#Old Highway 30 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ifuckslasherz · 4 months

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KEEPSAKE:: leon kennedy

WARNING:: 80's au, playboy! Re2!Leon, car sex, riding, hair pulling, oral, fingering, teasing, fingering, slight edging, overstimulation, slight rejection, teasing, sexual tension

SUMMARY:: after a failed date you expect some sort of a reward for putting up with Leon who still seems to be hung up on his ex.

Leon Kennedy has been on many dates. One would even say that he has hooked up half of the girls after a date— which were all unsuccessful. It's not that there was anything wrong in particular with the people he has taken out, it's just that none of them have piqued his interest for a second one. And it just so happens that you had been taken on one of said dates.

When Leon asked you out on a date to the movies and dinner you hadn't expected the movie to be some trashy chic flick about an American actress going to Italy and falling in love with her friend's married Italian lover. It dragged on for 2 hours and you couldn't stand to sit through the first minute of opening credits. But not only did you sit through a silent car ride on your way to the restaurant but when you sat inside the restaurant it felt like this terrible date would never end.

"I used to be on the basketball before I graduated and I started working with my friend, she's really cool- she even has a neck tattoo" he rambled on and on for what felt like a lifetime. Only nodding off as he rambled on and on about working at the old movie theater and something about how his manager only shows up to be a dick.

But low and behold the lovely waitress with a tight lipped smile "would you like your bill.. or would you like me to swing by a little later?" She asked politely looking at the both of you. "You can give us our check now" you answered quickly before pulling 30 dollars out of your pocket when the check was set on the table.

Once Leon had caught his eyes on the cash in your hand he shook his head "you don't have to pay, what kind of guy would I be to make you pay for your food?" He says patting his pockets which makes you roll your eyes "it's fine" you reply flatly pressing the 20 and 10 dollar tip onto the wooden table and like second nature stood from the worn out booth walk to the class doors pushing them open and making a b-line to the boys nice and shining Pontiac.

Leon grew up coddled, he was popular in high school, he had the cutest girl in his grade. Now he's digging it with girls who never made it past the first date because he never could find a bond with them, while working at the local theater and losing all cool points he's earned on his way up in high school. Well on your end you didn't care for his past reputation, you didn't care for this date and the fact that you haven't had an ounce of fun since you had walked past your front porch was eating you up inside.

When you heard keys jangling in an instant you turned your head being met with Leon walking over to the drivers side of the car. Unlocking the doors you both get in and once the car starts you fiddle with the radio never wanting to sit through silence and letting the hum of the radio come out softly through the speakers.

You were so caught up in your thoughts you had failed to realize how dark it had started to get, the once blue sky turned to deep orange and yellow hues. Watching as the power lines zipped past you in a blur, if you were going to sit in this car you would be damned if you had to sit in awkward silence and do nothing.

Just as Leon had turned onto the highway the road seemingly empty as it got darker out and the headlights of his car lighting up the black asphalt on the road. Your view flickering between the road and Leon who was watching the road with one hand on the wheel as the other slumped against the middle console.

The sight of his thighs sat stiffly while his jaw clenched. "Leon, if you're not over your ex why'd you ask me on a date?" You ask curiously as you tilt your head leaning in a bit pressing the swell of your chest against his hand on the console. "What? I'm over my ex, I have been for a while now. What makes you say that?" He asks as he sputters over his own words at the thought of being hung up over his ex.

"You haven't asked a single thing about me on this date. You really only talked about you, and might I add you even talked about your coworker which really doesn't help your case at all" you say flatly. "Seriously?! I am over my ex I swear" his voice goes up a few octaves higher as he tries to think of something that obscure the idea.

"When was the last time you slept with someone and actually enjoyed it then?" You ask with a twisted grin on your lips. You knew the answer but you wanted to hear it from him, you wanted the satisfaction of hearing the words yourself from his lips. "I don't know? And I'll have you know that I have had great sex without my ex" he snarked at you.

"Yeah your words aren't very convincing like... at all" you say as you push your legs under your thighs "I can change that you know? I don't know if by the end of it you'll even be thinking about her but...I'll occupy your head for a bit" you say, trailing your hand into his lap and rubbing against his thigh.

"What are you doing?" He scoffed as his eyes flicker from his lap with your hand trailing closer to his bulge earning a small gasp from him eliciting a small giggle from your lips loud enough to hear over the buzzing music. "Just keep looking at the road" you whisper as you press your lips to his warm cheek.

Your hand moving closer to his half hard crotch clad in jeans as you palm him, the feeling of fabric pressed against him has him groaning and running a hand through his dark hair in exasperation. "It's not really a good idea to be doing this... while I'm driving" he reasons, which makes you shake your head with a soft smile. "Then focus" you look up at him while your hands move to unzip his pants and unbutton them as well letting him lift his hips while you pull down his jeans far enough over his thighs.

"Shit" he harshly whispers at the feeling of your wet palm wrapping around his cock leaking precum and glistening under the orange and yellow street lights on the side of the road. Taking his cock into your fist, slowly jerking and teasing the tip with your thumb has the boy biting his plump lips while choking back a small groan.

The feeling of your warm tongue has the boy breathing heavily as his foot presses onto the gas harder spreading the car up. "Ease up, you want the car ride to last don't you?" You ask as you look up at him, your tongue pressing flatly against his tip and taking him deeper, letting your lips wrap around him.

The warmth of your mouth around him almost has his eyes rolling, letting his hand rest on the back of your head, needing to push your head down further but letting you slowly take him into the back of your throat as the tip of your nose brushes against his stomach.

Pulling back slowly you began to bob your head, the wet sound of your mouth around his cock has him light headed as he drives slower than he normally would on the highway. Flexing his thighs as the feeling "You're so good at this- fuck y/n" he moaned as his jaw slacks at the feeling of your tongue running against the vein on the underside of his cock that had him nearly shivering.

"keep going. Don't stop" he groaned, letting his head fall back. His hair messily pushed against his forehead as it was soaked from the sweat building at his hairline and his eyes rolled back "you're gonna make me cum" he says breathily as he pushes your hair out of your way turning it into a makeshift ponytail.

Using your hand you hollow your cheeks as your hand takes care of what your mouth wasn't and it had him absolutely lost, still trying to focus on the road he makes a turn to the next exit and choosing to go the longer route to your house.

His breathing becomes more and more unhinged as you use both your hands to jerk him off and licking his tip has him moaning while almost swerving into a random mailbox catching himself before doing so. "I'm so close" he moaned as he clutched your hair tighter realizing how agonizing it felt when you hadn't changed your pace at all.

"Please go faster" he begged, making you smile a bit as you moved your hands away from him completely and taking him into your mouth while he bucked his hips desperately for a release. you could, feeling the tip nudge the back of your throat while your nose was nestled tightly against his pubic bone. While your eyes are closed tight to focus on relaxing your gag reflex to not ruin the tight feeling for him you move faster hoping that would push him over the edge.

"Oh- fuck" he gasped as he gripped the wheel tighter as he felt his orgasm crash on him like a ton of bricks. "I can't...I can't keep driving or I'm gonna crash- fuck" he whined as he pulls onto the side of the road and cutting the lights and engine. The only sounds that could be heard were Leon's heavy breathing.

Watching as you pull back with glossy eyes as your cheeks and chin covered in spit and cum which has his head pulled back against the headrest completely dazed. "You okay?" You ask as you wipe off your face with small puffs of laughter falling past your lips. "I'm good...really good" he says with a faint smirk.

"I wanna make you feel good too" he says, his eyes trailing over to your fully clothed figure, your eyes low and red almost as if you had been high, lips puffy and swollen. "You can do that" you nod as you manage to crawl over the middle console and sit against his thighs, your skirt riding up your legs.

"You're so wet" he whispered as he felt the warmth of your slick panties stick against his skin making you look down where you had been sat with slight embarrassment. His finger rubs against your clothes slit watching as the wet patch on your panties becomes bigger. Pressing his thumb down on your clit had a moan falling past your lips as your hand trails to his wrist pulling his hand past the waist band on your panties.

"I need you, here." You mumbled as you felt his nimble fingers running against your slit making you whine desperately. Grinding against his fingers you can hear his laughing breathily as he watches you fall apart on top of him. "I'd call you desperate if I didn't want to fuck you so bad" he says as he presses his forehead against yours, watching the way you get off could make him cum untouched.

"Just shut up" you whined out with a small gasp pressing your lips against his hungrily your hand raking through his hair, your tongues lapping against the others and sucking on his pulling away with a small 'pop' you bite your lip as you keep eye contact with him. "Fuck this feels so good" you whisper your forehead still pressed against his as he rubs your clit in figure 8's.

"Yeah?" He asks as he pulls his hand away and out of your panties earning a small whine from you. His fingers pushing your panties to the side. "Why?" You practically cry out. Leon's eyes never leaving yours watching them gloss over from the loss of pleasure. "I want you to cum with me" he says just above a whisper while he takes his length into his hand pumping himself a few times before pressing his tip against your entrance and with a harsh hiss he's slowly pushing inside your tight walls.

The warm and wet feeling has him drunk on the feeling of you around him. Pushing his seat back far enough that both of you are comfortable as Leon watches you grind your hips against him slowly as he bottoms out inside you, the feeling being all too good for his liking.

"It's so big" you groan as your hands press against his abdomen lightly bracing yourself to start moving. The soft thudding of your thighs meeting against yours sends goosebumps all over your skin. Leon couldn't possibly keep his hands to himself as he finds the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head.

"No bra?" He groaned watching as your bare chest bounced with every movement you made which has you smiling with your lip caught between your teeth. "You're so big" you slur seeing how good he filled you up to the brim your arms wrap around his neck your foreheads pressed together as you watch his begin to slowly move. Leon couldn't get enough of the sight as his cock disappeared inside your Pussy.

His cock buried deep inside you that you moan and dig crescent shaped dents into his skin. set a pace for bouncing in his lap. The feeling of your velvety walls tightening around making him choke back a moan.

"Oh- god" you whisper shakily. His hands holding onto your hips guiding a pace, the soft sound of skin slapping with your small moans reverberated through the car.

You looked so good with your chest bouncing and your hair all messy. You looked good with a small sheen of sweat on your skin and your makeup smeared, he was addicted to the sight.

He slowly thrusts into you letting you get used to his size not realizing you were beginning to bounce yourself on his lap desperate to feel pleasure. His pace practically teases you and shows you how desperate you really are from your small moans whimpers.

Leon; eager to let his load off inside you, holds your thighs stopping you from bouncing any longer and begins to thrust his hips up into you. The feeling of his tip pushing at your cervix.

His hips pushing into you as your thighs and ass jiggle at the repetitive thrusts "oh my god!" You moan as you feel him pounding in a certain part of your walls. You tighten around him as your essence forms a white ring around the base of his dick.

"Just like that" you babble mindlessly as his stomach churns at the words spewing out. "Yeah? Want me to fill you up with my cum?" he groans as the knot in your stomach begins to tighten and Leon's death grip on the fat of your thighs almost sends you over the edge if it wasn't for how hard he was pounding you.

he placed his hand on your ass, kneading the flesh harshly as whimpers left his lips at the feeling of your walls closing around him. "Just like that, yes, please please please!!" You beg, feeling yourself getting closer and closer as he punctuates his thrusts. You pull his hair, again and again, harder and you can't help but become more aroused from the sounds he lets fall from his lips.

Sitting up completely Leon doesn't hesitate to kiss against your warm skin, from the valley between your breast to sucking on your nipples, the warmth of his mouth has you utterly out of it while you fuck yourself on his cock begging for some sort of release. The sloppy sounds make your head spin, your hand trailing from his hair to between the both of you.

Rubbing your clit in hopes that this would send you closer to your orgasm. "Fuck- oh fuck" he moaned against your chest as you clench around him as he felt absolutely pussy drunk with you on top of him. Leon could barely comprehend a thing as he stops you all together.

"Get up" he said breathlessly as you push yourself off of his lap, you slowly start to crawl back into the passenger seat thinking even the sex was a complete bust. But the feeling of his hands on your waist keeps you from moving. "Bend over into the seat" he says moving out of your way as you feel a smirk on your pretty lips.

With your back arched and your face pushed against the headrest you knew that you were done for, Leon pushing inside you again and without a care in the world thrusts into you at the same pace he was going before.

"Harder- please" you moan out as the windows begin to fog over, Leon begins to buck his hips into you at a faster pace as the slick sound of your pussy and precum mix loudly along with the patterning of your thighs slapping against his. You feel ecstasy at the way he made you feel so full.

His large hands onto your spine as making your chest push into the seat, not that you minded at all. Leon from behind absolutely loses his mind as his fingers card through his brown locks. Fucking into you with harsh and sharp thrusts that have your toes curling. Your ass bouncing against his lap has him tossing his head back leaving a stinging sensation in both of your thighs.

you begin to bounce and grind against him to meet his hips. It felt like he was in your stomach and you didn't mind at all, your hands the seat tighter as he used his other hand to wrap around your throat pulling your back against his chest.

"Aw look at you, all fucked out. What would your friends think about me bending you over in my car and fucking you like a slut hm?" He asks as his grip around your throat tightens, you couldn't even gather your words as he hits a spot that has you breathing shakily and your moans are even more louder.

"Right here? Does it feel good here?" He asks as he drags his cock against that same spot again and again "yeah, it feels so fucking good Leon" you moan as your eyes roll back. The feeling of his sweet lips on your skin as you feel like you're in heaven.

Your thighs are practically shaking at the feeling, pleasure practically taking over your body as Leon pounds you into his front seat without a single care in the world. Pushing your face against the seat while he becomes sloppy and rougher with every passing second you could feel the pressure in the pit of your stomach growing and waiting to be released.

"I can't take it" you moan as you shake your head "I'm gonna cum" you whimper as you feel warm tears slide down your cheeks. "I think you can baby, you wanna cum so bad right? So take what I give you" he orders sweetly in a faux tone. His thrusts are non stop and you can't help but let the pleasure envelope you.

"Oh fuck" you gasp as the feeling of release comes closer "cum for me. I know you can" he coos at you while pulling your hips into his harder than before tipping you over the edge as your walls clench around him sporadically earning a guttural moan ripping through his throat.

"I'm close, where do you want it?" He asks as he continues to fuck into you "inside. Please cum inside me" you whimpered before you felt the pressure in your stomach let loose "I got you, you're okay" he praised as his fingers rubbed down your spine leaving goosebumps up and down your body.

A few more thrusts slow and deep have your toes curling and sending Leon into an orgasm struck daze. "Fuck you feel so good" he groans as his hands rub against the red warm skin of your ass. Leaning of you and kissing up your spine as you both bask in your pre orgasm clarity.

"I see why so many girls like you Leon" you say breathlessly with a smile making him chuckle as he runs a hand through his hair slowly pulling out of you with a hiss due to loss of warmth. "Well it's a pleasure to live up to your standards" he says as he reaches into his glove box and pulls out wipes cleaning you up.

The both of you getting dressed again and seated, Leon starts the car and the both of you are back on the road with the faint sound of music filling the air as the both of you exchange small words every few minutes until Leon turned on the road your house was located.

Pulling into your gravel driveway he parks and opens his door walking onto your side and opening it offering a hand which makes your brows shoot up at the sudden chivalry, taking his hand and shutting the door behind you he walks you to your fronts door and as you turn to look at him you see the small smile on his lips. "So...this was nice" he says as he looks down at his feet.

It wasn't.... Not until the both of you had sex in the back of his car at least. "Right... just- let me know when you get over Ada" you pat his chest with an awkward grin on face as you watch his head fall back letting out a groan. "I told you. I'm over her- seriously we broke up and I haven't talked to her since" he shakes his head.

You could tell by the tone in his voice he wasn't, but Leon was eager to see you again so it meant he was moving on. One step forward. "Let me know when you're ready for something serious, Kennedy."

You snap your fingers as you give yourself an idea, your hands find themselves under your skirt which had Leon in a small shock at your actions seeing a flash of your pink panties as you pull them down your legs and balling it in your hand. "Until then have the panties as a keepsake to get off whenever you like" you say, stuffing the ball of wet fabric into his pockets. and with that you leave him at your front door with his hand in his pockets clutching your frilly panties.

Opening the door and shutting it behind you Leon stands at your doorstep biting his lip turning on his heel and walking back to his car watching how the windows were still a bit foggy. Opening the driver side to the door and sitting down in his seat he sighs, dragging his finger across the glass in the shape of a U and to small dots in the shape of the tip of his index finger a smiley face left behind.

"I gotta get her on that second date" he huffed to himself as he pulled out of the driveway of your home.

#𖦹—(ifuckslasherz)#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon smut

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asterdeer · 6 months

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i know the original poem is over 100 years old and loreena mckennitt's rendition is nearly 30 but i don't think i'll ever get over "the highwayman", it gets better every time i listen to it. just the parallelism of the way he and she strain to reach for each other -- he for her hand, she for the trigger -- and the descriptions of their faces -- "his face burned like a brand" when she lets down her hair, "her face was like a light" when she hears him on the highway (and then, rule of three, "his face grew grey to hear" when he finds out that she's dead). it's unbeatable romance for me, this is my "the gift of the magi," this is my orpheus and eurydice

and the way both characters are framed...........it's named for him but she's the closest we get to a hero. we see and feel from her perspective, she's attacked and abused and she keeps her composure, she bloodies her hands to either free herself or free him, she wields the weapon, she is the one who gets a win over the redcoats. she's noble, she's strong, she's faithful, and, you know, she's in love with a highwayman. meanwhile, he does not keep his composure, he goes wild with grief and rage, his emotions overpower him -- and when he dies, it's not heroic, it's an anticlimax, it's undignified and abrupt and almost shameful. but they're both so HUMAN, it's not a lovely innocent woman wearing white waiting, faintingly, for him by the window, and he's not a strong brave hero who sweeps her away to safety. the romance is in the fact that they are not Romantic. the romance IS her bloody hands and her undone hair and his shriek of grief and his death like a dog in the highway. does any of this make sense, am i coming thru. orpheus and eurydice want what they have

#also the fact that she is named and he isn't!!!! what a departure!!!!!!#i can't stop listening to loreena mckennitt and i'm going to make it everyone's problem #oh the highwayman by alfred noyes we're really in it now..#aster chat

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neo-percs · 1 year

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KEEPSAKE:: na jaemin

WARNING:: 80's au, playboy! Jaemin, car sex, riding, hair pulling, oral, fingering, teasing, fingering, slight edging, overstimulation, slight rejection, teasing, sexual tension

SUMMARY:: after a failed date you expect some sort of a reward for putting up with Jaemin Na who still seems to be hung up on his ex.

Jaemin Na has been on many dates. One would even say that he has hooked up with half of girls after a date— which were all unsuccessful. It's not that there was anything wrong in particular with the people he has taken out, it's just that none of them have piqued his interest for a second one. And it just so happens that you had been taken on one of the said dates.

When Jaemin asked you out on a date to the movies and dinner you hadn't expected the movie to be some trashy chic flick about an American actress going to Italy and falling in love with her friend's married Italian lover. It dragged on for 2 hours and you couldn't stand to sit through the first minute of opening credits. But not only did you sit through a silent car ride on your way to the restaurant but when you sat inside the restaurant it felt like this terrible date would never end.

"I used to be on the volleyball team before I graduated and I started working with my friend, she's cool- she even has a neck tattoo" he rambled on and on for what felt like a lifetime. Only nodded off as he rambled on and on about working at the old movie theater and something about how his manager only shows up to be a dick.

But low and behold the lovely waitress with a tight-lipped smile "Would you like your bill.. or would you like to swing by a little later?" She asked politely looking at the both of you. "You can give us our check now" you answered quickly before pulling 30 dollars out of your pocket when the check was set on the table.

Once Jaemin had caught his eyes on the cash in your hand he shook his head "You don't have to pay, what kind of guy would I be to make you pay for your food?" He says patting his pockets which makes you roll your eyes "It's fine" you reply flatly pressing the 20 and 10 dollar tip onto the wooden table and like second nature stand from the worn-out booth walk to the class doors pushing them open and making a b-line to the boys nice and shining Pontiac.

Jaemin grew up coddled, he was popular in high school, and he had the cutest girl in his grade. Now he's digging it with girls who never made it past the first date because he never could find a bond with them while working at the local theater and losing all the cool points he's earned on his way up in high school. Well on your end you didn't care for his past reputation, you didn't care for this date and the fact that you haven't had an ounce of fun since you had walked past your front porch was eating you up inside.

When you heard keys jangling in an instant you turned your head being met with Jaemin walking over to the driver's side of the car. Unlocking the doors you both get in and once the car starts you fiddle with the radio never wanting to sit through silence and letting the hum of the radio come out softly through the speakers.

Just as Jaemin had turned onto the highway the road was seemingly empty as it got darker out and the headlights of his car lighting up the black asphalt on the road. Your view flickering between the road and Jaemin who was watching the road with one hand on the wheel as the other slumped against the middle console.

The sight of his thighs sat stiffly while his jaw clenched. "Jaemin, if you're not over your ex why'd you ask me on a date?" You ask curiously as you tilt your head leaning in a bit pressing the swell of your chest against his hand on the console. "What? I'm over my ex, I have been for a while now. What makes you say that?" He asks as he sputters over his own words at the thought of being hung up on his ex.

"You haven't asked a single thing about me on this date. You only talked about you, and might I add you even talked about your coworker which doesn't help your case at all" you say flatly. "Seriously?! I am over my ex I swear" his voice goes up a few octaves higher as he tries to think of something that obscures the idea.

"When was the last time you slept with someone and enjoyed it then?" You ask with a twisted grin on your lips. You knew the answer but you wanted to hear it from him, you wanted the satisfaction of hearing the words yourself from his lips. "I don't know. And I'll have you know that I have had great sex without my ex" he snarled at you.

"Yeah your words aren't very convincing like... at all," you say as you push your legs under your thighs "I can change that you know? I don't know if by the end of it, you'll even be thinking about her but...I'll occupy your head for a bit," you say, trailing your hand into his lap and rubbing against his thigh.

"What are you doing?" He scoffed as his eyes flicked from his lap with your hand trailing closer to his bulge earning a small gasp from him eliciting a small giggle from your lips loud enough to hear over the buzzing music. "Just keep looking at the road" you whisper as you press your lips to his warm cheek.

Your hand moves closer to his half-hard crotch clad in jeans as you palm him, the feeling of fabric pressed against him has him groaning and running a hand through his dark hair in exasperation. "It's not a good idea to be doing this... while I'm driving" he reasons, which makes you shake your head with a soft smile. "Then focus" You look up at him while your hands move to unzip his pants and unbutton them as well letting him lift his hips while you pull down his jeans far enough over his thighs.

Pulling back slowly you began to bob your head, the wet sound of your mouth around his cock has him lightheaded as he drives slower than he normally would on the highway. Flexing his thighs at the feeling "You're so good at this- fuck y/n" he moaned as his jaw slacked at the feeling of your tongue running against the vein on the underside of his cock that had him nearly shivering.

"keep going. Don't stop" he groaned, letting his head fall back. His hair was messily pushed against his forehead as it was soaked from the sweat building at his hairline and his eyes rolled back "You're gonna make me cum" he says breathily as he pushes your hair out of your way turning it into a makeshift ponytail.

Using your hand you hollow your cheeks as your hand takes care of what your mouth wasn't and it had him lost, still trying to focus on the road he makes a turn to the next exit and chooses to go the longer route to your house.

"Please go faster" he begged, making you smile a bit as you moved your hands away from him completely and took him into your mouth while he bucked his hips desperately for a release. you could, feeling the tip nudge the back of your throat while your nose was nestled tightly against his pubic bone. While your eyes are closed tight to focus on relaxing your gag reflex to not ruin the tight feeling for him you move faster hoping that would push him over the edge.

Watching as you pull back with glossy eyes your cheeks and chin are covered in spit and cum which has his head pulled back against the headrest completely dazed. "You okay?" You ask as you wipe off your face with small puffs of laughter falling past your lips. "I'm good...really good," he says with a faint smirk.

"I wanna make you feel good too," he says, his eyes trailing over to your fully clothed figure, your eyes low and red almost as if you had been high, lips puffy and swollen. "You can do that" You nod as you manage to crawl over the middle console and sit against his thighs, your skirt riding up your legs.

"You're so wet" he whispered as he felt the warmth of your slick panties stick against his skin making you look down where you had been sat with slight embarrassment. His finger rubs against your clothes slit watching as the wet patch on your panties becomes bigger. Pressing his thumb down on your clit had a moan falling past your lips as your hand trailed to his wrist pulling his hand past the waistband of your panties.

"I need you, here." You mumbled as you felt his nimble fingers running against your slit making you whine desperately. Grinding against his fingers you can hear him laughing breathily as he watches you fall apart on top of him. "I'd call you desperate if I didn't want to fuck you so bad," he says as he presses his forehead against yours, watching the way you get off could make him cum untouched.

"Yeah?" He asks as he pulls his hand away and out of your panties earning a small whine from you. His fingers push your panties to the side. "Why?" You practically cry out. Jaemin's eyes never leave yours watching them gloss over from the loss of pleasure. "I want you to cum with me," he says just above a whisper while he takes his length into his hand pumping himself a few times before pressing his tip against your entrance, and with a harsh hiss he's slowly pushing inside your tight walls.

The warm and wet feeling has him drunk on the feeling of you around him. Pushing his seat back far enough that both of you are comfortable Jaemin watches you grind your hips against him slowly as he bottoms out inside you, the feeling being all too good for his liking.

"It's so big" you groan as your hands press against his abdomen lightly bracing yourself to start moving. The soft thudding of your thighs meeting against yours sends goosebumps all over your skin. Jaemin couldn't possibly keep his hands to himself as he finds the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head.

"No bra?" He groaned watching as your bare chest bounced with every movement you made which has you smiling with your lip caught between your teeth. "You're so big" you slur seeing how good he filled you up to the brim your arms wrap around his neck your foreheads pressed together as you watch his begin to slowly move. Jaemin couldn't get enough of the sight as his cock disappeared inside your Pussy.

His cock is buried deep inside you moan and dig crescent-shaped dents into his skin. set a pace for bouncing in his lap. The feeling of your velvety walls tightening around makes him choke back a moan.

"Oh- god," you whisper shakily. His hands holding onto your hips guiding a pace, the soft sound of skin slapping with your small moans reverberated through the car.

You looked so good with your chest bouncing and your hair all messy. You looked good with a small sheen of sweat on your skin and your makeup smeared, he was addicted to the sight.

Jaemin; eager to let his load off inside you, holds your thighs stopping you from bouncing any longer, and begins to thrust his hips up into you. The feeling of his tip pushing at your cervix.

His hips push into you as your thighs and ass jiggle at the repetitive thrusts "Oh my god!" You moan as you feel him pounding in a certain part of your walls. You tighten around him as your essence forms a white ring around the base of his dick.

"Just like that" you babble mindlessly as his stomach churns at the words spewing out. "Yeah? Want me to fill you up with my cum?" he groans as the knot in your stomach begins to tighten and Jaemin's death grip on the fat of your thighs almost sends you over the edge if it wasn't for how hard he was pounding you.

Sitting up completely Jaemin doesn't hesitate to kiss against your warm skin, from the valley between your breast to sucking on your nipples, the warmth of his mouth has you utterly out of it while you fuck yourself on his cock begging for some sort of release. The sloppy sounds make your head spin, your hand trailing from his hair to between the both of you.

Rubbing your clit in hopes that this would send you closer to your orgasm. "Fuck- oh fuck" he moaned against your chest as you clench around him as he felt pussy drunk with you on top of him. Jaemin could barely comprehend a thing as he stopped you together.

"Get up," he said breathlessly as you pushed yourself off of his lap, you slowly started to crawl back into the passenger seat thinking even the sex was a complete bust. But the feeling of his hands on your waist keeps you from moving. "Bend over into the seat," he says moving out of your way as you feel a smirk on your pretty lips.

With your back arched and your face pushed against the headrest you knew that you were done for, Jaemin pushed inside you again and without a care in the world thrusts into you at the same pace he was going before.

"Harder- please" you moan out as the windows begin to fog over, Jaemin begins to buck his hips into you at a faster pace as the slick sound of your pussy and precum mix loudly along with the patterning of your thighs slapping against his. You feel ecstasy at the way he made you feel so full.

His large hands onto your spine making your chest push into the seat, not that you minded at all. Jaemin from behind absolutely loses his mind as his fingers card through his brown locks. Fucking into you with harsh and sharp thrusts that have your toes curling. Your ass bouncing against his lap has him tossing his head back leaving a stinging sensation in both of your thighs.

"Aw look at you, all fucked out. What would your friends think about me bending you over in my car and fucking you like a slut hm?" He asks as his grip around your throat tightens, you can't even gather your words as he hits a spot that has you breathing shakily and your moans are even louder.

"Right here? Does it feel good here?" He asks as he drags his cock against that same spot again and again "Yeah, it feels so fucking good Jaem" you moan as your eyes roll back. The feeling of his sweet lips on your skin as you feel like you're in heaven.

Your thighs are practically shaking at the feeling, pleasure practically taking over your body as Jaemin pounds you into his front seat without a single care in the world. Pushing your face against the seat while he becomes sloppy and rougher with every passing second you could feel the pressure in the pit of your stomach growing and waiting to be released.

"I can't take it" you moan as you shake your head "I'm gonna cum" you whimper as you feel warm tears slide down your cheeks. "I think you can baby, you wanna cum so bad right? So take what I give you" he orders sweetly in a faux tone. His thrusts are nonstop and you can't help but let the pleasure envelop you.

"I'm close, where do you want it?" He asks as he continues to fuck into you "Inside. Please cum inside me" you whimpered before you felt the pressure in your stomach let loose "I got you, you're okay" he praised as his fingers rubbed down your spine leaving goosebumps up and down your body.

A few more thrusts slow and deep have your toes curling and sending Jaemin into an orgasm-struck daze. "Fuck you feel so good" he groans as his hands rub against the red warm skin of your ass. Leaning off you and kissing up your spine as you both bask in your pre-orgasm clarity.

"I see why so many girls like you Jaemin," you say breathlessly with a smile making him chuckle as he runs a hand through his hair slowly pulling out of you with a hiss due to loss of warmth. "Well it's a pleasure to live up to your standards," he says as he reaches into his glove box and pulls out wipes cleaning you up.

The both of you get dressed again and are seated, Jaemin starts the car and the both of you are back on the road with the faint sound of music filling the air as the both of you exchange small words every few minutes until Jaemin turns on the road your house was located.

Pulling into your gravel driveway he parks s and opens his door walking onto your side and opening it offering a hand that makes your brows shoot up at the sudden chivalry, taking his hand and shutting the door behind you he walks you to your front door and as you turn to look at him you see the small smile on his lips. "So...this was nice," he says as he looks down at his feet.

It wasn't... Not until the both of you had sex in the back of his car at least. "Right... just- let me know when you get over Chae" You pat his chest with an awkward grin on your face as you watch his head fall back letting out a groan. "I told you. I'm over her- seriously we broke up and I haven't talked to her since" he shakes his head.

You could tell by the tone in his voice he wasn't, but Jaemin was eager to see you again so it meant he was moving on. One step forward. "Let me know when you're ready for something serious, Jaemin."

You snap your fingers as you give yourself an idea, your hands find themselves under your skirt which has Jaemin in a small shock at your actions seeing a flash of your pink panties as you pull them down your legs and ball it in your hand. "Until then have the panties as a keepsake to get off whenever you like," you say, stuffing the ball of wet fabric into his pockets. and with that, you leave him at your front door with his hand in his pockets clutching your frilly panties.

Opening the door and shutting it behind you Jaemin stands at your doorstep biting his lip turning on his heel and walking back to his car watching how the windows were still a bit foggy. Opening the driver's side to the door and sitting down in his seat he sighs, dragging his finger across the glass in the shape of a U and to small dots in the shape of the tip of his index finger a smiley face left behind.

"I gotta get her on that second date" he huffed to himself as he pulled out of the driveway of your home.

#𖦹—( neo percs )#nct smut #haechan smut #mark smut #nct dream smut #nct x reader #jaemin smut #jaemin x reader #jaemin imagines #renjun smut #(fic:: edit & repost)

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bluecollarmcandtf · 5 months

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Cash Slave, reporting in...

Good morning, master. State Trooper Hernandez reporting!

I hope you're doing well since the last time we saw each other. Again, I can't apologize enough for pulling you over on the highway. I had no idea you were such an amazing hypnotist. Thank you again for letting me get off easy and only making me taze myself twice! I was paralyzed in that muddy ditch for awhile, but you could've given me a helluva worse punishment!

Your instructions aren't negotiable, so I made sure to snap a photo before I started my shift today. As you suggested, I've been eating a box of donuts every morning, and I've packed on a hefty 30 lbs since I've started. My wife has complained, but I know you want me to look more like a cliche of law enforcement!

I'll stop by your house to drop off my paycheck tonight after work. I won't forget to pick up some pizza for you and your friends on the way: extra sausage, just like you said!

See you tonight, master!

Hello sir.

It's been a week since you came into my shop, and I've followed everything you said. I didn't agree with it at first, but you convinced me with that little pendant.

You were right! I really am beneath powerful men like you. Filthy blue-collar workers aren't worthy to lick the dirt off your shoes. You were right to point that out, and you were right to tell me to embrace it. When the world looks at me, they shouldn't see a man. They should see a grease monkey at the bottom of society.

That's why I haven't showered or changed in seven days. My BO is uncomfortable to work in, but I know it's just a reminder of what I am. I used to be proud of my job. Ha! I used to look down on suits like you, but I'm nothing in comparison; just a tool at your disposal.

Anyways, I cleaned and waxed your old car as fast as I could. I know I lent you my convertible, but you're welcome to keep it. I put a lot of sweat and blood in fixing her up, but like you said, fancy cars are meant for you to drive and me to maintain.

Stop back in my garage anytime. White-collar men like you get free service here! It's not the place of any lowly laborer to get in the way of what you want.

Thank you again, sir.

Hello boss.

Just started another long day of window washing! It's another hot one, but I'll keep my head down and sweat through it like usual.

I've gotta say, it's days like this that make me miss the comforts of my old corporate desk job. I'd kill for some AC right now, but I remember how much you made me realize I hated that career. Like you said, I'm much better suited to a life of mindless cleaning.

It turns out you're the real one with a knack for business strategy because all of your advice has been genius! The income is dependent on the hours I put in, and since I'm working for half the price of all competitors, I've gotten a monopoly on the market! I've fully booked all seven days for the next five or so weeks, so I'll be washing windows non-stop!

The business is already booming! I've been billing customers to your bank account, so you should already see all the profit in there!

Later today, I'll make a note of the minimum I need to replenish the cleaning supplies I'm running through. I'd also be grateful if you loaned me a bit for personal use, but it's understandable if you can't spare any! We agreed that I wasn't working for a salary, and I'm fine with that! I've been sleeping in the company van the last few weeks and it's more than good enough for me!

Don't worry, boss. I'll get back to work!

Tell my wife hello for me, master!

Working on a rig has been isolating. The job is brutal, the days are long, and every night I head back to our bunks covered in oil. I thought I'd at least get to bond with the other guys, but most of us are too tired to do anything but eat and sleep after our shift.

The only thing that's getting me through it is thinking about you. I know I also have a girl at home, but you were the one that gave my life purpose. I was never going to make money as an actor, and you helped me see that! You were the one that convinced me to go for this ridiculous job in the middle of the ocean, and now I'm making a ton of money!

You deserve it all.

I wouldn't have seen any of this cash if I hadn't stuck around after your stage hypnosis show. I still remember the wild look in your eyes when you came up with this idea for me. I also remember that hungry look you had when you saw my wife. It was impossible to say no.

Oh, and thanks for keeping my wife company while I'm gone. A man like you deserves her attention more than I do. Like you said, I doubt I was pleasing her to begin with. The only thing I'm good for is earning money, and I hope you're enjoying it because it sure isn't easy to earn!

I gotta get back, but I wanted to let you know that I signed up for another six months like you suggested. It's lonely, but I'm happy to do it, master!

Son, or should I still call you 'sir'?

I'm not sure if I your new title applies through text as well? Being your dad and your servant can be a bit confusing, but I don't mean disrespect you! Just let me know.

My workout is done and I'm headed back to your house. I signed the deed over to you this morning, so you officially own it now! Like usual, I'll clean the place from top to bottom. I've got all the mops and cleaning supplies in my van and ready to go. Since it's Friday, I'll start on the weekly yard work; mowing, weeding, etc... I don't want to bore you with the details, but it'll take the majority of the day to keep your place in tip top shape!

As I understand it, you are having friends over tonight, so I'll prepare a three course meal for eight. I ironed my apron this morning so I should look like a more presentable waiter than last night when I served your food!

As always, please let me know if there's any other way I can be of service today or tonight.

I'll be awaiting your return, sir.

Hey little bro,

I just finished my workout at the gym with dad. We're both hitting PRs and we're really starting to see some results! Still can't believe you hypnotized his dumb ass to think he's your butler! That man looks so stupid changing from gym clothes into a bowtie and gloves. He's constantly calling you 'sir' too, even when you're not around.

He's such an idiot.

Anyways, I'm all dressed and ready for my new job. You were totally right. I'm going to be so much happier as a clown instead of a wrestler. I'm about to head out to my first gig; a ten year old's birthday party. I think he's the kid of someone I used to compete with. It might be a little awkward, but it won't affect my routine. I've got an afternoon of pies in the face and self-deprecating humor ahead of me.

I made sure to tell the guy who hired me that I'm willing to stay after and clean up. Kids make a huge mess after all. I just hope he won't be too weird about me being a clown at his son's party. We may have been rivals in the past, but that was back when I wrestled. Now I'm just a joke for hire. He's technically my boss for the day, so I'll have to get used to taking orders from him.

Wish me luck, bro. I'll give you the money after the dad dismisses me. Let's hope I make a good clown!

#mind control #gay hypnosis #hypno story #gay ai art #hypnotized #servant

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zvaigzdelasas · 6 months

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The Onondaga claim that the United States violated a 1794 treaty, signed by George Washington, that guaranteed 2.5 million acres in central New York to them. The case, filed in 2014, is the second brought by an American Indian nation against the United States in an international human rights body; a finding is expected as soon as this year.

Even if the Onondaga are successful, the result will mostly be symbolic. The entity, the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights, has no power to enforce a finding or settlement, and the United States has said that it does not consider the commission’s recommendations to be binding.

“We could win against them, but that doesn’t mean that they have to abide by whatever,” Mr. Hill said in an interview.

The 2.5 million acres have long since been transformed by highways and utility lines, shopping malls, universities, airports and roller rinks.

The territory encompasses the cities of Binghamton and Syracuse, as well as more than 30 state forests, dozens of lakes and countless streams and tributaries. It is also home to 24 Superfund sites, the environmental detritus of the powerhouse economy that helped central New York thrive during the beginning and middle half of the 20th century.

Most notorious of these is Lake Onondaga, which once held the dubious title of America’s most polluted lake.

Industrial waste has left its mark on Onondaga territory, leaving the nation unable to fish from its streams and rivers. The history of environmental degradation is part of what motivates the Onondaga, who consider it their sacred responsibility to protect their land.

One of their chief objectives in filing the petition is a seat at the table on environmental decisions across the original territory. The other is an acknowledgment that New York, even if only in principle, owes them 2.5 million acres.[...]

Some Native nations have been willing to drop land claims in exchange for licenses to operate casinos. But the Onondaga say they are not interested in cash. Nor are they interested in licenses to sell cannabis or operate a casino — which they consider socially irresponsible and a threat to their tribal sovereignty.

There’s really just one thing that Mr. Hill says would be an acceptable form of payment: land.

The Onondaga insist they are not looking to displace anyone. Instead they hope the state might turn over a tract of unspoiled land for the nation to hunt, fish, preserve or develop as it sees fit. One such repatriation effort is underway: the return of 1,000 acres as a part of a federal settlement with Honeywell International for the contamination of Onondaga Lake. The United States has not contested the Onondaga's account of how the nation lost its land. Indeed, the lawyers representing the United States in the Onondaga case have centered their argument on legal precedence, noting that courts at every level — including the U.S. Supreme Court — rejected the Onondaga’s claims as too old and most remedies too disruptive to the region’s current inhabitants.

To the Onondaga, the logic required to square these contentions seems unfair. Why should the United States be allowed to steal their land and face no obligation to give some back?[...]

In New York, [...] Native people were not considered to have standing to sue on their own behalf until 1987.[...]

In 2005, the Onondaga filed a version of their current claim in Federal District Court in the Northern District of New York, naming as defendants the State of New York, its governor, Onondaga County, the City of Syracuse and a handful of the companies responsible for the environmental degradation over the past centuries. A similar case filed by the Oneida Nation was, at the time, pending before the Supreme Court.

But just 18 days after the Onondaga filed their petition, the Supreme Court rejected the Oneidas’ case. The decision referenced an colonial-era legal theory known as the Doctrine of Discovery, which holds in part that Indigenous property claims were nullified by the “discovery” of that land by Christians.

The “long lapse of time” and “the attendant dramatic changes in the character” precluded the Oneida nation from the “disruptive remedy” it sought, Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg wrote in the majority decision.[...]

[L]awyers for the Onondaga used the rejection as the premise for a new argument. They contended that the U.S. court system’s refusal to find in their favor proved that they could not find justice in the United States.

The petition filed before the international commission amounts to the most direct challenge of the United States’ treatment of Indigenous people to date in terms of human rights — and the first to apply the lens of colonialism.

“What the Onondaga litigation is doing right now is to force a political dialogue with the colonial occupier,” said Andrew Reid, a lawyer representing the Onondaga, adding that a favorable finding could prompt a political conversation about the United States’s treatment of native people on the world stage.

Representatives for the State Department declined to be interviewed and did not respond to requests for comment. But in legal documents, the United States contended that the Onondaga’s central claims have been rejected in prior cases; that they have had “abundant opportunity” for their case to be heard; and that they are merely unhappy with the outcome. It also contended that the commission has no jurisdiction, given that the bulk of the nation’s losses took place two centuries before it was established.

“The judicial process functioned as it should have in this matter,” the United States wrote in legal papers.

15 Mar 24

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multifan2022 · 1 year

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*Prewarning.. this is my first attempt at writing again.. I haven't touched my laptop since January so bare with me lol*

You could feel the warm wetness running down the side of your neck as you sat pinned at a weird angle. There was a sharp and hot pain every time you took a breath as you tried to remember where you were. What was the last thing you did? You couldn't remember getting in the bronco. Didnt remember driving away from the house. All you could remember was fighting with Bradley.

“Why would you say that to him Brad?! You know how devastated he was when Goose died! You're not the only person that hurt Rooster! FUCK!” You slammed your hands down onto the counter, having a hard time even looking at your husband. While you and your dad were not close, you never blamed him for what happened with Goose. Sure you blamed him for the short break up between you and Bradley as young adults but clearly that was in the past. All you wanted now was for them to figure it out, you wanted to be a family, have a family. But now as Bradley stood here looking at you the same way he looks at Mav.. You were questioning things..

You hadn't even noticed that you called him Rooster.. A thing that just started after the move back to Fightertown. Because you had always known Bradley, he wasn't Rooster too you.. But every night when he came home, a little more mad, and a little more distant, your Bradley was being replaced by Rooster. The aviator who was the best of the best, who was part of the 1%. But was also the aviator who had taken the anger and trauma Bradley had and used it to mold himself.

“No one to mourn you when you burn in… Really Bradley, because last time I checked, I am the one and only emergency contact for BOTH OF YOU!”

That if your rattled brain could remember correctly was the spark that lit the match. You and Bradley did not fight often, but when you did it was explosive. The kind of fights that left people in tears, the kind that led to words that should've been left unspoken. One of you always ended up on the couch for a few hours, normally both in tears until one of you couldnt take it anymore. Tonight was the first night that one of you actually left.

You didn't even know which part it was that pushed Bradley over the edge. Was it you telling him you couldn't have kids with him if he couldn't get his anger under better control? That you refused to keep Mavs grandkids from him one day over some pulled papers? Was it when you said that you had sacrificed enough to be with him, that you had to draw the line? Was it when you told him Goose and Carol would be disappointed in how he treated Mav today?

No matter what it was, the words he spoke as he left stung enough to leave you standing in the same spot for at least 30 minutes after he left. When you blinked and everything caught up with you, you realized the quietness of the house was turning your stomach. Without thinking you slipped shoes on and grabbed your keys. Originally you wanted to just drive your jeep around, clear your head since Bradley had just taken the doors and top off. But when you noticed the bronco still in the drive you couldn't resist being just a little close to Bradley.

That's how two hours later you ended up driving down some road next to some beach. Honestly at this point you weren't even sure where you were. All you could think about was how hard you were crying as Tim McGraw and Tswift came on. Highway don't care, it seemed poetic, if a song was ever written for the aftermath of this fight, it was this one. When it ended, you had decided it was past time to call Bradley, to find out where he was and at least get you both home. Unfortunately you accidentally knocked your phone out of the old cup holder and onto the passenger floor. One last attempt to save it before it flew out the open door was made.

You should've let it fly out the door. Because as you stretched across the cab, a car full of intoxicated teenagers came down the middle of the road. You could've sworn you heard someone yell your name as you sat straight up, jerking the wheel way too harshly in your panic to try and miss them. You desperately tried to keep control of the bronco as you skid sideways, unable to get control before it flipped down the side of the bank.

That's where you were now, wondering how much more Bradley would hate you for crashing his late fathers baby. In your concussed mind, this would be the feather that shattered your relationship. The nail in the proverbial coffin. Part of you registered how long you had been hanging sideways in your seat, the truck having stopped on the passenger side after flipping a few times. You registered that you were struggling to breathe, and definitely were bleeding. You didn't hear any sirens, knew that the teens had not stopped. But thankfully, as one Amelia Benjamin, was dropped off at home her conscience overran her fear of being in trouble.

So she told her mother and her boyfriend how she had been out drinking. How there had been a vehicle, one she swore she knew, that ended up off the road and she couldn't get anyone to stop. The two adults reassured her that while she was in trouble, she made a good choice in telling them. That maybe she saved someone's life. Little did they know how closely this would hit their little family.

Jake was over Bradley, the new found friendship they had was great. But it was two in the morning, and Jake honestly just didn't get it. He couldn't imagine having a lifelong love. A childhood best friend turned into the love of his life. So he couldn't wrap his brain around why Rooster was sitting in his kitchen right now. He also couldn't figure out who Rooster was mad at, himself or you? He told him as much and was surprised and worried when big brown eyes lifted from the floor with tears in them.

“Myself, I think.” Roosters voice croaked “Because she's right ya know.. How can I ask her to give me a family when I cant even be nice to her dad? You know I didn't even ask for his blessing? Not because I thought he would say no, but because I thought it would be a slap in the face to him.. I've always used her as a way to hurt him..” Rooster broke off in a sob. It hurt Hangman's heart to see how hard of a time his wingman was having. But if he knew you, and he felt like he did, you were going through it worse.

Taking a deep breath he pushed off his counter, annoyed that he was pulling his boots on with his impromptu sweat pants and grabbing his truck keys. Roosters watery eyes followed him before he jumped from his stool, understanding what was happening. When the two were finally in the truck Jake spoke, “Look Bradshaw, I know we aren't great friends or whatever, but I'm gonna tell you something that's gonna suck to hear.” Without looking he clicked the radio off before he continued. “Y/n.. She's a once in a lifetime kinda woman. The kind that will put up with just about anything to make things work. But once she draws a line in the sand, its there forever. Not just for you, but for the next guy too.”

The hair on Rooster's arms stood on end, not only because of Jakes words but he swore he heard another male voice whisper his name. “What do you mean.. The next guy..” Jake scoffed at how soft and confused Rooster's words were. “My man.. Do you think she will stick around if the one thing she asks of you, is something you refuse to do? She has already given up her father walking her down the aisle.. He wasn't even at the wedding right? She's moved all over to be with you. The only long term roots she has are from when she lived with you as a kid. When was the last time she asked something big of you?”

Rooster couldn't recall, causing Jake to just sigh and shake his head “I'm telling you this as your friend.. Fix this.. Because I wont fuck up where Maverick is concerned” Jake smirked at Bradley as they pulled into the driveway of your shared home. Rooster was practically out of the truck before it was in park, neither of them registering that the Bronco was gone. Jake watched as Bradley yelled your name, panicking more and more as he cleared each room. When he made it back to the living room he was already pulling his phone out. His thumb didn't even hesitate to click the call button as he tried to get ahold of you.

He called over and over again, not knowing that you were watching as your phone buzzed just a few feet from the car. You could swear you saw a man who looked just like Bradley walk up to the Bronco and give you a sad smile. Your eyes closed just as the bright blue and red lights started flashing close enough to illuminate your accident. Your last thought about how Bradley would get what he wanted. What his final sentence had been to you, come to life.. It just cost him the Bronco.

~~~

The ER was nuts on a good night, but tonight a Nurse named Layla was panicking. She had only met you a few times, being one of Hangman's regulars. At first, when she heard the explanation of the vehicle she was sure it was a Bradshaw, but unfortunately there was no IDS in the car and the police in the rush of trying to save you, had missed your phone. It wasn't until she rushed into the room to help with the CPR rotation that she knew it was you. Your hair was matted back with blood, the number of cuts and bruises amazed her. She was even more amazed that the tattoo on your hip was untouched. The one of a rooster with aviators on, the one that had confirmed who you were.

Quickly announcing that she knew who you were she ran from the room. Slipping sideways as she tried to open her employee locker. She had never dialed Jake's number so quickly.

Jake felt sick after he hung up. He was thankful for Layla, honestly he had always really liked her and this made him feel like he needed to take the whole thing with her seriously. But as he looked at Bradley, who was practically hyperventilating he didn't know how he was going to get him to the hospital. Layla had told him it was bad, bad enough that she didn't know if you were going to make it. Hangman heard the words come out of his mouth before he could stop them. They were harsh and he wanted to take the way he said it back almost immediately. “Bradshaw, looks like I found your wife.. She's in the hospital.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bradleys entire world came crashing down in a matter of nanoseconds. He kept trying to say what by only the wh would come out. He could see Jake's mouth moving as he ushered him back to the truck, and could comprehend that he was on the phone with Mav. But he couldn't grasp anything.

Well that is until the last interaction he had with his wife, the wife who was currently dying, played in his head. The one where he stormed out, didn't tell her he loved her. Didn't give her a kiss. Just said words that want to make him vomit now. Jake didn't fully hear him the first time he spoke, but when he asked Rooster to repeat himself, it took a lot of self control to not hit the man.

“My last words to her.. They were that I'd probably be better off without any of the Mitchells..”

Bradley's mouth tasted sour, his whole body weighed down as he cried silently. Thinking about how much he would hate himself if he couldn't make this right. What if you left him after this? Would you move in the Mav? Get with someone like Jake? God he doesn't think he could watch it. Doesn't think he could handle you even packing an overnight bag to be away from him for a night. Why did he always let this happen?

Why does he always let his anger just blurt out, why does he always take it out on you? When Mav had pulled his papers? It had been you he left. When his mom passed and you were trying to clean the house up for the wake.. It had been you he screamed at, even you whose head was right next to the wall he threw her favorite coffee cup into. But he only ever remembered the parts he liked. The memories where you held him while he cried and tried to pick up the pieces of that cup. Where he found a replacement in the cupboard a few days later. The parts of your story that made him feel loved. Like when he showed up at UVA, standing on your townhouse step with a duffle bag, sad eyes and apologies. It had been pouring rain, you had made him beg on his knees on the front porch before letting him in.

He didn't hear any of Jake's words on the drive, and was out of the car even sooner this time. His feet eat up the distance between him and the front desk attendant. When they tell him you're still unstable and he will have to wait, he almost passes out. Once again Jake leads him to a seat. He doesn't register anything that doesn't have to do with you. He barely notices as the other members of the squad show up. Maverick kneels in front of him trying to catch his eye. But when he does, Bradley loses it. The tears that have been silently streaming down his face are now coming out in full sobs. Bradley keeps apologizing over and over, for not treating his daughter the way he should have. For what he said, for how long he has let this go on. It's like sad but relieving word vomit.

Once Bradleys done, he moves on to reassuring an equally distressed Amelia. Who crying and sobs every word out as she explains to someone she looks at like a big brother, what happened. Bradleys not mad at her, hes not even mad at her friends. He's mad at himself, because had he grown up sooner, had he not been the reason for this fight, you wouldn't have been out on the road anyways. You would've been at home, wrapped up in his arms watching trash tv before having sex and falling asleep. He put you here, he knows that.

When Layla comes out and says a soft hi, it breaks her heart and fills it to see the entire group here. She's surprised when Jake comes and hugs her, kissing the top of her head and thanking her profusely. She spoke as frankly and kindly as she could. “It was touch and go for a while. We lost her a few times.. She was unconscious when the cops found her.. She's got a long road ahead of her. Collapsed lung, small brain bleed, lots of bruises and a handful of broken bones. She's stable for now, but I don't really have good news yet. The first 24 hours are crucial.”

All Bradley could hear as Layla led him and Maverick down the hall was that you had died.. Multiple times. He heard Mav gasp slightly as he entered the room, and it was like glue that forced Bradleys feet to stay in place. Layla paused as your dad walked towards you and turned to your husband. “I know this is hard Rooster.. But Y/ns a fighter.. She fought hard while in the Bronco, fought harder in the ambulance and here to stay with you.. But now she needs you..” Layla squeezed his arm as he took the small step to the doorway.

The scene in front of him was nothing like in the movies. Ones where they show someone who was ‘in an accident’ but is barely bruised up. No, because the woman laying before him couldn't be his wife. Your skin was grayish, instead of the healthy tan glow you had developed under the Cali sun. The multiple leads and wires you had on you helping to sustain your life made him sick. A collar around your neck to keep your head stable. There were gashes across your beautiful face, and bruises on every inch of skin he could see. He knew the next moment he had with you would be make it or break it. You would either wake up, and be happy to see him.. Or you would wake up and ask him to leave..

Now all he could do.. Was wait.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x y/n #Bradley Bradshaw x oc

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izvmimi · 10 months

Text

cw: fluff. reader wears a dress and is in their late 30s, as is bakugou.

Despite your best hopes, you and Dynamight are late to the charity ball. Not because of anything particularly sexy, at least not this early in your budding relationship, but because traffic decided to be hell at 7pm on a Saturday evening, and while many precious seconds were lost both in his prolonged gaze at your dress and your inability to find the words to tell him how handsome he looks in his suit, there wasn’t much you could do about the highway congestion.

(You’re thankful at least that he respected your suggestion that explosions and chiffon would not mix.)

The two of you manage to shuffle in right before everyone’s finished taking their seats. Katsuki is of course seated with the remainder of the top 5 ranking heroes, and their partners, and he pulls out a chair for you to be seated, your name tag placed right in between him and Deku’s partner. She watches him slide your chair in and help you place your shawl in a safe place, then whispers something to her husband who’s smiling as he always does, splitting glances between the emcee, his wife and his flustered friend.

You try to keep your embarrassment to a minimum, and are thankful when Katsuki finally rubs your shoulders gently before disappearing to the restroom. Now you are alone, warmed in the cheeks and trying to look very interested in the opening speech. No time for introductions, but you can recognize everyone at the table even if you haven’t formally met. Izuku’s partner’s eyes settle on you again and it takes her exactly five minutes to give into finally shifting closer to you, just so she can whisper,

“You know, it’s the first time I think I’ve seen him fuss over someone like that.”

You can feel your body tense ever so slightly, but her demeanor is friendly if a bit playful. She introduces herself in a whisper, despite the fact that you already know who she is, she’s been on the television on and off for the past decade as Number One’s number one.

“He talks about you all the time,” she adds. You smile, unsure of what to say back except that you’re thankful that you’re finally here to meet his wonderful friends.

You’re new to all of this, and in many ways, feel very much a fish-out-of-water, having lived a quiet life, single and responsible to no one except your well-loved cats. You’ve been on dates in your 20s and have long since lost your interest in the dinner-and-a-movie combo by the time you turned 30, and now that you’re closer to your 40s than you are your 30s, the butterflies in your stomach with every nervous smile or brush of your fingers Katsuki offers you carries a soft twang of embarrassment. You’re too old to be this giddy you think sometimes.

She says nothing more to you until the speech is over, and Katsuki arrives at the same time as she turns again. Her eyes narrow playfully as Katsuki slips into the chair beside you, slipping his hand over yours on the table.

“Kacchan, aren’t you sweet?”

He scowls at her, but his hand doesn’t move. Shoto, you can see from across the table, looks curiously at your joined hands while Izuku pulls his partner in and gently reminds her not to worry you. He’s quick to introduce himself as well with a firm but not-too-firm handshake.

“We’re so delighted to meet you,” he says. Red Riot gets up from his seat and claps Katsuki on the shoulder, and it’s loud enough that it startles you a bit, but he’s grinning ear to ear as he looks at the both of you.

“We were beginning to think you’d die alone!” he exclaims, which has Katsuki gritting his teeth.

“Will any one of you stop acting like I’ve never had a date before?” He’s seething and you try to stifle a giggle. He hears you and his head snaps in your direction, but your smile quickly softens his look of betrayal. He scoots his chair in and holds your hand tighter.

“Act normal,” he hisses to the rest of them, and the lights dim again for the next speech while Izuku and his wife keep sneaking glances at you and giggling, huddled together, as if they are kids themselves.

You on the other hand are gleeful but keep your laughter internal. Katsuki leans in and asks you what’s so funny, but you both know.

You’d think you’d all known each other since you were kids, the way Katsuki’s friends have so easily assimilated you into the group, and it only mirrors the way you’ve always felt since you’ve met him.

That things have fallen in place, perhaps late, but better than never.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #daydreams: bnha #mimi's notes

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sniperct · 9 days

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So thoughts that spun out of that other post.

When driving at night I sometimes have this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I grew up in the desert, and spent a lot of time going camping and fishing to places 1, 2, 3 hours away.

20-30 years ago, there were so many flying insects in the headlights on those long, lonely highways that it would look like a star trek starship at warp, tens of thousands of stars streaking by. It was beautiful, and humbling.

You could buy something to stick on the hood of the car to reduce insects hitting the windshield. On a roadtrip you had to stop every other town to wipe your windshield, sometimes. In the DESERT.

I can't remember the last time I thought such a device was needed, the last time I took a long trip and had to stop to wipe the windshield down. I cannot remember the last time I've even seen anything like that. Not in the past 10-15 years.

I live in a rural, heavily forested area. Before the work from home era I would drive home 5 nights a week through state park forests, along rivers and lakes. Always a gorgeous view on the way into work. On the way home, absent were those streaks of light in the headlights I have such vivid memories of.

The bugs out in the garden and the trees around me are nowhere near as prevalent as they used to be. Even at my old house in Las Vegas, I remember so many moths and butterflies, beetles and crawling insects. Before we moved in 2017, we were lucky to see even one butterfly every once in awhile.

The fact that driving at night in the spring in a rural, forested area does not make you feel like you're at warp terrifies me.

Insect populations plummeting so heavily so quickly should scare us all.

#climate change

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a-yellow-van · 4 months

Text

Wish You Were Here | Part 3

You and Joel get stuck in a blizzard during patrol. It leads to something unexpected.

Series masterlist

Pairing : Joel Miller x f!reader

Fanfic tags : canon compliant, slow burn, romance, some smut, angst, hurt/comfort, joel and the reader are terrible at feelings, female reader, no use of y/n, reader is in early 30s, past relationships, trauma/PTSD, grief, loss, post-apocalypse, jackson joel, joel is a good parent to ellie, protective joel, major character death, original characters, queer characters, bisexual main character, age difference, canon-typical violence

WC : 8.9 k

Warnings for part 3 : Minors DNI! swearing, drinking, mentions of trauma and PTSD, mild violence, explicit sexual content (masturbation, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rough-ish sex, praise kink, pet names, limited aftercare), more hurt than comfort I'm sorry

Writing this one hurt a lil. But I'm happy with it. So please enjoy.

It’s been half an hour. Thirty minutes of riding side by side in complete silence, interrupted only by the sounds of Old Beardy and Willow’s hooves rhythmically crunching in the snow. It seems like an eternity. The tension is so intense it’s almost palpable. Your presence, a blur in Joel’s peripheral vision, is putting him on such an edge that, at any given moment now, he could turn around and gallop back to Jackson, or start saying things he’d better keep to himself, or get you off your horse and take you by the waist and…

No. Nope. Stop it.

His grip on the reins tightens and he bites his inner cheek until the stab of pain rips his mind off that absurd train of thought. He stares straight ahead at the deserted highway, the stretch of the 191 carved in a broad valley. The landscape is lost in a sea of white, the concrete below invisible, crashed cars resembling large animals sleeping in a snowy den. Joel’s face is numb from the cold, rugged skin humid, a few wild strands of hair on his forehead pearling with ice. The brim of his insulated cap isn’t enough to shield his eyes from the stinging wind, but still, he stares, almost unblinking. His neck itches with the urge to turn and glance at you; he has been actively fighting it ever since leaving. He has to remain collected, he has to concentrate on the job. That sentence is playing on loop in his head like a mantra, so much so that the words are getting jumbled, barely making sense anymore.

He doesn’t understand why it’s been so difficult to just move on from what happened. Not one day during those two weeks has passed without his thoughts drifting back to that brief intimacy he shared with you, without wondering what you’re doing, how you’re doing. And he loathes it. Hates being confused, hates not having control, hates that you’re having such an effect on him. So, before he drives himself crazy, he decides to start counting the cars until the both of you reach the first checkpoint on the Hoback route. Joel has calculated about five miles since Jackson, only around three to go until the job gets more active. There are two cars on the right, their shapes stuck together in a permanent collision, and one on the left. Joel can make it.

Small, repetitive rituals like this always helped him focus; back when he was working construction, a lifetime ago, he’d recite stupid ad jingles to himself, trying to remember as many as he could and associate them with the correct brand. There was a famous one that Sarah used to sing just to annoy him, delighted when it worked without fail every time. He’d be reading the newspaper in the morning, or watching a game, or driving her to school, and she’d pipe up out of nowhere. And then it’d be stuck in Joel’s head for days. Some annoying rap about credit reports. How did it go again? F-R-E-E, that spells free…something something dot com, baby. Sarah’s mischievous giggles, after he begged her to stop, echo around his mind. Less than a year back, it would have sent him down to a dark, sunken place with slippery walls nearly impossible to climb out of. Not anymore, after Ellie. The memory’s still stained with grief, but it doesn’t feel so crushing to carry. He’s accepted it as part of him. Joel tries to recall the rest of the lyrics to that damned song; he thinks Ellie might get a kick out of it. She’s always so eager to learn about even the most meaningless things that existed before the outbreak.

It does the trick to distract him from you. It works so well, in fact, that he nearly misses the turn to the checkpoint. He pulls on Old Beardy’s reins suddenly, steering him in the right direction. The horse neighs in protest.

So much for concentrating.

You’ve certainly noticed the mishap, but you don’t comment on it, much to his relief.

Get a fucking grip.

Joel begins down the side path to an abandoned gas station, the tension rising. Maybe, if one of you were to point out the obvious, it would make this whole situation a bit less miserable. But Joel isn’t going to be the one to do it. It would come out all wrong, anyway.

The place is small, a few pumps decaying under a canopy that’s barely holding on to four crumbling steel rods. The convenience store isn’t in better shape, its windows shattered, the signboard crashed by the entry. You take initiative and move towards the back of the building; Joel takes it as a cue for him to check out the front. The advantage of being an experienced patroller is that you can do your job without much communication; at least there’s that. He jumps off Old Beardy and walks up to the building, unworried but readying his weapon nonetheless. If there were infected around, he’d have spotted them already. Just as he thought, the interior is empty, what’s left of it is covered in a thin film of dirty snow. Just for good measure, he checks the storage and the restrooms in the back. Still nothing. He jogs back to his horse just as you turn a corner, you and Willow coming back into view, calm, unperturbed.

You don’t wait for him to leave. He scrambles to mount Old Beardy, and you’re already back on the highway. It sustains Joel’s growing irritation; he almost yells out for you to slow down. Sure, ignoring each other is one thing, but being unsafe and disrespecting patrol rules is another. So, as a punishment, Joel spurs Old Beardy into a run and catches up before overtaking you, almost knocking you off Willow. He hears you gasp out in surprise. You try to swerve to the right, but he blocks the move. He wants to make you crack. Because he can’t be the one to do so first. You try the same move, to the left this time, and again, Joel is faster. He takes things a step further and lets out a dry, arrogant scoff.

That’s it. You’re about to rip into him. But only the whistling of the wind responds; you keep stubbornly quiet. You don’t even give the man a glance when he finally lets you pass and get back on his side, your expression set in stone.

Damn it. You’re good.

Joel doesn’t attempt anything else, deciding it’s wasted energy. You both continue on the road, status quo, for another hour. You stop at a few other checkpoints around the highway : an old RV park, a fire station…Warm, sheltered places that would draw in people, or things, at this time of year. But there’s no sign of life anywhere. By this point, Joel would usually have had to take out at least a stray runner. It’s almost unsettling. Like the calm before a storm. That little seed of concern plants itself inside his mind, heightening his senses. You must feel it too, because you guide your horse closer to his, and he notices your right hand leaving the reins to rest on the rifle hanging from your shoulder.

Sombre clouds are accumulating in the sky, hanging low, menacing. The wind increases as you both reach the highway exit to the small village of Hoback, carrying sharp snowflakes that cut Joel’s exposed cheeks. The path is narrow, flanked by tall conifers that grow denser, their branches drooping down from the weight of the snow. You’re forced to get behind the man, your gaze on his back piercing, nervous, uncomfortable. The both of you still don’t talk, but the atmosphere has shifted, the unspoken conflict momentarily forgotten.

Joel moves forward cautiously on trot, alert, scanning his surroundings. The first cluster of residences comes into view, simple log cabins settled at the foot of a hill a couple yards away. From the distance, nothing looks out of place. He signals for you to follow him, and you patrol up and down the short street, hastily inspecting the houses on both sides. They’re frozen in a dead silence, immobile, ravaged by years of negligence and harsh elements. Instead of being reassuring, the absence of movement only causes Joel’s foreboding feeling to develop. Something is very off here. The both of you repeat the process through the village, falling into calculated, practised gestures. And, while patrollers have the habit of checking some key places for supplies to bring back to Jackson, this time, your pair instinctively works as fast as possible, not entering a single house. There’s an unwritten agreement to get the hell out of here as soon as you can.

You’ve cleared out most of the village and, at last, you reach Snake River, the sounds of its turbulent waters mixed with the wind is tumultuous. There’s a bridge ahead, just large enough for a car. Its wooden structure is unstable, some slats have fallen, the rest are icy and split in places. This next part has to be done on foot; the horses would collapse through the bridge and drown if they even took one step on it. Once you cross the river, you’ll need to walk a couple miles to the outskirts of the village, finishing off the route at an old golf course. The clubhouse is a great lookout to the area; it holds the patrol logbook. Joel halts Old Beardy before the river, and you stop next to him. The animal shakes his head, freeing his mane from the layer of snow. Joel hesitates, not quite ready to leave the protection and speed horseback offers. He’s debating if an acute gut feeling is reason enough to turn back and leave patrol unfinished.

That short moment of doubt is precious. Because a second later, nature seems to fall completely silent around you. As though a predator is roaming nearby. Sudden, horrible snarls erupt from the woods stretching to your right. The ground trembles beneath fast, uneven footsteps. A lot of them. Too many. Time stops as Joel looks in your eyes for the first time in hours. They’re full of fear.

And then a runner stumbles onto the trail about three hundred feet behind, twitching, its mangled head snapping in your direction. Followed by another. And another. It jolts the man right into action.

“COME ON!” He urges you, spurring Old Beardy to a gallop.

There’s no way to go, but forward. Joel barrels around the bridge and down the slope, reaching the riverbank. You don’t leave his side, thighs clenched around Willow’s flanks, arms straining with the reins. And as your horses hooves hit the ice, the horde has crossed the distance, pouring down the embankment. There’s at least twenty. Some of them fall into the water, the current seizing them immediately. But it’s not enough to stop them. Joel’s heart is hammering out of his chest, his body rocking with the movement as Old Beardy pushes on, fueled by the danger. Joel lets go of the reins, expert fingers grasping his rifle. He swiftly points it at the first runner that lunges at his left, and lodges a bullet in its brain. The next one steps on the corpse, ready to attack. It meets the same fate. The gunshots coming from your side clearly indicate that you’re handling yourself. Before long, Joel has emptied the chamber, not one bullet wasted.

“RELOADING!” He shouts.

You cover him, taking out an infected, mere inches before his claws dig into Joel’s ankle. He doesn’t have time to thank you, however, pulling the trigger the second he readies the rifle again. You both maintain the rhythm up for what seems to be hours, the horses snorting through the effort, runners dropping like flies. Joel has lost all sensation; he doesn’t feel his lungs burning or his muscles pulling; the adrenaline has completely taken over. He keeps riding. Shooting. Reloading. And…Yes, there.

Only two of the fuckers left.

One on your side, one on his. He fires. Perfect shot. He thinks the two of you might make it out unscathed.

But then, something happens. Your weapon is pointed at your own runner, about to shoot. But you hesitate. Joel watches as the creature strikes. Willow panics. She rears up. And you are thrown to the ground.

——————————

That runner.

It looks so much like her.

Your body hits the riverbank, head bouncing on a rock, wind knocked out of you. A sharp pain erupts in your skull, high-pitched ringing explodes in your ears, stars appear in your vision. In a fraction of a second, the creature is straddling you. You weakly push an elbow against its chest, keeping its jaws from locking around your neck. It twitches, screams, clacks its teeth.

And you just…accept it. Twenty-one years of surviving, and this is how it ends.

You close your eyes.

And you’re back in the forest. That day. You’re running, faster than you’ve ever done in your life, branches grabbing at you, slicing your skin, like they want to prevent your escape. You glance over your shoulder. She’s gaining on you. Her eyes have turned a milky white, her clothes are ripped, her skin bloodied. But she still looks so much like herself. She still sounds like herself. Your baby sister. Her discorded weeps fill you with a gutting terror. You can almost make out the repeated word. Your name. Tears fall down wildly as you dart between trees, your breathing erratic, throat on fire.

“PLEASE! ANI! STOP!” you howl. But she’s gone. She can’t understand. So she chases, and you run.

Until your foot catches on a large root, sending you tumbling through the underbrush. Your gun clatters away from you. You lay there, stunned, dirt in your eyes, your nose, your mouth, ankle bent at the wrong angle.

She pins you to the ground, broken nails digging in the skin of your arms. You flail around, kick at her, trying to free yourself from her impossibly strong grip.

“STOP IT! ANI! STOP!” you cry out again, voice raspy, hollow, desperate.

Your right hand pats around blindly for the weapon, your left is pushed against her forehead, forcing her mouth away from your exposed shoulder. Your heart is beating so fast it seems like it’s stopped. Maybe it has. Maybe you’ve died, and this is just a flash of your last moments as you drift into peaceful, eternal rest. Or maybe it’s a horrible nightmare, and you’re about to wake up, a hand laced in your sister’s soft hair, light snores escaping her lips. She always looks so innocent when she sleeps, like all worries have washed off her, like she’s been sent back to a happy childhood in her dreams.

Your fingers brush against cold metal. You close them around the handle.

Bang.

The shot echoes, in the past and in the present.

You’re still alive.

The runner’s corpse slumps down against you, coating you with gore, a foul smell making you gag. You’re paralyzed, trembling, chest rising and falling erratically, gasping for air. You look up at the angry grey skies, the snow plummeting down, catching in your eyelashes. Everything stands still for an instant.

It all comes rushing back as the dead infected is ripped off your chest, discarded to the side like a rag doll. You sense a presence crouching down next to you, and Joel obscures your view.

He calls out your last name, loud, snapping you back to reality. You focus on his face; it’s flushed, expression tight with stress, eyes darting, searching for yours.

“Hey! Are you okay?” he yells.

Joel takes you by the shoulders and pulls you into a sitting position, the sudden movement making you dizzy. You stare back at him, eyes wide, blinking rapidly, unable to answer. Stunned.

“HEY! Did it bite you?” he continues, shaking you.

You move your head side to side in response, causing it to throb in pain. You wince, raising a hand to your occiput. Your glove comes back crimson. Joel’s eyes fall to the blood, and he mutters a curse. He reaches into his coat pocket to take out a rag, balling it up and pressing it to the back of your skull.

“Keep that there for me. Can you do that?” He speaks in a low, steady tone, but there’s an edge to it you pick up on. You nod and execute yourself. Willow comes over and nudges you with her nose; her way of apologising. You pat her with your free hand, reassuring. It was your fault.

Joel runs back to Old Beardy, the poor beast trembling from the fright. He takes something out of his pack’s front pocket and brings it back : a small bottle of rubbing alcohol. He twists the cap off with his teeth and kneels behind you, taking the rag and pouring some of the liquid on it. He rubs it on your wound, eliciting a shriek.

Holy shit that hurts.

Joel inspects the injury, parting your hair to expose it, the rough fabric of his gloves like sandpaper on your scalp.

“Cut isn’t deep. But you’re gonna get a mean bump.” Joel explains, applying more pressure. He stops the bleeding, aided by the cold, and wraps the rag around your head, securing it with a tight knot. “We gotta keep moving. Can you stand up?”

This version of Joel, assertive, protective even, catches you off guard. It’s such a stark contrast from his attitude earlier in the day. It nearly makes you forget how close to death you just came.

“Uh, I-I think so-” you reply, regaining your voice, before attempting to push yourself off the ground and falling back down. Your head spins.

Joel offers you his hand, which you take to pull yourself up slowly, your whole body protesting. Bile rises up to your oesophagus. You lean over, breathing through your mouth.

“Shit. I think you have a concussion,” you hear Joel say, from far away.

And, then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, the storm picks up. The snow gets so dense you can barely see five feet in front of you. The man takes the lead, urgently guiding you towards Old Beardy. He helps you mount, taking you by the waist, and you don’t even think to resist. There’s no way you can ride by yourself in this condition. Joel gets on and takes the reins while you hold on to him, chest pressed against his back. He whistles for Willow over the wind. She follows right behind.

Joel leads his horse out of the riverbank and into the surrounding woods, visibility getting even poorer. You’re blinded by snow, breathing it in, wheezing. You put all trust in Joel’s sense of orientation, praying that somehow, he gets you back onto the road. He presses forward, a hand raised in front of his face to protect it.

What a stupid fucking way to go out. Lost in a blizzard. With Joel Miller. At least the town would have something to talk about.

But then, miraculously, the trees begin to thin out; ahead, you can make out the faint outline of a trail.

He did it.

You squeeze Joel’s torso tighter, as if to thank him. Old Beardy perseveres, pushing one leg in front of the other. Your head is getting heavier, the concussion pulling you towards a dreamless sleep.

“Hold on. We’re almost there.” Joel affirms. You’re not sure who it’s destined for : himself, you, or the horses. Maybe all four. But it’s all you need to let go, and you pass out, head slumping on Joel’s shoulder.

——————————

You wake up to the sound of snow pelting against glass. Your skull feels like it’s being drilled into with a jackhammer. You pry your eyelids open and try to get your bearings, vision foggy, as though you opened your eyes in a chlorine pool. You find that you’ve been laid out on a frayed, deformed couch, springs digging into your back, a quilt smelling of mothballs thrown over you. Your winter attire has been taken off. You push yourself up on your elbows and look around the room. It seems to be the small living area of a cabin; there’s a rustic coffee table where both packs lay next to the bloody rag that acted as your bandage. To your left is a large, frosted-over bay window; the outside is an infinite, oppressing white. Two sets of jackets and ski pants hang from antler-shaped hooks next to the front door, a puddle forming underneath. A stone hearth takes up the wall in front of you, fire crackling inside. And, to your right, a plaid armchair. Joel is sitting in it, leaning forward, forearms resting on his thighs, watching you intently with knitted brows. His expression is hard, severe, unfriendly; he’s back to his normal self. You hold his gaze, your sight slowly getting clearer.

“Uh. Hey,” you speak hoarsely, throat dry. It makes you cough, which prompts Joel to get up and rummage through your pack to retrieve your canteen. He tosses it to you carelessly, and you fail to catch it. It lands on your lap with a thump. Joel plops back into the armchair, huffing. He is very transparently upset with you.

Great.

You take a long gulp of water and wipe your mouth with the back of your sleeve, the day replaying in your mind like on a movie theatre screen, pausing on your near-death experience. And you’re baffled, ashamed of your own actions. You can’t believe Joel had to step in and save your sorry ass, like you’re some kind of damsel in distress.

Fucking rookie mistake. And now you have a goddamn concussion.

You massage your temples and suppress a groan. “How long was I out?” you ask instead.

“About an hour.” Joel answers, tone glacial, deprived of any sympathy.

“Did you try calling Jackson?” You nod over at the small radio sitting on the ground by the window.

“Couldn’t get a signal,” Joel answers, gruff, as if it’s an obvious fact.

You roll your eyes. You know he’s right, but still, you stand up despite sore muscles, and go over to the device, cranking it a few times before trying the channel knob. You’re met with static. Joel mumbles something under his breath; it doesn’t sound pleasant, or polite. You put the radio back down and return to the couch, avoiding eye contact with the older man.

You glance at your watch. It’s right after 3PM, and the blizzard hasn’t let up. You’re going to be stuck here a while. You rest your head on the arm of the sofa, staring at the beamed ceiling, lost in reflexion. About how genuinely worried Joel seemed when you got hurt, how he jumped right in to take care of you. It makes you seethe. He tucked you in so you’d stay warm. He even changed your socks; the wet pair is drying by the fireplace. How dare he? You shift on the cushions, stiff, ill at ease. And Joel chooses that moment to break the silence.

“What the hell was that back there?” He questions, his tone accusatory.

You tense up. The blame you’re putting on yourself is more than enough. He doesn’t need to twist the knife. You ignore him, your jaw clenching.

“Hey. I’m talkin’ to ya,” he nags.

It makes your blood boil, and you sit up to glare at him. “Won’t happen again,” you grumble.

“Yeah? You sure about that?” He continues, harsh.

You take a deep breath. “Look, I-”

He interrupts you. “You don’t freeze up like that. Ever. You understand me?”

“Oh, wow. I had no idea!” You strike back, not missing a beat. “I don’t need a lecture from you, Miller,” You spit out.

Joel lets out a chilling chuckle. “Oh, you’re welcome, by the way!” He barks, “You know. For keepin’ you alive an’ all.”

You spring to your feet, heat shooting to your head, exacerbating the migraine. “I didn’t ask for your fucking help,” you utter.

Joel gets up too, towering over you, hands balled up into fists. “Right. Next time I'll just let you get infected. That what you want?”

“I told you. There won’t be a next time!” You shout, holding yourself back from punching him in the gut, or kneeing him where it would hurt most, or pulling him down to the couch and pushing your lips to his neck and letting him-

No. Nope. Not again, not here, not now.

You desperately need some air. You move towards the front door, but Joel strides up to you and blocks the way, arms crossed.

“You ain’t going anywhere,” he warns.

“Let. Me. Out.” You command. Your head is so painful you think it might explode.

Joel chuckles again. “You got a death wish or somethin’? Settle down, girl.” He talks down to you as if you were a child, smug, condescending; but that word makes your heart skip a beat.

You try to make a pass for the handle, but he grabs your wrist and shoves it backwards effortlessly. You’re seeing red. So you opt for the next best thing; you spin around abruptly and storm off to the other side of the cabin, into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

“Oh yeah. You do that. Real mature.” Joel yells out.

You hear the creak of the floor under his steps and the rustling of fabric as he sits back down. You take your frustrations out on the shower curtain, displacing thousands of dust particles, before biting down on your hand to muffle a scream. When you’re done, you climb into the bathtub and curl up against the lime-scaled cold porcelain, forehead on your knees. The space is dark, stuffy, suffocating. You wonder how you’ll be able to make it through the storm without ripping Joel’s head off. Or doing something exactly opposed to it. How easily that man is able to just get to you is incomprehensible. Enraging. And, worst of all, despite how reluctant you are to admit it…

Arousing.

It must be the concussion dysregulating you completely. But the feeling grows, and you extend both legs to squeeze your thighs together, trying to release the pressure building between them. It’s no use. There’s only one thing that would satisfy it, and he’s right outside the door. Without your control, your right hand moves to the waistband of your jeans, undoes the button and goes down, past the elastic of your underwear…Fingers reach down to your entrance, already slick, and glide back up to the hardened nub, the touch sending a rush of pleasure through your body. You rub clumsy circles around, slow at first, mind filling with Joel, his calloused hand there instead of yours, stretching you out, whispering filthy things in your ear. You increase the speed, biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning, cheeks flushed, the pressure becoming almost unbearable. You push two fingers inside, curling them to stimulate that sensitive spot, bucking into your own palm to deepen the sensation. In a matter of seconds, you’re unravelling, free hand gripping the side of the tub, your walls clamping down on the other, come seeping in the fabric below. Your lips part and you can’t help a low squeal from escaping them. You immediately clap your left hand over your mouth, heart racing.

Fuck.

Did he hear?

You take a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. The reality of what you just did comes crashing down. It only worked to heighten your desire. And your anger. You button your pants back up and step out of the bathtub, wiping your hand on a scratchy towel you find in the linen closet along with a colony of spiders.

You’ve been in here for too long. You have to go back out. It would raise suspicion if you didn’t.

——————————

Joel is oblivious, too busy sulking over the events of the day as he tends to the fire, flames illuminating his face in a flickering glow.

That was too fucking close.

The image of you, frozen up under the runner, keeps snaking its way into his thoughts. It infuriates him. How you just gave up, like your life was worthless, like you deserved what came to you. And yet, the sentiment is so familiar it makes his chest ache in a burst of empathy. He can sense the burden in you, the intense trauma you endured. Most people have, in this unforgiving world, but you…There’s something more. It was the look in your eyes when you saw that infected, as if it reminded you of something so vivid it stole you away for an instant. He knows because it’s happened to him. It still does, sometimes, although less frequently. They’re these moments of sheer panic, where he’s choking, the world blurring around him. He has to count things he can see, or touch, or hear…He feels so miserably weak after it’s passed, as if he’s just a small, scared old man. Maybe it reveals his true nature.

And he’s so angry at you for making him care. Because for some reason, he does. Ever since that night at the tavern. Maybe even before. How scared he got when he thought you might be done for is direct proof of it.

He can’t afford to have another person to protect.

A quiet cough brings him back to the present. He peers over his shoulder. You’re standing behind him, seemingly troubled by something; you fiddle with the hem of your sweater, gaze glued to the ground.

He turns back to the hearth, sighing, and forces out an irritated “You good?” The thing is, he actually is concerned with the answer.

“Fine.” You reply, your tone not an ounce more affable than his.

That is as far as the conversation goes. Joel eventually gets tired of rotating the same log with the fire poker, pretending the action is crucial to keep the flames alive. He goes back to the armchair, glancing at you. You’ve reclined on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, mindlessly chewing on a piece of dried meat. He decides to imitate you, because he needs something to do with his hands. So he digs in his bag for the sandwich he’d packed; it’s mushed, tasteless. You both eat in thick, loaded silence.

The sunlight is starting to decline, and the storm rages on, casting the room in an eerie shadow, the cold seeping in through every tiny crack in the cabin’s foundation. Joel shivers despite himself, shoving both hands under his armpits in an attempt to preserve his body heat.

A second later, you’re out of your seat. Joel watches as you climb up the spiral staircase that leads to the loft bedroom. You shuffle around the space, partially concealed by the railing, and come stomping back down, carrying a crumpled blanket. You hold it out to him at arm’s length. Joel cocks a brow; the sudden kind gesture leaves him completely confused. You jiggle the blanket under his nose, impatient. He decides to take it, and drapes it around his shoulders, the relief immediate.

“Uh. Thanks,” he mumbles.

You give a shrug in response, dismissive, wrapping yourself in the quilt and retreating to the sofa.

What the hell?

An hour ago, you were fiercely arguing with him. Now this. The flip-flopping is giving him whiplash.

Time passes, excruciatingly slow, nor Joel or you daring to say another word. The sun fully sets; the darkness outside is opaque, as if the little cabin is drowning alone in an abyss. There’s no way around it, you’ll both have to spend the night here. Around half past 5PM, Joel can’t stew in the tension anymore, so he goes to check on Old Beardy and Willow, confined to the veranda at the back of the house. They’re cramped, but otherwise fine. Joel risks a short trip to the yard to fill an old, warped bucket with snow for the horses to drink. As he shines the beam of his flashlight around, he notes that the blizzard has weakened slightly. This mess might be over in the morning. Just a few hours. He can last until then. It’s not like he has any other choice.

He feeds the animals with a pile of straw forgotten in a corner of the veranda, behind some gardening tools. At the start of the outbreak, he couldn’t help but imagine who inhabited the places he used as shelters, what their daily lives looked like, if they were still alive. Sometimes, he’d come across evidence of the contrary. It used to disturb him, he’d feel like an intruder, but he’d quickly grown desensitised. Cordyceps didn’t spare anyone. It made suffering the new normal. It’s useless to dwell on what was or wonder what could have been. So, he doesn’t pay more attention to the objects scattered around the space as Willow eats from his hand.

Once he comes back inside the cabin, he finds you exploring the kitchenette that’s crammed underneath the loft. You’ve opened the cupboards, revealing stacks of chipped, dusty dishes. You’re going through a drawer, a few utensils clinking inside. You haven’t noticed Joel, too focused on your search for something of value. He observes quietly as you move on to the second drawer, when he decides to make his presence known. He clears his throat before speaking.

“Don’t bother, I already checked while you were sleepin’.”

His words only make you search harder, meticulously inspecting the contents of the drawer, bent over, your back turned to him.

Goddamn it. You’re exasperating.

And yet, his eyes are drawn to a specific part of your anatomy, the curves made obvious by your position, your jeans hugging them so well he could just-

“Or do whatever the fuck you want,” he mutters, the hostility compensating for the sudden surge of lust.

He plants himself in the armchair, once again, the noises of your continued investigation grating, setting his nerves on fire. After a few minutes, they stop. And you come walking back to the living area with a subtle, conceited smirk on your lips, and a bottle of very nice, before-the-apocalypse whisky clutched in your right hand.

“Didn’t check well enough, Miller,” you say, failing to hide your satisfaction.

“Where was it?” He asks, upset at himself for missing the item.

“Back of the sink cabinet,” you answer smugly. “Quality stuff,” you add, reading the label. You’re absolutely right, but Joel isn’t going to recognise it.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get cocky,” he grumbles. You don’t waste time and unseal the bottle before raising it to your mouth.

“Don’t think that’s smart,” Joel cautions, making you pause mid-air. “Y’know. Concussion,” he continues, his tone more unpleasant than he anticipated.

You don’t listen to his advice, staring at him tauntingly as you sip. He’s quickly learning that you thrive in defiance. And this audacity you possess, it’s…Attractive. Joel inexplicably likes that you’re provoking him. Your expression remains neutral as you swallow, even when Joel knows for a fact it must sting like hell. You offer the bottle to him.

It’s been a long time since he’s had liquor that didn’t have an aftertaste of battery acid, and the sight makes him crave a good drink. It’d certainly make the night pass by faster. He knows it’s a terrible idea, considering where getting drunk with you led him last time, but it’s so damn tempting…

He takes the whisky from you.

——————————

You’ve made a considerable dent in the liquor. It’s dulling the pain in your head, reducing it to a distant ache. You’re sitting cross-legged in front of the hearth, and Joel has joined you on the ground, close enough to pass the bottle back and forth without having to stand up. His back is resting on the bottom panel of the couch, legs spread out casually. The fire, as well as the whisky, is enveloping you in a calming warmth, eating away at your inhibitions; you’ve taken your sweater off as a result, stripped down to a tight thermal shirt. There’s silence again between you and Joel, but this time, it doesn’t make you want to claw out of your own skin. It’s strikingly comfortable. And you find yourself wanting the man to come closer, longing for contact, connection. You haven’t forgotten your little adventure in the bathroom; in fact, the liquor is feeding those feelings, and they’ve risen to a nearly overwhelming level.

You take another sip, and, during the exchange, Joel’s fingers graze yours, sending your heart in a frenzy and a burst of flustered heat to your face. You jerk your hand away.

Idiot.

You play it off by brushing it through your hair. Joel’s mouth twitches upwards before he drinks.

“What?” You ask, defensive.

“Nothin’.” Joel passes the bottle back to you with a faint air of amusement. You decide it’s a good time to stop, and you set it down on the floor.

“Done already? I was expecting more from ya,” he teases.

You hate how well it’s efficient in riling you up. “Like you said. Concussion,” you retort, pointing at the site of injury.

“Hm. So now it's a good enough excuse,” he presses on, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Yup,” you answer simply.

“Really? That’s all you got?” His smirk is more assured now.

You give a drawn-out sigh in response, studying the fire like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“Damn. I was startin’ to like the snark,” he says. It seems like the liquor has taken a toll on the man’s reservations, too.

“Don’t wanna waste my breath on you,” you reply, unable to resist the banter.

Joel chuckles. “Ah. There she is.”

You had forgotten how lovely Joel’s laugh is. How natural it feels to talk to him like this. Funny how booze seems to have that impact on the both of you. And, after a tortuous day of being at each other’s throats, you welcome the change of mood. “Did I just hear you say you like me?” You turn to gaze at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Nah. Must be your concussion.” He answers, deadpan, unfazed.

You can’t hold back a smile as you reply. “Hm. Sure, Miller.”

He pauses and appears to consider something, chewing on his bottom lip. “Uh. Joel,” he finally lets out, voice deeper, more serious. “Just- call me Joel.”

You’re taken aback by that sudden request.

His first name. It feels informal, intimate even, as though you’ve moved past the status of coworkers, into murky, foreign territory. You know you should refuse. You’ve dropped too many of your principles with this man already.

“Alright. Joel.” You gulp. “Uh, same goes for you.”

He gives a short nod, and mirrors your sentence, only with your name instead.

It’s significant. This moment. It feels like the two of you have reached a point of no return. Like from here on out, things can’t just go back to the way they were.

“Man, this isn’t how I was planning to spend the night,” you revert to humour to diffuse the returning tension.

“Yeah?” Joel follows your lead. “Got somethin’ you’d rather be doin’?”

“Pretty much anything else,” you quip. “I was gonna work on this painting I’m late on.” You’re not sure why you’re opening up about that aspect of your life, but it’s the direction the whisky has picked. It’s futile enough. Still safe.

“Oh. Right. Painting,” he says. “I knew you did that.”

He does?

“Didn’t you do one of Tommy and Maria?” He continues. “For their wedding?”

The man truly is full of surprises. And to think you were convinced he was completely indifferent to you, at least before today.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, that was me,” you reply after a few seconds.

“It’s good work. You managed to make Tommy look half-decent. That’s talent right there,” he jokes.

“Yeah. Thanks. I tried.” You chuckle, and your stomach flutters at the compliment. You’d shoot those butterflies one by one with a tiny gun if you could. “What about you? What’d you have on the schedule?”

“Hm,” he answers, “not much either. Was gonna ask Ellie to join me for dinner. And get rejected again.”

“I don’t blame her,” you comment, a teasing grin forming. “What teenager wants to hang out with a grumpy old guy?”

“Hey. Rude.” Joel feigns offence. “I can be fun,” he adds.

“Won’t believe it until I see it,” you push further.

“Okay then. Just you wait.” He glances around the room for inspiration, until he is hit by a stroke of genius.

“Truth or dare?”

You snort. “Are you twelve?”

“Truth or dare?” Joel repeats, voice raising in pitch.

You shake your head in disbelief.

Joel fucking Miller.

“Fine. Truth,” you capitulate.

Joel smirks. “Okay. Uh,” he concentrates, “What’s your favourite colour?”

You take a second to process the words that just came out of his mouth. And then burst out laughing.

“Come on,” Joel protests, a grin brightening his eyes, deepening the wrinkles around them. “What’s wrong with that question?”

It makes you double down in laughter. You wheeze, trying to catch your breath, and Joel joins in with a few low chuckles. The stoic mask has vanished. Why does he look so sweet?

“That-that- was the best you could come up with?” you get out between deep inhales.

Joel doesn’t back down. “You gonna answer it or what?”

“Okay, okay. Uh-”

You realise you haven’t thought about that tiny aspect of yourself in about two decades. Cordyceps has had that strange effect of destroying souls, personalities, the little things that used to make one human. By infecting some, and coercing others into survival. You’re not sure which fate is worse.

“It’s yellow,” you finally reply. Yellow like the sunshine. That was your sister’s nickname. And you were Moonbeam. Opposites who completed each other. And now there’s only one left, lonely, broken.

Joel nods. “Fitting.”

“Hm?”

“Your tattoo.” He gestures at your exposed collarbone, where a sun made up of a multitude of ink dots is etched into your skin. Joel is scarily on point; that was for her, too.

“Yeah.” You don’t linger on the topic. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Joel replies instantly.

You’re not prepared. “Uh- I dare you to-” Your mind is sluggish, moving in slow-motion as you try to come up with something. “I dare you to sit next to me.” It comes out without your control.

Shit.

“Easy,” Joel brags. He pushes himself off the ground with a grunt and takes five steps before settling back down so close that your legs are touching. He doesn’t acknowledge it, eyes on the fire ahead, and neither do you. But it sends a chill up your spine and your thoughts to a dangerous place. You determine you’ve taken a long enough break from the whisky and take a swig of the liquid courage. Joel does too.

“Your turn,” he reminds you.

“Truth.” You still have enough wits left to be worried of what he’d make you do as a dare.

“Takin’ the coward’s way out?” He teases.

You drink again, ignoring the remark.

“Alright. Uh, tell me about- your first time,” he says, glancing over at you with a sly smile.

That’s a huge jump from the innocence of his first question. You shoot him an unimpressed look. “You’re gonna have to be more precise.”

“You know exactly what I mean. Now start talkin’,” he playfully orders.

You sigh. “I was seventeen. With a friend I had in the QZ. Nothing special to it.” Your teenage years aren’t a period you like to reminisce about; you had to grow up much too fast.

Joel stays quiet for a moment, and bumps your knee with his, in a movement that could be passed as accidental, or as an attempt at comfort. You’re not certain which is the truth. “D’you love him?” He asks, his tone genuine, devoid of mockery.

“Her,” you correct. “And…I don’t know. It was years ago. Doesn’t matter.” It’s a lie. You remember it like it was yesterday. And you did.

Joel’s expression is one of surprise, and embarrassment. He turns a shade of red deeper than he was the second before, the temperature having nothing to do with it. “Oh. Uh. I- Sorry, uh, didn’t mean to assume- That’s- Good for you- I-”

You’re very entertained by his reaction. People usually fall into one of two categories when you tell them; awkward ally or plain bigot. You’re glad it’s the first one. You cut him off before he digs the hole deeper. “It’s fine. Don’t beat yourself up. Your turn.”

He seems rather grateful for the change of subject. “Uh. Right. Truth,” he replies, regaining his composure.

You give him a taste of his own medicine. “Same question.”

Joel is unbothered, and tells the story nonchalantly. “Okay. It was my date at senior prom. Back of my car in the school parking lot.”

It makes you laugh. “Wow. How very original. I gotta know what kinda car it was.”

“My dad’s busted old Wrangler. I put that car through a lot of shit.” he replies, chuckling.

“I could have guessed that.”

For a second, you and Joel look at each other, smiling. He almost appears timid. And for a second, the horrors of the world retreat into the shadows that birthed them. For a second, everything is alright. You could stay here forever.

——————————

Joel could, too. He wishes time could stop here. Because he’s confident that the night will inevitably end in something he’ll regret. No way around it. It’s taking an enormous effort already to keep himself from reaching over and closing the distance between your lips and his. The booze isn’t helping. You’re not either, with that radiant smile that’s melting his hard shell little by little, and your eyes that keep wandering around his face, his chest, and lower too, though you try to be discreet. He’s doing the same, and he’s certain you’re aware of it. Now, it’s a matter of who will succumb to the temptation first.

You speak up again. “One last thing, Joel. Did you get the girl?” The question is lighthearted, but the memories it brings back certainly aren’t.

He sighs. “Yeah. I did.” Sarah’s mother. They’d been high school sweethearts. Young. Dumb. A tale as old as time. “Got married. Had a kid. The whole nine yards. Then she wasn’t ready to be a parent. And, well-” He trails off, the words slipping out, motivated by the liquor. He’d never have confessed such a thing in a different context. Especially not to you. And just like that, he’s ruined the mood.

Your eyebrows shoot up in shock, before your expression softens, as you realise what must have happened to said child. Pity? Compassion? Joel can’t be sure. “Oh. Uhm. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know-”

“‘S’okay. It’s, uh, it’s been a while. And I got Ellie now,” he reassures, slurring the words slightly.

“What-what was their name?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“Sarah,” he answers after a pause. He’s only recently started being able to talk about her out loud without breaking down. He doesn’t know if that still applies when he’s inebriated. And he’s not willing to test it out. He drowns the sentiment in more whisky, before giving you the bottle.

“Uhm. That’s pretty.” You take a swig and hesitate. “I, uh, I- know what it’s like. To- to lose someone like that,” you say, softly. The pain the words cause you as they escape is evident. Joel believes you.

And then something happens. Your right hand leaves your lap, moves to the side and comes to rest on his.

His gaze travels from your hand, up to your face. It’s full of doubt, eyes wide, as though you’ve just made a horrible mistake.

It’s all it takes for the floodgates to open.

——————————

Joel grabs your forearm and pulls you into his lap. His mouth collapses on yours. You don’t protest, accepting the kiss immediately, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself, knees on both sides of his thighs.

A rugged hand goes to the small of your back, pressing your chest to his, while the other slides up to the back of your head, carefully tilting it to deepen the kiss. Tongues collide, hungry, eager. He sucks on yours, stifling a moan.

You’ve been pent up so long you’re soaking already. He breaks away from the kiss to trail his lips across your jaw, before going down your neck, biting and swirling his tongue on your pulse point, not mindful of the mark he’s undoubtedly going to leave. He earns a gasp, your fingers interlocking with his hair, holding him in place. You grind against his growing bulge to try and alleviate the fervent pressure rising at your core. He thrusts his hips up to meet yours, the friction sending sparks of electricity to your hazy mind. A hand wanders to your breast, fingers groping the soft flesh, flicking the nipple raised through your shirt. But you need more. Need him inside of you. Now.

And you tell him so, voice quivering with desire. “Please,” you add in a whimper.

It isn’t long before your clothes are ripped off, his lips refusing to break apart from yours for more than a few seconds. He lays you down right there on the floor, bare, trembling, aching for his touch. He sits back on his heels and admires you for a moment, eyes darkened, intense, reflecting the flames as if they are blazing behind his pupils. You watch, mesmerised, as he undresses in the dim, dancing light of the fire, casting him in an aura that’s almost ominous. He stands up to take off his underwear, cock springing free and hitting his lower stomach.

The sight makes your mouth water. God, he’s big.

He climbs on top of you, your legs encircling his torso, granting him access to your entrance. And he pushes into you. Hard. You’re so wet his cock slides in without resistance, filling you completely, nearly hitting your cervix, the jab of pain delicious. The act isn’t kind, or tender; and it’s exactly what you want. For him to use you, to ruin you. And he does. He fucks you senseless, each stroke bringing you closer to oblivion, to forgetting who you are. The sounds he’s letting out are outright sinful, grunts laced with dirty sentences that could make you finish on the spot. But you’re holding on. Until he lifts you up by the waist, angling himself to hit that bundle of nerves over and over again, making you cry out in ecstasy, clawing at his back. You’re almost there, your walls pulsate around him, driving him deeper inside.

“Think you should come for me, darlin’,” he hums into your ear, nibbling on the lobe.

You obey.

The orgasm ripples with such force it blinds you. You can’t even scream. You’re gone. Not a person anymore, but a being of pure pleasure. Joel coaxes you through it with a few more thrusts, erratic, uneven, as he reaches his own release. He pulls out of you at the last second, painting your belly with spurts of the thick, warm substance. Your entire body spasms before going limp.

All the fight has been drained out of you. You’re reduced to a panting, throbbing mess on the floor, arousal pooling out of you, coating your inner thighs.

“Did so good for me,” Joel praises, hands cupping your face, left thumb rubbing circles on your cheek. “So fuckin’ good,” he repeats.

You stay still, eyes closed, brain shutting down your functions one by one. As you’re about to drift off, you feel strong arms carrying you to the loft, carefully placing you on the bed, cleaning you off with a soft cloth. He climbs in and embraces you, limbs tangled with yours, and you nuzzle your head in the crook of his neck. His fingers gently brush the hair from your face to plant a kiss on your forehead.

“Sleep tight, darlin’,” he whispers.

It’s so vulnerable it makes your heart ache.

Because you know this’ll all be gone tomorrow, along with the alcohol evaporating from your system.

——————————

You’re right.

The sky is clear by the next morning, harsh sunlight brutally waking you. You’re alone in the bed, shivering, sore, his scent all over your skin. You get dressed, head pounding, filled with excruciating remorse.

Joel is waiting for you by the front door. Glacial. Austere. Haunting. The person that you went to bed with a few hours ago has been torn to shreds. As though he never even existed. Maybe he was a product of your imagination.

And, once you’re outside, standing side by side on the horses, ready for the return trip, Joel utters a sentence that reverberates in your head all the way to Jackson, its echo deafening as you ride in silence.

“What we did. It meant nothing. Understand?”

You keep the tears in until you’re back home.

To read on AO3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #tlou part 2 #send help #fic: wish you were here

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