you had a problem long before mom died. If you weren't such a drunk that wreck never would have happened. It should have been you that died.”

Gabriel’s lips curl in anger, a snarl coming from his chest. “You little fucking bitch!” He bounds up the stairs towards her, reaching out to grab her and—

Gen’s eyes fly open and she pants looking around the room. Her vision is so blurry she can barely see anything and it doesn’t help her racing heart. She lays her head back against the pillow, trying to slow her breathing.

“It was just a bad dream. It’s over. Breathe.” She whispers to herself. After a few minutes, she opens her eyes, her vision much clearer. She feels something shift slightly next to her and she looks over.

Beside her, as far away from her as he possibly could be, was Will. His brown eyes stare at her like she’s a wounded puppy and he wants to rescue her. From day one, he was always her protector, but he had witnessed enough nightmares to know he needed to stay away until the coast was clear.

Gen smiles meekly at him, body still trembling and tears falling freely. She stretches her arm out towards him. He was so far away from her that her fingertips barely brush his chest.

A strangled “baby” is all she can get out but that’s good enough for Will. He envelops her in his arms, pulling her into his chest, softly kissing her face. She sobs into his arms while he rubs her back, soothing her with sweet words.

“I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.” He whispers.

Will doesn’t need her to tell him what happened. The whines and cries in her sleep were enough. He remembers all of the sleepless nights for both of them, navigating through the nightmares and trauma plaguing her. Will thinks about the years of nightmares she has had with no one to comfort her like he is now and his heart aches.

Gen clutches onto him, burying herself deeper into his chest, gasping sobs wracking her body. Will holds her tightly, knowing it always gets worse before it gets better. He gently strokes her hair, crooning a song he’s done his best to forget in her ear.

“I look back to the one and only summertime

When my girl was the envy of every friend of mine

She slept safely in my arms

We were so young and invincible”

Will feels her shuddered breaths calm a little. The grip she has on him relaxes, her hands still shaking but lightly rubbing at his sides. He takes that as a hint to keep going.

“Closed lips

She was never one to kiss and tell

Those trips in the summer never went so well

Young love was such dumb love

Call it what you want

It was still enough”

Gen’s body continues to calm as he sings. He stops singing and hums as he takes a peek at her. He notices she’s not crying anymore and wipes the remaining tears from her face. She cracks an eye open and sniffles, hugging him even closer and nuzzling into his neck whining for him to continue. He smiles softly. There’s my girl. He thinks.

“And it's still out of my reach

And you're still

All of the things that I want in my life

How could I ask you to leave me?”

And we were just kids in love

The summer was full of mistakes

We wouldn't learn from

The first kiss stole the breath from my lips

Why did the last one tear us apart?”

His singing becomes quieter as he processes the lyrics. They were fifteen when they first heard this song. It came out the summer they started dating and it seemed perfect at the time. Will heard it first and declared it “their song” immediately. Gen had complained at first that the song was too sad but Will told her to focus on the sweet parts. He reassured her the sad verses would never apply to them.

Fourteen years later the realization that they not only do apply to them but almost mirror their situation perfectly was almost too much for Will to bear.

“We're falling down

Can we pick up the pieces?

We're at an all-time low

How do we get it back?

We're falling down”

The last few words come out a cracked and broken mess as tears stream down his face. He attempts to hide his pain from Gen but she hears it and can feel his heart pounding. She looks up at him, tears of her own returning, but the look in her eyes is no longer panic. Instead, it’s heartbreak, empathy, and longing.

Gen smiles at him, adjusting herself so that she can wrap her arms around his neck. She kisses him gently. It’s so gentle that he can barely feel it and he wants more but doesn’t want to rush her.

They lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms for a while, their lips meeting with little intention besides soothing the other person. Will’s hands roam her back and sides, staying in neutral areas until she’s ready.

When Gen deepens the kiss, he lets her have control. He can feel that she needs more by the way she pulls at his neck and rubs herself against him. He smiles into the kiss and plays with the frayed ends of her shirt.

“Is this okay?” He breathes, rubbing his fingers only barely under the hem.

She nods and he slides his hand under her shirt, his thumb brushing her ribcage just under her breasts. She lifts her leg over his hip and pulls him in closer, moaning as she feels how hard he is against her. Will cups her breast in his hand while he grinds into her slowly, swallowing every moan she gives him.

“Turn around for me.” Will requests and she obliges, rotating in the opposite direction and making a point to place her ass right up against his crotch as she settles down. Will chuckles and grabs her hips, grinding into her hard. Gen giggles back at him, gasping softly.

“Are you ready for me, baby? Need you.” He says slipping a hand in her panties and running a finger through her slit. He curses at how wet she is and quickly shoves his boxers down, hiking her leg over his. He pushes her panties to the side and slips inside of her.

Will slides his other arm underneath her and wraps it around her chest, pressing his body as close to hers as he can get. He presses kiss after kiss on her face and neck, slowly dragging his cock in and out of her.

Gen reaches back to card her fingers through his curls, bringing their lips together. She whimpers against his mouth, begging him to go faster. Will increases his movements, the sound of her stuttered moans already forming a knot in his stomach.

“Touch yourself for me, Vivvy… please” Will pants into her neck. “Need to.. fuck, want you to finish with me.”

Gen snakes her hand down her stomach, circling her clit with the pads of her fingers. Will watches her from over her shoulder, squeezing her hip so hard he’ll be shocked if he doesn’t leave a mark.

“Will.” Gen cries, moving her hips to meet his thrusts. With every new thrust inside of her he can feel her getting closer. The muscles in her belly are tensing and her legs are beginning to shake. Will watches as she practically bounces on his cock chasing her release.

“I’m here, baby. Let go for me. I’ve got you.” He coos, feeling his own climax coming on quickly.

Gen stills in front of him, crying out his name, shaking and moaning. Will pulls her so close he can barely breath and continues thrusting until he spills deep inside of her.

For some time, neither of them move or say a word. Will curls around her, still holding her tightly while Gen places featherlight kisses to his fingers. Both actions, while truly sincere, have hidden meanings.

One of them is trying to keep the other as close as possible in fear of them retreating. While the other is remembering for the first time in years what it’s like to experience a safe place in the form of a person.

Gen feels the bed dip beside her and a warm hand runs up her arm. She makes a contented sound but keeps her eyes shut. Will removes his hand and replaces it with his lips, kissing up to her shoulder.

“Time to get up, sleepy head.” He hums.

Gen pulls the covers over her head groaning and he laughs, fighting to get them off of her.

“Viv, It’s almost 2:30. We’ve been sleeping all day!”

The vice grip Gen has on the comforter stays as Will hears her grumbling something underneath them.

“What’s that?” He says, tilting his head and putting his ear to the blanket. “I can’t hear you, you’re gonna have to whine louder!”

A hand reaches out of the comforter and pinches Will’s side and he yelps. A satisfied snicker comes from below the fabric barrier as her hand retreats but he’s quick to grab it.

Gen squeals as he rips the comforter off of her and grabs her other hand, pinning them above her head. He watches her as she giggles uncontrollably; She’s trying, but not really to remove herself from his grasp. He kisses her face repeatedly and he lets her remove her hands so she can wrap her arms around him.

“We need to get up, Vivvy.” Will says between pecks.

“Whyyyy?” Gen drags out, giving him her best pout.

“Well, for one.. we haven’t eaten all day which is just not acceptable. Especially for a lazy day. And two…” He stands up and walks over to the window and peeks through the blinds. “It’s snowing.”

Gen sits up on her elbows, a baffled expression on her face.

“And…?”

Will rolls his eyes.

“And.. If I recall correctly someone used to love playing in the snow. At least before she turned into a big grump.” He teases.

Gen’s eyes light up and she scrambles to the window. She looks out as Will holds the blinds open for her, noticing how much it snowed overnight. Gen estimated there were probably five to six inches outside. It was perfect for a fun day in the snow.

“Can we go outside now?” She asks, buzzing with excitement.

“Food first. Snow after.” He replies.

After they eat, Gen practically runs to get dressed, stealing clean clothes from Will’s dresser to layer with. Seeing her in his clothes, the way his sweatpants cling to her hips and accentuate her curves makes him short of breath.

He considers the option of pulling them off of her and bending her over the dresser she was standing at but he knew not to mess with a woman and her snow plans. Even if sex was involved. Besides, there was always afterwards.

Will decides it’s best to distract himself so he walks into the living room to finish getting ready. Gen follows him shortly after, grabbing her boots and putting them on.

Will zips up his puffer jacket and turns around, watching as Gen puts on her pathetic excuse for a coat. He stands and watches her for a moment, an amused expression on his face. When she looks up, she sees him and grins.

“What?”

“You spend a few years in L.A. and forget how to dress for the weather here.” Will snickers as he gets up and assesses her outfit. He shakes his head and tuts at her. “Unacceptable.” Gen sticks her tongue out and Will laughs as he walks to his closet.

He brings her his extra puffer and beanie, placing the hat on her head and letting her put the jacket on herself.

“At least you brought a scarf, you monster.” He teases, fixing it around her neck. “Can’t have my girl freezing out there.”

Gen feels her cheeks flush, surprised at how quickly she accepts it. Was there a point in fighting it though? She was his girl. That had never changed, no matter how long she tried to combat it. In the back of her mind, she’s reminded this is temporary, but she stubbornly pushes it away. For once, she’s going to let herself have what she wants.

Will zips the jacket up for her, adjusting the scarf and making sure she was nice and snug. “That’s much better.” He says as he leans in and kisses her nose. He wraps his arms around her waist and rubs his nose against hers, grinning as she giggles uncontrollably.

“Ready to go, baby?”

Gen peers around the corner of the tree she’s hiding around. Will stands a few feet away, his back facing her. She sneaks around the tree, as quietly as the crunch of the snow would allow and runs toward him, throwing the snowball in her hand at him and hitting his back.

“There you are!” Will yells, running after her. He gathers up snow, throwing it back at her while he chases her. Shrieks of laughter permeate the cold winter air as they sprint around like little kids. Will finally catches up to her and grabs her, pulling her down on top of him.

Gen pulls down the scarf around his face, covering his face with kisses, focusing specifically on his cold red nose. She doesn’t miss the quiet giggles he lets out between each peck. His arms squeeze her tightly against him and despite the 20° temperature, she feels warmer than ever.

Will removes his arms from her suddenly and she sulks. He beams at her, spreading his arms and legs out in the snow, attempting to move them in a sweeping motion.

“It’s very hard to make a snow angel when you’re on top of me.”

Gen scoffs and rolls off of him, landing on her back next to him.

“That’s the first time you’ve ever complained about me being on top of you before.”

“First and only time, Vivvy.” He winks. “Now, are you gonna make one with me or is mine gonna sit here out in the snow all by itself?”

Gen and Will make their snow angels, and Will hops up to help her off the ground. They stand in front of them to assess their handiwork.

“Looks good to me. What do you think, babe?” He asks, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

“Perfect.” Gen responds, nuzzling into his chest. “Absolutely perfect.”

#will ramos #lorna shore #will ramos x ofc #will ramos fanfiction #will ramos fic #will ramos fanfic #will ramos smut #will ramos fluff #william ramos #willramos #ttds

40 notes · View notes