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damneddamsy · 3 months ago

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falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part vii)

FREEFALL FUNCTION—Descent governed by forces outside one's control.

summary: After a disappearance shakes his world, Joel finds himself craving home, touches that promise, hands that stay.

a/n: I was in a really bad headspace, and that's why I wasn't replying a lot to your sweet comment (I've read them all, thank you so so much), or responding to messages. I just needed to get this chapter off my chest, because it's been building up to this, and I've been coming back a lot to fix this specific part so a lot of WARNINGS please: vague mentions of rape, lotsa violence, trauma, action, and just a fuckload of angst. also, LOVE. SO MUCH LOVE. hope you've got your hearts ready and some bandaids.

Joel was making a list.

A real mental inventory of all the fucked-up shit that had gone sideways since last night.

He had to. Otherwise, his head would be a mess of rage and regret, spinning in circles, getting him nowhere but down. And he needed to focus.

First, the crap he’d spewed at Leela—words he couldn't take back, words he didn't mean, words that sat like rusted nails in his gut. Sharp, corroded, poisoned with his own damn pride. He should’ve known better. But meaning didn’t matter. It was what she heard that counted. And what she heard had been enough to make her go quiet on him. Worse than yelling. Worse than anything. He’d rather she cussed him out, swung at him, anything but this.

Second—fucking Tommy. The son of a bitch dared to leave him behind on this run. Rode off without so much as a glance back, like Joel was the one being difficult. Like he was the one who needed space. Like he wasn’t the one who’d been fighting tooth and nail to put things right. And now he was playing some game of keep-away like Joel didn’t deserve to be part of it.

He clenched his jaw at that. He didn’t like being shut out, especially not by his own damn brother.

Third—his back. Christ. Riding non-stop for the past hour had him aching fiercely. His lower spine felt like it was grinding itself down to dust, and every bump in the trail shot pain clear up to his skull. He was too old for this endless shitwork, but stopping wasn’t an option.

And then—Leela. Because out of everything in his life that was spinning out of his control, she was the one thing he wasn’t willing to lose.

He hated it. He hated this helplessness. The desperation to know that she was alright. This madness was a product of his own idiocy.

Right. That was the list.

And now, this—this goddamn trail. Because like clockwork, the next thing to add to his tally of frustrations was creeping up on him before he saw anything.

The Colten Bay trail had started to look familiar—small bends in the path, the way the trees arched overhead, creating a canopy of shifting shadows. He'd been riding for two hours, maybe more, the passage of time lost in the churn of his thoughts. He wasn’t as good as Tommy at navigating these woods, not yet, but he wasn’t blind either.

The ruined road into the small town had gone quiet—too quiet. No wind whistling through the broken windows, no birds, no distant scurry of wildlife picking through the remains. Just silence, thick and suffocating,

He took it in as he rode in slowly, scanning the hollowed-out husk of a town that had been left to rot. Storefronts with shattered windows, doors hanging off hinges, sun-bleached signs dangled by rusted chains. Rusted-out trucks half-buried in overgrown grass. A rust-colored stain smeared across a brick wall, years old, but still dark enough to make something curdle in his gut.

Joel pulled up short, dismounting without taking his eyes off the wreckage. His boots hit the pavement with a dull thump, the heat of the sun bleeding into the soles of his feet.

It was even worse up close, but nothing he wasn't used to. He'd seen worse. Nature had started creeping back in—vines curling over stone, weeds splitting through the pavement—but it wasn’t enough to hide the bones of what had been left behind.

He adjusted his grip on his rifle, raised and cocked to take aim, his every sense straining for something—growls, clicks, rifles, shoes, anything.

Then he heard it.

A voice. Then voices. Faint, distant. Threading through the ruins.

Tommy. More specifically—his shitty brother’s loud-ass laugh.

Joel exhaled sharply, stock perched tight into his shoulder, trying to shake the tension curling through him. Tommy was laughing, which meant the dumbass wasn’t dead. Which meant there was no immediate danger.

Still, Joel pushed forward carefully, stepping over debris, keeping to the edges of the street.

And then he spotted them.

Tommy, standing outside a withering old appliance store, leaning against the frame with his rifle slung loose over one shoulder. Ellie was a few steps away, arms crossed, leaning on her rifle like she was already bored.

Ellie—fucking Ellie. What was she doing here? Did nobody think? Did nobody use their goddamn heads? She hadn't even been down this path before. Kid was going to get herself killed.

Joel barely had time to process it before Tommy caught his movement. His brother tensed immediately, his hand twitching toward his gun, already halfway to raising it before recognition hit.

Joel threw up a hand. “Jesus Christ, Tommy, it’s me.”

Tommy exhaled sharply, lowering his rifle. “Son of a bitch—”

Joel didn’t let him finish. “The hell do you think you’re doin’?” His voice came out low and edged, riding the line between frustration and relief, still fueled by the panic that had been burning through his veins for the last two hours.

Tommy gave him a flat look. “Right now? ‘Bout to blow your goddamn head off.”

His pulse thundered, but he forced himself to keep steady. “You were goin’ off alone? Did you want to get your ass kicked?”

Tommy scoffed. “Toldja, not a tough job. In and out.” He tilted his head toward Ellie. “And I’m not alone. I’ve got the kid. And the whizkid.”

Ellie grumbled. “How am I still a...? Ugh.”

And as if Leela even counted as a backup. How the hell was she supposed to protect anything? What was she gonna do—build a goddamn time machine? Throw a wrench at danger? Jump in a fucking toolbox? She could hardly walk without wincing half the time, always too lost in her head, too quiet, too—

Joel exhaled hard, scrubbing a hand down his face before turning to Ellie. She barely acknowledged him, arms still crossed tight, scuffing her boot against the pavement like she was already tired of waiting.

He huffed, stepping over, and giving her shoulder a firm squeeze. Just checking. Just making sure. She was real, breathing, safe, alive.

“You alright, kiddo?”

Ellie rolled her eyes, glancing up at him. “Relax, old man. No one's dead yet.”

Joel's jaw ticked.

She jerked her chin toward the store. “Your girl’s back there. Still scrounging up stuff.”

Joel stalked forward without another word to her. The place within was dim, slats of dying afternoon light slanting through the busted-out windows, casting long, jagged shadows across rows of overturned shelves. The air reeked of stale plastic and mildew, and somewhere, a strip of metal dangled from the ceiling, creaking with the breeze.

He stepped past a shattered washing machine, careful with his footing, ears straining.

His fingers flexed around the stock of his rifle, irritation already flooding his focus. Stupid. This was so fucking stupid.

Leela was nowhere in sight. Just more and more metal shelves stripped bare, and the soft creak of something shifting toward the back.

He found her there—half-hidden behind the last row of shelves, grunting as she wrestled with the handle of a rusted cart already stacked high with shit he didn't know the names of—gears, belts, maybe the guts of an old dryer. Heavy-looking. Useless-looking.

Joel barely stopped himself from cursing out loud. “Jesus, darlin'.”

She glanced up then, catching sight of him, eyes flicking to the rifle still in his hands. He saw the brief tension in her shoulders, and the slight narrowing of her eyes, before he wordlessly slung the weapon back over his shoulder.

“Joel,” she greeted, a little surprised but didn’t care enough to show it.

Just Joel. As if he hadn’t spent the last two hours riding like a maniac through the woods, as if she hadn’t left Maya alone like she hadn’t done the most reckless, mind-numbingly foolish fucking thing she could’ve possibly done.

There were so many things he wanted to say. To lay into her, to yell, to cuss her out, to tell her what a fucking idiot she was.

For leaving Maya alone. For coming out here, unprepared, with Tommy of all people. For not thinking—despite whatever had happened between them—that she could have left the baby with him. Because that was how it worked. That was how relationships worked. Or would have worked. If they had ever thought to address what the fuck they were. Too friendly neighbours? Co-parents? A friend he really wanted to belong to for the rest of his life? Just two people who knew each other too well?

No, but she looked fine. Which would've been great if it didn't piss him off even more. As if she hadn’t made him lose his goddamn mind these past few hours.

His jaw ticked as his gaze flicked down, scanning her, frustration mounting as he catalogued every stupid decision she’d made today.

She’d put on a nice windbreaker—for once—yet she was completely underdressed for the trip. No flashlight strapped to her pack. No holster. No decent boots. And for the love of all that was holy—where the fuck were her pants?

She was in nothing but those annoying tiny shorts, legs all bared for the claws or teeth of a clicker, like she thought she was going out for a fucking morning stroll instead of a dangerous supply trip with Tommy.

Joel exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. Stupid, stupid girl.

And she was looking at him like she was waiting. Like she knew exactly what was coming.

Proving her right, he took a slow step forward. “Are you outta your goddamn mind?”

Leela didn’t flinch. She just looked back at him, even, hands tightening over the handle of the cart. “Didn’t realize I needed permission from you.”

“Ain’t about permission. It’s about sense.” His voice dropped lower, biting. “Somethin’ you seem to be lackin’.”

Leela didn’t rise to it. She never did. It seemed to be this ongoing habit of hers. She just let the words settle between them, let it fester, before she turned her focus back to the cart like she’d already decided he wasn’t worth arguing with.

And that? That made something in Joel snap.

“Y'know, you're always thinkin’, but you don’t think, do you?” His fingers twitched at his sides, curling into fists before he could reach for her, shake some goddamn sense into her. “You’re out here, in the middle of this—” He gestured vaguely at the abandoned town, at the dust, the dried blood smeared across the floor, the risk that was so apparent to him and not to her, “—and you don’t even have a fuckin’ gun on you.”

“I have a knife in my bag,” she defended, but with not as much fight.

Joel let out a sharp, bitter scoff. “Is that gonna do much good against a clicker? Maybe they’ll take a step back, let you go ‘cause you've got a real nice set of kitchen knives in your pack.”

Leela’s expression didn’t change. “But, Tommy has a gun.”

Joel let out a humourless breath. “And I guess everyone else has fuckin’ daisies.”

She shrugged. “Ellie has a gun, too.”

“Oh, ain’t that perfect?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, his chest rising and falling harder now. “So, what, you’re just trustin’ everyone else in the goddamned town to keep you alive? You think that’s how it works?”

Leela didn’t blink. Didn’t react. Just stared at him, quiet, unmoving, in that way that had always fucking unnerved him. She wouldn't fight back for him.

And that silence? That refusal to defend herself, to say anything, to at least try to justify the absolute recklessness of what she was doing—it only pissed him off more.

Because if she didn’t care, if she wasn’t afraid—then what was he even doing? Why did he even bother?

Joel threw his hands up, biting back the string of curses burning the back of his throat. His patience had already been worn thin, sanded down to raw edges.

“Fine,” he muttered, stepping away like he was physically forcing himself to let go. “Do whatever the hell you want. I'm done.”

She didn’t argue. Didn’t even flinch as he turned sharply on his heel, raking a hand through his hair, his pulse still thrashing out the remnants of his irritation.

She could've spared him a little fight. Snapped something cutting, something sharp enough to match the anger buzzing beneath his skin. But instead, she said quietly—

"I think that’s how trust works."

The words landed deep, right in the place where things stuck—where they burrowed and festered before he could shove them down.

It should’ve been just another one of her quiet, cryptic remarks. No, this felt undeniable.

That’s all she’d ever wanted from him, wasn’t it? From the beginning, it was for him to trust her. For her to trust him. To trust that she could handle herself. That she wasn’t this fragile, breakable thing that needed to be caged for safekeeping.

And him—he’d been too fucking blind in his own haze of anger and anxiety to see it.

Leela didn’t wait for him to say anything. She just turned, dragging the cart behind her, grating against the ageing floorboards with a long scrape. Moving forward, focused, methodical, searching.

Ignoring him completely.

Joel exhaled hard, grounding himself, still riding the tail end of his frustration. Because the worst part was that she was right. But he would never admit that.

A sudden, violent crack split the air. The sound of wood splintering. The groaning of something old, something giving way.

Joel’s stomach lurched. His head snapped up just in time to see the floor beneath her buckle, the rotted planks slumping under her weight. Her hands jolted out instinctively, fingers clawing at empty air, a piping scream tearing out her throat.

Then, nothing. She was gone.

“Leela—!” Joel surged forward, reaching before he could think—but it was too late.

The floor swallowed her whole, boards snapping shut like a broken jaw, dust curling up in thick, choking plumes. The sound of her landing—hard, jarring—hit his ears like a gut punch. Then came the whine of shifting debris. The scrape of metal. Her groan strained with effort.

That sound. A sick, inhuman clicking.

Joel’s pulse kicked like a gunshot. His muscles locked, his body firing forward on instinct before his mind could even catch up.

Fucking clicker. It was down there with her.

The thought sent a cold, ruthless and electric prickle ripping through his chest.

Joel barely had time to think. A screech echoed up from the basement, followed by the hysterical sound of struggle, of something heavy slamming into concrete.

He dropped to his stomach over the broken floorboards, rifle braced, eyes straining through the broken planks. His flashlight cut through the dust, the yellow beam sweeping frantically over crumbled furniture, cracked linoleum and rusted-out shelving.

Then the light found her.

Leela was on her back, breathing hard, limbs tangled in broken debris. And above her—

The clicker.

It was on her.

Face sickly split and scarred like some rotting flower from the overgrowth of Cordyceps. Snarling, yellowed teeth dripping, gnashing too close, pinning her down. Hands curled into claws, raking at her shoulders and throat, missing if not for Leela's battling strength. Its body convulsed, straining forward with desperate, single-minded hunger. To feed. To kill. To infect.

And she was holding it off. Barely.

“I got you, baby, I got you,” he whispered aloud, fists tight around his rifle, taking aim.

Joel’s trembling hands steadied, years of muscle memory overriding the blind panic gripping his chest, his heartbeat a rapid-fire hammer against his ribs. His thoughts narrowed into one singular focus: kill the fucker.

But he didn’t have a clean shot.

The clicker was thrashing, too close, too erratic, its face just inches from hers. One wrong move and—his stomach roiled at the thought.

"Hold it there!" he yelled.

Leela didn’t respond—only sucked in a breath and turned her head, her knee jerking up to slam into the thing’s gut, rearing it back an inch—just enough.

Joel fired.

The first shot grazed its shoulder, making it shriek.

The second and third shots went straight through its skull. The fourth one, although completely unnecessary, sparked off from his trigger.

The clicker went rigid, its movements stuttering like a puppet with its strings cut.

Then it slumped. Its deadweight crashed onto Leela, forcing the breath from her lungs in a sharp, strangled sound.

For a long second, Joel didn’t breathe. Didn’t move. His mind was still catching up, reeling from how fast it had happened. One second she was standing there, the next—she was nearly gone. Taken from him. He saw a flash of what could've been if he hadn't made that shot.

His hands were shaking.

Boots pounded against the floorboards behind him, but the sound barely registered until Tommy's voice cut through—sharp, urgent.

“The hell happened?”

“Where is she?” Ellie demanded, rifle raised.

Joel was already moving.

“I got her, I got her,” he ground out hoarsely, twice to himself, barely keeping up with the adrenaline roaring through him.

Without hesitation, he leapt straight down into the hole, landing hard on the basement floor, his knees taking the brunt of the impact. He came up, rifle-first, and his flashlight swept the space—shadows stretching long against the damp walls, old shelves lining the perimeter, nothing but silence now.

Leela had already pushed the dead clicker off her, chest rising and falling too fast, breath coming in sharp inhales, hands clenched into her shirt collar, shoulders drawn tight. She hadn't moved beyond that.

Joel was on her in an instant, pushing her hair out of the way. “I'm here. You're okay.”

But the moment his hands found her skin—

She screamed.

It wasn’t just fear or panic. It was an impulse. It was raw, broken, blood-curdling, a sound that clawed its way out of her throat like she was being torn apart.

She thrashed against him, full-bodied, desperate, her hands flying up, kicking him off, shoving at his chest, nails catching against the rough fabric of his jacket. She was fighting with everything she had, body twisting, gasping through sobs, her strength fueled by something deep and unconscious.

"No—no, please, please—stop!"

Joel flinched.

Not at the force of it. Not at the hit.

At the sound. At the way she said it. Like she wasn’t here. Like she wasn’t seeing him. Like she was still down there in the dark, with that fucking thing clawing at her.

It hit somewhere he didn’t have words for, someplace that made his stomach twist and his ribs squeeze tight.

Because she wasn’t just afraid.

She didn’t recognize him. For a second—a heartbreaking second—he was just another set of hands on her, just another force holding her down, just another compulsion, and the thought of that—of her looking at him and not knowing him—it fucking gutted him.

But he didn’t let go.

“Hey,” he coaxed, his grip firm but cautious, hands bracing her shoulders, keeping her still, not trapping her, just holding on. “It’s me.”

She was still fighting him. Still gasping. Still somewhere else.

His hands moved—one sliding up, cupping her face, fingers pressing into her skin, desperate, grounding, his thumb stroking over her cheek like he could physically pull her back.

"Just look at me," he murmured, voice softer now, voice wrecked.

Her body was still trembling beneath his hands, her muscles locked tight, her pulse battering out a frantic rhythm beneath his fingertips.

And it hurt like shit. Hurt to see her like this, to know that she was still drowning in what he couldn't touch, that she was still lost, still bracing for a fight that was already over.

So he did the only thing he could.

He took her hand. Brought it to his shivering lips. Pressed a kiss into her palm, firm, warm, real.

“It’s me,” he urged.

Her breath hitched. Her fingers twitched against his skin. Her vision cleared. Then she saw him. Finally saw him, those brown eyes focusing.

And in that split second, her body wilted against his. The fight drained from her like water slipping through open hands, leaving only exhaustion, only relief, only the sharp, shaking remnants of fear still rattling in her chest.

Her lips parted, and a single, barely-there whisper fell from them—

“Joel?”

Joel exhaled, like he'd been holding his breath this whole time. Like the air had been punched out of his lungs.

“Yeah, baby,” he murmured, his thumb stroking over her cheek, over the damp trail left behind by her tears. Her pulse was still too fast, still too frenzied beneath his fingertips, and that tightness in his coiled harder.

He wanted to tell her she was safe. That it was over. That she was alright. But his voice was too fucking broken to say any of it.

He swallowed hard, still fighting the residual panic gripping his chest. He had to see. He had to know.

“Let me see,” he rasped, his hands already moving, frantic, fierce. “I have to see if...”

His fingers swiped up her sleeves and lapels, moving too fast, running over her arms, his mind slating every inch of skin, checking, counting. No bites. No scratches. No bleeding.

Down her sides. Down her shoulders and neck. Down her thighs. Down her calves—and his stomach dropped.

“Oh, Christ.” The words left him in a breathless rasp, barely there.

At the back of her calf—a deep, glistening wound. Blood ran in a slow, damning trickle down into her shoe.

Joel's inhale caught in his throat. The edges of his vision blurred. His ears started to ring.

No. No, no, no—not like this. Not now. Not her.

His hands loomed over it, useless, fingers twitching, unable to touch, unable to breathe.

The panic surged like wildfire, like an explosion inside his chest, riving through every thought, every shred of calm, reducing everything to one singular, burning horror.

This couldn’t be happening. What could he do? He couldn't stop this. No, this was beyond him. His mind scrambled, flipping through every second of the fight, anguished, reckless, trying to remember—had the thing bitten her? Had it broken skin? Had it—

His pulse roared in his ears, hammering so loud it drowned out everything else.

He was losing her.

His throat closed up. His fingers curled into fists.

He was losing her. He was losing her. He was losing her.

Again, and again, and again.

His vision tunnelled, narrowed down to the blood, to that slow, seeping trickle, red against her skin, a death sentence in real time. He swiped his thumb over the wound, barely thinking, breathing, hoping maybe it'll sicken him too, because he couldn't take another blow, another fight—

And—his finger nudged something hard. Not a claw mark. Not torn flesh. Not infection.

A splinter.

A sharp piece of wood, lodged deep under the broken skin.

Leela flinched, hissing in pain. “Ow.”

His entire world tilted, cracked, and realigned itself in the space of a heartbeat.

And then—he crashed. His whole body sagged, the relief so brutal, so fucking absolute, it nearly knocked him flat. His head dropped forward, breaths rattling back into him, shaking, breaking.

“You're fine. You're okay.”

It hit him so hard, he felt dizzy. Like he’d been standing at the edge of a cliff, ready to fall—and suddenly, somehow, he was back on solid ground.

His hands found her again, gripping her tight, pulling her into him, pulling her against him because he needed to feel it, needed to know she was here.

He pressed her face into his neck, arms locked around her, one palming her head, the other over the edge of her braid, holding on like his body was still catching up to what his brain knew now—that she was okay. That she was still here. That she was still his.

His heart was still hammering, still pounding out a brutal rhythm against his ribs, his breath coming fast, too hard, too jagged. All he could think about was how much he lived for this girl, that he couldn't take another step forward without her, that he'd lose all purpose in this damned world.

He turned his face into her hair, pressing a kiss there, desperate, lingering. He pushed his lips wherever he could reach; eyes, temple, ears, jaw; it didn't matter. As long he could convince himself she was real.

"You stay with me," he whispered, voice muffled into her hair. "You stay."

She didn’t have to say anything back. She just clung to him, hard, her fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, her breath still sharp, still ragged, still too goddamn close to slipping away from him.

After a long moment, she pulled away, a little more than uneasy, her hands shaking as she swiped roughly at her eyes, breath uneven, fingers bruised, arms bruised, skin mottled in dark, ugly shades.

Joel saw it all. The marks. How badly she was still trembling. How she still hadn’t fully caught her breath. And something inside him cracked—deep, marrow-deep, where all the old wounds lived.

He couldn’t lose her. Not ever.

Clenching his jaw, he reached behind her way too roughly, into her pack, shuffling things around until he felt it.

He found the knife. And pressed it into her hands, firm, insistent.

"Knife in your hands," he said, voice gruff, still rigid, still devastated. "Not your pack, you hear me?"

Leela nodded shakily, fingers closing around the handle.

And Joel just sat there for a moment, staring at her, still feeling the phantom panic in his veins, still trying to convince himself that she was okay.

That she was here. That he hadn’t lost her.

Tommy wasn’t buying it.

And it pissed Joel off. Piled onto the other—what? Five? Six? A dozen? He’d lost count—things already on his shitlist.

Still, he kept his distance. Kept Ellie back, too, for no reason, discounting the fact that she was immune.

Leela dragged the overflowing cart forward on the dead street, limping slowly. The old thing rattled, wheels stuttering over cracks in the pavement. Every so often, she’d stop—digging through rusted-out trucks, popping the hoods of long-dead cars, arms trembling as she reached in, feeling around for parts.

The afternoon sun beat down on them like a long-suffering punishment. It baked the asphalt and turned the air stuffy and dry. She was struggling. Joel could see it—the slack in her shoulders, the sluggish, tired way she moved, the way the limp in her step was getting worse. She was running on fumes.

He’d managed to pull the splinter from her calf, and cauterized the wound with the searing end of the rifle barrel, just in case. She’d cringed hard, let out a yelp, and gone stiff beneath his hands, but she hadn’t cried. Hadn’t fought him on it. Hadn’t even looked at him afterwards.

He’d bound it up tight with a strip of his flannel, close and snug. And that was that.

But fucking Tommy was still keeping his distance.

Joel glanced over his shoulder, scowling as his brother trailed behind her, still gripping his rifle like he was waiting for the worst. At least ten paces back. Observing for twitches. He wasn't wrong for being cautious, but Leela was seeing it, feeling it, how she was being treated like an inconvenience.

Ellie clucked her tongue from beside him, shifting uncomfortably. “You're such a cruel bitch, man,” she muttered. “She’s probably fine.”

“Probably ain’t good enough,” Tommy answered flatly. “Not takin’ any chances.”

Joel clenched his jaw, tension winding tight in his chest. Since when was his brother, the ex-Firefly, the bleeding heart, suddenly such a cynic?

“Joel?” Ellie shot him a look, voice careful, hesitant. A little afraid to ask. “It wasn’t a bite, right?”

His patience splintered as he bit out through his teeth, addressing his brother instead. “If I say it one more time, Tommy, it’ll be after I break your goddamn rib.”

Tommy scoffed, shaking his head. “Hey, don’t blame the messenger.”

Joel didn’t bother with a response—just slammed his shoulder hard into Tommy’s as he passed, enough to make his brother stumble, grumbling under his breath. Thought it would make him feel better, but surprise, surprise; he should've just tripped the son of a bitch on his ass.

He didn’t care. Not about Tommy’s paranoia, about the way he was still watching Leela like she was a loaded gun with a faulty trigger. It made Joel feel like shit.

Now, he refused to believe in a lot of things, but he believed in his own eyes. And his eyes told him she was not infected.

So he strode ahead, sifting into his pack, and digging out his water bottle. Hadn’t refilled it in two days, but she needed it more than he did.

He reached her side, matching her pace. “Have some,” he said, holding it out.

Leela didn’t look at him. Kept walking.

Joel ground his teeth, his grip on the bottle tightening. “Drink.” His tone brooked no arguments.

She sighed, glancing at him sideways, eyes dull, vacant. “What if I’m infected?”

Joel nearly stopped in his tracks. “You’re not infected,” he muttered, exasperated. “There's no sign.”

She let out a breath, shaking her head. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

Her voice was thin. She pressed the heel of her palm into her forehead, hard, like she could grind the thought out of her skull. Punish herself with it.

“You were right, Joel. I’m always thinking—but it’s never about the right things. Maya, my research, my home... this is all on me.”

Joel frowned, something uneasy twisting in his gut. "Look, what I said earlier—how I—”

"I don’t care anymore,” she cut in, her voice barely above a whisper. “I deserved that.”

Joel felt that like a gun wound with no clean exit. She said it like a fact like she'd decided this. Could she not stop being so goddamn awful to herself for two seconds? Maybe not lay a bad trip on herself every time something went south?

His grip on the water bottle tightened. He took a breath and fought for patience.

"You didn't deserve shit." His voice was lower now, rough around the edges. "You fought your ass off, and you’re still here. You survived. That’s it. End of story, movin' on."

She didn’t answer. Didn’t look at him.

Joel hated this. Hated watching her walk like that, shoulders hunched, eyes distant, like she was already halfway gone.

Like she wasn’t even trying to hold herself together anymore.

He shoved the water bottle toward her again. “Drink the goddamn water.”

Joel watched as she took the water bottle, hesitating for just a second.

Then she raised it to her lips and gulped down what was left, fast, like she hadn’t realized how thirsty she was until now. Water spilled from the corner of her mouth, slipping down her chin, but she didn’t bother wiping it away. Just drank until the bottle was empty until she had to stop and take a breath.

Joel let her have that moment. Then he took the cart handle from her grasp and took the load off her. Leela didn’t argue. Just fell in beside him, silent, exhausted.

It was just then that Ellie's complaints started up. When Ellie's grousings about 'severe FEDRA-level slavery,' got on his nerves, Tommy finally threw up his hands and called for a break.

They stopped at the next street corner, gathering under the shade of a souvenir shop. Tommy passed out rations—peanut butter sandwiches from Jackson, stale at the edges but still good enough. Ellie tore into hers immediately, swinging her boots where she perched on the ledge of the broken storefront window, crumbs scattering at her feet.

Joel didn’t even have to look at Leela to know what was coming. She hesitated, turned the sandwich over in her hands, once, twice—like she was waiting for some spark of appetite that never came.

"I’m not hungry," Leela muttered, setting the sandwich beside her knee before pushing herself up.

Joel watched as she stepped away, moving toward the shop entrance like she was just stretching her legs like she hadn’t been looking for some rest since they sat down.

He sighed and let her go.

Ellie frowned, still chewing. She glanced at the sandwich Leela left behind, then at Joel. "She eat anything today?"

Joel shook his head once. "I don't think so."

Ellie sighed. Then she dusted off her hands and hopped down from the ledge, following after her.

By the time Ellie caught up, Leela was already inside, wandering between toppled racks and glass cases that had long since been looted. Her fingers trailed over warped magazines and stacks of yellowed postcards, her touch too soft, like she was afraid anything more would make them crumble.

Ellie grabbed a few postcards from a rusted wire display, flipping through them. Bright colours, frozen places—little glimpses of a world that didn’t exist anymore.

"Hey," Ellie said, nudging one toward Leela. "What about this? Looks so cool."

Leela blinked like she was only just realizing Ellie was there. She glanced down. A postcard—a sun-soaked coast, palm trees stretching lazily over white sand. Probably reminded her of her before home, her lip twitching up a little.

Leela flipped it over, scanning the faded text. “Mallorca.”

“You been there?”

A pause. And then, a small nod.

Ellie plucked another—this one softer, the colours faded from time, the name written in neat cursive along the bottom. “An...ti...bees. Anti-bees. Never even heard of that.”

Leela didn’t even glance at it, and nodded again. “Antibes. France. Been there, too.”

Ellie studied her, then stuffed the postcards into her jacket. "Shit. You’ve been everywhere. Awesome."

Leela didn’t say anything or smile back. Didn’t brag, the way Ellie probably wanted her to. She continued to flip through the postcards like they were meaningless. Like they weren’t memories at all.

Joel exhaled, rubbing a hand over his beard, his eyes never leaving her. She looked so small in there. As if she could’ve been just another part of the abandoned store—one more thing left behind.

“Joel.” Tommy’s voice cut through his observation, low and careful.

Joel barely glanced at him. Just kept chewing through the sandwich Leela had given him, eyes still on the store.

Tommy hesitated. “What’s the plan if she turns?”

Joel stopped chewing. The words landed like a slow knife to the ribs. He wanted to put a hole through that window just listening to it.

He swallowed, rolling his jaw. “I said she ain’t gonna turn.”

“I know, but—” Tommy exhaled, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Look, I believe you. But I gotta ask, ‘cause if you’re wrong—”

Joel turned to face him fully now, expression hard as stone. Seething. “Tommy.”

“Would you shoot her?” Tommy asked, blunt.

Joel barely chewed his last bite. The bread felt dry in his mouth, sticking to the roof of his mouth like dust, but he swallowed it down anyway, his eyes locked on the store where Leela was standing, a little more life in her eyes as Ellie attempted to cheer her up with her endless supply of puns.

Tommy’s question still stuttered his mind. Would he shoot her? Could he shoot her?

Joel wanted to say yes. He wanted to say he wouldn’t hesitate, that if she turned, he’d do what had to be done. That’s what he was good at, wasn’t it? Putting things down when they needed to be. Bear the brunt of the hard decisions.

But the words didn’t come.

Instead, his mind raced ahead of him, flashing through all the things he didn’t want to see. Leela, breathing hard. Weeping. Pleading with him. He could hear it now, could picture it like it was real like it had already happened. Her voice breaking. That sharp, desperate shake of her head. Those big, dark eyes, utterly empty this time, hollow, her veins crawling black, twitching.

Please, Joel. I don't want to die. Would she fight him? Would she try to run? Would she make him do it?

Or worse—would she accept it? Would she nod, take one last breath, close her eyes and wait for the bullet?

His stomach turned. He knew Leela, even at times like this. She’d make it easy for him. She wouldn’t beg. Wouldn’t run. Wouldn’t force him to wrestle her to the ground. She’d just—let it happen. Face his rifle head-on. Make it quick, Joel. I don't want to feel a thing. And that thought was worse than anything.

Joel exhaled slowly, rubbing at the knot forming between his brows.

But it didn’t stop there. Because then came the next part.

Maya. God, Maya.

His throat tightened, his chest constricting at the thought of her alone in that house, waking up hungry, crying, waiting for a mother who was never coming back. Waiting for Leela.

If she was gone—if Joel let that happen—what happened to her daughter?

Would he just hand her off to Maria without a second thought, because her mother's murderer couldn't touch a hair on that sweet head without tainting it? Or would he do it himself anyway, raise her, love her, stay with her in that big white house, tell her about a mother she’d never remember if only through pictures?

Joel inhaled sharply, cutting that thought off at the root. He couldn’t go there. Couldn’t let his mind wander any further down that road.

His hand flexed where it rested on his knee, fingers twitching to his pant pocket where the imprint of the little button embossed on his thigh, the one that Maya had picked off the street last night and passed to him with that soul-crushing, gummy grin of hers.

The answer should’ve been easy.

It should’ve been an immediate yes. He should’ve said it by now.

How could he go back to being the man he'd been desperately trying to outrun? He wasn’t one to pull the trigger just because something looked bad anymore.

Because he knew better. Knew what it meant to lose. Knew what it meant to take. And the sheer fucking burden of it didn’t sit right on his soul.

Joel sighed, fiercely shaking his head. “We’re not havin’ this conversation.”

Tommy didn’t push, but Joel could feel him watching. Waiting.

And Joel hated it. The doubt, the uncertainty, the way it stuck to him like blood on his hands. Because the truth was—If it came to that, if she was turning, if there was no saving her—Joel wasn’t sure he could do it.

By the time they reached the lake, the more relaxing route toward Jackson, the day had worn them all thin. Relief was sweet, to Leela more than the others.

They deserved this breathing spell, maybe that's why Tommy took this trail. It had been miles of hot sun, dry wind, and half-dead exhaustion that hardened into the bones. Too many things had happened—too many conversations left half-finished, too many wounds, seen and unseen, still bleeding under the surface.

But here the air was clean, touched with crisp pine and cold water. The lake stretched out wide before them, the mountains cradling it like a secret, their peaks softened by the golden evening light. The cabins stood quiet among the trees, their wood dark with time, their windows empty.

Joel slowed his horse, taking a breath, letting his shoulders drop just a little.

He imagined Maya here, toddling in the shallows, barefoot and giggling, a little bucket hat over her feathery curls, stuffing her tiny fists with pebbles and leaving baby footprints in the wet mud. Happy. Safe. With her parents. The kind of afternoon that should’ve been normal for her.

He missed her. Too, too much. He absently rubbed the button at his pocket, bearing a small smile. Had it been really been the whole day? He couldn't wait to get back home, have her breathe out that panting, hitchy breath of laughter as she came wobbling for him.

Still, it was nice here. Peaceful. And for a second, it felt like they weren’t running.

He glanced over at Leela.

She was staring straight ahead at the lake’s smooth, glassy surface, her fingers slack around the reins of her horse. Not moving, not speaking, just looking.

“Actually kinda pretty, ain't it?” he murmured.

She only let out a quiet breath.

“Yeah,” she said eventually, voice barely above the hush of the wind.

He studied her for a moment—the way she looked at the lake without really seeing it, the way her voice didn’t match the lightness of her words.

She was doing that awful thing again. Reaching for something just out of her grasp. Trying to picture something that wouldn’t come.

Joel sighed and swung off his horse, moving toward hers. He took the reins, steadying the animal before tilting his head up at her.

“Go on, then.” He nodded toward the water. “Let your hair down for a bit. We're close to town anyway.”

She shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. “I'm good.”

“Now, darlin’—”

“Joel.” He heard it then—the edge to her voice. The exhaustion. “I'm not in the mood. Just go.”

Joel clenched his jaw till something popped. He didn’t let the disappointment show and didn’t press the issue. He knew better.

Just nodded once and turned away, walking toward where Tommy and Ellie stood by the lake, rolling out the tension from the day.

The breeze cooled off the water, lifting the heat that had weighed heavy on them. But Joel still burned not just from the sun, but from something else, a displaced load in his chest. He needed quiet.

He let himself wander, boots moving on their own past the cabins. The dirt was loose beneath him, old pine needles crunching, the scent of damp earth dense in the cooling evening. The distant rustle of birds carried over the water, but Joel barely heard it.

He was still too full of her voice. The way it wavered. The way she looked at him, absolutely devastated, before she had sighed.

He willed himself to focus on something else. Just the ground beneath him. Just the sky above him. Just breathe in, breathe out.

Until he saw it. He had to do a double-take, just to make sure he wasn't seeing stuff.

A cabin, the same size as the others, but this one—

This one was burned to hell. The entire thing had been gutted—charred black, the roof caved in, the porch sagging on its last, miserable legs. Windows blown out, the edges jagged with soot. The wood still smelled like it had burned recently, that sick, acrid stench of an electrical fire curling up in the back of his throat.

Joel stopped.

His muscles coiled tight, readied, breath slowing as he scanned the surrounding area.

The other cabins were untouched, not a mark on them. But this one had been burned down to the skeleton.

Something about it didn't sit right.

Slowly, Joel turned his head, looking over his shoulder. Ellie and Tommy were still by the lake, too far away, Ellie skipping rocks, Tommy saying something, hands moving as he talked. Leela was out of sight, hidden by the cover of trees and cabins.

Joel returned to the cabin in the spirit of inquiry, stepping onto what was left of the porch. The boards creaked, soft under his weight, and when he pushed open what remained of the door, the smell hit him like a gut punch—smoke, damp ash, something rotted.

The fire had torn through the inside just as bad as the outside. Everything was gone.

The walls were scorched, furniture reduced to blackened skeletons, and the mattress was little more than charcoal and wire. The space had been stripped of warmth, of life, reduced to nothing but ruin.

“Jesus.” The word barely left his lips before he saw them.

Two bodies.

Scorched. Twisted. Unrecognizable. Stilled in the exact positions they had died. One was closer to the bed, curled inward like they’d been trying to protect themselves from the heat. The other sprawled nearer to the door, obviously in an attempt to escape.

Joel knew that stance. He’d seen it before. Run and burn.

The uniform was barely there—scorched black, peeled away in places, but the collar remained intact enough to tell the story.

He crouched, eyes tracking across the floor, the details unravelling themselves in layers. Former FEDRA, probably. Runaways. Recently turned raiders. Even through the charring, he recognized the insignia on the camo-green collar.

Joel nudged what remained of the skull with his boot, the brittle bone breaking apart, collapsing inward like a dry leaf.

“Probably fuckin’ deserved it,” he muttered. But it didn’t bring him any comfort.

Something was off.

This wasn’t a FEDRA outpost. Wasn’t a checkpoint, a patrol route, or a resupply station. The room was too small, too personal. The furniture—what was left of it—wasn’t a regulation. The scattered remains weren’t military-grade. Yet, the whole place stank of it. Tyranny. Wealth. Power. Drugs. Rot.

Joel’s eyes roved over the wreckage. The fire hadn’t taken everything, though.

There, right by the bed—melted plastic, warped glass. Empty pill bottles and liquor containers. Loose zip locks, some of them still filled with white powder Joel used to begrudgingly peddle back in Boston. Ration packs from the QZ were torn open, contents spilling out like someone had been too impatient to open them properly.

It wasn’t a checkpoint.

It was a hideout. They must’ve holed up here for a while, waiting something out.

His gaze caught on a backpack, half-buried in the charred remains, its contents spilt out like someone had gone through it in a hurry. Charred clothes, a lighter, a flashlight, and utensils.

And a shoe. Small. A size too slight for a man’s foot. The soft leathery edges curled and blackened, but the tag inside was just barely readable beneath the soot.

Joel bent, brushing his thumb over it, knocking away the ash. The letters beneath made him snort. Some fancy Italian brand. Expensive. His mind flicked back—Leela’s house, her endless closets, neatly lined with shoes that didn’t belong in this world.

No wonder. It finally made sense for rich assholes to like places like this. They came out to the middle of nowhere to fuck around, get high, waste their shit on things that didn't matter.

Joel tossed the shoe aside and straightened, moving deeper into the wreckage. His hands brushed the charred edges of furniture, fingertips finding the brittle remnants of things that had once meant comfort—pillows turned to dust, a mirror warped in the heat, a chair crumpled inward.

Then he saw the rifle.

He smirked, his lucky day. Sure, it was smaller than his, the wood stained dark, almost black beneath the soot. Sturdy, thirty calibre, American-made, definitely not the kind of rifle you wouldn't see a FEDRA soldier have. It had been tossed aside near the backpack like someone had discarded it in a hurry.

He knelt, running his palm over the stock, feeling the grit of ash give way to smooth wood. The engraving beneath was faint, hidden in the dark, but as he brushed away the dust, it came through—delicate but unmistakable.

Cherries.

Joel heaved out a breath. His fingers stilled over the engraving, his pulse hammering against his ribs. A tiny mark, burned beneath layers of soot, was almost innocuous.

But he’d seen this before.

A different rifle. A different home.

A cowboy hat. A sunflower. A cherry.

The third missing rifle. One for each member of the family.

His stomach clenched. He could see them in his eyes—lined up in Leela’s living room, the weapons she never used, never even acknowledged. The ones that were hers but weren’t hers. Polished. Preserved. Like artefacts. Like gravestones.

His throat went tight, air pushing through his nose in a sharp, uneven breath. And all at once, his body knew before his mind could catch up.

Someone had been here. Not passing through. Not scavenging.

She had been kept here.

Joel’s body locked up, a sick load clinching in his gut as his gaze swept the room again—now searching, understanding.

The mattress—charred down to its skeleton, coiled metal peeking through, the last stubborn remnants of sheets melted into the frame.

The belt.

His vision sharpened. The straps melted into the mattress frame. The scorched edge of a leather belt, its buckle twisted from heat. The dark stains, layered beneath the soot, soaked deep into the wood. A clean through the knot.

Someone had fought like hell.

Joel exhaled through his teeth, his knuckles whitening where they curled at his sides.

His brain was putting it together faster than he wanted it to.

The burned clothes in the corner—ripped at odd angles, tossed aside like garbage.

The splintered chair—one leg broken, shards of wood scattered like someone had slammed it against the floor, against a body.

The walls—scuffed, handprints smeared past the soot, the echo of someone pushing away, fighting, failing.

That sinking feeling became madness, nausea heaving through him.

On the floor—long, thin, small. A black hair ribbon. Burned at the edges, and melted in places, but the middle of it was untouched. Still soft. Still delicate. Still, something that had once belonged to a girl. He'd seen Leela use it on her braids hundreds of times.

Joel’s breathing went ragged. His pulse pounded in his ears.

It felt like poison in his veins, the slow drip of information into his head.

The way she always kept her back to the wall. The way she flinched—not much, just barely—but enough, whenever someone moved too fast, whenever a shadow crossed her path the wrong way. The way she never talked about before Maya. Maya, god, Maya.

His chest squeezed, he had to press his palm just to make sure he wasn't about to pass out. His jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it.

The fire had tried to erase it. But it hadn’t.

The proof was here, in the remains. The belt. The bedframe. The ribbon. The rifle.

Joel turned back, his gaze landing on the scorched, skeletal remains near the door. His stomach twisted, white-hot rage flickering through the nausea.

He looked at them, looked at what was left of them, and felt nothing. No pity. No hesitation. No misery.

Whoever had done this—whoever had burned this place down, made sure it would never stand again—they had done the world a fucking favour.

He could see it then.

He didn’t want to, but his mind pulled it forward anyway, like a dark thing rising from deep water, clawing its way into the light.

The mattress sagging under the force of bodies. The fight. The struggle. The burn of restraints against soft wrists, the sharp crack of something breaking—bone, furniture, someone’s resolve. The walls shaking from the force of it. The air stifling, sultry with sweat, with smoke, with the stench of men who took what they wanted, heady from a trip, and left behind the wreckage.

When the screams began, his gut twisted, nausea kicking up sharp and fast.

Joel jerked back, sucking in a breath like he’d been underwater too long. His stomach lurched.

No.

Joel swallowed hard, his mouth tasting of ash and bile. He got the hell out of there, boots scraping over scorched wood, his breath coming too fast, too uneven. His pulse roared against his skull, his stomach rolling, his whole body burning like he’d swallowed the poison of this place whole.

He turned, pushing through the ruined doorway, shoving out into the evening air.

The scent of fire clung to him. Smoke. Rot. The sounds.

He braced his hands against his thighs, head ducking down, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.

Breathe, he told himself. Forget it. Breathe.

But it wasn’t working.

The memories weren’t his, but they were in him now, crawling under his skin, working their way into the deepest crevices of his mind.

Joel had seen a lot of evil in his life. But this—this was something else. Worse. Something he should’ve never learned. And for the first time in a long time, he wished he had stayed the hell out of it.

So, he kept walking. Didn't look back. Fast at first, then faster.

The burned cabin shrank behind him, but its looming presence didn’t. It clung to his skin, sank into the seams of his clothes, and resigned heavy and dark in his lungs.

His boots pressed deep into the dirt, kicking up dust, dry pine needles snapping underfoot. He didn’t care where he was going, only that he was putting distance between himself and that place—that stain.

But the rifle was still in his hands.

His fingers tightened around it, feeling the soot, the grit, the filth of it digging into his palms, burning like it was branding him. He wanted to throw it. Wanted to drop it, bury it, let it disappear into the weeds, let the earth swallow it whole.

But instead, he kept walking.

Until the sound of laughter struck him. Soft, rolling over the water, tangled in the breeze. It shouldn’t have hit him so hard.

Joel’s head snapped up, breaths still ragged.

Ellie and Tommy stood too close together by the shore, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, swaying, singing—loud, off-key, godawful. The words didn’t even register at first, just noise. Just a sharp, jarring thing that dragged him back into the present too fast.

And then he caught it. The song. Total Eclipse of the Heart.

Jesus.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, and everything felt too abrupt. Disorienting. His mind is still stuck in that cabin, hearing things long gone, breathing smoke that was long gone.

He didn’t know what the hell he was expecting—maybe for the world to still feel like it was on fire. Like he was.

But here they were. Laughing. Singing. Having a great time. Like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t just clawed his way out of hell. His grip tightened on the rifle.

His gaze cut past them—to her.

Leela was still on her horse, watching them, shaking her head. Her shoulders had relaxed, the tension she had carried through the day bleeding away like it had never been there.

And then, suddenly—she smiled. It was small, barely there, but real. The kind of smile that sneaks up on a person, that slips past the cracks before they even realize it’s happened. Her head dipped like she was trying to fight it, but the corners of her mouth curled up anyway. Her lashes fluttered, shoulders trembling from quiet laughter.

Like nothing had happened. As if she hadn’t been here before at all. As if she hadn’t been trapped in that place, in that nightmare, in a past she never dared to utter aloud.

Like he hadn’t just seen the wreckage of it with his own two eyes.

Something crawled up his throat, hot and mean. A sick, twisting thing. That part of him wants to put it in Leela’s hands, make her understand what he now knows. To bring it all back despite that being his last intention.

Maybe Leela really had no idea. Maybe she didn’t remember. Maybe that goddamn fog—the one she was always lost in—had swallowed it whole. Spared her.

Mercy on her mind. Whatever void above was repaying her compassion. Or maybe she’d chosen to forget. Decided to ignore it. Or maybe the pain of remembering all the horror inflicted made her lose sight of where it happened. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

Either way, Joel didn’t have the fucking right to take that from her.

His fingers uncurled from the rifle’s stock. That nausea crept back in, a slow, curling sickness that seeped into his bones.

His knuckles ached. He hadn’t realized how tight he’d been holding it—like it was the only thing keeping him upright, like it had latched onto him, burned into his skin, clung to him like a brand. It wouldn’t let go until he did.

His gaze dropped to the wood. Soot. Grime. Filth. The feel of it in his hands was unbearable. It sat there, heavy and wrong, its history seeping through his fingers like a sickness.

And there, beneath all the muck—the cherry. Easy. Innocent. A goddamn lie.

Joel swallowed thickly. His pulse pounded against his skull, a deep, insistent throb. He didn’t want to think about what it meant.

Simply let the rifle slip from his fingers. It fell soundlessly into the brush, swallowed by the dark, and disappeared into the damp earth. Gone.

His feet moved forth before his brain caught up. The path blurred beneath him, his boots scuffing against the earth as he veered off, crouching low, hands skimming the damp ground.

He needed—something. Anything to pull himself back, to ground him, to wipe the feeling of fire and metal from his hands. Though, the practical part of his head shouted, asking, what the fuck he was doing.

His fingers brushed against something soft.

A flower. Small. Wild. Purple. Delicate. Whole. Untouched.

It didn’t belong here, in the filth, in the destruction, in the wake of something so goddamn ugly. And yet—here it was. Sharing its likeness to someone he knew.

Joel plucked it without thinking.

And then he was walking again, his boots moving steady, purposive, toward her.

Leela turned when she noticed him walking toward her, her head tilting just slightly, dark eyes flicking up to meet his. A question there. A quiet curiosity.

Joel didn’t say anything. He just held out the flower.

She blinked. First at him, then at his hand.

Her lips parted. The warmth in her expression softened, deepened. For a second, she just looked at him, searching his face, like she was trying to understand something he wasn’t saying.

And then—her smile widened.

Not much. Just a small curve of her lips. But real. Honest. Breaking his miserable heart with that smile that was spoken for in his name.

She reached for it, took it carefully from his fingers, rolling it between the pads of her fingertips for a moment. Then, with the same careful precision, she slid it into her hair, tucking it near her neck. That violet bloomed against her like it belonged.

“Thank you, Joel,” she murmured.

Joel swallowed everything that burned in his throat and shoved it down where it would snuff out sooner or later. He simply managed a nod.

Then he turned, clearing his throat, his voice coming gruff, unduly commanding. “Right, let's move. C'mon.”

Ellie and Tommy groaned, dragging their feet, still laughing, still complaining, still alive.

But Joel was already looking ahead, hands loose at his sides.

He didn’t glance back at the rifle. Didn’t check to see if it had sunk into the brush, lost beneath the undergrowth.

Let it be buried.

Let it stay gone.

The big white house welcomed them back like an old friend, its porch light casting a soft glow over the worn steps.

Joel barely had a second to register the warmth of it before Maya came stumbling toward them, bounding forward, her small legs rushing too fast for her body. She tripped, fell to her knees, and then—“Ma-ma!”

Leela was already there. She caught her before she could hit the ground, pulling her into her arms, holding her tight, like she never wanted to let go.

Joel sighed, sucking a deep breath in. All the warmth of the lights, the faint hint of grease from the basement, the herbs from the kitchen, the white curtains snapping away in the breeze. This was what coming home was supposed to feel like.

Leela clutched her daughter to her chest, her face buried in the dark curls, inhaling deep like she could breathe her in. A shuddering exhale left her, like she’d been holding it in since the moment she left this house.

She had faced death today. And now, she was holding her life in her arms.

“Did you miss me?” she murmured to Maya, oh-so-tender. She smoothed a hand over Maya’s back and scratched gently at her belly. “Yeah? You did?”

Maya giggled, squirming in her mother’s hold.

Leela kissed her temple, her forehead, her small, chubby hands. “I missed you, too, baby girl. Mama missed you so much.”

He had seen Leela exhausted when she was with their baby girl. Distant. Detached. He had seen her shut down, her voice hollow, her eyes unfocused, like she had learned how to live in a way that kept her just outside of it.

But this—right now. She was here. Completely in Maya's orbit.

Maya pulled back slightly, tilting her head at her mother with that childish wonder, watching her closely like she was searching for something—measuring the movement of her lips, the sound of her words.

With slow, wary fingers, she touched Leela’s mouth. She wasn’t just hearing her mother’s words. She was holding them. Keeping them safe. Then, just as slowly, she brought her hand to her own lips.

Joel’s lips coiled upwards. Another trick that Leela had taught her. A way to say 'I love you'. Little smartass was catching on pretty quick.

Leela let out a soft laugh, her nose stroking against Maya’s. “I love you, too.”

He turned away. This moment—it didn’t belong to him. He felt like a trespasser like he had stepped into something too soft, too sacred for his presence. For the first time in a long time, he felt out of place in this big house.

Maria seemed to notice. She rested a hand on his back, voice quiet. “You okay, Miller?”

Joel exhaled through his nose and lied. “Fine.”

Maria didn’t push it, but her hand lingered for a second longer before she stepped away. “You owe me for that shit you pulled today. Nearly cost me a horse.” And when Joel shot her a no-bullshit glance, she added, “And a stupid fuckin' brother-in-law. Whatever.”

Joel nodded, impressed. “Naturally.”

She snorted, shaking her head as she walked out.

Joel followed her to the door, pack still slung over his shoulder. His hand landed on it, ready to push it closed—but his gaze drifted past the porch, past the quiet street, to the house across from him. His home.

He definitely should go. He should walk out, shut the door behind him, and put some distance between himself and everything that happened today for a while. The words he’d thrown at her in this house. The way he had pushed it further at the store. The grim fucking cabin.

All of it should have been reason enough to leave. But he couldn't move.

He took a slow, thoughtful breath. Let the warmth of the house settle into his skin. Then, before he could think too hard about it, he clicked the door shut.

Because he was too fucking selfish to leave.

So, Joel dropped his pack by the door, shrugged off his jacket, and toed off his boots. The big, white house had whispered around him with its scent of candlewax, firewood and warm linens, but not in him. Not just yet.

His gaze flicked up, landing on Leela just as she gently tucked the flower behind Maya’s ear. “Don't you look cute, trouble?” she teased.

A lump formed in his throat.

Maya blinked up at her mother, chubby fingers reaching to touch the delicate petals like she could hold onto them. Her eyes, wide and round, tracked her mother’s face with something close to awe before breaking off to her signature, gummy grin.

Joel had a smile curve up for her in return when she reached for him knowingly. “Hi, baby girl. C'mere, let me have a kiss, too.”

He leaned down, palming her back, pressing his lips deep into Maya’s curls, having his fill of kisses. God, he fucking loved her. She smelled of soap and soft cotton, of warm bathwater and the sweetness of bedtime. Her tiny fingers found his neck, curling into his skin. For a second, he let himself stay there, let her hold him.

Then he pulled away without another glance, stepping back from the moment before it could swallow him whole, giving them some space.

He stepped into the kitchen instead, grabbed a glass from the overflowing drying rack, and filled it under the tap.

Then—the cabin.

It came back, unbidden, curling around his mind like smoke.

The stench of rot. The filth on the rifle, caked in soot and sin. The bones burned into the floor, the pills pressing into the soles of his shoes.

Joel squeezed his eyes shut. Tilted his head back. Drowned it all with a long gulp of water.

Good. Let the fire take them. Let them burn down to nothing, to dust. If it had been up to him, he wouldn’t have left a fucking trace of those motherfuckers, not even their bones.

A warmth settled on his back.

Joel's every muscle tensed beneath it. Two palms, pressed gentle between his shoulder blades. Silently calling for him.

When he turned and glanced down, Leela was standing there. Maya was gone—tucked away somewhere safely in the living room, her shadow padding across from surface to surface for trouble to cause.

Now it was just them.

“Hey,” he tried first.

“Hi,” she returned.

She was warily watching him. Her hands fidgeted in front of her, fingers twisting together. Obviously, there was something she was dying to say, ask, or do. Without even knowing it, he knew his answer would be a flat yes.

Joel cleared his throat, setting the glass away. “Y'know, I'm proud of you. You did really well today.”

He barely got to finish that last sentence.

Before he could say anything else, she stepped forward and looped her arms around his neck. Utterly winding him.

It wasn't just a hug. This was clinging.

She pressed close and warm, her body tipping forward, her very toes crushing against his own, as though not an inch of skin should go untouched, and he hardly had time to catch her. Her arms wound tight around him, slender fingers sliding up, curling into the back of his longer, greying hair, pulling just gingerly as they dragged against the grain.

She melted into him. Sank into his chest like it was the only place she could land. She was holding on. Staying.

And for a second, Joel just stood there, hands hovering, caught between instinct and hesitation.

Because this wasn’t for him. It was for her. He should pull back. Shouldn’t take something she wasn’t giving him, shouldn’t soak up the heat of her like he fucking needed it.

Then, she shivered. Just faintly. Just enough.

And Joel broke.

His arms locked around her, one gripping her around her waist, the other spanning between her shoulder blades, brushing against her long braid. He held her tight, holding her close.

Her heartbeat thrummed against his ribs, her trim abdomen crushed into his stomach and belt buckle, and each finger of his ruined hand depressed into a portion of her spine. A soft, fragile thing.

She was here. She’d always come back.

Joel turned his face, pressing his lips against the side of her head, breathing her in, his fingers tightening in her shirt like he could keep her there. Like he could hold her together.

The cabin. The filth. The fire—it was all gone. Burned away in the warmth of her, the scent of her hair, the way her fingers curled deeper against his skin.

And Joel, for all his anger, for all his ghosts, for all the things he did and did not deserve—held on.

She exhaled softly against his neck, her breath warm, and uneven. Her hands curled a little tighter against the back of his head like she could anchor herself to him.

“I’m going to get sick and tired of saying thank you, Joel.” Her voice was quiet, a little scratchy, like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to say it at all.

Joel huffed, barely a sound. His hand flexed against her back. “Then stop sayin’ it,” he murmured.

Leela let out something between a breath and a laugh, her body shifting against his. Finding her fit against him.

Joel felt her fingers at the nape of his neck, brushing against the rough curls there. It sent something tight through his ribs, something that coiled in his chest and refused to let go.

She was quiet for a long moment, just breathing him in.

Her voice was softer when she spoke again. “If something happens to me—”

Joel stiffened. His grip on her waist tightened like he could hold her in place like just the thought of losing her was enough to make his body rebel against it.

“Don't.” His voice was a warning, a plea, rough with something he didn’t want to name.

Leela didn’t let go.

Her fingers curled against the nape of his neck, grounding herself in him. Or maybe—trying to ground him. Trying to hold him there before she said something he wouldn’t want to hear.

“If something happens to me, I need to know that you'll take care of Maya.”

He knew why she was saying this bullshit.

She was only here by chance. By luck. A few inches, a second too slow, and she wouldn’t be in his arms right now—wouldn’t be pressing against him, wouldn’t be warm, wouldn’t be breathing, wouldn’t be looking up at him with those eyes like she was asking him for something bigger than a promise. Something final.

“Ain't gonna happen,” he muttered.

“Joel.” A soft plea, a tilt of her head.

He shook his head, jaw tight, chest locking up like a goddamn vice. “Christ, Leela. This shouldn't even be up for question.”

But she was insistent, her grip on him tightening, like she was afraid he'd pull away. Like she needed him to hear this. Accept this.

“Then promise me now.” The words barely held together. Cracked down the middle. “Not Maria. Not Tommy or even Ellie. You.”

Joel clenched his teeth, something raw scraping inside his ribs. All these promises he's been making. How were any of those fair on him?

“Joel, I don't have anyone else left. You have to understand how important this is to me.” Her voice was steadier now, but her hands trembled against him. “She’s all yours. She’s always been yours. My home, all my research, my daughter—you'll be there. It's all yours.”

His breaths ached, as if it was inside him, splitting.

This was fucking real. Not some passing thought, not some fleeting worry—this was her laying it out, putting her life into his wrecked hands, trusting him with it.

Maya wasn’t just hers. She was his, too.

She had been for a long time, hadn’t she? And if something happened—if Leela was gone—there wasn’t a damn force on this earth that would take that little girl from him. It didn’t scare him anymore.

“You don’t need me to put it in triplicate,” he murmured. “I'd do it without askin’.”

Leela exhaled sharply like she’d been holding her breath. “I know. Needed to hear it from you.”

Joel lifted a hand, threading his fingers into her hair, tilting her face up just slightly. “You’re both mine. Both of you.”

He made it quiet, severe, but unshakable. A vow, not just to her, but to himself. Because that was the truth. The thing he’d known for longer than he’d let himself admit.

They were his.

Leela let out a small breath—like this was the only thing she’d needed.

But then, after a moment—she spoke again.

“If this is about legacy or—” Joel started, but she cut him off before he could even finish the thought.

“I don't give a shit about legacy, Joel. Look at me,” she said, fierce in a way that left no room for doubt.

Her fingers dug into him, pressing at the base of his skull, as if forcing him to stay his eyes on her. To the sharp edges of her features, the slight furrow in her brow.

She meant this. She fucking meant it.

And maybe that shouldn’t have hit him as hard as it did, but Christ, after all this time, after everything she’d kept close, all the ways she’d pulled away—here she was, giving him this. Not just her daughter, not just trust, but herself.

Not the Leela who brushed things off with an easy laugh. Not the Leela who went silent when it hurt, shutting herself away before anyone could get too close. Not the one who had been worn thin by exhaustion, by grief, by everything this world had taken from her.

No—this was the one who fought. The one who was staring him down now, fire in her eyes, daring him to push back.

It struck him somewhere deep, somewhere below words, below reason.

This was her. All the dimensions. The burden of her intellect, the sharpness of her conviction, the softness that she didn’t let many people see. The mother of his child. The woman he—god, the woman he really goddamn loved.

“I want my daughter with you.” A beat. “With her father.”

Everything inside Joel went quiet, dead still, like his brain had to stop just to catch up to what she’d said.

His throat worked, but no sound came out.

Leela watched him, her hands solid against him, holding him in place. Not backing down.

“Now, I know we haven’t gotten down to talking about it because of everything—” she muttered carefully, “but you accept that, don’t you? That you’re more than just Joel to Maya?”

He should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve known.

Because wasn’t this the truth? Wasn’t this what had been sitting there, waiting, just waiting for him to stop being so goddamn stubborn and see it?

Maya didn’t just cling to him—she reached for him. She trusted him in that quiet, simple way children did when they knew, down to their bones, who their people were. Or maybe it had happened even earlier, when he’d first stepped into this, when he’d first decided—without words, without promises—that he wasn’t walking away.

And he’d never fought it. Never questioned it, never thought of her as anything but his. But hearing it—hearing it, out loud, no escape, no walking around it—

It was a thunderclap in his black sky.

His eyes flickered over Leela’s face, searching. Waiting for her to say something else, something to ease the way it was fucking ravaging him.

She only waited, knowing the unspoken.

Joel exhaled, slow, long. His fingers flexed in her hair, at her waist, at the places where she fit against him.

“Yeah.” His voice was hoarse, stripped bare for her to see.

He felt his past pressing against the edges of this moment—Sarah’s wide grin, her hand gripping his as she leaned on his side, in a home full of possibilities before the world had collapsed beneath them. Ellie’s fire, the way she’d fought relentlessly against every part of him that had tried to keep her at arm’s length.

He’d been a father twice over.

And now—now he was being handed the chance again.

But it was different this time. Not just because it was Maya, because she was small and warm and already his—but also that he wasn’t alone in it.

Because this time, he wasn’t clawing through it with only guilt and hard work and grief and stubbornness and separation keeping him going.

This time, there was a warm home. A quiet life. Some room to grow. There was Leela.

Maybe that was the part that really undid him. Not just being a father again, but parenting with someone.

He thought of all those nights when she was too exhausted to function, but still got up anyway, still kept going, because that’s what she did. He thought of the hushed strength of her, the stubborn resolve, the way she had fought to keep Maya safe in a world that didn’t leave room for that kind of thing.

He wasn’t fumbling through it alone this time.

“Yeah,” Leela whispered her answer, as if reading his mind.

She tilted her head up, rising on her toes again—not much, just enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his jaw.

Joel breathed out sharply.

This was dangerous. This was slipping, past whatever line he’d attempted to keep between them for her sake. He should move. Say something. Break it up and put space where there wasn’t any.

Joel swallowed, hard. A little, idiotic, anxious part of him wondered if it had been that long and the fundamentals of a kiss had changed. There wasn't a textbook to flip here.

He had kissed women before. Had held them, had wanted them, had fucked them, and felt that pleasure only a woman could offer him when he hit the mattress.

Leela was different.

Not just because she was her, not just because she looked up at him like that—like she had never once questioned whether he was worth wanting, like she already knew this was happening, like she had already made up her mind. It didn’t matter to her that he was worn down, exhausted, and probably reeked of sweat and death and whatever the hell else he’d been working through that day.

No—she was different because he was different. Because it had been a long, long time since Joel had let himself want a woman like this.

Want without restraint. Want without thinking about the mess of it, the mistakes of it, the goddamn risk of it.

And she—God, she looked fucking stunning. Just like the first time he’d seen her, only now, it wasn’t from across the street. Wasn’t at a distance. She was here, close enough to feel, close enough to breathe in.

Her fingers curled deeper into his hair, and whatever was left of his restraint snapped like brittle wire.

His head dipped before he could stop it.

The first brush of their lips was hesitating—soft, careful, fucking fantastic, like neither of them were quite sure they had permission. Like they were hovering on the edge of something neither of them could name.

Leela stiffened—just for a second.

Joel felt it. The way she froze—like the reality of it had just hit her. But her hands stayed, one fisted against his shoulder, the other still tangled in his hair, gripping tighter, not pulling away.

A small, shuddering breath slipped from her lips.

Joel swallowed, trying to ignore the way she did that, the way her fingers tensed against his scalp, her lips parted, uncertain, and she sighed against him.

For fuck's sake, she’d never done this before. Not like this. Not the way it should be done, not to be had. She was waiting on him—watching him, trusting him to show her how.

His palm smoothed up her spine, patient, languid. Soothing. Sweetheart, you ain’t gotta be nervous.

Leela inhaled sharply. And her grip shuddered. Tentatively, like she wasn’t sure she was doing it right, her lips moved against his.

He could feel the way she concentrated, the way she was brooding in that shrewd little head of hers, and figured it out as she went, pressing a little too lightly, pulling back like she went too far, or wasn’t sure how much to give.

His chest clenched. Jesus.

She was trying. Trying so hard, even though she didn’t know how.

Joel let his other hand drift up—languid, knowing—fingertips grazing along the edge of her jaw, curving, pressing, tilting her just slightly. Guiding her.

Leela’s breath hitched.

Then, as if that small adjustment had steadied her, she softened entirely against him.

And Joel—yeah, he was fucking gone.

His fingers threaded into her hair, twisting into those wild, thick strands that weaved down into her braid, angling her deeper, letting her have all of him. Because that seemed to be all he could give her. Nothing but himself.

His lips moved against hers, gentle, sure, patient—like he was showing her how.

God, she was so fucking sweet. So nervous, so careful, but trusted him to lead her through it.

Her lips parted, a quiet, breathless sound slipping through—small, barely anything, but fuck, it hit him hard.

Joel groaned, low, deep in his throat, heat curling through his stomach. What he would give to push her up against that counter behind her, to have him pick apart that pretty pearl-buttoned night dress or bite off those bows and strings in those mind-bending backless tops of hers.

The thought only made his hand splay at her waist, pulling her flush against him, fingers pressing into the small of her back. Leela let out a soft gasp, her other hand sliding up, gripping at his throat, and she wanted more.

Well, he was already fucking ruined anyway.

His lips moved deeper into her, more certain, his fingers pressing into the curve of her jaw, tipping, angling—letting her feel it, letting her lead, letting her find her rhythm, letting her take what she wanted at her own pace.

And she did. She deserved that. Knowing she was in control of this.

He pulled back just an inch—just enough to meet her gaze, to give her a second to breathe, to make sure she knew—

But before he could, her lips chased his, and Jesus—

Joel laughed softly, deep in his throat, warmth curling through his stomach, twisting through his ribs. Alright, sweetheart. Whatever you need.

So he kissed her again. More. Deeper. As long she wanted. Till his lips went blue, till his legs went dead, till his brain was fuzzy, till she was sure she'd mastered the art of kissing.

Her fingers trembled against his neck when she eventually fell back on her heels, realizing—like this was finally sinking in.

Joel exhaled against her lips, gruff. “Good?”

Leela nodded—too fast, too eager. “Mhm.”

It was barely a whisper, barely there at all, but her hands were still on him, still keeping close, still wanting.

His thumb brushed over her jaw, soft, reassuring. “You sure?”

She swallowed, eyes flickering over his face, searching—like she was waiting for something. And then, so quietly he almost didn’t hear it—

“I didn’t know it could be like this.”

Oh, that knocked the wind out of him. The next time she said shit like that, he'd put his fist through a wall.

His hand lifted, threading through her hair with a tenderness that nearly undid him, coarse fingers dragging through the strands before resting at the nape of her neck. His thumb traced the soft skin there, his other hand smoothing over the small of her back, pulling her a breath closer.

“S’alright, darlin',” he murmured, brushing his lips against her forehead, lingering just a little longer than necessary. “Ain’t gotta rush.”

And that—that was it.

That was the moment Joel knew. And Christ, maybe that was the thing he never let himself want—never let himself hope for.

This wasn’t about grief. This wasn’t about making promises in the shadow of something terrible.

This was about life. A chance to do this again, but with stability. With reassurance. With her.

Leela was standing in front of him, alive, wanting, present. All his.

And somehow, despite all the shit they’d lived through, despite all the ways he had shut himself off over the years—somehow, he was too.

{ taglist 🫶: @darknight3904 , @guiltyasdave , @letsgobarbs , @helskemes , @jodiswiftle , @tinawantstobeadoll , @bergamote-catsandbooks , @cheekychaos28 , @randofantfic , @justagalwhowrites , @emerald-evans , @amyispxnk , @corazondebeskar-reads , @wildemaven , @tuquoquebrute , @elli3williams , @bluemusickid , @bumblepony , @legoemma , @chantelle-mh , @heartlessvirgo , @possiblyafangirl , @pedropascalsbbg , @oolongreads -> @kaseynsfws , @prose-before-hoes , @kateg88 , @laliceee , @escaping-reality8 , @mystickittytaco , @penvisions , @elliaze , @eviispunk , @lola-lola-lola , @peepawispunk , @sarahhxx03 , @julielightwood , @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi , @arten1234 , @jhiddles03 , @everinlove , @nobodycanknoww , @ashleyfilm , @rainbowcosmicchaos , @i-howl-like-a-wolf-at-the-moon , @orcasoul , @nunya7394 , @noisynightmarepoetry , @picketniffler , @ameagrice , @mojaveghst , @dinomecanico , @guelyury , @staytrueblue , @queenb-42069 , @suzysface , @btskzfav , @ali-in-w0nderland , @ashhlsstuff , @devotedlypaleluminary , @sagexsenorita , @serenadingtigers , @yourgirlcin , @henrywintersgun , @jadagirl15 , @misshoneypaper , @lunnaisjustvibing , @enchantingchildkitten , @senhoritamayblog , @isla-finke-blog , @millercontracting , @tinawantstobeadoll , @funerals-with-cake , @txlady37 , @inasunlitroom , @clya4 , @callmebyyournick-name , @axshadows , @littlemissoblivious } - thank you!! awwwww we're like a little family <3

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lilyswritings · 4 months ago

Text

hatchet.

synopsis: my own iteration of the split-second glimpse of frank we got in the 'daredevil: born again trailer' — some angst, some reunion fluff, some heat... enjoy! author’s note: saw frank castle on the screen for the first time in years and... yeah. wow, i've missed my man. this is obviously inspired by the glimpse of him we get in the new daredevil trailer, but as we obviously don't have any context for it, i put my own little spin on it. does it make any sense? probably not, but when have i ever let that stop me. i got a little carried away, oops! wordcount: 2,988

Frank Castle x Reader

Ever since your vigilante boyfriend had to drop off the face of the Earth, you've become something of a social recluse.

Yeah, sure, you still keep in sporadic touch with Matt, Foggy, and Karen, but having to say goodbye to the man you love the most in the world and never see him again definitely dampened your appetite for social interaction.

It also made you paranoid, said Karen over a late-night drink, and though you'd disputed that fact at the time, she had a point. You glance over your shoulder everywhere you go, tuck your body into the corner-most seat at every restaurant as your eyes scan the crowd, and spend hours each night browsing the web for sightings of the infamous 'Punisher'.

That's not paranoia, you muse to yourself. It's desperation.

You look for him everywhere. But you know he's too good at what he does to be found by happenstance, and that when it's safe — for you, that is — he'll resurface.

"You're not safe." The two of you had been arguing for what must have been an hour at that point, with him reiterating the same stupid point over and over again.

You had planted your hands on your hips at that point, sick of feeling told what to do, and not even considering his ridiculous idea of disappearing. "You're not listening to me. I can fend for myself, and, honestly, I don't see how you leaving me will make me any safer than I am when you're—"

"Because they'll be coming after me, and if they figure out that they can get to me through you, then you'll become a target to them—"

"We've been over this already," You throw your hands up in exasperation, sick of feeling coddled. "I don't care, I—"

"Well I do!" Frank's voice had just erupted then, rising to a shouting volume for the first time all night, and you'd held back the retort poised on your lips, recognizing the severity in his expression. "I care if you disappear, or get hurt, or..."

Neither of you need him to finish that sentence, you both understand exactly what he's afraid of.

"I will not let them take you too." His voice cracked, and the anger in your body dissipated immediately, replaced by tears brimming in your eyes.

"So what, I just never see you again?" Your brows tug together, face crumpling as the reality of his plan sets in.

"Hey, no, c'mere," He tugs you into his arms, pressing your head against his chest, and you burrow into him, latching your hands around his torso as if maybe, just maybe, the harder you hold onto him, the less you'll have to let him go. "It's not never." The rumble of his voice in his chest has always been soothing to you, but his words set you on edge.

"But you don't know how long." You keep your face pressed into the worn grey fabric of his shirt as you speak, hoping to hide the devastation on your face. It's not a question. He doesn't answer, and your heart shatters on the spot, tears seeping into his shirt as your world falls apart.

Frank was gone before you even woke up the next morning.

You shake yourself out of the memory of that day, glancing over your shoulder as you turn down the street towards your local gym. Part of your coping mechanism for Frank leaving was proving him wrong, proving that you don't need him to protect you — that you can protect yourself.

That he doesn't need to leave again.

You're grateful for the silence in the gym, having paid the gym owner to let you in after hours, so you don't have to worry about seeing other people while you work out — a pet peeve of yours.

You lose yourself in your routine — focusing on strength, on combat, hitting the sandbag until your knuckles ache and kicking the mannequin until your shins turn red — until finally, red and sweaty and panting, you decide to wrap up for the day.

You've just opened your locker when you hear it — the quietest creak of the door closing, deliberately quiet, like someone is trying to sneak in. Your breath catches in your chest, slipping your hand into your gym bag and wrapping around the handle of one of the weapons you'd brought with you.

Yeah, okay, maybe you'd gone a little overboard bringing a hatchet with you to the gym, but you're grateful for it right now. You spot a dark shape move in the reflection of the metal locker, and you grit your teeth.

This is it, the people Frank were running from have found you. Fear builds in your throat, cloying at your windpipe, but one thought rings through your head that steadies you. He can't lose you too.

And with that, you wheel around, weapon swinging through the air as you go. A strong hand catches your forearm, pausing your attack, and you drop the weapon into your other waiting hand —

And freeze when you catch a glimpse of your so-called attacker.

It doesn't feel real, and for a moment, you panic, stumbling a step backwards in fear that this is some kind of trick, that it's not him, but then he steps into the light from the window, hands raised in a placating motion, and you gasp.

"You gonna put the hatchet down?" The deep rumble of Frank's voice runs through you, achingly familiar, and the weapon slips out of your hand and clatters loudly against the concrete.

"...Frank." You breathe out, the word barely audible in your state of shock, and watch as his dark eyes run over your features, as if mapping out your face. The moment stretches out seemingly infinitely — the only sound in the room your intermingled bated breaths, eyes drinking in the sight of each other ravenously.

"Hi sweetheart." A tentative smile tugs at the corner of his mouth — his facial hair is longer, the rugged look suits him, you've always liked the beard — and as your mind runs a millions miles a minute, the spell is broken, and you catapult into him, your bodies colliding as you fling your arms around his neck and sob against him.

His strong arms — tree trunks, you'd called them once — wrap around you in a way that feels like home, and you breathe in his scent of leather and coffee and gunpowder. The embrace is grounding, as you feel the quickened rise and fall of his chest between your arms and your torso.

"You're real." You whisper into his neck, barely able to believe it.

"Yeah, sweetheart. I'm real." The roughness of his voice feels even thicker, wrought with an emotion you can't quite place — relief, possibly. Regret, maybe. Both, most likely.

You fist your fingers tighter into his shirt, still unwilling to let go of him as your own wave of emotions cascades over you. "You left."

Frank's sharp exhale breezes over the top of your head. "I know."

“I looked for you— I looked everywhere—”

His grip tightens as you speak, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head. “I know, baby. I know. You know I never wanted to leave you. You know that.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles you out of your skin, and you break the embrace for the first time to dart down to pick up the hatchet you'd dropped, whirling around to face the noise.

"Matt." You gasp when your eyes land on him, and the lawyer smiles sheepishly in return.

"Just wanted to remind the two of you that you're not alone." He punctuates his sentence with a tap of his cane on the ground, and you sigh out a shaky laugh.

"What're you even doing here?"

"How do you think Frank knew how to find you?" He cocks his head, readjusting his red glasses, and you spin to find Frank.

Frank rubs a hand over his jaw as his eyes flicker between you and Matt, shifting his weight slightly — you can tell he's uncomfortable. "Called in a favour," He admits, eyes falling down to bore a hole into the concrete floor. "Didn't know how to—" He stops short, eyes darkening as he exhales, finally rising to meet your gaze again. "Didn’t know if you'd want to see me again."

Your heart clenches at his words, and you glance over at Matt, who gives you the smallest, knowing smile. "Thank you." You utter, barely a whisper, aimed so only Matt will hear it.

“I’ll, uh, give you two some time alone," Matt says, nodding at each of you. "I'll see you around."

And with that, he turns, cane tapping against the gym floor as he walks away, leaving you and Frank standing in the silence.

This is the time when you should get angry. Yell at him, shove at him, make him truly understand what it felt like to be all alone for all this time. But when you take him in, the lines on his face, the way his eyes dart around the room, you know he felt it all too.

Instead, you sigh, reaching for your boyfriend's hand, and say, "Take me home."

And he does.

The walk home is quiet. Frank keeps a hand on you the whole way, though — his fingers grazing your wrist as you step onto the sidewalk, resting on the small of your back as you wait at a crosswalk, a gentle weight on your forearm as you go to unlock your apartment door. A reassurance — you're here, he's back. The constant reminder is necessary for the both of you, you imagine.

Inside the apartment, the air feels thick, hanging with the unspoken — a possible argument looming on the horizon, the potential reunion of two lovers who've spent time apart, the hazard that this is a relationship ruined beyond repair — you can feel every scenario run through your brain at a mile a minute, and it's making you sick.

You lock your door behind you, fingers lingering on the deadbolt before you turn to find Frank standing in the dim light of your living room. His shoulders are tense, like he’s waiting for you to chew him out, like he wouldn’t blame you if you did.

Your anxiety melts, realizing he's having the same train of thought you are.

“You hungry?”

A flicker of surprise passes over his face, and he nods once, glancing towards your kitchen. “Uh, yeah.”

"Don't get too excited, it's just leftovers from last night." You warn as you pass him, moving the takeout containers from the fridge to the microwave while Frank leans against the counter, watching you.

His presence is heavy, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache. You hand him a container and a fork, and he takes them with a quiet thanks.

The two of you eat in near silence, sitting in close proximity on your beat up old couch. You don’t ask where he’s been, what he's done, and he doesn’t offer. Not yet.

You lean over and place your empty container on the coffee table, watching as he does the same, before turning and capturing his lips with yours, sick of the mutual silent treatment you had both endeavoured upon.

He meets your kiss eagerly, hungrily, getting over his initial shock in record time. You both lose yourself in the embrace, pausing briefly to squeal against his lips as he lifts you up and places you in his lap, straddling his waist, your cheeks blazing at the sudden change in position.

Eventually, the two of you come up for air, foreheads pressed together as silence settles back into the space of your apartment and your heart stops thundering against your eardrums.

“You should get some rest.” You say, softer than you mean to, and he chuckles under you.

"If you want to get me into your bed you can just say so, sweetheart." The rumble of his laugh deepens as you roll your eyes and smack him on the chest, standing up from the couch and placing your hands on your hips.

"I mean it," You raise an eyebrow. "I'm sure you're tired, and we can resume... This, later."

Frank stands with a sigh, smirk toying at the corner of his lips, and you roll your eyes again, suppressing your own wide smile. "Alright, alright." He holds his hands up in surrender, moving toward the bedroom.

You toss the empty containers, taking a moment to compose yourself and tamp down the giddy feeling in your chest at Frank's return. You rifle through a cabinet in the living room, finding the basket of Frank's clothes you'd stashed away, and pull out a worn t-shirt and pajama pants before heading into the bedroom.

When you enter, you frown at the empty room. Glancing into the bathroom to find Frank also not in there, your heart begins to thunder in your chest. He wouldn't, you tell yourself, but doubt begins to gnaw at you.

Suddenly, a hand clamps down on your shoulder, and you wheel around and press your arm to the throat of your attacker.

"We have got to stop meeting like this." Frank's amused smile greets you, and you gasp.

"Jesus, Frank!" You exhale, eyes wide. "You're such an asshole!"

"I'm impressed, is what I am."

"What, you wanted proof that I can beat your ass now?"

"Is that so?" He raises one dark eyebrow, smirking slightly, and your stomach drops.

Before you have a chance to react he's latched a foot behind your leg and sweeps you off your footing, following you down as you crash back onto the bed, his hands encircling your wrists and keeping you down. A breathy laugh bubbles out of you, caught off guard, before you roll your eyes.

"That wasn't fair." You complain, trying very hard not to think about how little you mind being stuck in this position.

Frank makes a 'tsk' sound, leaning down into your space. "You let yourself get distracted." You make a humming sound, lifting your head off the bed to press your lips against Frank's, smiling when he reciprocates, one of his hands coming up to cup your jaw.

Success.

You pull a knee up, tucking it between your bodies, before swinging your weight sideways and causing him to tumble sideways onto the bed this time. You scramble to get on top of him, thighs on either side as you press your hands to his wrists.

"Ooh, don't get so distracted, Castle." A cocky smirk alights on your face, peering down at him, and your heart flutters as a broad smile cracks open his mouth.

Frank huffs out a laugh beneath you, causing the entire bed to shake lightly as he shakes his head. "I'll give you that one." He admits, his eyes gleaming with emotion — something like pride, but softer, heavier, and your heart melts in your chest.

You lean your weight forward, pressing your palms harder against his wrists to keep him pinned (though you're both aware he could break free if he really wanted to) but he doesn't. He just lays there, raking his dark eyes over your face, his expression unreadable now.

The air between the two of you shifts, and then slows.

You swallow thickly, increasingly aware of the warmth and solidity of his body beneath you, of his eyes on your face, tracing a path from your lips back up to your eyes. Your breath catches in your throat, pulse hammering, and you're grateful when he speaks first.

“You missed me.” His voice is lower, impossibly gravellier than usual, and definitive. It's not a question.

You nod, throat tightening. "Yes," You breathe. "I did."

His expression softens, the sharp edges of him melting away as you both take each other in — like earlier in the gym, but with less desperation, less shock. He shifts, tugging one of his hands free from your grip with alarming ease, but instead of pushing you off of him, he reaches up and traces the edge of your cheek with the back of his fingers, leaving them to rest against your skin, rough and warm.

You lean into his touch, exhaling shakily. "You're back."

Frank nods, his fingers drifting down to cup the back of your neck. “Yeah. I’m back.”

For how long, you don’t ask. You don’t want to know.

Instead, you lean your torso down, tilting your head as you slot your mouth against his in a kiss that's slower this time, less teasing, releasing his other hand and placing both of yours on either side of his head. He takes his newly freed hands and rests them against your waist, pulling you down even closer against him.

You're not sure how long the two of you remain tangled up in each other, pressing kisses against skin as if trying to make up for lost time. Eventually, reality seeps back in, and Frank pulls away to gaze at you with the softest darkest eyes you've ever seen.

“You ever gonna tell me what the hell you were doing in that gym with a goddamn hatchet?” His voice is gruff, teasing, but there’s something else there, too — concern.

You huff, rolling your eyes but not pulling away. “I was proving a point.”

Frank lifts an eyebrow. “That point being?”

“That I can take care of myself.”

His expression flickers, something unreadable passing through his eyes. Then, finally, he nods. “Yeah,” He murmurs, thumb brushing against your jaw. “I can see that.”

A beat of silence. Then, his lips twitch. “A hatchet, though? Really?”

You groan, smacking his shoulder as he laughs, deep and warm, and you can’t help but think — yeah. He’s back.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle imagine #frank castle #frank castle one shot #daredevil imagine #daredevil born again #daredevil x reader #the punisher x reader #the punisher imagine #the punisher

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illwilledomen · 6 months ago

Text

At the Riverbank

Steve raised his axe high in the air, and with a swift, clean swing, one piece of wood became two. He chucked the two small pieces into his pile, which had grown to a considerable size as he had worked through the morning. Winter was coming soon. The Stonemason family’s eldest daughter had just had a little baby, and Steve wanted to make sure they stayed warm.

The soft trickling of the nearby creek beckoned Steve over to take a break. He did just that, throwing his axe aside and plonking himself down into the soft riverside grass. He closed his eyes and listened to the water for a moment.

It was time to practise.

My name is Steve. I live in the village of Creek-in-Meadow. I like the colour blue. I am something called a person.

Steve opened his eyes again and frowned. Other villagers could say so much more in an introduction, but Steve knew very few things about himself.

He tried again, gleaning his mind for any information that he was certain was true.

My name is Steve. I live in the village of Creek-in-Meadow. I like the colour blue, and my favourite flowers are poppies. I am something called a person, and I am a Man.

No, he wasn’t sure if he was a Man. He didn’t really know what those were, or how they were different from Women.

My name is Steve. I live in the village of Creek-in-Meadow. I have a horse named Butterscotch. I like the colour blue, and my favourite flowers are poppies. I am something called a person–

A branch snapped, and Steve shook himself awake. He looked around for the source of the noise.

For a split second, he saw a pale, freckled face watching him from behind a tree, before disappearing with a frightened gasp.

The water trickled on, and Steve carefully averted his eyes from the tree.

The face peeked out again. Steve slowly looked back, and once again the blur of white and ginger ducked behind the tree trunk. He decided to fix his gaze on the riverbank below them.

Steve felt a little nervous, but not scared. He had seen them before. Not all too much of them, they were awfully timid, but he’d known they were there.

“Hello.” Steve tentatively called out. “It’s a nice morning.”

The face slowly peeked out. It was rounded and thin, framed with fiery red hair, with big green eyes and freckles. Their nostrils flared with nervous breaths as they clung to the tree.

“Do you live here?” Steve asked. The face didn’t respond, they only stared, flinching a bit when he spoke.

“Um… My name’s Steve. I live in– I live in a village, and my favourite horse– My fa– Um, I have a horse.” Steve cursed himself for messing up his carefully planned introduction. “Do… Do you know what a horse is?”

The face seemed to have relaxed a tad, and moved out further from behind the tree. Steve could now see their hair was long, tied into a braid. They also wore a stained green tunic.

“...You can ride them. Horses.” Steve swallowed nervously. “I don’t live here. I live in a village. In case you forgot.”

The face and body was now a person, standing with only their hand on the tree. They watched Steve curiously, their fear ebbing away slowly but surely.

Steve slowly looked back up, and this time they didn’t flinch when their eyes met.

“My papa is a cleric. He’s not really– He didn’t get married or nothing, but he found me. I’m not a cleric. My profession is doing things for people. I, um, I like to help. I can make… I can make things too.”

Steve rummaged around in his pockets, before procuring a little wooden statue of a villager. Steve held it out for the visitor to see. “You see it? I made it.”

The figure craned forward, before they crouched down for a better look. They looked back at Steve with a blank expression, though Steve sensed no displeasure.

“I can make other things too. Like houses. I am real strong. I can make things without getting tired. I dunno why, I was born in a funny way. That’s why my nose is small, see.” Steve pressed a finger into his nose. The figure furrowed their brows in intrigue. They lifted a finger, and pressed it to their own.

“Hey!” Steve grinned. “You’re like me.”

The person’s lips twitched with the ghost of a smile, and they nodded ever so slightly. They glanced to the side, a hint of trepidation in their movement, before they sucked in a breath and pointed to their chest. Out came a toneless, croaky voice, wavering and whistling as if it had not been used for a very long time. “A–leks.”

Steve furrowed his brows.

“A… Alex. Name is Alex.”

“Oh!” Steve paused, and nodded in understanding. “Hello, Alex.”

Alex sniffed, nodding back, before pointing at Steve. “Stefe.”

“Aye! That’s my name.” Steve beamed. “Are you a person?”

Alex nodded. “Yes.”

“So am I. I didn’t know there was anyone else like me.”

“Me as well.”

“Where’d you come from?” Steve bit back his questions though his mind was on fire. He wasn’t alone! He wasn’t alone!

“Nowhere.”

“Nowhere? Me too. I was found.”

“By village?” Alex glanced to the side nervously.

“Yes. And they are very nice to me.”

��Hm.” Alex trailed off, hunching their shoulders. “Good.”

“Do you want to meet them?” Steve asked, sitting up at the idea.

Alex shrank back a bit toward the tree. They glanced to the side reluctantly and shook their head. “No.”

“Oh.” Steve hung his head. “Are you sure?”

Alex nodded their head vigorously, their eyebrows knitted together in a fearful expression. “I can’t.”

“Can I still see you, Alex? Outside of the village?”

Alex thought for a moment, before nodding. “Yes. Here.”

Steve’s smile returned. “Okay. Here. I’ll meet you here tomorrow.”

Alex nodded, smiling a bit themselves. “Tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, Alex.”

“...Goodbye, Steve.”

The two departed, having arrived as halves and leaving as whole. They were not alone.

#my writing #my art #steve x alex #stalex #minecraft steve #minecraft alex #minecraft art #mineblr #minecraft #minecraft fanfiction #fanfiction #minecraft au #minecraft abiogenesis #minecraft fanart #minecraft headcanons

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byuntrash101 · 1 year ago

Text

the good friend

f!reader x san x mingi ft ateez smut | mdni 3.4k san has known about mingi’s crush on his girlfriend for a while now. he also happens to be a very good and caring friend who values their friendship very much. and san would do just about anything to help a friend nsfw tags under the cut

a lil plot, idol!au, established relationship, bf san, mingi is the simp master, also rengoku hair mingi because i miss him, alcohol consumption (but consent is unquestionable), safe word mentionned but not used, pet names, (baby, princess, sannie...), unprotected sex (recommanded by 0/10 dentists), wall sex, semi public sex (full dorm hallway sex), exhbitionism/voyeurism, dirty talk, slight breath play (gentle), masturbation (f & m), controlled orgasm (f)

a/n: OMGGGG THIS ONE IS JUST SDMLKSQDMMSQLKKFF. i kinda like how turned out because im feral and shameless when it comes to these men. if you like it PLEASE TELL ME i might make a part 2 👀

@shinestarhwaa for you boo <3

sequel | ateez masterlist | navigation

It’s funny how Mingi is still stuck in this same situation years later, he thought while staring at you from across the kitchen table. When he first saw you 5 years ago, your back leaned against the company building, eyes glued to your phone, he thought of how pretty you were but he was late for practice again and he knew he was going to be scolded by Hongjoong so he just hurried himself in.

This encounter should have been left at that, he would have forgotten about you the next day and he would be at peace right now.

But no.

You were still waiting there when he got out much much later at night, sweaty, tired and starving. He took a look at you again but this time you lifted your face from the screen of your phone and your eyes met. He didn’t know why he was flustered and cursed himself silently when he whipped his head to the side, quickly breaking eye contact. But despite the uninviting body language you took the first step in his direction. It took everything he had in him not to stumble back and stand his ground in the most natural way he could muster given his current state.

‘Hmm… Excuse me?” you started hesitantly, “Hmm… I’m looking for…” Mingi was all ears and eyes for you, focussing on your every move and word. In that split instant he noticed the color of your eyes, the soft texture of your hair and the mesmerizing way your lips moved to form words, that made sentences which he was supposed to listen to and he was arguably doing a poor job. But right when he was losing focus you were interrupted.

“Y/N!!” San’s voice resonated from the entryway. You whipped your head in the direction of the voice and turned away from Mingi with the most radiant and heavenly smile he had ever seen.

“Nevermind. Thank you” you said quickly before running to San’s side.

Mingi stood there for a second completely stunned as he watched the pair of you walking away, San’s hand reaching for yours right before you disappeared at the intersection.

The next day San made him promise not to tell anyone he saw you waiting for him. He didn’t tell him exactly you were his girl but Mingi was smart enough to figure that out on his own.

And that should have been the end of the story. You should have remained San’s secret girlfriend and Mingi would have forgotten about you and your perfect smile in a week or two…

But once again… no. It did not go that way.

Over the years it got worse. You both grew, you weren’t 18 anymore. You grew into a beautiful, stunning woman and Mingi grew into a man. And you even became friends. With the years you got to meet the rest of Ateez. You became friends with all of them but you were closest to Mingi without a doubt, much to his disarray.

That’s exactly how he came to stare at you from across the kitchen table as you were leaning your head on San’s broad shoulder, barely holding your head up as you had one too many bottles of grapefruit soju. San was gently caressing your flushed cheek.

Everybody was laughing, drinking and enjoying themselves, but Mingi who was also slightly drunk just couldn’t stop staring at you, stealing glances at you through his eyelashes. To the others he looked like he was zoning out like he usually does after a drink or two but in fact he was focussing on you. Precisely on your neck and the sleeve of your top slowly sliding off your shoulder. The large and rounded neckline of your loose oversized top was barely hanging to the edge of your shoulder at this point and if you moved even in the slightest it would completely expose your shoulder. To everyone present that wasn’t a big deal. Nobody had even noticed apart from Mingi. And when you lift your head up again to bark at Wooyoung that was making fun of you for being a lightweight it happened.

The tired sleeve gave in. Mingi had a front row seat on your delicate collar bone and the smooth skin of your shoulder lightly shiny. If only that was it he could have handled it but the large neck line was also hanging very low on your chest so low that his eyes were rapidly forgetting about your shoulder to solely focus on your chest. His eyes scanned the shadow of your cleavage, the ceiling light was casting on you, he imagined how your breasts would feel in his large palms, how soft your skin would be and how your nipples would taste on his tongue.

He thought so much that he started pitching a tent in his large cargo pants. The tent of shame like he liked to call it. The tent he tried to fight off so many times because San was one of his best friends… And you were… his.

That thought broke his own heart.

“Well! I’m swamped, guys. I’m going to bed” he declared getting up, both fists stuffed in his large pockets concealing the “shame”.

The others grumbled to make him stay. They were having a nice time but honestly he just wanted to catch a break from his own heart and hop into the shower.

San knew exactly why he wanted to leave. He had known for a while about Mingi’s feelings for you. In reality everyone knew except for two people. One was Mingi who thought he was so good at concealing himself when in reality he was staring at you like a puppy all day and the other one was yourself. You just never noticed because to you Mingi was a friend, an attractive friend, granted! But a friend nonetheless. You didn’t think further than that. To you the idea of him having feelings for you was so far-fetched that the thought never entered the realm of possibilities.

Once Mingi had decided to go, the members followed one by one, Hongjoong was the second one. At the end only Wooyoung and Yeosang were playing a drinking game while you and San crashed on the couch.

San was absentmindedly playing with your hair when he caught your hand dangerously slipping below his belt. He gripped your wrist firmly, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

“Y/n~~” he quietly singsang. He knew that was going to happen. Alcohol had only one single effect on you. It made you horny. Without fail, whenever you all gathered like this and drank, it made you feral. And today San felt mischievous.

***

Mingi exhaled a big sigh before stepping in the shower, the hot water running on his large back helped him take his mind off the chatter and laughter erupting from the living room at the end of the hall for a while he just glided the soap across his body. The hot air made him dizzy. He felt the warm water on his face letting the stream run down his hair. As he closed his eyes, flashes of you came back to him.

Your cute flushed face, eyelids half closed, your eyes made sparkly from the soju, this adorable dorky smile you wore all evening, the exposed patch of skin, the neckline of your top hanging so low on your chest. He wondered without even realizing about the way he would have loved to lay you down on that table right there. Peeling your clothes one by one, taking his sweet time admiring your body slowly giving away all its secrets.

He felt himself becoming hard again. He kept his eyes shut as he guided the soapy foam along his half hard member.

He dreamed about the melodic wet sounds you would make when he would slide inside you, about the way you would grip him so perfectly, about how your eyes would roll back and your lips would lazily hang open as you lost yourself to his cock, abandoning yourself to him, only him.

He gripped his length even tighter, rapidly dragging his fist up and down his shaft, turning his tip bright red from his arousal and the hot water.

He thought even harder about your hands muffling your high pitched moans shamefully as his powerful thrusts rocked your body under him.

Fuck he wants to see you like that, he wants to have you like that he thought as he drove himself crazy, on the verge of bursting. He felt himself twitch in his hand, precum and soap mixing perfectly making this sinful act easier than ever.

“Fuck” he grunted considering to finally let himself go but at the last second he opted out of it. He suddenly let go of the aching organ, twitching and pulsing, hot and dripping red tip begging for release.

But Mingi just couldn’t keep doing that anymore. Just seeing you in the day act like your friend and fuck himself to the thought of you at night. He had to somehow snap out of this trance, break free from the spell you casted on him five years ago back in Gang-nam.

After five years he had to come to the realization that you were with San and you would never be with him.

So without thinking twice Mingi turned the water from scolding hot to icy. That had two purposes: one calming his raging boner and two taking his mind off the painful reality he had to accept. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth and hissed in discomfort at the sudden temperature change. But it was efficient enough.

He quickly dried off and wrapped the wet towel around his waist. He crossed the living room to head out to the hall where San's room and his were. But when he entered the hall…

“Please”

Immediately he hid behind the corner of the L shaped hall out of pure instinct. That kind of sounded like… you?

“Please” you whimpered again.

This time there was no doubt it was in fact your voice.

“Can’t we do it in your room?” you asked, your voice interrupted by muffled moans.

“No I wanna take you right here” San responded, determined.

“But what if Mingi comes back from his shower?”

San smirked. That was exactly his intention but he just chuckled and brushed off the question.

“Also if you really didn’t want to do it here. You’d use the safe word, right baby?” San’s smirk grew bigger as you stayed silent. “Wanna use the safe word baby?”

“No…” you admitted half heartedly.

“That’s what I thought” he said brushing his tip against you.

San wanted to be caught. He couldn't explain it properly but recently he started thinking about maybe offering Mingi some kind of relief. Because he’s had that huge crush on you for so long it must be really troublesome for him, right? So this little show for him was kind of a way to blow some steam off for him. Yeah! That’s right! San was doing that out of the goodness of his heart, out of friendship! Because he cared oh so dearly about his friend and not because the idea of having an audience flipped a switch in him. A flip he’s been fantasizing about for a while now.

“Spread your legs” San whispered.

Mingi’s heart rattled against his ribs and rang in his ears. He held his chest as he didn’t even dare to breathe, not to mention move a single muscle.

“Babygirl” San started his lips pressed against the thin skin of your neck. “You’re already this wet for me”

His fingers brushed against your center, still clothed but already soaking wet.

“Were you touching yourself at the table again?”

You nodded shyly. You just couldn’t help getting incredibly horny every time you had a drink.

“Yes” you admitted in a shameful whisper.

“What a naughty girl. Passing the blush as an effect of the alcohol when in fact you're touching yourself under the table despite your boyfriend’s friends gathered all around you.” you whined. “Maybe it’s even exactly why you couldn’t resist the urge huh baby?”

Mingi bit his lip, trying his hardest not to gasp. To think that you busied your hands into your folds while he was eyeing your exposed chest. And to think maybe, just maybe, you exposed yourself on purpose?

“Please… Sannie…” you begged again.

Mingi was going crazy. This whole time he was just leaning his bare back on the wall, dampened locks of hair, trailing water down his body. He couldn’t see anything he didn’t dare to move a muscle but fuck did he want to have a peek. Before he could even realize the raging boner was back on. Forcefully pulling up the towel he had tied around his hips.

“I love it when you beg baby” San whispered, lips pressed to your blazing skin.

Me too.

Mingi thought so loud he was scared you would both hear him. One hand instinctively traveled to his engorged member, giving it a firm squeeze at the base while the other hand was pushing his flaming red and yellow hair back.

“Please… I can’t wait anymore” you said, granting your boyfriend’s wish.

“Please what, baby?” San teased again as he pushed your panties to the side. You hissed when you felt his tip brush against your bare pussy, digging your nails in his broad back.

“Cock!” you hurriedly replied, lust filling your mind. So eager you could barely form intelligible sentences “I want your cock” you demanded in a strangled whisper, hardly keeping your voice down.

Mingi had fought the idea of you against his own mind too many times today. He won at the dinner table and he won again in the shower but this battle… Knowing you there begging to be filled to the brim, exposed for anyone who might stumble across the sinful scene… He couldn’t fight that. He had to look. He had to see you.

So he dared. He dared to peek, just enough to have a look. Just one eye is all it took. And he saw…

He saw the both of you entangled into each other, both facing one another, your back pressed against the wall while San gripped your hips firmly with one hand and lifted one of your legs up with the other to grant himself access to your beautiful and soaked little pussy. He saw his friend’s smirk and eyebrow twitch as he gently pushed himself into your welcoming folds. But all this was only anecdotal. Because nothing, nothing! could come close to you. Mingi only had eyes -one eye in this case- for you.

He saw how your mouth went agape as you took him in, he saw how you arched your back and rested your head on the wall you were pressed up against. And he heard you trying your hardest not to make a noise and failing so miserably, much to his contentment.

That sound, that fucking sound. He will never forget.

The raspy sigh you produced, audible bliss dripping from your lips as you refused to close your eyes, taking in the exalted face of your boyfriend.

San spotted from the corner of his eyes the flaming red strands of hair peeking from the angle of the hall. It made him smirk, his little scheme had worked. It made him even more determined to put on a good show for his friend, determined to drag those beautiful sounds out of you until you would beg him to stop. And you could have sworn you felt him grow even bigger inside you.

Without a second thought San settled a pace that was especially designed for you. Deep and slow. Just enough to keep you on edge. With every roll of his hips into yours you felt every single inch of his length deliciously scraping your clenching walls, gripping him desperately.

“Fuckkk” you cried out, biting down on your lower lip.

“You like that baby?” San asked you, the evil twinkle of lust dancing in his eyes.

“Yesss” you sighed, barely holding yourself up on the only leg that was supporting you.

You gasped as he bottomed out again, this time staying there for a while. You instantly started to rock your hips into his, desperately clinging onto the friction.

“That’s right baby” San growled as his veiny hand left your side to tightly wrap around your narrow neck. “Fuck yourself on my cock”

And you were more than happy to oblige. You lost it at his words, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine, applying just the right amount of pressure to coerce you.

Unholy wet squelching noises bounced back on the walls of the narrow hall all the way to Mingi ears. His hands violently pumping up and down his cock, thick slimy precum coating his tip and being dragged with each movement along his shaft. It was so hard not to make any noise but he pulled himself together just so he could keep looking at you.

“Sannie Please… Fuck me harder” the last ounce of bashfullness had evaporated out of your body as the carnal sin was clouding your judgement. “Fuck me senseless” your tone was demanding. You just couldn’t bear it anymore. You wanted to cum. You need to cum.

Mingi can't believe his ears or his eyes or any of his senses as a matter of fact… To hear you say these words with so much drive, so much desire. To see you plead with those sultry eyes… If only he was the one right there between your legs right now. If only he was the one pumping his hot and dripping cock into you until completion. If only he was the one feeling your cunt clench and pulse around him.

“Your wish is my command, Princess” San whispered before he caught your other leg and lifted you up, flipping both your legs onto his shoulders and folding you in two against the wall. And he slid himself right back in. Where was his rightful place. You gasped, this position allowed him to go even deeper and tears started to cloud your vision as his tip so precisely hit on your sensitive spot. Both of your hips perfectly angled to fit inside each other.

“Fuck yessss… j-just like that” you whispered through gritted teeth. “Please don’t stop Sannie”. Your voices shaken with each of San’s violent thrusts. “Fuck I love your cock” you sobbed as your eyes lost their focused and your mind slipped in thick foggy haze. And San chuckled, his eyes leaving yours for a split second to briefly look at the flamboyant orange tuft of hair peeking from the corner of the hall.

Fortunately Mingi was way to focus on you to notice San had spotted him.

Mingi was about to burst but he was determined to cum with you. Picturing your twitching cunt in place of his gripping fist.

You were a couple of thrusts away from coming undone and San knew it. He knew everything about your body. He knew every micro expression, every sound, every queue.

“You’re gonna cum baby?” he asked, short of breath.

“Yessss” you whined, trying hard not to cum on the spot.

“Cum now. Cum on my cock right now” he ordered.

That was what you needed. In a split second you let go of the knot you’ve been desperately hounding on to and completely lose your sanity in an earth shattering orgasm that washes over your body.

Quickly followed by Mingi. Uncontrollably twitching and delivering what felt like gallons of cum in the towel, completely soiling it. Maybe even ruining it forever. It was so good, he never came like this. So good that an ever so audible groan of bliss slipped past his lips and into the world. Instantly he bit his lip and stopped breathing but it was too late.

San also let himself go, a smirk dancing on his lips as he happened to catch the shameful groan. You were unaware of why but that amount of cum was unprecedented and you attributed it to the thrill of the fear of getting caught. But San knew it was simply the joy and fulfillment of being a good friend.

IF U WANNA HELP ME PLEASE REBLOG WITHOUT USING THE COMMUNITY LABELS 🖤

a/n: what a ride dskfmkfmdkmfl. you liked it? you want part 2? SPAM MY COMMENTS AND ASKS AND REBLOGS BECAUSE I LOVE READING YOUR REACTIONS MY POOKIES <333 (a threesome in part 2? 👀)

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taglist: @staytiny816 @onysmamas

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luv-nikki · 16 days ago

Note

I was wondering if you could write where George and his friend group go on holiday and reader really likes him but also readers friend does too. But George likes reader and readers friends try’s GETING to him and try to do stuff but George’s eyes are only on reader and readers friends and him have really cute moments and readers friends is jealous. Ok you get me something along the lines like that and reader and him have a cute moment then realise that they feeling for each other and it’s just cute angst and fluff and also do u think u could add some smut in there thank you

Eyes on me₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

George Clarkey x reader

⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰

It was one of those rare, golden weeks where everything was perfect—sun-kissed beaches, late-night swims, cocktails that tasted like freedom, and a massive villa split between a group of close friends and a few new faces.

George was one of them.

I’d followed his YouTube for a while, sure, but nothing prepared me for what he was like in person—funny, warm, quick-witted. And then there were his eyes. Brown and mischievous, like he knew exactly what effect he had on people.

My stomach twisted every time he smiled at me. And I hated how obvious it felt.

Even worse? My friend—let’s call her Bella—definitely noticed. She’d been flirting with him since the plane ride over. Laughing too hard at his jokes, draping herself over the sun loungers near him, playfully splashing him in the pool like we were in a romcom. And George… well, he was polite. But his eyes never lingered on her the way they did with me.

Not that Bella saw it.

The turning point came one night after dinner, when we all headed back to the villa’s massive balcony, the sky still painted in streaks of lavender and peach. Someone put on music, and everyone danced, tipsy and careless under fairy lights.

Bella grabbed George’s hand and pulled him toward the makeshift dance floor. I pretended not to notice, sipping my drink, trying not to look jealous. But out of the corner of my eye, I could see her leaning in, whispering something against his ear, her hand brushing his chest.

That’s when I left.

I ended up by the pool, feet dangling in the water, the music faint in the distance. I hated how I felt—petty, dramatic. It’s not like I had any claim on him.

“You always disappear when things get fun?”

I turned. George was behind me, hands shoved in the pockets of his linen trousers, hair a little messy from the wind.

I blinked. “Didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“I did.” He sat beside me, our shoulders almost touching. “You okay?”

I nodded, but he gave me that look—the one where he was trying to read my mind.

“You don’t have to pretend around me,” he said gently. “I’m not stupid. I know Bella’s been trying to make a move.”

I snorted before I could stop myself. “That obvious, huh?”

“Painfully.” He tilted his head. “But I’m not interested in Bella.”

My breath caught. “No?”

He turned toward me fully, and my heart thudded in my ears.

“Why would I be, when you’re right here?”

The words knocked the air out of me. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

George laughed softly, shaking his head. “You have no idea, do you? Every time you smile at me, I feel like an idiot. I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to say something for days, but you’ve been so quiet.”

“I thought you liked her,” I whispered.

“Not even close.”

He brushed a strand of hair from my face, his hand lingering a second too long.

“You’re the one I want.”

Then he kissed me.

It was soft at first—hesitant, like he wasn’t sure I’d kiss him back. But I did. God, I did. My hands tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer as weeks of built-up tension melted into that single moment.

When we finally pulled away, I rested my forehead against his, smiling like a total idiot.

“George?”

“Yeah?”

“I really like you.”

He grinned, that lazy, heart-melting grin. “Good. Because I’m absolutely crazy about you.”

We stayed by the pool for hours, wrapped up in each other, the stars above and the sound of the waves in the distance. No drama, no games. Just us.

And for once, everything felt exactly how it was meant to be.

⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿

Hope you enjoy pls feel free to send a request!! PLEASE I need more inspo. 🙂‍↕️

#british youtubers #george clarke fics #george clarke fluff #george clarke fanfic #george clarkey x reader #george clarkey #george clarkey imagine #imagine #fluff imagine #george clarke x fem!reader #George Clarke

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 1 month ago

Text

Cain (p4)

Tw: Cain is really violent, like verbally violent. Tantrums, toxic relationships, isolation from friends and family, sexual content, sexual descriptions, profanity- like a LOT of them, Cain losing his shit really frequently. Gender neutral reader, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

This is part 4.

Click here for part 5

Click here for part 1

Cain tries. He really did.

The first week or so after his earth shattering confession, Cain was elusive. You hardly see him at home, not even for meals. But you know he's eating, because you would leave leftovers in the fridge and it would disappear the next day. You thought he was avoiding you, and you understood, because you practically rejected him at first.

He came back one day, seemingly waiting for you in the living room. To your surprise, instead of only acknowledging each other with a split second glance, Cain tried to make a conversation.

"How was it?" He asked.

You asked him what he meant.

"Your day." Cain continues, looking right into your eyes, which caught you off guard. Usually, eye contact means he's about to stir some trouble up, but you think this time he's actually making an attempt to communicate. "How was... your day?"

You told him that it was okay. Then you asked him about his day.

You could definitely see that he physically stopped himself from responding like he used to. Cain closed his eyes and took a deep breath before answering.

"My day is okay too."

And both of you left it at that, as you did your own thing, he did his own thing... which happened to be reading a book of sorts? Strange, he doesn't seem like the type to even be remotely near words. But you didn't want to pry and potentially get your head bitten off.

"It's cold." You turned to him and finally noticed that he's actually bundled up in a hoodie instead of his usual sleeveless shirt. That made sense, the seasons are changing, and very soon you would see frost on the sidewalk again.

Come to think of it, he has recently changed up his fashion sense to cover up a lot more, adjusting according to the weather. No more ripped jeans, instead opting to wear a pair of thick cargo pants with numerous pockets. He also got himself a new pair of shoes, trading in his tattered sneakers for a new pair of combat boots.

You asked him if it bothers him. Cain seemed to pause and think about his answer for a moment before replying.

"I always hated the fucking cold." He spoke with a sense of dread in his voice. Cain knows that he can't change the weather, and he just needs to tough it out. He has done this for years, ever since he was abandoned in that dumpster. But it doesn't make it easier, and each winter feels as intense as the last. And the worst part is, he doesn't understand why the bites of frost disturb him so much. Cain never found out how he was abandoned by his parents; he only knew that they did.

You nodded and decided to just... put aside a bit more cash for the heating bill. You cranked up the heat enough at home to make it comfortable for him. The water heater is also switched on 24/7 now, even if it does hike up your bills. Sometimes you even think the apartment was a little too warm for your liking, but seeing Cain being a lot less miserable made you suck it up and just wear lighter clothing instead.

And you didn't think much of it, until there was one night, when the wind was howling and all you could see was powdery white outside; You heard a knock on your bedroom door, and you were about to fall asleep in a pair of shorts and shirt, because the thermostat is dialed all the way up that it felt like summer. Upon opening it, you saw Cain towering over you, exuding vulnerability. He's not wearing his hoodie, but a white t-shirt, a pair of comfortable plaid shoes, and warm, fuzzy slippers. You were surprised that he showed no signs of sweating, unlike you, struggling to cope with the artificial heat, yet you do so for the sake of your troubled roommate.

You asked him if he needed anything from you. Only to be pulled into his arms for a tight hug. You were about to say something, but you felt wetness on your shoulder. Cain was crying.

"I don't... I don't know what I'm feeling..." Although muffled, you could hear how pained and conflicted he was.

You patted his back as he let it all out. You were dying to ask him questions, but knowing Cain, it wouldn't get you very far if he wasn't ready to share it in the first place.

"It feels good. I-It's warm." He spoke between sobs. "Please... let me stay."

You didn't understand what gave him the impression that you were planning to kick him out anytime soon. You told him that he's welcome here. And that was all he needed to hear tonight.

And what neither of you knows is that today was his birthday, or rather, the day those bystanders found him discarded like trash. Cain may not remember, but his body does. And it was the first time in his life that he wasn't shivering on this special day.

And Cain is afraid, utterly terrified to lose what he has now. Yet he doesn't know how to keep it. So he latches on, he does his best, he tries.

He slept in the same bed as you that night. It wasn't comfortable at all; his body ran hot. And on top of the running heaters? You felt like you were in a furnace. Cain had his arms wrapped around you at all times, constricting your movements, but he wouldn't budge, no matter how much you squirmed. His hold felt desperate; you could feel the aching yearning he held in his body for decades. Cain would bury his head at the back of your neck, making you wonder if he just liked the feeling of being suffocated by his own breath.

You woke up the next day earlier than he did. Cain was still clinging to you with dried tears on his face. But you didn't have the heart to wake him up, because he looked truly peaceful. Though you didn't have to wait long until he opened his eyes and groggily rubbed them, freeing you from his prison.

You greeted him and asked him how he slept last night.

"Good..." He yawned and stretched his arms. Well, at least one of you had a good night's sleep. Cain doesn't seem to be particularly embarrassed that he reached this level of intimacy with you; hell, he doesn't seem to see it as anything out of the ordinary at all. It's as if he were sleeping in the same bed as you for months.

He got out of bed to freshen up, leaving you to finally reclaim your space and take your turn to doze off. Luckily, today is an off day for you, or you would have gone to work in a sour mood.

"Who the fuck are you all?!" You were jolted awake by Cain's sudden outburst in the living room. You heard extra voices and assumed he had opened the door to someone.

An argument ensued, making you scramble back up on your feet to see what was going on. Upon poking your head out of the door frame, you saw Cain heavily berating someone outside your apartment.

You called him by his name, and that caught his attention. "I don't know who these assholes are, they are not coming in!" He yelled, attempting to shut the door on the visitors.

You caught a glimpse of your long-time friends' confused and horrified faces before he slammed the door loudly against them.

Oh.

You forgot that they were visiting. Shit.

You see that Cain was agitated, threatened, even. He began hurling profanities at them, wishing doom on them, so on and so forth. He was panicking; the only way he could express this was by lashing out and pulling on his already messy, short, fiery hair.

You tried calming him down, but that only made him spiral more.

"They said that they're your friends-- They're nothing! They're nothing to you, they don't fucking matter! They're scum, they're trash!" He screamed as tears streaked down his frenzied face. Cain began hyperventilating, the more you tried to get him to see reason. "I'll fucking kill them, I fucking will!"

You decided to shut up and let him burn all his fuel out. All this while, you were extremely baffled as to what suddenly set him off. You know, Cain could be somewhat decent to strangers; he doesn't go off on the delivery men that sometimes come here to give you your packages or food. He would sometimes even be the one who signed the delivery confirmation form with no issue. Not even door-to-door salesmen would make him erupt like this; at most, he would just close the door on them. Why is he suddenly so territorial?

And as predicted, his explosion ended with him curling up into a pathetic ball of misery on the floor. You think your friends decided to leave you and him alone for a while, you're definitely getting a very concerned phone call later.

So, you did. And you managed to convince that you're okay, and Cain is a good man. It was challenging, but they decided to respect your wishes. Or maybe they also didn't want to deal with that unstable landmine of a person.

You don't think he left the apartment without you during the entirety of winter. He would flare up as soon as he felt a draft, and you wonder if it's a traumatic response to something. Either way, you don't think you should pry if he's not ready to talk about it.

Cain got very comfortable with you now. The sofa bed is left empty, now he goes straight into your bedroom. It doesn't matter if you're purposely hogging the bed, he would either manhandle you as if you're his beloved stuffed teddy bear, or have the audacity to say, "Scoot your ass over."

He developed a habit of possessively wrapping his arm around your waist whenever both of you were out. Instead of waiting for you to move out of the way or barking commands to move aside, Cain would just manually move you by guiding your shoulders or sometimes, your hips.

He seemed to be starved of touches. Whenever you take an afternoon nap without him, you would wake up to find Cain holding you in his arms. And he gets annoyed at you for waking him up. When you would spend the day watching television on the sofa, Cain would either lie his head on your lap, or trap you into his- making you his personal lap table for the bowl of popcorn you two shared.

Cain needed something to occupy his hands. So he chose to massage yours instead to soothe himself. It felt nice to apply pressure to your palm and fingers, but sometimes he wasn't aware how strong he was. You would wince at the pain, which caused him to frown, and spit,

"Fucking wimp."

But then, he would bring your hands to his lips to kiss them, and adjust his strength to not hurt you anymore. He wouldn't outright apologize or thank you for most things, but he has his own way to express remorse, guilt, and gratitude.

It felt... strangely natural. He wasn't making it awkward at all when he transitioned from not touching you at all to giving you regular cuddles, kisses, and even sharing beds. Cain moved like it's always been this way, as if he had always given you a kiss on the forehead before dropping you off at your workplace, as if he had always kissed you on the back of your neck to thank you for the meal. Whenever you stood in front of him to say something, he would have his large, calloused hands gripping your arms in place as he listened. You never knew what the purpose of it was, as he doesn't seem to be aware that he's doing it.

You're not necessarily complaining that whenever the two of you waited at the bus stop, in the cold, he would bury you in his chest. It's ridiculously warm, and he would wrap his heavy coat around both of you. Cain would absentmindedly rub your back up and down, stroke your hair as he remains hypervigilant for any assailants that could attack the two of you. And you would be lying when you said that it doesn't make you feel all fluttery inside.

Cain was willing to open up even more on how he feels about various things. But it was still excruciatingly difficult.

One day, he decided to talk to you about your giving nature. It occurred when you decided to give a homeless man some spare change.

"Why did you do that?" He asked when you and he reached the comfort of your apartment. Cain didn't remove his coat just yet, while you're practically stripping everything off yourself because your heating system is too efficient.

"Why did you give that bum money? He didn't work for it." He clarified what he meant. You can see that he's asking from a place of curiosity, not hostility or judgment.

You shrugged and said that it makes the world a better place.

"How?" He furrowed his eyebrows in frustration.

He would have enough money to buy himself something hot to eat and drink.

"That's bullshit. He's going to waste it on booze and drugs."

You asked him how he would know.

"All these bastards think about is their next high." He frowned bitterly.

You said that everyone can change. You wanted to tell him off for being a hypocrite, but it probably isn't a good idea. He vehemently disagreed.

"No they fucking can't. You're being used, you're being a damn jackass! You should have kept that for yourself, these fuckers can't even give you anything of worth back but have the balls to ask for a handout!" He was getting more and more exasperated by the second.

You decided to clam up.

"They're scum, they're all fucking good for nothing pieces of shit!" He continued his angry ranting as he entered the bathroom to freshen up.

And conversations that were deeper than small talk usually go something like that. You refused to be the one who started chatting, allowing him to take the initiative. It seems like he's jealous that you're also generous to other people, as anytime he sees you doing a good deed, he would be throwing a tantrum about how you're letting others walk all over you.

You can't really do donations under his watchful eyes anymore, because he would find a way to get it back from them and return the cash into your wallet.

He's always the nicest when it's just the two of you, and the concept of the world stopped existing. The apartment is his safe haven where nothing outside matters. He is in no way romantic, but he would be much, much tender compared to when you first met him. However, it is actually agonizing to live with him hovering over you every waking minute. If the shows you watch involve the topic of child neglect or even families in general, no matter how mild, no matter how positive or negative, ten times out of ten, he would have one of his infamous, explosive meltdowns.

Oddly enough, he's mostly unaffected by documentaries, even if they potentially touch on his traumatic experiences. He tends to watch those that describe how everyday things are made, unfazed by true crime.

You avoided nature and animal documentaries because Cain would get unbelievably distressed if they involved the abandonment of their young.

Outside of that, you don't know what else to do with him. Cain seems uninterested in anything creative, but recently got obsessed with chess for some unknown reason. Regardless of your chess skills, he would beat you in almost every game, only losing to you when he first started out.

Perhaps it was boredom. Perhaps it was arousal, but you and Cain would begin to frequently have sex. And he fucks like a rabid animal, forceful, angry, desperate and primal. Cain would leave bite marks deep enough to bleed, as if he's trying to shred you into pieces. The curtains are always drawn shut because of his inclination to go down on you anywhere in the apartment. He has no problem bending you over the kitchen counter, making your legs spread on the sofa bed, pinning you against the wall, pounding you deep into your bed, letting the sound of the shower drown out your moans... The only place that's off limits is whatever table that held his valuable chessboard and pieces.

And you know that it just takes a deep kiss on the lips to initiate it, where both of your tongues must dance together. Cain would escalate quickly by rubbing his hands under your clothes. But he wouldn't press it if you decided that you're not in the mood anymore; he would just need to deal with his disappointment and sexual frustration on his own, in pure silence.

Cain doesn't say anything when fucking you. There will only be grunts and groans, but no dirty talk. Probably since he's too busy biting the hell out of your flesh.

His aftercare is a bit strange to you. It would be a strange mix of his usual harshness and an unusual dose of sentimentality:

"Get up." He would order you after a long session of post sex cuddling. Knowing him, you shouldn't oppose it.

"Go shower. I'll clean up." He began chucking the blankets, bedsheets, and pillow cases into the laundry hamper. Once he's done and sees that you're still there, he would turn to you and give you an affectionate peck on the forehead.

"You've been so good to me." He then squeezed the cheeks of your face firmly, causing you to pucker. Cain would chuckle at how silly you looked before kissing you lightly on the lips.

"I love you." He would whisper in your ear before letting you go, patting your head in praise.

However, if you just stood there and watched him ready the laundry basket, he would get annoyed.

"The fuck are you doing there, standing ass naked? Either put on some clothes or go take a damn shower." He would point in the direction of the bathroom. This would be enough to send you on your way.

Overall, you think Cain is a confusing man with moods that swing like a pendulum. You don't think he really feels shame towards you, just familiarity, trust, and comfort. And you feel honoured that you get to see his sweet side (sometimes), no one else outside of this apartment could ever hope to witness it, as he's just so spiky towards everyone. You're still so curious as to what sets you apart from all the other people who tried to help... You assume that Cain does have people who tried putting him on the right track in his life, but he pushed them away.

So one day, you mustered the courage to ask him about it. Expecting nothing more than some deranged yelling, you braced yourself:

"They shoved their help down my throat."

To your surprise, his response is as if you asked him for the time. Your speechlessness prompted him to continue.

"I fucking hated them. None of them really wanted to help me; they just wanted to feel good." He scrunched his nose as if he recalled something disgusting. "To them, I'm nothing more than a broken pet to fix. Something that should get no respect. Something practically useless in everything else, but gets them off like some street whore."

That sounds similar to what you thought of Cain. But you didn't say that out loud.

"They can take their fake sympathy and shove it so far up their asses that it kills them. Fuck them all." He snarled.

You let him release whatever steam he had for them. Well, that made sense that he gets crazily upset when you try to impose help without his request in the first place.

Once he's done, he decides to get up from his seat and pick up his now-worn duffel bag. You didn't have to ask him where he's heading out to.

"I'll be back by eight, I just need to get some stuff. Leave your bedroom door open for me." He pecked you on the cheek and smoothed your hair.

You watched him open the door and turned back to face you one more time:

"And don't fucking open the door to anyone that isn't me! You have a habit of doing stupid shit that's going to get you killed if it wasn't for me looking out for you!" He scolded before slamming the door behind him.

You wonder if Cain thinks of you as someone needing his protection, and so that's why you're not a threat to him but an object of his affection. You sat with this question, and you pondered if Cain genuinely thought of you as someone who is handicapped in some way. Made sense, your boundary-setting skills are non-existent, and you're always people pleasing, no matter how detrimental it is to your wellbeing. That's how you scored Cain.

Finally home alone after a while, you felt a little clueless as to what you should do. You know you should update your friends and family that you're doing well, and Cain is nothing they should worry about. Then again, you don't feel like talking to anyone right now.

The apartment looks pretty messy, with all the random junk Cain would bring back. God knows where he gets this merchandise, or where he got the money to buy it. You are actually in heavy denial that he's been shoplifting and wanted to believe that he's living honestly.

You thought it would be a good idea to tidy up a bit before he gets back and unloads more things from his duffel bag. It's a mystery how that bag could contain ungodly amounts of stuff.

You decided to start with the most cluttered part of your living room: the sofa bed. You know these are things that Cain would use daily, but it wouldn't hurt to organise them a bit.

The first thing that caught your eye? The book that Cain was attached to lately, and was almost obsessively reading. You wonder what was so interesting about it until you read the cover of the book.

It was a copy of "How to Be a Good Boyfriend".

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #oc cain #male yandere x reader #male yandere x you #tw toxic relationship #tw violence #tw sex #gender neutral reader

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heartz-for-de · 11 days ago

Note

Aww your pieces are so adorable :3

How about first 'I love yous' with the mha boys?

Sorry this took forever!!! You didn’t specify which ones you’d wanted sooooo sorry if I forgot anyone!!

Characters included- KATSUKI, KIRISHIMA, KAMINARI, IZUKU, TODOROKI

Not any warnings lol js fluff and some cussing.

REQUESTS- OPENNN

————

Katsukis first time saying ‘I love you’ was reassuring and aggressive.

Katsuki was terrible with words, both of you knew that. In fact he’d made it a point to compensate for his lack of communication through actions. You appreciated his effort in your relationship, but even with his constant affection you’d still felt a tinge of doubt clouding your mind.

It had all started when one day during class when you had began to think, what really attracted him to you? I mean he was the epitome of a perfect man in your eyes and you felt as if you had very little to offer. He had shut you down multiple times when it came to downplaying yourself, but sometimes you couldn’t help but overthink the balance in your relationship.

Katsuki had come up to you after class, expecting to walk you to your dorm per usual. But you had walked forward quickly, causing him to almost have to jog to catch up to where you were.

“Oi? Fuck are ya doin’” he growled out once he had reached you.

“Hm? Oh I was just headed to my dorm.” Your heart skipped at beat at the sound of his raspy and deep voice.

“Right, without me? I think the hell not. whats wrong?” He brushed off your half truth answer and immediately pressed for something more honest.

“I had just..—I had forgotten, I’m sorry.” You nearly held your breath. Lying to anyone was hard, but lying to Katsuki? Damn near impossible.

“No, you did not, y/n. What the fuck is wrong with you? I mean…did I—did I do something?” For a split second you saw confusion and worry flash over his face as he seemed to go through his memories in attempt to find something, anything, but to no avail.

“No! No, Katsuki, I promise you did nothing. It’s just— “ you abruptly ended your sentence once you had reached your dorm room, trying to decide if you should tell him what was wrong, or tell him to leave.

“Just what?” He anticipated the answer, his ruby eyes peering at you through his blonde eyelashes.

“It’s just, I don’t know. You’re so perfect, and I’m so…I don’t know..me I guess?” You stumbled over your words, as his gaze became harsher the more you went on.

“The hell? Yeah, you are you. The fuck is that supposed to mean?” He pressured your answer, his eyebrows furrowed with a look of anger and disgust flooding his features.

You let out a guttural sigh, this really wasn’t how you had wanted to spend the end of your stressful day.

“I mean that I feel like you’re way too perfect, for someone like me.” You wished for nothing more than for him to just disappear and let you wallow in your own self pity, but Katsuki Bakugou never took lightly to people talking bad about what’s his, and that included yourself.

“Oh fuck no— don’t ever let those words come out of your mouth, not now not ever. You are— you’re everything I need, everything I want, so don’t spew some bullshit about how I’m too good for you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t..” a pause came offer his half said sentence.

“If I didn’t love you, y/n. I love you, and it makes me so unbelievably pissed when you say shit like that.” His cheeks were flushed as he kept his glare set on you. Katsuki had never been one for words, but whatever he did say, came straight from his heart.

Kirishimas first ‘I love you’ was genuine and sweet.

It hadn’t been long since the two of you had started dating, but that didn’t make it any less real. And Kirishima was fighting demons everyday not to scare you off. He knew the 3 month rule, he also knew that if he did too much too early he could scare you off, and he’d rather die than see you walk away from him.

Training had been rough, per usual, and you and Kirishima were eating together in the common room.

He eyed your plate with tentative eyes.

“Mmm you meed more proteim.” He said with his mouth full of chicken. You let out a laugh at his mumbled words causing his eyes to land on you instead.

“And you need to chew your food.” You smile hadn’t left your face and Kirishimas heart was beating faster by the second. He gave you a sharp toothed smile and continued eating.

You then grabbed your drink and tried to wash down some of the rice stuck in your throat, but you had choked on the smooth liquid causing you to spit out some and remain a coughing mess.

At first Kirishima was alert and ready to help in whatever way he could, but when he realized you were just choking on water he let out a relieved smile.

You looked up at him with watery eyes and started laughing, the water from the previous attack now all over the table.

He laughed with you, his hand clutching his stomach form the sheer force.

Once the laughter had subsided all that was left was Kirishimas soft glance that landed onto your own. In that moment Kirishima felt nothing other than utter devotion and adoration.

“I love you.” He had said softly, his eyes still melting pure hot emotion. Your eyes went wide for a second from the unexpected confession. Your reaction caused Kirishima to realize what he’d said. Snapping out of his trance he gave you a terrified look.

“Shit, I’m so sorry y/n— I shouldn’t have said that.” He pulled his hands in front of him as if to defend himself.

“Hey, calm down.” You tried to calm the red headed boy who was now in a frenzy.

“I’m so sorry, I was trying so hard to wait—Yknow the three month rule— and I just let it slip.” He continued his rant.

“Eiji, baby. I love you too.” You grabbed his face with your hands, forcing his to meet your own eyes. His posture slumped as his cheeks turned a darker shade of red. He then made a weird expression as if he were constipated.

“I’m so freaking pumped you just said that, but I would take like three steps back because my entire body is about to go rock hard, and I don’t wanna cut your pretty hands.”

Kaminaris first Time saying ‘I love you’ was flirty and unexpected.

The two of you had been friends for what seemed like years, having met through Bakugou and mutual friends. However, you constantly teetered between friendly banter and full on flirting which made it difficult for outsiders to figure out the relationship between the two of you.

One day during the friend groups weekly movie nights, kaminari had volunteered to help you grab some snacks. You stood in the kitchen watching the yellow haired boy attempt to juggle a couple bottles of butter for which you wanted to use on the fresh popcorn.

“Kami, I really think you should put those—“

Splash, one of the bottles had fallen and spilled onto the ground near his feet.

“Shiittt, I could’ve sworn that I was gonna catch that.” Was all he said as you gave him a deadly glare.

“Yeah, well you didn’t.” You muttered angrily, not in the mood for his antics anymore.

“Cmon, babe, I’ll just clean it up! No need to get all pissy on me.” He smoothly grabbed. Paper towel from behind you and began to clean up his mess.

All you could do in return was roll your eyes, the seemingly empty nickname he had used brought a small heat onto your face.

“Wouldn’t have happened if you’d just listen the first time.” He glanced up at you, his cheeky grin forcing a smile out of you.

“Youre right shoulda just listened to you, i mean youre always right.” He said with a thick sarcastic tone lacing his voice. He let out a laugh as he threw away the dirtied towels.

“Mm, I am.” You responded simply.

“So stubborn, gosh. You’re lucky I love you.” He mumbled out. His voice slowly dropping out towards the end once he had realized what he’d said.

It wasn’t weird for friends to love eachother, in fact it was very normal. It would’ve been normal. But you and him both knew there was nothing platonic about what he’d meant. You both were frozen, waiting to see who would address it first, you decided you needed to break the thick silence.

“You love me?” You questioned, praying to everything there was that he wouldn’t try and say he didn’t mean it in the way you’d hoped. His face lightened and you saw the flirtatious look you usual saw.

“Thought it was kinda obvious, I mean cmon, babe. I charge your phone like every night…” he laughed softly while rubbing the back of his neck.

Izuku’s first time saying ‘I love you’ was pressured and hilarious.

He had spent the entire morning worried sick about you, his girlfriend, who had been seemingly upset. He couldn’t figure out why and it was eating away at him, the constant worry that he had done something wrong and was unaware.

So stupidly, the green haired boy had went to denki kaminari for relationship advice, because I mean obviously he would know what was going on in your head.

“Well I mean yall have been together for like two months right?” Denki asked with a perplexed look.

“Yes, but we’ve yet to get past a few important milestones.” Izuku added, his notebook in hand and ready for any notes or tips denki might have.

“Milestones? Like what might I ask?”

“Er, we haven’t said I love you, we haven’t—“ Izuku was cut off by an unimaginably loud gasp from his classmates mouth.

“You haven’t said I love you?” Denki whisper yelled as if anybody was actually listening.

Izuku gulped harshly.

“N-no? Should we have?” He questioned with a Look of worry written into his freckled features.

“Uh, dude, yeah! That’s probably why she’s so upset, I mean she probably thinks you hate her.” He said as if it was the most obvious answer to the boys problem. Izuku could do nothing but look horrified, how could he have let you felt that way?

The second he saw you in the halls he marched up to you and grabbed your shoulders.

“Y/n, I just want to let you know that i love you! I’m sorry for making you feel like I hated you and I want you to know that it’s completely the opposite.” He blurted out quickly with shut eyes.

“Izu, what the hell are you talking— I mean I love you too? I’m super confused, I didn’t think you hated me.” You tried to process everything he’d said but you couldn’t quite answer everything he’d thrown at you.

“Huh? You were super upset today, so denki had informed me it was because I hadn’t told you I loved you—“ you cut him off with a hand to his mouth.

“And you…listened? To denki? I love you too Izuku, but that was very, very dumb.” You patted his cheek with your free hand and played your lips to his forehead.

Todorokis first time saying ‘I love you’ was planned and professional.

He had been thinking all week about the perfect way to let you know and truly understand his feelings for you. You had been dating for about a month and he’d been waiting for just the right time.

He had decided that setting up a few candles in your room and a rose bouquet would really swoon you. (Kirishima had helped him with this perfect idea)

There were several candles, all of which were a lovely lavender scent that filled your room almost immediately. He had repositioned the roses multiple times, trying to get them in just the right position for when you opened the door to see him standing there.

He’d scheduled a study date with your friend group, only to bail last minute calling in sick. You were a little upset at the absence of him but he knew it would be soon replaced with joy when you entered your room. Or he hoped.

He stood awkwardly as he waited for the seconds to pass by, you’d be walking in your room any moment now and he was quite nervous.

The door gently creaked open, and you peered your head into the softly lit room.

“Sho, what the— I thought you were sick?” You asked with shock written all over your face.

You fully entered the dorm and took in all of the things he’d set up for you.

“I lied, my apologies. I needed you to be out of the room whilst I did this.” He answered you truthfully.

“What is this all for? I mean I love it so much this is the sweetest thing ever, but I must admit I’m a little confused.” You picked up the bouquet and looked at him with a small smile.

“I love you.” He felt his stomach drop once he’d released the words, his nerves now heightened beyond what he thought was possible. You gave a shocked expression, but it hadn’t lasted very long. You quickly teared up at the thought of your sweet boyfriend doing all of this just to tell you he loved you.

You let a smile flood your features as you nearly jumped onto the tall boy, his arms instinctively coming to wrap around your torso.

“I love you too, sho”

————

153 notes · View notes

itsthewritergal · 1 year ago

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Just let me go - Bucky Barnes x reader

Okay this one is ANGSTTYYY Also there will be a part two! Posted tomorrow :)

TW: kidnapping, swearing, suicidal thoughts, guns, angst, sadness, suicidal ideation, also I haven't proof read this aha I'm sorry!!

“Sergeant Barnes, there is someone here to see you” One of the agent said as they stepped into the training room,

“Who?” Bucky replied curtly, being halfway through a session with Nat he didn’t exactly want to be interrupted no matter who it was

“I don’t know but she looks upset, if I was you I’d be worried” the agent said with a laugh, making a few of the other trainee’s laugh

“Don’t forget your rank” Bucky said bluntly,

“Sorry Sargent Barnes” The agent said,

“You can start sparring, I’ll be back soon and I expect to see some improvements from yesterday” Nat said following Bucky out the room,

“Who do you think it is?” Nat asked

“I don’t know” Bucky said

“What about that girl you went out with the other night?”

“I don’t think she’d come here” Bucky said with a huff, “she didn’t like me” he said

“Ooh what about the girl from Tony’s party?” Nat suggested, it sounded as though the idea of Bucky having a girl round was entertaining to her, Bucky narrowed his eyes at Nat,

“No” He said bluntly,

“Tensions killing me” Nat said with a dry laugh

“Come on Nat, leave it alone” he said, turning the corner to the common room, he stopped immediately his breath hitching in his throat for a split second,

“Y/N?” Nat beamed running over to give her a hug almost knocking her off of her feet “It’s been like a year since I saw you!” She grinned,

“Hey Nat” She said gently,

“You have to stay for dinner, Wanda’s cooking, she’ll want to see you. So will Steve, and Tony, oh and Sam!” She said “I’ll text them all now, they’ll set up a place for you”

“Nat, I don’t think—” Y/N started

“I don’t want to hear it, you’re staying” She said pulling out her phone and quickly tapping a message,

“Y/N” Bucky said bluntly, his voice void of all emotions.

“Hey” Y/N cut herself off unsure of what to call him so deciding against calling him anything, her eyes wandered to his arm, “the black and gold suits you” She said softly “Always said silver wasn’t your colour”

“Shuri agreed with you” Bucky nodded

An uncomfortable silence settled across the two of them,

“I should go” She said quickly,

“Why did you come?” He asked a part of him not wanting her to disappear, not again

“I, uh I found, I found this” Y/N said her cheeks flushing red as she passed Bucky a t-shirt, one that he had forgotten about, but it certainly looked more worn now than how he remembered it. His heart squeezed at the thought of her wearing it after everything

“This is why you came?” Bucky said

“You’re right, it was stupid. I’m gonna go” Y/N said quickly, shaking her head as she turned, Bucky knew how she felt. He had imaged many times making an excuse to go and see her, he just didn’t think she was the kind of person to go through with it.

“Y/N! Oh my, Nat said you were here. I’ve just laid the table dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes which is just long enough for you to catch me up on your life! Sorry Buck, but she’s with me until dinner. Then you can have her back” Wanda said not offering Bucky or Y/N a second option.

----

“So Y/N where have you been?” Tony asked as they all sat down at the table “it’s like you dropped off the face of the earth

“Just around,” She said quietly

“I came by your apartment, but it was empty” Tony said,

“I had to move out”

“You moved out?” Nat said “How come?” She said worry filling her voice

“Life happens” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Bucky’s eyes fell on her face, watching how her eyes studied her plate not daring to look up

“Well things always find a way of getting better” Wanda said squeezing Y/N’s hand on the top of the table

“How about you guys, I’ve seen good things on the news” Y/N said softly

“We’re okay” Steve said,

“I”m pleased,” Y/N said with a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes,

“What’s your new apartment like?” Wanda asked,

“It’s nice” Y/N said gently ,

“You should give me the address,” Tony said commandingly

“I’ll send it over to you, I still don’t quite know it off by heart” She said, it was a lie. Bucky knew it was a lie, even if he couldn’t hear her heartbeat pick up, he would be able to tell from the way she couldn’t look at anyone in their eye.

“What part of town is it?” Steve pressed,

“I really appreciate you guys having me for dinner but I’m going to head home” She said quickly, “I’ll see you guys around” She said picking up her coat,

“I'm sorry if I said something wrong” Steve apologised quickly, he should’ve known better than to press her, Bucky thought

“You don’t need to” Tony said trying to savour the dinner

“Why don’t you stay for a movie?” Wanda suggested,

“I need to go” She said standing up and quickly hurrying out of the room

A gentle silence fell across the room, “I shouldn’t have asked her” Steve said

“It’s not on you” Wanda said “I don’t think that anyone could have convinced her to open up to us”

“I’ll find her address and go over tomorrow, it’ll be easier without anyone else there” Tony said fiercely,

“She won’t talk to you” Bucky said

“And she’ll talk to you?” Tony snapped “You’re the reason we are in this mess in the first place. She is my friend and I will do what I think is right”

“What even happened when you broke up?” Wanda asked

“ Nothing” Bucky said

“Don’t lie” Tony snapped

“What the hell did you do? I thought you two were fine” Nat asked

“You told us all you two were fine after the breakup” Wanda said

“Leave him alone” Steve said sternly

Bucky sighed softly “She just came to drop off a shirt”

“Nobody drops off a shirt after a year” Tony said “She wanted to see you and you couldn’t even give her the time of day” He snapped

“She’ll be okay, I’ll come with you tomorrow, we can check in on her” Wanda said

Bucky didn’t dare to say anything, he just nodded gently. It was a thank you, all be it a silent one, but a thank you none the less.

----

“Tony, you need to see this” Wanda said as an alert popped up on the screen alerting Tony to a new message, they had been in Tony's lab for a few hours scouting out Y/N's new apartment.

“Have you seen where she is living?” Tony said scanning through the photos that FRIDAY had brought up on his screen “it’s worse than I thought”

“Tony now” Wanda said fiercely,

“What is it?” Tony asked, turning around, his face dropping when he saw the screen. “Is that?”

“Y/N” Wanda finished

“Who sent this” Tony asked

“I don’t know, it’s anonymous. I can’t trace the signal either”

“FRIDAY, call the team and get them into the conference room now”

“Yes Mr Stark” FRIDAY answered

“We can’t tell Bucky” Wanda said,

“We can and we will because he is going to help us”

“That’s a bad idea” Wanda said

“He once was one the best assassins, no debate. As much as I don’t like the tinman, he can and will help us” Tony said leaving little room for debate.

“Tony what the hell? We’re meant to have the week off of missions” Nat said, sitting down in a chair with a mug of coffee nursed in her hands

“This is different” Tony said,

“How so?” Steve asked

“This is personal” Tony said sternly,

“It’s Y/N” Wanda whispered,

“What happened to her?” Bucky asked

“I was sent this video” Tony said

“We thought it was best we watched it together” Wanda added

“FRIDAY, play the video please”

The screen went dark for a moment and then lit up with a picture of Y/N locked in a room, Bucky felt a strange wave of familiarity wash over him

“Tell your friends what we want” A voice spoke, it sent chills down Bucky’s spine, he put her in this position. He had done everything to keep her safe, after all these years, this was his fault.

“They won’t come” Y/N’s voice was strangely calm

“Don’t be difficult girl, tell them what we want” The voice spoke again

“You want the soldier, you want someone who’s gone. But here’s the catch. Even if he wasn’t gone, even if the solider still existed he wouldn’t come. Not for me.” She said

“We’ve done our research” The voice mused, there was a hint of amusement in it’s voice, as though it had caught Y/N out,

“Your research is wrong. I haven’t spoken to Bucky in a year, he does’t care” Y/N snapped, a gunshot sounded through the conference room, making them jump

“Turn it off” Bucky’s voice was quiet but cut through the entire room

“Shooting blanks at me won’t work” Y/N snapped “If you’re going to kill me then kill me”

“Turn it off” Bucky said once more

“We want the soldat” The voice behind the camera spoke

“Then you’ll have to find someone who he cares about, because it isn’t me” She snapped

“You have six hours or she dies”

The camera turned off and the room went dark. All eyes turned to Bucky,

“When was this sent?” He said

“Barely ten minutes ago” Wanda answered softly,

“Let’s start at her apartment” Steve said firmly “Wanda, Clint you’re with me, Tony, Nat you should try and find something from the video, there might be an idea of where they’re keeping her.”

“I need to go as well” Bucky said

“No” Wanda said “You need to stay away from this”

“I spent years tracking people down, I think I’m the best chance we have to finding Y/N” He said challenging anyone to speak out against him

“I’ll go as support” Sam said patting Bucky’s back comfortingly.

“We need to go, now” Steve said

----

Steve’s skin crawled at the sight of Y/N’s apartment. He hesitated before pushing the door open, it creaked and echoed through the tiny studio. Clothes were thrown across the room, plates were stacked up by the sink, two blankets were half heartedly thrown across the bed, no sign of a duvet or pillow. Bucky had to tear his eyes away from her apartment for a minute to regain his composure.

“I can’t believe she was staying here” Wanda said stepping into it

“It was a means to an end” Steve said,

“I should have helped her” Wanda sighed softly, her eyes falling on the pile of clothes in the corner of the room,

“We didn’t know” Clint said

“We should have” Wanda snapped “Look at how she was living, we should have been able to help”

“She was always good at surviving” Steve said firmly

“She shouldn’t have had to be, we are her friends and the moment her and Bucky split we left her” Wanda said, tears building in her eyes

“They must have taken her here, look at the mess” Steve said changing the subject quickly,

“No” Bucky said softly “This is Y/N” Bucky said with a sigh

“What do you mean?” Clint asked “this is normal?”

“When she got busy, she used to get messy, never put things away. Found it hard to do anything” Bucky said swallowing tightly “We argued about it” He admitted

“So did they take her here, or not?” Sam asked

“Not here, this is normal for her. It didn’t happen here” Bucky said firmly

“Ok so that’s something” Sam said, attempting at a loose sense of positivity

“It must’ve happened by the compound” Wanda said “think about it, if they wanted Bucky then surely they’d be keeping tabs on him. When she left last night they must have taken the next best thing to get to him” She said

“We need to look at security cameras” Clint suggested

“Who wants Bucky though?” Sam said, “I think we’re focussing too much on Y/N, rather than on what they want”

“Hydra” Steve said through pursed lips

“It can’t be” Wanda said

“It has to be” Clint confirmed “It makes the most sense”

“So who are we looking at? Zemo?” Sam asked

“Maybe” Steve said “Doesn’t feel right though”, Steve’s thought was cut short by his phone ringing

“Steve, I’ve got an address” Tony said, “suit up”

----

Bucky couldn’t stop shaking, he’d been on tougher missions, he’d been in tougher briefings, he had almost died more times than he could count. But this felt like the worst day of his life,

“We’ve been sent an address,” Tony said

“It’s a trap” Nat said

“We don’t know that” Steve suggested, “Who sent it to you?”

“It came with a video, it was from the same people as before”

“What’s the video?” Sam asked, noticing the tension that had fallen across the room,

Tony instructed FRIDAY to play the video, Y/N’s face was brought up on the screen,

“Y/N tell them what you just told me” The voice spoke

“No” She spat through gritted teeth, her hair was matted with blood which dripped slowly from a wound on her hair line, her face was bruised and Bucky was silently pleased he could only see to the base on her neck, anymore and he was sure he would throw up. The skin he had once pressed kisses to so gently was purple and blotted with blood.

“Our captive here has a death wish” The voice said again, “She had her little suicide letters in her pocket when we caught her” it sneered

“Shut the hell up” Y/N snapped, there was something in her eyes that scared Bucky, she looked so void of the love that she had once been filled with

“She was on the top of a building when we found her, she’s only got 3 hours left avengers. Are you going to give in to her wishes?”

“Just kill me” She whispered

“What was that?” The voice asked, it was mocking her, teasing her, it was a sight that Bucky couldn’t stand

“Kill me!” She shouted, her voice sent chills down each of the spines of her old friends “Just kill me” She said settling into a bought of sobs,

The video stopped and cut to a map with a pin placed directly in it.

“We need to go” Steve said “We leave in 5”

----

The quinjet landed softly and Bucky could feel a knot growing in his stomach, he had been on enough rescue missions to know the ways that this could go. It was an old hydra base, one that Bucky was sure should’ve been emptied years ago. But here it stood, admittedly it was partly falling down but the cells were deep underground and the structures were built to last. He knew that much well enough, if he strained his ears he would swear that he could hear Y/N’s cries, but he convinced himself it was all in his head.

“She’s going to be okay” Steve said

“I can’t loose her Steve” Bucky admitted “I’ve lost her once, I can’t watch her die”

“Then don’t let her” Steve said

Bucky followed behind the rest of the team, Wanda stood beside him,

“Do you want me to take the fear away?” She asked under her breath, knowing nobody else would be able to hear her

“No, I need it” Bucky said, he didn’t explain anything else but Wanda nodded,

“Let’s go get Y/N home” Wanda said

Bucky followed Tony’s lead, any other mission he would have tried to take the lead off of Tony but he couldn’t for this. Y/N needed Tony’s planning, Y/N’s life couldn’t be in Bucky’s hands. He would never forgive himself if anything happened. They descended into the base, it was too quiet for Bucky’s liking. Hydra would never have kept it this quiet, something was wrong.

“Welcome home soldat” the words echoed through the halls,

“They know we are here” Steve muttered,

“She’s down here” Tony said, taking another set of steps downwards, Bucky could hear her shallow breaths getting louder slowly with each step he took.

“Y/N?” Steve called out,

“I told you to fucking kill me” Y/N screamed, Tony immediately picked up the pace to a run following the sound of her voice. Their footsteps echoed through the concrete walls, as they came across a long hallway filled with cells made of glass. Bucky’s skin crawled at the sight. This was what he wanted to protect Y/N from, she shouldn’t see this.

“KIll me” Her voice rang through the cells,

“Soldat” Bucky turned to find the voice behind him. “Do the honours?” The man said, he was older than Bucky thought he would be.

“We’re surrounded” Steve said,

“There’s no getting out of this” The man sneered,

“That’s kind of where you are wrong” Tony said smartly, “You really think there’s only four of us?” He laughed

“What?”

“The rest of our team have cleared out your base, and they’re on their way” He said with a smirk “Also not only have we got two super soldiers, we’ve also got a freaky witch and me, ironman, you might of heard of me”

“Ironman, you forget. You have an unstable winter soldier on your team, All I have to do is say a few words and he’s under my control right?”

“Doesn’t work anymore” Bucky snapped

“I’m bored” Nat said sneaking up from behind, with a wicked grin she pulled the trigger and the body fell to the ground with a thud. Instantly Bucky turned and shot the guard who was keeping him surrounded “God why are all the people we go against so boring” Nat said with a huff, once they had dealt with the guards.

“Let’s just get Y/N” Tony said letting out a breath.

Wanda took a step away from the group into a nearby cell, it was as though she felt her.

“Guys she’s here” Wanda called,

Bucky took a deep breath and turned the corner, Y/N sat slumped on a chair, out of breath and covered in bruises and dried blood.

“Please” She whimpered

“We’re going to get you out of here” Wanda said slowly untying her gently

“Please no” She cried

“You’re safe” Steve said kneeling at her side

“No Please, let me go” She said

“We’re letting you go, you’re going to be ok”

“No, please” She sobbed again “You have to let me die” She cried as Wanda pulled the ties away from her

“Y/N, we can’t do that” Steve said,

“You’re going to be okay” Tony promised

“Just let me go please?”

PART TWO

#bucky barnes #bucky angst #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes x y/n #itsthewritergal #bucky masterlist #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x #bucky barnes masterlist #bucky x

1K notes · View notes

melagnes · 2 months ago

Text

The Camping Trip

Description: What starts as a school camping trip quickly turns into something else when you end up sharing a tent with Melissa Schemmenti. The night got colder, and Melissa? She’s more than willing to help warm you up.

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Word Count: 1.9K

This trip was supposed to teach the kids valuable outdoor skills—teamwork, self-sufficiency, survival. You know, all those things that sounded great on paper but, in reality, just meant a bunch of fourth graders crying over bug bites.

Ava, a self-proclaimed doomsday prepper, should have been thriving out here. The woman had a bug-out bag ready to go at all times. But you’d underestimated one crucial factor: her hatred of dirt. You all knew she would much rather be glamping. The second she realized there were no air mattresses involved, she peaced out without so much as a backward glance.

“See y’all on the flip side,” she called over her shoulder, flashing two peace signs before disappearing like a mirage.

Meanwhile, the rest of you were left with the grim reality of sleeping on the actual ground.

Barbara, being the queen that she was, had already staked claim to a solo tent before anyone could protest. That left the rest of you staring at each other, silently weighing your options.

Someone had to supervise the kid’s tent.

Jacob tried to make it fair; he snapped a handful of twigs off a nearby tree and held them out in his fist. “Alright, whoever pulls the two shortest sticks will sleep in the tent with the kids.”

Melissa snorted. “You say that like you’re not about to rig this.”

“I would never–”

“Jacob,” you inject.

He deflated, “…Okay, fine, but I should get points for creativity.”

One by one, everyone picked. Janine groaned when she saw her tiny stick. Then Jacob glanced down at the remaining stick left in his hands—also devastatingly short.

“Aw, come on!” he whined.

Janine sighed. “Man, I really thought manifesting a tent with Barbara would work.”

Barbara, already fluffing her camp pillow in her tent, didn’t even look up. “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

Gregory held up his stick, comparing it to Mr. Johnson’s. Both were noticeably longer. “Uh… I guess... it’s you and me, Mr. Johnson. Our sticks are... longer. So.” He awkwardly cleared his throat.

“You snore?” Mr. Johnson shot him a look.

Gregory immediately tried to act cool, though there was a hint of defensiveness. “What? Me? No, I don’t snore. That’s more of a–uh–Janine thing.”

Janine whipped her head around with wide eyes. “What? I do not snore!”

Mr. Johnson just raised an eyebrow at her. “Sure you don’t, Janine. I’m watchin’… I’m always watchin’.”

Janine sputtered, her face turning bright red. “I—okay, maybe a little, but it’s not that bad!” She crossed her arms defensively, “You know what, you’re just jealous that I’m a deep sleeper. That’s all.”

Meanwhile, Melissa clapped you on the shoulder with a grin. “Looks like it’s you and me, hon.”

You swallowed. Hard.

Could be worse.

Before the sun set and it became time for a campfire, the teachers split off to help assemble the tents, which mostly consisted of Melissa taking charge while you… tried.

“You gotta secure the poles first,” she said, arms crossed, watching as your structure wobbled like a baby deer.

“I did secure the poles,” you protested.

“Ms. Schemmenti’s right,” one of your fifth graders chimed in. “Your tent’s as wobbly as a Skibidi Toilet.”

“Yeah, you need to tighten the ropes,” another added helpfully.

Melissa stepped in, grabbed a rope, and gave it a solid tug. The whole thing collapsed like a house of cards. She raised an eyebrow. The kids burst into laughter.

“Okay, so maybe not as secure as I thought,” you muttered.

Melissa just smirked—that slow, smug kind of smirk that made your stomach do an embarrassing little flip.

“Let’s copy Ms. Schemmenti’s tent!” a student shouted.

You sighed, the weight of defeat settling in. If this were Survivor, you’d be the first one voted off. The kids knew more about wilderness survival than you. The teacher.

Melissa, as cocky as ever, swatted your shoulder, “Good thing I’m here, huh?”

Good thing, indeed.

By the time night fell, it was campfire time. As proven, you’re not the most wildernessly inclined, but you do know one thing; the combination of fire and children, was problematic.

You’ve never been a big fan of campfire songs, but you would sell your soul to Gregory for his unique ability. He single-handily kept the kids entertained as to prevent them from falling into that (somewhat) raging fire.

He was a campfire song connoisseur.

His voice reverberated through the brisk night air as he strummed his ukulele, “C-a-m-p-f-i-r-e s-o-n-g song and if you don’t think we can sing it faster, then you’re wrong, but It’ll help if you just sing along.”

Wait- was that, SpongeBob?

“Gregory, you genius,” Janine mumbled.

Brother can speak FAST. It went on for 3 more rounds—until the kids were completely breathless.

Now it was Jacob’s time to shine.

“As a history teacher, it is my duty to know and understand what has happened on this land before us.”

“Of course he would know the lore of the campground,” you muttered under your breath (in a loving way).

“It was the year 1876; the Centennial Exposition, which in fact occurred the same year as—”

You couldn’t help but tune him out a little. Melissa was seated next to you on a log, allowing you to feel the heat from her thighs pressing into yours. It was distracting. Sue yourself.

A simple glance could tell you the kids were terrified of Jacob’s tale.

“They say, his ghost still wanders the campgrounds at night, looking for more victims…” He trailed off wagging his finger. “So, you better sleep with your mouth closed. You don’t want him to poison you in your sleep, do you?”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared, too,” Melissa murmured in your ear which definitely didn’t cause you to jump a mile high off the log.

She chuckled in pure amusement. “Thought so.”

“Huh, I’m not scared.”

“It’s ok hon, you can admit you’re scared of a ghost from 1876.” she laughed causing you to roll your eyes, but your smirk betrayed your true feelings.

Jacob finally realized what he had done when he caught sight of a girl taping her friend’s mouth shut.

“Oh no, guys—”

“Thank God, he has to supervise em cause, there is no way they are sleeping tonight.” Melissa slowly rose from her position on the log; she looped her arm with yours to drag you to the tent. At that moment, you realized you were in for a long night.

You stuttered for a brief second as colour dusted your cheeks, “Agreed. However, he put this upon himself.”

By the time you climbed into the tent, exhaustion had fully set in. The problem? The temperature had dropped, and your sleeping bag was about as effective as a paper towel.

Melissa noticed before you could even pretend you weren’t shivering. She let out an exasperated sigh and, without hesitation, pulled you closer.

“C’mere, before you turn into a popsicle.”

Your brain short-circuited immediately.

“This isn’t weird, right?” you mumbled, trying—and failing—to sound normal.

Melissa scoffed. “Not unless you make it weird.”

Oh. Oh, you were definitely making it weird. At least in your mind.

“Well…” you trailed off, your voice quieter now. “You’re really close.”

“Yeah? You got a problem with that?” Her lips brushed your ear as she leaned in, her breath warm against your skin.

“No, of course not, it’s just-”

“Relax,” she whispered, voice softer now as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’m trying,” you muttered. “It’s just… hard when we’re lying on the ground.”

She chuckled, her breath warm against your skin. “Wow, you’re still freezing.”

You shifted slightly, trying to ignore the fact that you were practically tangled together now. Her arm draped casually over your waist, her palm pressing against your back like it belonged there. You weren’t sure if the warmth creeping up your spine was from her body heat or something else entirely.

“It’s not that bad,” you muttered, voice embarrassingly shaky.

Melissa propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at you. In the dim glow of the lantern, her eyes gleamed.

“You got some kinda death wish, or do you just like bein’ stubborn?” she teased, voice lower now, rougher.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could get a word out, she kissed you.

Warm. Firm. And entirely too brief.

By the time your brain caught up, she had already pulled back, smirking like nothing had just happened. Warmth spread throughout your body, and it certainly rose to your cheeks.

“See?” she murmured, settling back down. “Warms you right up.”

You stared at the ceiling of the tent, dazed. “Yeah. That’s… that’s definitely one way to do it.”

“How about another one for good measure?” she raised an eyebrow.

You nodded, slow and dazed, your eyes fluttering shut as the weight of words failed you.

Melissa didn’t need them. She took that as a yes, leaning in until her lips captured yours once more. This kiss was deeper—less tentative than the first. Her mouth was warm, insistent, and soft in a way that made your breath hitch. You barely registered her fingers weaving into your hair until they tightened, anchoring you.

Heat bloomed in your chest, then spilled lower, curling into your stomach like liquid fire. And when she finally did break away, her lips barely ghosted against yours, like she was testing something.

“Still cold?” she exhaled, amusement in her eyes.

You smirked, cocking your head. “Hmm… I might be.”

Her mouth descended to your neck without warning, and your gasp was breathy, involuntary. Your pulse roared in your ears as her lips and tongue traced a path that left heat pooling in your core.

“Nope,” you breathed, voice shaky. “Pretty warm now.”

Melissa drew back slowly, leaving a damp, tingling trail behind. “Thought so.”

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes, nudging her shoulder.

She laughed, pulling you closer like she wasn’t done with you just yet. And honestly? You were more than okay with that.

At some point, exhaustion won over adrenaline. Wrapped in her warmth, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, you drifted off.

Which made being yanked out of sleep by the sound of something enormous rummaging through camp all the more jarring.

There was a muffled curse—Melissa’s, judging by the way she immediately reached for the lantern.

“What the hell is that?” she whispered.

Before you could answer, a loud crash echoed through camp, followed by the muffled, frantic whispering of the kids. You couldn’t make out much through the fabric of the tent, but you caught the rising panic in their voices.

“AHHHH,” someone screamed from the tent next door. “Is that THE GHOST?!”

Thereafter, you heard Jacob’s voice—determined, and completely unhelpful. “BE GONE, DEMON. RETURN TO THE NIGHT.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing. “Oh my god.”

Melissa snorted, burying her face in your shoulder. Then she exhaled, just a little calmer now.

“Yeah, I’m sure the bear’s terrified,” she muttered.

She wasn’t wrong.

By daylight, the aftermath was unavoidable.

Chocolate pudding, everywhere. Smudged across the tents and streaked down the coolers. Kind of crusty—but, evidently, still pudding.

You took one look at the disaster and deadpanned, “Well. At least the bear’s got taste.”

“That’s what we call a teachable moment,” Melissa said, arms crossed.

You bit back a smile. “And what exactly is the lesson here?”

Melissa shot you a look. “Listen to me next time.”

And as the day went on, you realized that whatever lesson you’d learned from this trip, the most important one was that Melissa was right.

Every time.

Even when she kissed you.

Especially then.

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x y/n #abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary fanfic #melissa schemmenti fanfic #fanfic #wlw #x reader

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iamasaddie · 2 months ago

Text

late night video

Clint x f!reader

summary: Clint needs to relax after a very, very difficult week. His plans to get some porn and jerk off his stress away change when he sees a pretty young thing at the counter. warnings: PWP; sex for money so dub-con(ish) but both parties realy want that; explicit sexual content (manhandling, dry humping, denied orgasm, unprotected PinV, dirty talk) ; unedited word count: 3,6k a/n: tomorrow is my birthday so here's a gift from me to me and also you <3 thanks to my dear friend @toxicanonymity for letting me blab about it and giving her wonderful comments!

Clint had a long week. A very long week. A week that left another deep scar on his body and a black eye under his left eye. His hand was still hurting after punching in the face of someone who maybe even deserved it. Clint hissed as he opened the door to the store he visited sometimes. He should’ve taken more painkillers.

He noticed you with his peripheral vision the moment he walked in. A pretty young thing – he hadn’t seen you here before – popping bubblegum with a bored look on her face. There was no need to look around, the section he preferred was always separated from the main space. Without an ounce of shame, he confidently walked towards the tacky red lights to a little space hidden behind heavy velvet curtains.

The sound of the bell above the front door interrupted your mindless flipping through a magazine. The glossy pages changed one by one in front of your eyes, filling your brain with unnecessary knowledge about new hairstyle trends, colors of the season, and which Hollywood star had the biggest house.

Before you raised your head and gave the person who came in a polite greeting, your gaze, out of habit, darted to the small desk clock. Two more hours until the end of the shift, and it already felt like a load of sand had been poured into your eyes. You sighed wearily and blinked with your painted eyelids, feeling the weight of the makeup that had been heavy on your skin all day.

You didn't even try to put a fake smile on your lips, barely covered in cherry lip gloss on the edges where you haven’t licked it off yet. The man who came in wasn't looking at you, but as soon as you saw him, you couldn't look away. Tall, broad, with an impenetrable face and still fresh scars that clearly wouldn't heal on their own. His steps were heavy, as, apparently, his whole life was.

Criminals, bandits rarely visited the video store, perhaps it was due to something distracting them from enjoying the art of cinematography, so you watched with interest as he strolled along the rows of films of different genres. Until he stopped, you were pondering what his choice would be. Usually, men like him were found between the blockbuster shelves. He resembled a man who knew the lines of ‘Die Hard’ by heart.

You saw the confidence with which he strode towards the heavy corduroy curtains and grinned to yourself. Right, Bruce Willis wouldn’t be the man’s companion for the night. Stubbornly, you continued staring at his leather-clad back, and as if sensing this, he paused for a second before disappearing behind the partition and looked back at you for the first time, fixing a sullen gaze on your frozen face.

It was like you were being held hostage by those deep, dark eyes. The deep red color of the dried blood on the split skin under his eye added even more breathtaking cruelty to his stern face. You blinked, and when you looked at him again, all you could see were the fluttering red curtains.

In a shameless erotic parade, film after film was lined up. The covers were full of semi-naked women and men in various poses, inviting anyone who’d enter to grab them and run into the secluded darkness of their own room. Clint took his time, he didn't know what he was looking for, but he was sure he would feel it as soon as he saw it.

A blonde with huge breasts wrapped in thick ropes with a fake expression of pleasure on her face. Pass.

An illegally young-looking brunette kneeling in front of a man in a suit. He cringed at the tasteless name, “Teacher’s Pet”. Pass.

Redheads, gray-haired, bald, women, men. Damn, why the hell was it so hard to choose porn?

Exhaling, he grabbed “The Art of Submission". The man in the black suit barely stood out against the dark background, his hand was hiding the nakedness of a woman's pussy, and the girl on the cover was bent like a stretched bowstring, her eyes tightly closed. That'd do.

“Great choice.” You tried to sound unbothered, even though what started with a tingling heat in your lower belly now felt like a wildfire. “It’s very popular among men. And women.”

The man didn't take his eyes off you, which made you squirm nervously. He shamelessly studied your body, scarcely hidden behind a self-cropped graphic T-shirt and low-rise jeans. The bare skin of your tummy was covered with goosebumps from his attention and he grinned, addressing you for the first time.

“Think tellin’ me how many people exactly jacked off to this will make my night more exciting?” His eyebrows jerked upwards, giving you a better view of his long eyelashes. His face was impossible to read, but a spark of mischief seemed to glint in his eyes at the sight of your face distorted into an awkward smile.

“No, it’s not what I meant…” You stuttered for a second before getting yourself together and challenging him by not averting your eyes. “Although if that’s your thing it’s totally cool, trust me, I’m not judging. You know, to each their –”

“I’m not into cuckolding, or sharing, or whatever it is you mean.” The words out of his mouth sounded so mundane, that you were taken aback. Even though you were far from being a prude – quite the opposite, actually, you were enthusiastically pro sex in all its forms – it was unusual for a person buying porn to be so loud and unbothered.

“And what is your thing?” Someone obviously poured a gallon of audacity in your morning coffee because you didn't understand what else could have prompted you to ask such questions to a customer. Someone you were 99% sure was also a bandit.

As if he was talking about his favorite beverage, the man replied to you. “Owning people.”

A nervous laugh escaped your throat and you didn't have time to swallow it. A minute-long pause interrupted your conversation, and his serious face hinted that he wasn't joking. Unwilling to let the conversation end on such a note, you tried to lighten the mood by offering the stranger a light smile and a chuckle.

“That doesn’t sound very legal.”

“Most of the things I do aren’t.” He just shrugged his shoulders. Your twitching lower lip tore the smile off your face and you bit the tender flesh, trying to keep your composure. “But I don’t want to scare you, so let’s just say sex for money. It is owning of sorts.”

He placed his palms on the counter and you directed your gaze to where his thick thumbs mindlessly scratched the lacquered wood. You clung to a small tattoo between his thumb and forefinger. A simple bullseye that turned blue with time. You wondered if that was because he always hit the target.

“Still not sure how legal it is.” You answered slowly, now lacking the nervous grin. This man's directness belied his danger, and both facts attracted you almost as much as his rough and rigid beauty. Saliva pooled in your mouth and you swallowed thickly, still staring at his fingers. You wanted to feel them in your mouth, the way imperious digits would press on your tongue, making you drool, and a slight grin would dance on the lips of a brown-eyed man while you helplessly moaned through your lips.

“Well, you won’t tell anyone, will you little lamb?” He bent his head and locked his eyes on yours. It seemed to you that his pupils were dilated, darkening his deep brown even further. “Plus, if both parties are consenting and having fun, what harm can be in that?”

You felt a lump in your throat, and the collar of your T-shirt became unbearably tight around your neck and you pulled it slightly. After taking another look at the upside-down picture on the cover of his VHS, you shook your head and tapped the plastic box with a nail painted in already cracked black polish.

“If that’s your thing, I don’t think this movie’s for you. It doesn’t really fit your criteria.”

“Well, sometimes you gotta compromise.”

You took a deep breath, and blurted out as quickly as the air left your lungs,“maybe you don’t have to today.”

The silence was broken only by the sound of a music program coming from an old radio. You watched in silence as his hand reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He had a resemblance of a smile on his face, a bit patronizing, but you liked the way his plump lips stretched and the scar cutting through one of them became lighter. You thought he was going to throw ten bucks on the table and walk away, or laugh in your face after recognizing your clumsy attempts at seduction, but instead he took out a folded stack of hundred-dollar bills squeezed by a gold holder. He took off the accessory and counted out five bills without looking, casually throwing them on the counter between you. Then, without saying another word, he turned around and crossed the room with a few confident steps, disappearing behind the red curtains for the second time that day.

You didn't have to ponder about what was going to happen for a long time, he left the tape on the counter next to the money. With a speed that you would be ashamed to admit to your friends, you rushed to the front door, flipping the sign to “Closed" and turning the latch. Just in case, you yanked the door a couple of times to make sure that no one would be able to enter. Checking your reflection in the glass window, you ran your hands over your hair trying to tame it a bit and pinched your nipples, forcing the tensed beads to stretch the thin fabric of your T-shirt.

He was sprawled out on a small two-seater sofa in the same fussy red color as the curtains. His legs were spread wide, practically extending from one armrest to the other, and your eyes immediately went to the bulge of his hard cock, still hidden under the stretched denim.

Consumed by a sudden wave of shyness, you walked deeper into the room. The man followed your every move with his hawk-like gaze, while you did not know where to put your hands and hoped that you would not stumble on air. A squeaky voice in your head mocked the inept seductress you turned out to be.

“So, little lamb, are you here to throw money in my face and tell me to get out?” His eyes traced the column of your neck, settling their attention on the stiff peaks of your nipples that gave him all the answers he needed. “Or are you here to let me own you for a while? Rent me your pussy, your mouth… Those pretty tits?” The silence was heavy with tension and you weren’t sure if he wanted you to reply or if it was a part of a game that had already begun. “I need you to tell me what you want. Otherwise it’s no fun.”

“Second, Sir.” You had no idea how the porny-sounding title came out of your mouth. You wanted to address him in some way so that he would know for sure that you were talking to him. That you wanted him. But since you didn't know his name, there wasn't much of a choice.

“Clint,” he offered you his name, and with how easily he’d done it you weren’t sure it was his real one. “My name’s Clint, but I like your manners.”

You quickly learned that Clint’s aura wasn’t the only big thing about him.Like an obedient doll to your puppet master, you straddled one of his wide-spread legs as soon as he beckoned you with his finger. The muscles in his thigh tensed and you felt the long awaited friction where your pussy was begging for it.

“Such a pretty thing,” he hummed low, watching how the light plays on your skin. “And so responsive.” He flexed his muscles eliciting a moan out of you. “Are you needy enough to fuck my thigh, little lamb? I didn’t even take my dick out and you’re halfway done.”

Your lower body worked on its own accord, too close to getting what it’s desired to stop. It was as if you were watching from the sidelines as your hips slowly moved, agitating every cell in your needy cunt. Your short pleated skirt hid the full depravity of your action, but you could feel your wetness seeping through the gusset of your panties, undoubtedly creating a mess on Clint’s jeans.

He didn't take his eyes off your face: your lower lip was painfully trapped between your teeth, eyes were squeezed shut in anticipation of an orgasm that was about to come… Suddenly, your body became still. In a daze of the approaching release you didn't understand what was happening at first. You tried to move your hips again, but they were trapped in Clint's hands. You groaned in frustration, almost crying.

“I know, you want to cum so bad, don’t you?” Instead of sympathy, there was a note of mockery in his voice, and you tried to pull away from his grip to finally get the desired relief, but his hands held you painfully tightly by the hips, not allowing you to move. “I think you forgot something, little lamb. I’m here to use you, not the other way around.”

His words hit you like an ice bucket, but instead of cooling you down, it ignited a new desire in you. The tension between you was so palpable it almost bit you with electricity. Tuning with the reaction your body had to his words, you learned something new about yourself that day. Apparently, you were not at all against the idea of being used. You wondered if it was just reaction him, or if you’d just discovered a new kink of yours.

Lost in your own thoughts, you didn't notice Clint releasing your hips and quickly unzipping his pants.

“Up,” he nodded to you and you obeyed reluctantly. Losing contact with his warm, solid thigh almost made you cry, but you quickly changed your attitude when you saw him lift his hips and pull down his pants enough to take out his cock.

It was easy to understand from his knowing chuckle that you weren't the first to react to his manhood this way. And there was a lot to react to. Heavy-looking, his dick stood proudly, already hard after your little show. 8 inches, thick and entwined with bulging veins, you almost fell to your knees to get a taste. His deep pink head was glistening your precum and you licked your lips as if you’d be able to feel his salt on your tongue. A nice set of balls was intimidatingly proportionate to his dick and you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d be able to get even one in your mouth. His hair was neatly trimmed, which came as a pleasant surprise for you. You wanted to bury your nose in that thatch of hair as you swallowed him down your throat, but you knew that was not in the cards today.

“Come here, little lamb, it’s impolite to stare.” His voice was like a tiger's purring. It was such a falsely harmless, enticing sound, but it came from a ruthless killing machine.

You pulled off your panties, letting them dangle on your left ankle, and wanted to return to your place on his lap, but Clint clicked his tongue in disapproval.“Lose the skirt, I wanna see your pretty pussy struggling to take me.”

You swallowed thickly, but your fingers were already working on the buttons on the side. The dark garment fell around your feet like a puddle, but you just stepped over it.

Clint was staring at your pussy. His face lost its cheeky playfulness for a moment, and his jaw clenched tightly. “Even prettier than I imagined,” he said to himself, but the little porn nook was quiet enough for you to hear his whisper.

Impatiently, you climbed onto his lap, wrapping your hand around his tense cock. He was so hot against your skin, like Clint had a fever. You both hissed in unison as you ran the weeping head from your clit to your eagerly throbbing hole. You leaned on his shoulder with one hand, trying to keep your balance before you would finally let him cross the last barrier.

You felt a little scared, now knowing how big Clint's dick was. Despite the fact that you were long gone being a virgin, and even had a decent amount of partners, you had never met someone so blessed. In an attempt to calm your nerves, you caressed yourself with the spongy head a few more times, painfully teasing both of you.

Clint's hand found your face, and he squeezed your cheeks, forcing you to look him straight in the eye.

“Sit on it.”

You bit your lip, slowly taking the cock inside you. Instead of pain, you felt only a slightly burning tension while your pussy was molded and stretched to accommodate his girth and length. The amount of your arousal was enough to make all 8 inches of him squeeze inside you in one long slide.

When you felt his coarse pubic hair with your skin you let yourself breathe out, the smell of your bubblegum landing on his lips.

“What a good girl,” he almost sounded proud. You shared the notion.

Neither of you moved for several long moments. Your eyes were interlocked, which seemed inappropriately intimate.You studied every ridge and vein of his cock with your walls, as he was learning your softness, your pliability.

Clint’s hands ended on your hips again. As authoritative as before. But this time, instead of making you stop, he forced you to move.

Strong arms flexed under his leather jacket and you saw his neck strain as he slowly lifted you on his cock before pushing you back on it. The stretch felt impossible, yet it didn’t sting anymore. It was just there, reminding you where you were. Whispering to you that you’d never have that with anyone else.

“Come on, baby, I can’t do all the work.” You nodded dumbly, placing both your hands on his shoulders for leverage and giving him a few bounces. “Fuck, that’s right. Good little lamb, bounce on my dick.”

He leaned back, releasing your hips and giving you a false sense of control. Towering over him, you felt like the most powerful being on earth. After all, the most dangerous beast was growling with pleasure under you. His hands lazily crawled under your T-shirt, possessively squeezing the soft flesh of your breasts. Rough fingers played with your sensitive nipples, squeezing and pulling, then gently soothing, as if in an attempt to apologize for the pain.

Emboldened, you impaled yourself on his cock in a frenzied rhythm. What you were afraid of at first no longer was enough for you. His cock, which seemed to grow even bigger with growing need, awakened in you a feeling of greed, selfish possessiveness. With each thrust, he kissed a sacred part inside you, which made you close your eyes and moan louder.

Like a suicidal moth you flew to his flame the brighter it burned. Your hips moved in small circles, making him hiss in pleasure. You squeezed your cunt around him, and Clint practically choked on air, abandoning your tits in favor of latching his lips to your neck.

The closer you both came to your orgasms, the more animalistic were the sounds that you made. His teeth left bite marks on your jaw and neck, one hand gripped your hips viciously while the other squeezed between your body and blindly found your pulsating clit.

It took a few rough movements of his thumb and a rumbling “give me what I came here for” in your ear. You threw your head back, shaking on top of him as if possessed, while your pussy pulsated around Clint's cock as you reached your high. Exhausted and unable to move, you went limp as his hips started to thrust into you as he chased after his own pleasure.

“Where?”

You didn’t even ask him for a condom, so there was no actual reason to deny yourself the pleasure of being filled to the brim with that man, you thought. Yet the only thing you mewled in his neck was a shaky “in me, please.”

Maybe he wouldn’t even have been able to pull out in time, as he exploded inside you the second you said the words.

Hot cum rope after rope painted your abused walls, and his hips kept jerking pushing it deeper inside you.

Clint bumped his back against the soft back of the couch, taking your powerless body with him. You didn't even have the strength to speak, let alone move. Evening your own breathing, you nuzzled his neck covered with a thin layer of sweat, it was slightly salty and smelled of generic cologne for men and his leather jacket. His chest heaved under you with each heavy breath he took, and you sat in an unburdened silence for several minutes. Your pussy was still warming his cock when Clint spoke.

“Do you have cameras here?” His voice came to its previous calmness. He bit your earlobe gently. “I’d like to buy today’s tape.”