#anyhow; minor things

[sunburnacoustic]

Muse’s Matt Bellamy on Why Band’s New Album, ‘Will of the People,’ Is Even Better Than a Best-Of, Plus Tour Plans

Matt interviewed in Variety, published 26 August 2022, the day Will Of The People was released.

In a Q&A, the singer addresses everything from his vested interest in geothermal energy and the alarming state of U.S. politics to loving Stephen King and Rage Against the Machine... and whether fans will see a certain giant puppet back on stage in 2023.

Stepping into Muse frontman Matt Bellamy’s Los Angeles studio is immediately surreal, on a couple of different fronts. For one thing, there’s the fact that it’s in an unmarked former storefront on a heavily trafficked urban street, so on the other side of the one-way glass, pedestrians are constantly passing by, unaware that they’re about two yards away from a rock star coming up with new songs to potentially join “Madness” or ”Uprising” guy as new KROQ-driven earworms in their heads.

But apart from the street scene outside practically brushing up against his console, there’s something else about the place…

“I don’t know if you remember the TV show ‘Twin Peaks,’” Bellamy inquires. As a matter of fact, yes. “Do you remember the Red Room? We’re sitting in it, basically,” he says, and sure enough, here in the front room of his studio, there is the black-and-white zig-zag flooring, the wrap-around red drapes, the minimalist lamp, the vaguely retro sitting chair…. Bellamy is a student of fantastical pop culture, so it makes sense that he’s surrounded by a Lynchian throwback space — even if the rock arias he creates here passionately reach for the sky, rather than feeling like they’re stuck in an interdimensional waiting room.

Bellamy sat down with Variety to talk about Muse’s seventh [ninth] album, “Will of the People,” which comes out this weekend. Along the way he spilled the beans on the band’s touring plans, which, besides a few already-revealed stops in small theaters this fall, will bloom into the expected arena tour next spring. He also touched on the state of rock, Rage Against the Machine, Stephen King, geothermal energy, why he’s drawn to rather than repelled by his adopted America’s political divide, and whether we are all really (as the climax of the new album would have it) “fucking fucked.”

Muse’s last album, “Simulation Theory,” felt much more electronic, which fit in with the overall concept you had for that album. With this one, a heavy guitar sound returns on quite a few numbers. Did you miss that, or maybe think the fans missed it?

Yeah, it’s definitely more guitar-oriented. We did a bit of a review of everything that we’ve done up to date and wanted to focus on the parts that we felt like we hadn’t improved upon for a long time, which meant we ended up looking back at some of the older stuff. So a new song like “Kill or Be Killed” — the last time we went down that kind of heavy route, like that heavy, was “Stockholm Syndrome,” which is on our third album. But I think you’re right in saying there was an element of missing the energy of playing together as a band after being separated from each other. … When I started writing songs, definitely there was a lean toward writing things that worked for the three of us to play together, which basically means guitar, bass and drums being the primary sounds, rather than going down the kind of more separated route of electronics and programming and synth basses.

You said at one point that the label had asked you for a greatest-hits album, and instead you wanted to come up with something new that feels like it should be a greatest-hits set. Is that about right?

Our contract with the record label meant that we were due to do a best-of, but I spoke to ’em about it and we weren’t very keen on doing that. We preferred the idea that we could either defer that down the line or just not do it all. We’re old-fashioned in thinking that when you do a greatest hits, it seems like the end or something. So with that in mind, that was one of the reasons why we started thinking: Well, what are our hits? And, like, do we even have any? I don’t think we do, but we do have songs that are the most popular songs with our fan base, and we started going through what our best-of or greatest-hits would even look like. And the bottom line was, we were like, God, we could do that so much better now. Some of these old songs from 2002 or something that would probably be on there, we felt like we could just better it. So that was trying to give ourselves a high bar to really strive harder, to almost make a definitive album that would be the album that I would show to people if they were asking, “What is Muse?” Would I give them a greatest hits album? Or would I give them this album? I think at this point I would give them this, in terms of a representation of all of the things that we do on one record, and represented in a good way.

It’s a cliche to ask, is this your pandemic album? But it seems like, thematically, the pandemic combined with a lot of other things going on in the world to put you a bit back in an apocalyptic mood.

We’ve always had elements of sort of dystopian fears for the future. And even though we’ve usually stayed in the realms of the relative safety of fiction, I’d say that this album sort of collided with reality a little bit. And I think that’s what was quite different about this album. There’s similar themes on this album that you’d find on songs like “Resistance” in 2009, or “Absolution” in 2000 [2003]. But the difference was the time that this album came out, where it was unavoidable that it collided with things that I’d say were less about the pandemic and more about, let’s say, the overall division in the West, and the American empire being under threat from internal and external disorder, and how that could play out in the next few decades.

On the lighter side of the album, you invoke the horror genre on the new song “You Make Me Feel Like It’s Halloween.”

It’s clearly like a bit tongue-in-cheek: here comes the church organ and a few scream sound effects. I’m a big fan of Stephen King. I read his book “On Writing” around the time I started making the album as well, and it reminded me of how much he was quite influential on a lot of the films that I liked when I was growing up, and how even TV shows we see today like “Stranger Things” owe a hell of a lot to him. So I ended up making that song a bit of a homage to him, putting quotes from “Misery” and “The Shining” in there. Both those films really resonated for me with the isolation of the pandemic experience, in some way.

When “Ghost” came up in the running order, it was like, well, here is a breakup song — and that kind of song is always unusual for Muse, where there are not so many relationship lyrics, but “Madness” is a famous one in the middle of “The 2nd Law.” But then you said something somewhere that made it seem like it is not about lovers having parted, but was inspired by deaths that occurred during the pandemic.

Yeah, I like the idea that songs can be interpreted different ways. During the pandemic period, because I was alone in the studio for about a period of six months where even Dom wasn’t here for a while, I started doing a couple songs on my own, on the piano. I put out a few covers of songs where I played acoustically; I’ve already done a couple on the acoustic guitar, but then I did a couple of piano. It was just something to do during that period, but that also led to the “Ghost” song, which was in that stripped-down style, created in the middle of that isolation/loneliness period. And yeah, (it was) reflecting on previous relationships. But I was also trying to connect it in some way to what was happening in the world, in terms of people experiencing terrible loss, especially elderly couples where someone passes away. The media was all hyped up with all the science arguments and that kind of stuff, but behind all of that, there was obviously a terrible tragedy taking place, and it wasn’t something that I necessarily thought there was enough coverage of in the media.

Speaking of that softer side, you’ve said that, left to your own devices, your solo music might sound more like Enya than stuff that’s as heavy as Muse.

I’ve always had a little thing for modern sort of ethereal, classical stuff. I listen to a lot of stuff that’s completely different to Muse, but I found myself in a band with two guys that want to rock real hard. So I think one of the unusual dynamics in the band is that you’ve got me, who probably as a natural inclination leans toward some pretty different music to what we do together. I’ve always been really into classical music in general. But I mean, obviously I love rock music as well. Rage Against the Machine is one of my favorite bands. I went to New York this last weekend, and I saw them play twice.

I was going to mention a level of commonality between you and Rage Against the Machine, but worried it would be an overreach.

I mean, obviously, politically, I’m not gonna pretend to be in the same sphere as them. They’re fighting for really serious causes, to do with the backgrounds of the band members. But I’ve got massive respect for the passion they put into it, and the musicality.

In terms of live performance, you have some theater shows coming up in America this fall, but we haven’t heard much yet about the massive worldwide tour people would expect to follow this album.

We are doing one. We’re just booking at the moment. It starts in January in Mexico, and then we’re doing probably our most extensive North American arena tour, which is gonna be from, I think, February through to April. Then we finish up with a European tour — of our own venues, and not festivals necessarily. We did a few festivals just now in Europe that were supposed to happen in ‘21 but got pushed back to ‘22. Really, those shows we just did now were kind of out of place in a way. But after the album comes out, we do a few little theater shows and bits and pieces just to kind of test out some of the new songs, and then next year will be a pretty extensive tour.

On the last major tour, you had that very big guy (a massive animatronic figure) on stage. Do you think about: How do we top that?

The “big guy”  — or the big girl! — I feel like is gonna be here to stay. We feel like we’ve created a mascot, in a way, but we’re gonna make them look different for this tour. On the last tour, it was a big kind of cyborg/skeleton thing or something. On this tour, it’s gonna be more a hooded, masked kind of revolutionary-looking figure of some kind, who’s gonna be a big monster on stage. It’s like the revolutionary monster, basically, in all of us.

Photography: Nick Fancher Art Direction: Jesse Lee Stout + MUSE

Being a citizen of both England and America, and seeing the turmoil in the U.S. over the last few years — along with being affected by fires where you live — did you ever think of moving back to the U.K. permanently?

I usually go back a lot anyway. But Dom (Howard), the drummer of the band, did actually go down that road of “I want to go home, I want to go back to England, where it feels safe.” And when you go to England after being somewhere like L.A. for a long time, England does seem very safe by comparison. In America in general, obviously there’s the gun culture and everything here that doesn’t exist in the U.K., and natural disasters that you get in California, and also the political division. We do get that in the U.K, but it doesn’t come in the same format that it comes here, which is genuinely quite crazy. But oddly, I went the other way. I actually wanted to stay here and be in the eye of the storm, if you like, because America is where it’s going down. It’s where the whole world is, America right now. And where’s this going? America’s a couple of steps away from going in a really crazy direction, you know? We just don’t know. I’m talking more about the division and the potential for real civil unrest, on a grand scale.

And so I think being literally where we are right now in this room, looking out that window during the making of the album, was really kind of fascinating. I saw everything out that window, from the initial shutdown of everything, a lot of the shops going out of business, to the looting and smashing windows. I had this place boarded up at one point. And then the National Guard coming in with tanks, and people walking around with machine guns on this street — seeing all that happen just right outside that window just was pretty full-on. I’ve never made an album that close to real shit happening.

So the passion and the sense of threat in those songs is not just manufactured.

Yeah, I mean, you add the wildfires into the equation, where we got evacuated from our home; then you add the January 6 riots to this equation. We had a baby in June 2020, and shortly after was when I started coming in here to work, and I was alone, largely, on a day-to-day basis, when I was working here. All that stuff I described all happened here right in front of us. And when [the original owner of the studio] moved to Vermont, and the general vibe was like Dom saying, “I wanna get back to England,” I was like the only one that’s like, “No, I want this space. I wanna be honest. I wanna stay here and see what happens.” [The trio did a lot of the work on the new album over Zoom, but convened to put the finishing touches on the record at Abbey Road in London.]

You have described yourself as formerly a left-leaning libertarian who is looking for a new term to describe yourself or where you’re at. Centrism isn’t enormously popular nowadays, but you are still interested in hearing what people are saying on all sides and interested in solutions that you think could address grievances that you think different political factions may have in common, although they don’t realize it.

With the division that’s going down in America, I am watching it from an outsider’s perspective, being from the UK. And having some basic understanding of geopolitics, I feel like finding common ground between these two crazy factions in the United States that dislike each other, to get back to a state where the people of the U.S. feel unified as one on some issues, at least, is not just a matter of national security. It’s a matter of international security. I think that’s how serious it is, in my opinion, you know? I feel like, if it falls into disarray, then bigger, powerful entities are gonna move in. Not necessarily physically move in, but they’re gonna move into the global stage as major players, and therefore their ideologies are going to start to infiltrate everything in the West.

Your songs have been coopted by the left and right. When there’s an anti-authoritarian theme to them, maybe everyone believes it’s the other side that’s authoritarian.

I’d say the most common theme is fighting for some kind of freedom, or having that instinct of wanting to reject elements of where you feel like your freedom’s being taken away. And obviously that can be hijacked by extremists on both sides. … If there is any common ground at all between these two extremely different viewpoints that are battling themselves out as the West kind of crumbles in on itself, it’s the idea that there needs to be something that puts the powers that be, let’s say — or the elites; I hate using those words — in check. The populism that we’ve seen emerging in the last 10 years on both sides, I’m intrigued by: What’s the common theme? … It seems to be the idea that there’s kind of powerful entities, powerful corporations, and even maybe potentially powerful individuals, which are not necessarily doing anything for the gain of the people. They’re doing things for the gain of, you know, shareholders — call it whatever. And I think keeping grotesquely large power in check is what I see as the common theme… I think we see a lot of a hell of a lot of words being thrown at each other and loads of division essentially emerging out of something where I’m wondering if there is actually a common ground there — about keeping large, centralised power in check, and especially huge corporations that do massive environmental damage, keeping them in check.

If it could ever happen, if we could ever get there, I don’t know how we do it necessarily, but if there could be a type of change that could take place that could make some of the divisions we’re seeing now dissipate to some extent, there’d be a new power structure that could work. It’s a little vague because there’s certain things I can say that actually do resonate with both sides. And that’s the confusion in me. It’s like, I do believe in individual freedom, but I do also believe in shared land ownership. So how do you pair those things off?

But flipping the story a little bit, something else I enjoy about being in California is also that the types of people that are here are really big risk-takers. And I think that might be connected to the fact that everyone’s living on the edge of a tectonic plate. I don’t know what it is! But for some reason it seems to attract people that are really risk-taking, entrepreneurial people. Obviously you get a hell of a lot of hustlers as well. But it’s fascinating seeing all those people working in the startup industry, if you like, from obviously Silicon Valley all the way down to here. I’ve had some involvement in that, and I’ve been lucky enough to rub shoulders with really great people working in the fields of solving issues to do with climate change and stuff like that. And getting involved in that investment community a little bit has really actually given me a lot of hope about some of the solutions and the biggest problems that we face, like climate change.

For example, there’s really amazing things happening with geothermal as being a real genuine solution to the fossil fuel industry issue, and there’s lots of new startups in that space now. Also, nuclear fusion is another amazing technology, which is probably about a couple decades away. But I feel like that’s another reason why I like being here. It’s not just being around all the creative people that live in this part of the world, but also being around the people that are really technologically genius creators as well.

The new album climaxes with “We Are Fucking Fucked.” With the optimism you have about something like geothermal, it sounds like that level of pessimism is not necessarily where you are right now. But maybe that song is you in one mood that doesn’t define where you’re at all the time.

Well, I think I learned this from a film study class I did once. Films usually follow a straightforward pattern, which is a kind of equilibrium that goes into disequilibrium, then it comes back to equilibrium at the end for the happy ending. But whenever someone creates a film or a book that ends on a sort of tragedy of some kind, or ends on something bad, what happens is, it leaves the viewer or the listener in a state where they can’t help but feel compelled to do something about creating an equilibrium that isn’t there. When I was studying films briefly, that’s what someone told me: If you wanna do something where you leave it to the actual person who’s watching or reading or consuming the art… if you leave them in a state with an unhappy ending … they can walk away from it and go, “Maybe I need to do something about this.” So that was one of the reasons why I put “We Are Fucking Fucked” at the very end. Hopefully people come away from it and go like, “Well, are we? I don’t know about that. Maybe I’ll do this…”

In practical terms, it seems like it also would probably be hard just to follow a song called “We Are Fucking Fucked.”

Yeah, the other thing is that it didn’t fit anywhere else on the album.

You have these massive arena tours around the world, but you’ve said you don’t get much recognized out on the street. It feels like that must be the best of both worlds, as rock stars have it — being this bigger-than-life stage persona and then being able to have somewhat of a normal life.

Yeah, for sure. I’m glad. I’ve seen all sides, though. I was in a relationship with someone much more famous than me [Bellamy was engaged to and has a son with Kate Hudson; that relationship ended in 2014], and I’ve seen insane levels of fame, where everywhere you go, someone is putting cameras in your face. That is not for the faint-hearted, that’s for sure. Especially if you have any kind of introverted personality traits, then that’s not gonna go down well. But we’re very, very lucky to be where we are, and I think it’s nice (how) if I ever bump into someone who knows who we are, someone sees me, usually somebody’s like, “Oh, I saw you a couple years ago. Great show, blah, blah,” and there’s a little picture or something. It’s never invasive or problematic in any way. I have experienced the other, though.

Do you have a sense of who the average Muse fan is these days?

It’s a huge age range now in our shows. It wasn’t like that in the early years, for sure. The crowd always seemed to be mainly our age or just a bit younger. We never really had a big teenage fan base until we had a song called “Supermassive Black Hole” that went into a “Twilight” film, and suddenly our shows had a lot of teenagers turning up. I think it’s gone the other way now, where we now have people at our age and their kids are now coming into teenage years.

And then there’s the older crowd that likes us, because I think we are maybe one of the last rock bands around that still have overhangs of what the 20th century rock sound was — even going back to the ‘60s, but more so the ‘70s kind of rock leanings. I think that brings in some of the older kind of Queen/Pink Floyd fans, maybe. So we literally see an absolutely full, probably three-generation age range now in our shows, and we love that.

You’re also considered alternative rock, and that in itself has become kind of an oldies format, with a concentration on stuff from the mid-‘90s through to the mid- or late 2000s, which means your early stuff is considered the reliable “classics” of that format at this point.

Rock obviously is not a global force in the way that it was in the mid-20th century, but it’s still got a longevity to it. It’s one of the few genres of music where you can actually grow old. It’s been proven now I think you can grow gracefully and rock. I mean, the Rolling Stones have proven it, and it looks like U2 are on their way to proving it. And I think there’s not many other musical genres really where you can do that. I think pop and dance music and all that kind of stuff, having a career that spans three decades is probably a lot harder, you know?

Your fan base crosses boundaries also because so few acts are capable of coming up with those grand melodies for something that has some real aggression to it.

And the melodic sense, I guess, is what’s really missing in sort of heavy or heavy-ish music. So I think rock as just a wide term that describes all of the music from the ‘60s on or ‘50s on… you feel like you’re just slightly less inhibited by fashion and by trend. It’s just not quite as important as it is if you’re a pop act, where you’ve gotta have your finger on the pulse and gotta be working with the right producers and the right video makers and gotta just be hot all the time. That’s kind of exhausting.

I think for us, we’ll all happily take influences from any point in time in music, but also the history of rock is something we have on our side. I mean, we could go down a road of where we could do a song that sounds a bit like Queen, we can do a song that sounds a bit like U2, we can do a song that sounds a bit like Depeche Mode — and we could do all of that within one song. And all those things are multiple decades out of fashion, in a way, but it doesn’t really matter. Because I think operating in the sphere of rock is almost like the new jazz, or the new classical — it’s kind of timeless. I hope it feels like it’s become like a timeless genre, which is no longer in the mainstream, but is still important to a lot of people.

[sysig]

Clash of sensibilities (Patreon)

[girl-bateman]

Every day I am reminded that 90% of my problems would be solved if I actually listened to my intuition like ever

[loregoddess]

finished Temenos Ch1, and knowing what I know about stuff makes everything Jorg does before getting murdered so, so much more interesting...this guy really had all the cards and then got Maes Hughes'd out of the plot bc he would have solved things too fast otherwise

also started Osvald Ch1/2 as well, and first of all it's so funny that you just find him passed the fuck out in the middle of the road, like, buddy...your burning breasts of revenge or whatever, you could have just been hanging out in Cape Cold but no, you're taking a snow nap and risking hypothermia, buddy...but anyhow, I was also able to spot Ori in the flashback of his trial, and I also saw Clarissa?? I had read about Ori showing up in the trial, but I didn't know Clarissa was there too. Wild.

[agoofyannoyancetolaw]

pretty ol’ thing 

a/n: today one of my friends decided to judge what I was eating and now I feel bad 😀👍, anyhow enjoy some slutty graves

minors DNI

“fuck..” graves hummed to himself as he tugged on his lacy lingerie he was wearing, trying to get it to look just right in the mirror. You had been gone with work for the entire day and he was antsy- and horny. All his toys just didn’t fill him up as nicely as you did! He wanted you, and he wanted you home now.

so? He set up his phone, and put on your favorite lingerie- the outline of his weeping cock and his cockring showing through the thin fabric, the hickeys you placed on him last night peaking out, and his eyes staring right into the camera for the perfect photo to send to you

he knew you’d be angry when you came home- riled up and hard from just his photos. God he loved that idea even if it meant he might get a bit of a punishment, that’s what he wanted after all! Today he just simply didn’t want to think and getting used like a toy sounded like a perfect way to make his brain fuzzy.

he sat on his bed and waited for the sound of the key unlocking the front door; a pleasant hum rolling off his tongue when he heard you storm through the house. He knew how it would all happen. He must have done this a hundred times.

he gasped softly when you pinned him to the bed harshly, a bratty smile sliding across his lips until you had tugged aside the panty part of his perfect lingerie. He could feel your hot breath against his skin and the harsh burn of you sliding in with only the prep of him trying to tease himself earlier in the day

his hands ached at how you had pinned them behind his back, his lip almost bloody just from how hard he was biting down- your thrusts made him feel like he was choking on your length in his throat- his eyes hurt from rolling back and yet he just wanted more and more and more. He begged and begged for more until he couldn’t even think of a word, the start of his release creeping up on him and making him whine. He could feel you abusing his prostate, it made him gasp and groan.

a wet spot of pre had formed in his lingerie, and his blonde hair all messy by the time you pulled his cockring off, making him cum all over the sheets with a pitiful whine at the mere stimulation. His mind was starting to get foggy and dizzy, words tumbling out with spaces in between and his southern accent punctuated by moans, whimpers, and mewls. He could barely think straight until you painted his gummy walls white, his body shivering in bliss when you finally pulled out and let him catch his breath.

he was such a brat.

[comfortless]

Only Other

chapter three of three.

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical au (set around 350BC); potential inaccuracies as i am no historian!, König speaks some German here (as opposed to Gothic), mutual pining & worship, smut (piv), sliiiight breeding kink, violence, as always König is horribly in love and says ridiculously worrisome things, reader feigns ambivalence but is equally unhinged and smitten.

notes: eternally grateful to @wordsbyvani for reading over my shoulder and genuinely being the sweetest throughout every part. ^^ and again to @writersdrug for giving me the idea to begin with!

wc: 9k.

<- previous.

König’s men arrive sometime in the afternoon, a few hours behind but carrying hoards of supplies. There are weapons you recognize to be from your city stuffed into bags, pelts and silks and twinkling stones, meats and fruits. They had not forgotten to bring along wine, either: two barrels to either side of a gray mare led along behind one of their rugged steeds by a length of thick rope.

You don’t ask how they found her, let alone how they managed to actually tame her down enough to follow amidst the chaos that broke out the night prior. A weak string of “thank you”s leaves your lips when you press your nose to the horse's snout, sobbing into her silver fur. She seems less bothered, huffing impatiently as she’s tethered up with the others against broad trees.

You’re not convinced that here or anywhere is safe anymore, and you don’t assist when the men begin to set up their camp. They’ve enough supplies and arms to do it themselves, anyhow.

Guilt, trepidation and confusion, haunt you: cast out for all to see by your forlorn stares and the tremor of your lower lip as you continuously fight an internal battle to keep yourself sane. And how could you? You’ve only come to reason that this has all come to fruition because of you, because of the things that you could not help. Your curiosity, fascinations, and impiety had all led you to be here, now, while everyone you once knew sleeps eternally.

You have condemned yourself to the life of a slave girl, and later to the darkness of the Orcus when you do die.

Though… men do not give their slaves the looks that König gives to you. You haven’t spoken to him in hours, and you do your best to avoid his glances, shoot down his smiles with the curved arrow of your own sullen frowns. Still… amidst setting up the tents and gathering wood for the fire to stave off the chill of nightfall, you catch the very stars reflected over a sea in his eyes.

There is love there, a too-uncanny and harrowing love, but a great devotion nonetheless. It burns like a fire of its own in your chest, inescapable and rampant. You know it in the spaces behind your skull, your ribs, that what he feels is another cage: roomier, softer, but you will never be free of it either.

König does not follow you to the tent when the moon rises. He sits by the fire, watching as you go with the pelt drawn up over your shoulders and curled around you. When you sink into the bed of fur that has replaced the straw mattress from before you find yourself somehow even more fitful here than outside. Sleep is evasive, leaving you tossing and twisting amidst the smell of sweat and animal fur. Not even the crackling fire outside defeats the quiet or the cold in the air.

There’s a sickly pit in your stomach, thorn seedling threatening to take root and spread the longer you stare up at the blackened abyss of the tent ceiling. If you’re to live a life torn, at the very least you could be warm; you take to König’s side in moments, joining him by the slowly dwindling flame.

The brute isn’t sleeping, either, just… lost. Lost like you the day that you met him.

“I need to look at your wound.” Your excuse comes weak and puny, doe limbs and fragile glances when you do sit at his side and speak. You’ve never been anyone’s ‘Göttin’, you don’t know what you’re doing, what blessings to grant or judgments to cast. Avoiding him only seems a punishment for you both, and you’ve had your share of those.

König is anything but small: even amidst the turmoil your silence has gifted to him, he still seems himself, all ego and cruelly cut silver, softened only by your words, your touch.

“Richtig,” he mutters, reaches out to pull you in, and you let him. Straddling his lap with only the moon above awake to witness, cast her curious gaze down and illuminate the expanse of his chest whilst you work to pull away the bandages.

There isn’t much to tend to, it’s healing well. The flesh that once seemed inflamed has only drawn back its redness to simmer to the natural color of his skin. When you begin your careful prodding, it does not hurt him. He doesn’t so much as flinch or huff at your touch.

When you dab your index in the sweet honey that serves as a salve, he grasps at your hand and brings it up to his lips, presses a kiss to your index and middle without hesitation. And you see it then: a glimmer of hesitation in the way his lips pull and his eyes search your own, a silent plea for vindication.

You’ve never been cold to him, not even as he spoke with so much self-importance when you first met, not when he rutted his blade between your parted legs, not even now after all that he’s done. In his own way of thinking, these things have all been some display of courtship. There’s never cruelty toward you, not in his touch, the words that he speaks, and especially not in those somber eyes. These things break down the last fraying edge of your resolve.

You press your mouth to his, sharing the taste of honey pressed to his lips, everything sugary and warm. Over and over until the night begins to close its way in, plump clouds drifting over the pearl hanging in the sky when you finally find yourself tucked back into the tent with König curled at your side. He holds you closer than he ever has, not from a fear you’ll take off under the darkened sky, but in the honoring of something far greater. Some love comes quiet like flower blooms, his comes with fire.

“Wolves pair in winter,” he says quietly, burying his face into your hair. It’s shy, almost, as though the man has not already embedded his scent into your very skin and toyed with your most sensitive parts. It’s truer, more heartfelt, than even his confessions of love.

“Is that what you see us as being?” You laugh, a slow, gentle chime that aches your throat, face still puffy from tears and voice scratchy from those thick clouds of smoke.

“Ja…”

“You really…” The words get caught up someplace in the spaces between your lungs and tongue. You don’t want to cry, not anymore, but you find it difficult not to choke up after so much comfort with a lifetime of so very little. “You do care for me, don’t you?”

He answers your question in a grumble, a string of foreign words only meant for mountain caverns and creatures that walk on all fours and somehow they make sense. A resounding yes, in three gutteral sounding words. The frayed ends of guilt and anger finally drift off as you settle into his hold like a den of pure comfort, warm and buried in a world of fur and a man blessed by trees and the earth rather than gods and myth.

When the breeze picks up outside, rustling sprawling oak limbs, momentarily silencing the fire, its as if they answer him in your stead. You don’t cry, though it aches, but you let go of the memories of all your begging to those that never seemed to listen. Here, in the dark you’ve found the only person that seems to understand without even knowing.

You drag the pelts up over the both of you, clasp your hand over his where it rests beneath them, and fall into a haze of contentment. He draws you nearer, breath filtering through your hair from where his head lies just above your own.

The dreams that come are no longer of places you can not reach, but only of the memory of a city that was never meant to house your spirit.

You wake to König’s pawing. It begins along your sternum, hand placed flat there only to glide further up and push at your tit. It’s gentle and testing, pushes fire into your very veins when for the first time he doesn’t seem to remain entranced there. It drifts, further up to cup your jaw.

“You are awake?,” he rasps, propping himself up to inspect your face where you lie, weakened and warmed by sleep.

“Yes…”

“Are you still bereaved?,” König asks in such a hushed voice, reaching toward you again. His hand seems to tremble when it finds your face, thumb brushing over your mouth with such trepidation it seems misplaced for him.

“Partly.”

You consider your dreams again: the open street, devoid of people apart from those that face down at you with contempt building in hollow eye sockets. Where grass once sprung up beneath the cracks in the stones, there were only small flames. And you do still grieve for those that were innocent in the entire affair, those trampled by cattle when they had only just had a taste of escape. Your very mind begins to darken at the thoughts, your body only tensing further, a bowstring on the verge of snapping,

“Is that why I can not have you?”

“I never said…” Your voice only grows thin, detached almost from the way you purse your lips to kiss the digit toying with you. Your heart is only thunder, the sound of those wretched hooves: yearning was dangerous itself, your own only seemed to take further shape with each passing moment. Claws and a waiting maw, just like the wolves he speaks of.

König hums, a deep rumble from his chest as he gives a slow nod of acknowledgement.

It all becomes tree sap, a sticky confectionery bout. His mouth descends upon your own as though starved, hurried and longing as he samples you, the you who certainly yearned for the bathhouses to clean herself properly. All thought seems to dispel when his hand leaves your cheek and neck to begin its painfully slow descent between your legs, burrow between wax and honey to pull soft cries from your mouth.

He only stills his dismantling of you when you’re trembling and doughy, squeezing around his fingers so tightly you wonder how he can continue to bury them inside at all.

Just as the other gods, Sol is lost here when König crawls over you, all shadow and wretched, led here with the promise of a prey that you are not. Only another wolf… the flame in his winter eyes is the same that’s settled inside of you.

His head dips to kiss into your hair while your leg is pulled to settle over his hip. You feel a kiss, a different sort, when the pillar of his manhood reaches between your bodies to settle over your sex, probing at your slit that only seems to pulse and beg under his touch.

You had never found these silly metaphors enticing with the men of the city, even the entertainers with their pretty words could have never lured you this far down. Yet, here is different, here is cold and lonely and wild: a culmination of all that he is, incarnation of the earth and man and a desperate hunt.

“You are ready for me,” your god hums, pleased, as he coats himself in your arousal, sticky like warm sap. The sounds of his toying with you are something you should be accustomed to now, with him, but still makes your face warm. Not with shame, only a quiet desperation. “Beautiful little goddess...”

It’s summer here; winter tears its claws right out of your flesh when the sun itself sinks inside. The turning of seasons is natural, so dreadfully normal you’ve never bat an eye until you could physically feel it: the strip of your own apprehension tossed into a steaming sea, the dewy wetness all but drowning you entirely.

And it’s König who loses himself first, a sound so pitiful carving its way out of him you would almost believe him to be hurt if not for the way he throbs inside of you. He feeds it, a stuttering twitch of his hips as he slowly brings you toward him by your hips. Far too large to properly bottom out but encumbered and ecstatic by the sensation around him. Tighter than any sheath, but a weapon pushes through you all the same- inch by loving inch, until he manages to fully fill you with himself.

“I don’t want to hurt you, little one.“ Each word is torn from him, punctuated heavily by the shallow movement of his body and the drag of a demanding cock. Restraint is a peculiar thing hovering over him, his brow pinched as though forcing himself to concentrate on not ripping you apart where you lie.

“You’re not hurting me..,” you sigh as your hands find his shoulders, fingernails dimpling the skin there. If anything the urgency is only shared.

When your hips push back to meet him, the lead is dropped, another surrender. Too much trust for a man deserving of none of it.

His response is a breathy groan, mouth finding your shoulder as his hands drift to pull your hips upward to better meet him. Teeth find purchase along your flesh, gentle as he can be, but grinding and desperate to leave a mark, a piece of him behind.

It’s almost with a fury that he stuffs himself into you then, his jaw going slack and eyes wild, hands grasping at every inch of your pillowy flesh that he can reach.

Never could König have looked more beautiful than now, once starved and now tasked, for and now with you. His gaze trails from where your thighs tremble around him, to where the sap pools and nature builds up its own obscene choir at your togetherness… and then, to your face where his gaze only shatters into softness.

Something bubbles right against your lash line, a stray tear, overwhelmed by the feel of the giant ravishing you, pulling you down from your world of jewels and pillars to his own devoid of anything but need.

His head dips immediately, tongue running up the length of your cheek, a hand falling away to pry open your already parted thigh as he licks at and fucks into you like something truly feral. He coos his praises against your mouth, parted and whining, claims a new kingdom all for himself in you, of you.

You feel how the temples must, trodden through and left with gifts, blood and honey and fire as the muscles of your thighs begin to tense. Instinct spurs you to catch his lip between your teeth, push your hips back to laboriously furl around him.

His pace comes to a halt, settling to only grind himself so deeply within you that you feel the last of the stars begin to die out in the recesses of your skull, dim and dumbly smothered until they reignite in a blinding wave of white. König does not give you the time to settle, only spears into you with a renewed fervor as you cinch around him, furthering your rapture to a point that is almost agonizing.

He chases his own end with the same famished glare as before, stares right into your eyes as you pull iron from his lip and cast it into the fire of your waiting mouth. The sting, the bliss, only makes him whimper, a sound so small and choked its unfathomable to have come from a man who slams into you as though you were paid for.

You lick into his mouth in a way so tentative and fragile he immediately crashes down, blankets you in the strength of his arms and kisses you in turn: so soft and chaste it’s uncanny in this moment. His groan of defeat only comes when he stills fully, buried to the hilt, thrumming and shivering through his own release. Honey and seafoam, the rise of a tide touching earth to brim and spill past your joining.

He chases the feeling for several moments longer, bucking his hips sloppily as he lies atop your spent form, barely coherent when he mutters nonsensical praises into your hair, against your neck, the corner of your mouth- any place he can think to leave a kiss.

“… everything,” he mutters when he lies atop you fully, satisfied where he nestles his head into the fur below you both. “Everything I have ever wanted.”

The day passes on like this. Even as his men maneuver about camp, preparing to hunt or practice with their stolen weapons. The only thing König seems keen on doing is bringing you to ruin, repairing you with kisses pressed into your hair, along your cheek.

He leaves you only twice as the day drags onward. Once to gather you a meal of something meaty roasted over the fire, what remained of a boar, a gathering of dried fruit, and water from a small flask. You’re famished and exhausted by the thrill of being shoved down into the fur to tolerate him three times over already. The twinkle in his eye is nothing short of mischievous when you do finally tell him that you need to rest after eating.

After a bout of playfully shoving him away, you only find yourself on top of him, then. He seemed entirely unashamed, more hurried and desperate than before as he bucks at you like a wild horse, voicing his praises and spitting out such sugary sweet nonsense about how you would carry his son and only ever experience him, you almost felt shy. A curled finger hooks under your jaw to force you to look down at him, lose yourself in the vast, uneasy sea of his eyes while he floods you with his seed again. Finally, he seems sated, pulls you down to lie atop him.

König promises you that he will find your mother, that he will take care of you as no other has or ever could, while stroking along your back. He tells you of the mountains, the trees, the animals and the men who live amongst them and inside of them.

He tells you of the sea when you ask, how the sand is softer and sticks as if it never wants you to go. In turn, you tell him that he must be like the sea then, never fully parting from you, leaving his trace imprinted upon your skin with teeth rather than sand. A sea that loves instead of hungers, one that presses you onto your back to wash over you to steal the very breath from your chest and push it back with a kiss.

— — —

The wilderness is cruel. Wild things lurk in the brush and occasionally you pass by other settlements. Less friendly than the small band you have grown accustomed to. You’re always urged to shush, then have yourself tucked further against König while he speaks low and threatening to any would-be bandits. Only once has that resulted in a death, but not to one of König’s own. You didn’t watch when the man with the red hair carved a hole through the trespasser, just squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face into a waiting bicep.

Days pass on horseback, your legs feel stiff and clumsy, and there are no amount of pelts serving as makeshift saddles that could ever help the ache that shoots up from your pelvis. It serves no aid at all that, when riding ahead or too far behind the other men, König takes this newfound intimacy between you two to be a liberty. Regardless of your formation, he never ceases looking at you as though his only wish is to devour you whole.

Those times are often quick, palm pressed over your mouth as he dutifully breeds you beneath the sun, in the softest patch of withering wild grass or barren land available. You melt into him, part your legs like a wife rather than some skittish woman that he himself has whisked away. Each time, he whispers his praises, professes his love in more creative ways, covers you in so many kisses you feel a bit dazed by the time the ordeal is through.

Then, you’re righted back onto the horse with König at your back, the most horribly endearing smile plastered upon his face.

It’s not much of a surprise that his men do start their caterwauling at some point during the journey to wherever— past dormant trees and approaching the silhouettes of hills so tall and vast you’re certain that they must be the mountains you have heard of, even if you had yet to properly see them. König had made it perfectly clear just what you are to him in his coarse words to his companions, but never directly to you. They do not mock your union, but they do often give you strange looks, particularly at your tummy while they discuss you with their leader.

There’s nothing there, you’re sure of that much, but you shoot them your angriest glare anyway and raise your chin to look forward instead. Their talk of the possibility of a little “prinz” does not distract you from your own thoughts, drifting up to scrape the sky just like the peaks of the mountains.

“So that is where the gods live?,” you ask, mostly to yourself as you curl your fingers into the horse’s reins. There’s subdued laughter from either side of you, and you almost shrink at the thought of making a fool of yourself before these brutes. It wouldn’t be the last time, surely. You couldn’t even bring yourself to fully commit to the idea of there being any sort of vast and ethereal field awaiting you when you die anymore; it was already here before you, painted in the color of evergreen and winter blossoms.

König doesn’t laugh, at least. Only places his palm over the front of your neck and guides your head back to look up to him, gives a toothy grin when your eyes light up just from the sight. It was difficult not to when you’ve been fed and pleasured incessantly by him. You reason that your punishment for forsaking all that you once knew must assuredly be your own mind deteriorating to feel the way that you do.

“They are right here,” he says, so quiet and sweet, gesturing between the two of you. He had no interest in your former gods, of what he seems to view as stories for children, but he listens as you tell him the significance of such lofty places cloaked in fog, mist and trees.

His hand finds your cheek, savors in the feel of your skin against his thumb while you tell him of your misplaced belief in him being some son of a war god that he’s never even known, much less prayed to. He then reminds you of the woman he seems certain could have been your mother, says that surely she must have been wed to the shallow of a sparkling lake to birth something as lovely as you.

The men regroup after some time, stilling their horses and your rowdy mare still tethered behind one of the others to speak, access the distance from here and their destination while sipping wine from leather flasks and putting weapons back in their proper places. You listen on, picking up on the few words you did understand from their language, but ultimately gather nothing from it all.

“Where are you taking me?,” you hazard as you try to push yourself forward in a subtle reminder that yes, you were there too, and woman or not you had a right to know.

“Home,” König gruffs simply in response, gathering you back into his arms and taking the reins from your hands. His chin rests atop your head, the fingers of his free hand petting your side in an attempt to snuff out any further questioning. “You will like it.”

Home. Home to the place he had claimed you would find your mother; to foreign woods and wild downs, sprawling hills and little shacks covered in sticks and leather instead of the villas with their terracotta tiles.

You didn’t even know that you had a place to return to at all, not now. Your eyes catch his, though, and you know then just what it truly must feel like to belong someplace. Never had home been Gaius, reduced to smoldering ash in some divine reckoning, but it had always been with someone you truly believe you have wanted. Had you ever even been allowed to want before him..?

Your brow pinches as you shift to rest your head against the broad back behind you, held fast by the iron grip around your waist. The clouds drift by above, the sun casts a warmth over your face and you fall into comfort, into promise.

— — —

Barbarian settlements are strange.

There are no paved streets here crowded with people and decay, no hallowed and looming temples hungry and waiting for sacrifices. The columns are tree bark and very much alive with twisting limbs and growths of green that never seemed to dull even in the winter, not the stiff and lifeless marble you had grown accustomed to.

The homes are pieced together with wood, clay, anything that could be used with no clear rhyme or reason to their architecture. Goats wander about, bleating out for food or ramming into one another for play. The children don’t sit in houses studying or wander from stall to stall snatching and scurrying off, they play and work. There is a strange contentment here, too, something that feathers on the wind as it does the same on each face that you pass,

Everyone seems to have a place, a thing to be, and you feel like the world’s most delicate and forgotten pearl amidst these people who do not even seem to pay you any mind. If anything, they only seem pleased to see the man with his arm cloaked over your shoulders. They smile to him, greet him in their strange words and dip their heads as though he truly were some king.

Maybe he was, to them, to the wild people with no true reasoning to have any sort of monarchy. They barely had land to claim, much less rule over.

You’re not paraded around as a slave: he cups your jaw and lifts your head when your gaze falls to the dirt and dust below your feet, chides you in a rough whisper about how a Königin should present herself. The people do acknowledge you then, with looks of awe and offerings of dried flowers pressed into your palms and tucked behind your ear, Roman bronze dropped at your feet. You look the part of a proper queen too, when you flash them all your loveliest smile and nestle closer to your giant of flame and earth.

Thoughts of your past in the city come to mind when you note their lack of conveniences. Even the dread of forsaking your own gods briefly leaves you halting midstep before a firm hand urges you forward. König’s warmth comes as a comfort now more than ever when your thoughts do eventually circle back to a guilt, heavy and dreadful: the picture of Juno’s altar forgotten and burned away weeks of travel behind you.

“You will like it here,” he mumbles, trailing the same hand up to the back of your neck as he repeats the words he spoke only days prior on your journey. You could, you will, but it all feels so different that your pulse seems to triple its racing.

Your fingers graze over the dried flowers in your hand, sweet smelling as you trace over each petal to center yourself, take back that prideful smile that was in place just a moment ago.

If you’re to run amok, you may as well enjoy it.

You settle, regain your pace and that forced look of utter contentment at his side.

At least, until he begins to speak again.

“I will kill them all if you prefer we be alone,” König whispers into your ear, has the audacity to nip at your lobe, and does not even bother drawing back as if those words were meant to make you wet and pliant for him. All sense of reason must have left you entirely, because a shiver rips its way up each knob of your spine. “Would that please you?”

“No… Do not jest,” you grit out, staring only forward and not offering so much as a glance toward the beast at your side, even as his hand drifts down to palm at your breast.

“I am not.” He laughs, breathy and low when he finds your nipple already hard, thumb grazing over it as though this act of exhibitionism was as natural as any of the other things his madness compels him to do. “I will give you anything. Even blood, meine Göttin.”

Surely… you should be flattered that his loyalty is reserved only for you, but there’s no appeasement held in the glare that you shoot him as you pry his hand away from your chest. He gives you the look of a kicked stray then, even a pout so foreign on a face so scarred, you may have even chuckled if you were in better spirits, but he does relent. His hand drops back to his side and he detached from you after pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You’re led to a shack larger than the others, but more or less in the same state. It’s simple, built solidly with thick carved wood and packed to prevent weather seeping its way in. It’s humble in a way, far more humble than any ruler’s you’ve only imagined. A bench, a table, a mattress likely stolen away from some Roman soldier’s tent. There’s nothing particularly special about it, but it smells like König, like the trees and the earth in a way that is comforting.

It takes a moment for it to fully register that this is what he had meant by home, not the people and their affairs outside, only this place. Only him. A temple all your own that you imagine he must wish to fill with love and children and an abundance of gifts he may steal away all for you.

His men bring in what little of the supplies remained, stuffed away in a corner and voluntarily relinquished; even if it means they’ll be fending for themselves like the others in the village rather than feasting on stores, they only seem happy. The red-haired one even flashes you a contented look of admiration on his way out, as though you just being there was enough to soothe and patch some void here.

That may have been the case.

When the door is shut and all falls to silence, the barbarian king kneels before you. His hands find your hips, thumbs grinding gentle circles along them and further down to your thighs, your calves, to everywhere that aches. A gentle sort of worship that coaxes soft sighs and a buzzing of flesh from you.

König brings you to the mattress when your eyelids begin to flutter, exhaustion settling over you in full when you’re lifted and brought toward his chest. You could fall asleep in his hold alone, but you settle to only rest your head there and reach up along his vastness to rake your fingers through his wild hair.

Your voice tells him that you do like it here, with him, in this strange place circled by withering ferns and trees so infinite that you could never hope to find your way away without him taking your hand and navigating through. Your touch tells him the words that you dare not speak, a kiss to voice that you too would burn away everything if it only meant that you could share in this at his side, a mimicry of his massage along his own shoulder to whisper a great confession of adoration and boundless promises.

— — —

When the ferns and flowers begin to grow again throughout the spring and into the summer, you find yourself accustomed to everything. You aid the women in caring for their children, though you begrudgingly swear that it is not for practice whatsoever. The stitching and cooking that is done here feels far less harrowing— you do not put it off and leave it in a heap upon the floor as you would have in the city. There’s no looming dread of what’s to come when you perfect your work: you’re gifted only smiles, blessings and gifts.

Though the woman König had claimed to be your mother is not here, you ask him to recount the way she looked and spoke to you often on quiet nights, where his hands drift over you and his voice comes in a whisper. She may not have even existed at all, some lost spirit amidst the trees that wails and cries and leads men like him to their destinies. Your heart only tears when you begin to wonder if Juno herself had imparted such a quest to him. Save the lost woman that she favored so much, grant him some divine luck and intoxicating charm to ensure your safety and happiness.

He does not understand when you gather up honey and blossoms to pray over, but he does sit at your side and listen when you whisper your thanks to this new altar. Kisses the crown of your head when you’re through and lures you back into an embrace where he reminds you that he knew what he needed to do the moment that you met at the stream. No other woman could have swayed him the way that you have.

His offerings are only to you, even after such a length of time has passed. There’s no goddess that he kneels for other than the one that sleeps at his side and tells him of her dreams.

The day he gifts you his seax is one that resonates more than even the necklaces and gowns of silk and linen. It feels heavy in your hands, the blade almost as soft as gossamer when your fingers trail along it, though it does not yield. It’s only well polished and freshly sharpened. The handle bears a strange carving in it now, one of two wolves staring up at a broad moon. It breaks something inside to know that even he does find some things sacred: beasts, the glow of an untouched paradise and you.

“Why are you giving me this?,” you manage to whisper as your diligently ghost over the carvings in reverent repetition. “Don’t you need it? For hunting and fighting…”

“You like it?” It’s impossible not to notice the cocky expression on his face that tells you full well he’s recounting that experience. You liked it then, certainly, but it wasn’t as if you had any use for it in such a way when he kept you satisfied enough with himself.

“Yes… but it’s yours.”

He shrugs then, a great lift of his shoulders as you’re pulled to him with a careful grip to the wrist holding the weapon.

“Will keep you safe,” he huffs against your neck, leaving a kiss there when you sheath the seax at the strap you had also been gifted pulled taught along your hip.

You didn’t even know how to use the thing properly, and you were not quite fond of the idea of chasing down rabbits or puncturing another human with it. Your concerns fall on deaf ears when you’re led out into the surrounding forest to a thicket of wild raspberries. Your wrist is steadied by a firm hand as König diligently teaches you to carve away limbs heavy with fruit without actually bringing any real harm to the plant itself.

There are many things to forage this season, some you had never even heard of before he explains their significance to your wonder-filled face. You hadn’t thought him stupid, not truly, but it still comes as a surprise that he seems to know so very much.

When you find yourself seated beside a slow-moving stream, a ripe berry crushed between your teeth, you’re finally allowed to put your new blade away and set it aside on moss-covered stones.

“You should keep it close. A bear might want to eat you, hm?,” he playfully chides behind you, lifting your drab little gown up and over your head. As if to further his point, his teeth rake over your pulse, applying just enough pressure to draw a whine from your lips.

“You are not a bear,” you huff and turn to pull away his tunic, pressing a kiss over the scar he now dons just above his heart.

“Ja…” He lowers his head again to kiss along your neck, trailing a heat up to your ear as he maneuvers you into the water to bathe.

Your foraging and banter go forgotten, and a different sort of howling fills the air shrouded in tree limbs. There are no wolves or wind, only two so feverishly desperate and in love that any other with their dowries and arrangements would find it even more compelling than the Empire itself.

He sinks into you when you’re brought to your knees, bellows his contentment when he brushes your wet hair away from your face and dives forward to cover you fully, bury you in a world of love and sweetness. Even when the act is done, König does not pull away, only lies you back along to shore and tucks you further against him.

You remain chittering and laughing until the sky begins to reflect the very stars you see in his eyes, glittering constellations that seem to flicker and echo the steady beat of his own heart as you lie against his chest.

The summer wedding that the fortune-teller had once spoken of seemed to already take place here. There’s no need for a lectus or some grand display to reveal to others that you’ve united, it comes in the stillness and shared contentment when your voices begin to quiet, and at last you resign yourself to tell him that you belong to him just as much as he belongs to you.

The final flurry of surrender comes out as a soft whisper, one that only leaves you with your knees folded back to your chest and an insatiable giant hugging his gratitude and love into your ear with each graceless snap of his hips.

He drags you down to your own ruin, spells his own with haste and what comes as a twist between a dispatch of tears and a sigh. You can’t recall ever seeing him cry, not even now as he burrows against your neck and shakily breathes against your shoulder, muttering such nonsense about how he would still take you up and into the sky if only you would continue to let him stay with you like this.

“Always,” you murmur fondly, cradling him as closely as possible. Inside, outside, embedded into your very flesh you feel him near. He does not pull out from you this night, only falls asleep in your embrace, cloaks you from the breeze over the water with his own heat. You follow suit, petting at him as though he’s far smaller than his massive weight suggests. He shifts just enough to not fully crush you beneath him, just as you begin to drift off.

When morning does come, König is already stood at your side, staring off into the distance with an expression that only foretells of something you’re certain you will want no part in. He shushes you when you part your lips to speak, nervously scrounging up your gown and the strap holding your gifted weapon. There are no protests from you, and only the babbling of the stream and sounds of distant yelling break up the silence.

You don’t need to ask to know what’s occurring. Just as you had predicted before the Romans had come to dismantle the village just as they had many others before, take the women as slaves and force the children to learn and take up arms for their empire. You had never thought of the violence before when it occurred, when you saw the faces of those miserable women at the sides of people they could never afford to feel any fondness toward. You had always been lucky and blind.

König, however, must have only known wraith. His fingernails dig into his palms, nostrils flared and expression pensive.

“Wartet hier.”

He does not even hesitate as he begins to move, leaving you behind along the peaceful shore. As if to spur you forward, the shallow water rises to lap at your ankles, and still you do not budge. Your hands feel heavy, encumbered by the seax still set in its sheath, and only then does it dawn on you that König had not even had a weapon his person. What good would he even be without one? When so many men armed with sharpened swords and spears had come for his head…

Though fear creeps in, subdues your limbs with its stiffness, rakes fangs of pure ice along every pulsing vein held within you… you can not bring yourself to flee or stay put. You follow, quiet as a wood mouse as you walk along the forest with trembling hands clutching a weapon you almost hope is not too late to save your home, your heart.

There’s no clear trail, no sign of König, not even a shadow or a whisper that may belong to him. Instead there are shouts and the heavy smell of smoke. The gray billows up, more imposing than even the oaks and pines. The only comfort you will yourself to take is the fact that the words you can make out are Germanic, not Latin. Not all is lost, not yet.

You steel yourself and push your resolve to the forefront of your mind, creeping ever closer with careful but steps far more swift. You wind past throning brush and sprawling vine, past trees but familiar and not until you finally cross over from forest to the tall grass lining the edges of the village.

There lies chaos you expect, and that which you do not. Some of the cabins have gone up in flame, fire that coils and spreads to set your nerves alight with memory and dread. There are men fighting at the heart of it all, weapons slick with blood dripping down to the fallen at their feet. The women and children have all fled or have been taken captive, you couldn’t be certain amongst all that was already occurring around you and beyond. You couldn’t even count your enemies, a smaller army no doubt, the arrogance of the Empire knew no bounds. Twenty men to take down one was substantial enough when the others could be used for further conquests.

And there is no sign of König.

You feel numb when no matter where you look you can’t seem to catch sight of him, and how easy a task that should have been given his stature. The seax is pulled from its sheath when grief begins to settle, and the tears that threaten to spill are forced back with a grimace. There was still some hope, you knew. The village was not so small that you could map all of it from the small lump of a hill, but that desire to find him, bare your own teeth and fight at his side to protect what was yours brims up and chokes back the fear harbored in your chest.

Lady or wolf, you cared not. You would lose your titles just as he would if it came down to it. When the histories speak of how that city burned, how a king without a name brought the Empire to kneel if only for a moment before they sought revenge, you would be written in ink alongside it. A devotion so strong echoed in each page, as a barbarian queen that chose to keep her heart and lose her head.

But it doesn’t come to that. There’s another woman stood at König’s side when you do find him, wielding a stolen sword from one of the opposing soldiers as sweat and blood paint his face.

Unharmed and unknowing of the presence at his side, a mirage carved of smoke she was, his eyes stared out towards where the blade struck while her eyes only settled over you. Your breath catches when your gaze moves from König to her and you do find a resemblance: the way that her hair, the same color as your own frames her face, her frame, the way that her nose shapes, even the expression upon her face.

The mother he spoke of, the feral love and protectiveness outspoken and proud in her eyes. You do not recognize this woman, even amidst the cluster of sparse memories in your mind. Not until now had you ever seen her, but the feeling you’re gifted then… a roaring settling in your chest to extinguish all apprehension tells all.

As the last of the Romans is struck down by König himself, a blade sunk so deep into the other’s stomach as the other man spits out a gurgled wail, the woman only seems to fade out into nothing, replaced by the backdrop of the trees surrounding. Nothing left behind in the wake of the place she once walked apart from fallen soldiers and a trail of blood and König, safe as he could be.

When you come to him, teary-eyed and fretful, your roaming fingers do not catch on a single gash. The blood painted over his face, neck, chest is none of his own. He’s well, just as the other men from the village as they rush to snuff out the flames and clear away the bodies.

Though König pants heavily and his eyes are still wild, mind momentarily lost to the thrumming adrenaline in his veins, your touch seems to settle him greatly. The sword falls from his hands to clatter in the dust and muck, curling around you to pull you in. You think he should be angry that you hadn’t listened when he ordered you to stay, but he only seems as grateful as you to find his other half alive and longing still. Always.

You tell him of the woman as you sob into his chest, describe her and her vanishing as best you could in your own muffled voice. He grins, strokes your hair as though he truly believes every word even with how ridiculous it all sounds. There are things far more demanding to focus on now, and eventually you fall to silence as he holds you there.

Your home still stands, built just far enough off from the rest that its managed to avoid the battle entirely. Untouched, except from inside. The altar you had dedicated to Juno is gone, vanished just like the woman you had seen before. The scent of cinnamon hangs in the air, misplaced and unannounced, but a comfort all the same. You smile to yourself, bittersweet but comforting, with tears drying upon your face.

— — —

The village takes time to rebuild.

You lose time just as much as you lose sleep helping out with the endless tasks. König, thinking himself chivalrous, or perhaps hinting at what your future may entail if he continues to ravage you as though he would die without your warmth, never allows you to carry anything heavy. Even clay pots filled with water from the stream are swiftly taken from your hands. Gods forbid you even attempt to aid in cooking over the fires, either. He pulls you away with a hand clasped over your mouth and nose, delicately caressing your face and reminding you to be careful.

Something has changed. What you knew to be love before only seems to double with each passing day. He fusses and dotes over you endlessly, ensuring that you’re well fed, trailing behind you to bathe and it isn’t even just for the chance to sink into your cunt.

Often, he sits with you in his lap, guiding a wet cloth up to gently wash you, toys with your damp hair beneath his fingers, tells you stories of his own adventures and the people who traveled alongside him. Not of the hundred wives his men had boasted about him having, a ridiculous statement only meant to make you pine for him more than you already had, you supposed. He even tells you, sheepishly, that most women seemed afraid of him, but never you.

When you do make love, it’s an act of endless desperation. Along the bank of the stream, your shared bed, against any tree he deems fit enough to not budge beneath your shared weight, and even once in a field of wild blooms you two had found along a foraging trek. The floral aroma had kissed your skin each place he had, left you more doughy and sweet even as you took to conquer him, straddled over his hips with your head thrown back to the wind. You laughed with him when it was through, curled your hand beneath his chin to you with the rough feeling of his unshaven hair.

Everything— each new thing you learn and see with König as your guide only seems to melt away any wall you put up. Your life before only seems to fade from memory, that lonely bitterness consumed by the well of love he’s pushed you into.

When autumn comes and the trees begin to turn, each wealth of green faded and given way for yellow and red, your mare has finally become more docile and tame. You’re not even sure who to thank for it, for the way she struts about with giddy children on her back and doesn’t fuss when even you will yourself to settle over her saddle.

The saddle like all else in your life only seems softer, stitched together with leather, a cushion made of a rabbit’s pelt and stuffed full with straw and down so soft you don’t even dread the idea of the long ride to come.

The mountains, here, surrounding the valley and the village are wild and beautiful, still layered near to their peaks in abundant fields of late-blooming flowers. The stars still hang above, twinkling and glittering as if only to silently deliver their blessings for your coming journey. It is only the sea that you’ve yet to venture toward, the last on the list of honeyed promises König has made to you.

Your luggage is packed and spread between the two horses, your mare and his stallion. There are blankets and preserved food, light posts to set up a tent someplace a distance from the shore, even a pearl dangling from a thin chain that König dutifully places on your neck. It’s no exchange of rings, but you clutch the little gem tight as you will yourself not to cry. There was no need to be so sentimental not now, not after you’ve already shared so many moments far more tender.

The seax dangles at your hip, catching the glow of the sun above when you pull it free and polish it alongside König as he does with his pilfered sword. He shows you how to use a whetstone, delicately maneuvering your hand to sharpen the blade before dousing the thing in oil, makes you swear not to accidentally nick yourself when you’re inevitably dragged in the throes of some hunt at his side.

You’ve yet to use it for that purpose, but going alone means you’ve no choice but to offer your support… even with the knowledge that he wouldn’t actually allow you to do much at all, frustrating as that was.

When morning comes, you say your goodbyes to the village. You’re thrown flowers both pressed and new, petals latching to the fur of the pelt tied over your shoulders. König receives wine, far more useful than the delicate little blossoms that you brush away with shy smiles and glassy eyes.

The language is easier to understand now, when the others offer you great fortune on your travels, the women speaking greatly of your fertility despite the way it makes your nose scrunch in distaste. They call you Königin, only that, never any name you’ve offered for them to use. Perhaps even above the name the people of the city called you by it is more fitting.

You settle into the saddle with König atop his stallion next to you, reach for the reins when he flashes you a wary look, tells you that you will ride slow and he will keep you safe in case anything does happen to occur. You only think to remark the same, gesturing toward the weapon strapped to your hip, smirking when he snorts in amusement.

“Are you ready to depart?,” you ask him as you reach a hand out to trail along his arm, heart thumping wildly when his gaze only begins to further soften. You almost fear he may begin to cry, just as overwhelmed and sweetly pacified as you feel now. “We can stay a while longer if not.”

“Nein… we still need to plan for the stars after,” he whispers as he takes hold of your hand, interlocks your fingers and brushes against each knuckle with the pad of his thumb before bringing it toward his chest.

The moment is broken when the horses begin to huff in anticipation. You don’t get the chance to remind him that you still see each constellation he’s shown to you in the glimmer of his eyes, but you know well enough by now that he would only tell you the same in turn.

[teyamsatan]

^^^ this right here??? made me slide up a wall in need. now imagine dilf!jake, cause that's all i can imagine. enjoy x

wc: 660 words

smut under the cut, minors DNI 🔞

You loved days with Jake, you really did. He was a good leader - strong and fearless, compassionate and patient, he made everyone feel secure and at ease, made everyone feel included and heard. You loved training with him, hearing him talk, watching him listen. You loved his demeanour and his wit, and how he sacrificed so much and lost a planet and a bond to his own kind in order to protect yours. He was a good mate - considerate and thoughtful, funny and giving, he made it his life purpose to make you happy, and you appreciated him every single minute of your life.

You loved days with Jake… but nights… Eywa, the nights were the best, and you had a perfect example as of why right now, laying sideways on the bed, your head pushed so far back, it was resting in the crook of his neck, drawn out moans and skin slapping together the only sounds you could hear in the quiet of the dead of night. You haven't slept through the night once since meeting Jake. How could you, when more often than not, after a thorough fucking, he loved to fall asleep with his cock still buried deep inside of you, loved for the feel of your tight cunt and smell of your scents mingled together to be the last thing on his mind before he passed out for the night... or at least for a few hours, until you inevitably woke up, needy and desperate once more, grinding on his half-hard length until he was rock hard once more, his body unable to resist you, even asleep as he was.

Now, here you were once more, three orgasms in, crying as he slipped in and out of you with ease, your cum and slick allowing him to bottom out in you, bulging up the skin of your lower abdomen. He loved to sneak his hand from your hip, where it was rested in order to pull you further down his length, and reach around and press on the spot, until you squirmed and whined, until the tears flowed freely down your face into your ears.

"You feel how deep in you I am, angel? That's daddy's cock pushing your pretty skin up, mm? You're taking it so well, aren't you? Always so good for me."

"D-daddy... pl-please!"

His words pushed you closer and closer to the orgasm you knew would take you out for the night, the intensity of the last couple of hours taking a toll on your mind, until you were just a mess of words and incoherent babbles, drunk of his cock and the soft kisses he was peppering on the back of your neck. You could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke.

"What do you need, baby? Need daddy to let you come on his cock?"

His thrusts sharpened momentarily as he was hitting the spot that made you see stars and cry out in unadulterated ecstasy, until you were sure the whole clan could hear how well the Olo'eyktan's mate was getting fucked night after night. Right now, you couldn't find it in you to care.

"There you go, baby girl. Come for daddy so he can fill you up, mm?"

The promise of being marked by him, of his cum dripping out of you and down your thighs for days to come was enough to push you over the edge, and you came, making a mess of the mat, that needed to be changed daily anyhow, as you squirted all over him, gushes of warm liquid mixing with his own, and, spent and filled to the brim as you were, you allowed him to pull you closer and whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you drifted off to sleep.

"Daddy loves you, sweet girl."

You knew, and yet, you couldn't wait until tomorrow night, when he'd more than willingly prove it to you again.

somebody sedate me honestly

[flashiefloo]

DP x DC prompt 8

Not sure what's addressed in canon about Danny's job duties as Ghost King (and it's been too long since I've seen the show that I don't remember much anyhow). But I like to think that part of his duties is helping any ghosts in the various universes who are stuck (for whatever reason they have keeping them there) move on and properly join The Infinite Realms. A job that has been seriously neglected, both by Pariah Dark when he wasn't in the Infinite Nap time Coffin and later by the Observants.

Only issue is, he keeps getting mistaken for a necromancer. Since he's trying to be incognito and goes most places in his human form. But looking human and essentially raising ghosts doesn't help his case. At least until JLD are called in for the current universe he's in (since most of the people trying to "stop" him aren't particularly magically inclined). Constantine takes one look at Danny and just kinda nopes out of there, cuz he ain't about to fuck with the Ghost King doing one of his more important duties (which also helps them out too. Having less angry spirits that're stuck here).

JLD does give him a some sort of way to signal in other universes that he's allowed to be there and do what he's doing (and that he isn't a necromancer) to those who aren't able to tell who he is. Tho this doesn't always stop some universes from calling on their JLD. Who mostly just roll their eyes at being sent to something that's not a threat, or take it as a minor vacation from more stressful things.

[honeyedmiller]

An Ode to Forever | Joel Miller

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni.

warnings: mostly pwp, sex in a bathtub with lots of feelings, fluff, tenderness, they’re both so sickeningly in love, smut (vaginal fingering, unprotected piv, joel is handsy af, some butt stuff [lol]), light alcohol consumption, sort of erotic food consumption(not really tho???), use of daddy twice in this (idk what came over me), joel doesn’t have kids in this, no use of y/n.

word count: 3.2k

synopsis: after an arduous day, joel draws a bath to help you both relax.

or

an ode to how much you love joel miller, and he, you.

a/n: this is a lil valentine’s day one shot i wanted to put out. slowly getting my writing juju back. this is also a follower milestone celebration. thank you to everyone who supports my work. love you all <3

divider by @saradika-graphics

It’d been a rough day.

A day where bones ached, minds were exhausted and all that was yearned for was to be home with each other.

You’d texted Joel that you were stopping off at the store to get some wine because hell, you needed to relax. He instantly texted you back to be safe and that he loves you.

He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

A true love like this is something you’d never in a million years think you’d ever have to yourself. Someone who cares so much. Someone you can cherish. A love that was all your own. You were so wrapped up in the bliss of Joel Miller, and he, you.

It was the kind of love that was terrifying and beautiful and gut wrenching and so fucking rare. A love that made you feel like you were floating in the clouds, euphoria pumping through your veins every time you looked at him. The kind of love that was a forever thing. Something you never, ever thought you’d have.

He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

The lights were off when you got home. You call out his name, hanging your keys on your designated hook before toeing off your pumps.

“Up here.” He calls back, voice cascading down the stairs. You make your way up and into the bedroom, setting your work bag down before you look around in confusion.

“Joel?” You call out, and his broad frame emerges from the bathroom.

“Hey baby.” He says. You smile softly at the sight of him, body visibly relaxing in his presence. Joel notices and the corner of his mouth twitches upward into a smile.

“Hi.” Your voice is as soft as your expression, allowing him to envelope the whole of your being into his strong, warm arms. He kisses your temple before gently taking the pinot grigio out of your hands, humming at your wine choice.

“Take your work clothes off and meet me in the bathroom.” He gives your forehead a kiss before disappearing again. You cock your eyebrow in confusion, but oblige to his request anyhow. You strip off your clothes, leaving your body clad in just your bra and underwear. The plush carpet beneath your bare feet feels heavenly after a day of wearing those pumps for work.

The cold tile of the bathroom sends a chill up your spine, but you ignore the sensation when you take in all that’s in front of you—a bubble bath with rose petals scattered atop, candles lit on the side of the tub, and a small tray of chocolate covered strawberries waiting to be devoured. Wine glasses filled with two cubes of ice each sit perfectly next to the strawberries, along with the pinot grigio.

You feel the sting of tears immediately. Your eyes move over to Joel, who’s standing with his hands behind his back and a boyish grin adorning his handsome face.

“What—what’s this?” Your voice is meek, eyes glossy and bottom lip slightly trembling.

“I know we won’t get that much time to ourselves on Valentine’s Day, so I thought we’d celebrate a little early. Y‘know, a nice way to relax after a tough day.”

“Joel, honey, this is perfect.”

“Yeah? You like it?”

You turn to face him fully. “I love it. And I love you.” You close the distance between the both of you, pulling him in for a tender kiss. He hums against your lips, enveloping your body into his arms. He slides his hands down to your ass, giving it a playful tap.

He unravels his arms from you before taking a small step back, shucking off his shirt and his pants. He looks at you as you watch him, desire for him pooling your eyes. A glint of fascination crosses his gaze as he studies you studying him.

“One more thing.” Joel says before stepping out of the bathroom. A minute later, soft tunes of Frank Sinatra wafted throughout the bedroom and into the bathroom. He comes back in with a smile on his face as he grabs your hand and twirls you before kissing you. You couldn’t help but smile against him.

He pulls down his underwear and climbs into the tub, groaning at the warm water against his achy bones.

“C’mere, sweet girl.” He nudges his head, holding his hand out to you. You smile and remove your bra and underwear, climbing into the tub with him. The warm water eased the tension that was left in your body, rolling off your shoulders and dissipating into the aroma of scented bubbles. Lavender, you think.

Joel pulls you back against his body, warm and inviting as you lean on him and close your eyes. You sit like that for a minute—still, calm, and silent. It’s what you both needed. Days like this could be more than overstimulating, and Joel knew that. You both basked in the fact that you could sit in silence in each other’s presence and be perfectly content.

You felt movement behind you, only to see Joel reaching for the wine bottle. He opens it with ease and pours the wine into the two glasses, clinking his with yours in a soft ‘cheers.’

Joel set his glass down on the edge of the tub, hands landing on your shoulders. Water sloshed gingerly with his movements. He started to dig his thumbs into the tense muscle. You couldn’t help but groan, head lolling to the side slowly.

“Feel good?” Joel chuckles close to your ear, goosebumps raising at the low vibrato of his voice.

“Mhm,” You manage.

Joel leans his mouth down to the base of your neck, leaving tender kisses in his wake. Your nails trace patterns on his thick thighs, the slow drag pulling at the need for you within him.

Your touch, your smile, your voice, your laugh, you. You drove him absolutely crazy. This man loved you more than life itself. If he could give you the whole world, he would—but for once in his life he knew he was enough.

“I love you, darlin’.” Joel’s voice is nearly a whisper. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, kissing your soft flesh repeatedly.

You crane your neck to face him and his hands drop to your arms.

“I love you more, cowboy.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Not possible.”

“Mm.” You muse, leaning in to kiss him. Those same rumbling butterflies stir in your stomach, heart strings pulling at the softness of his lips and how perfect they feel slotted with yours.

His tongue easily made its way into your mouth as you slid a hand into his slightly graying curls. You moaned into him, your other free hand gripping his thigh tighter as the neediness ignites within your body.

See, that was the thing. Joel had you wrapped around his fingers. He knew exactly what made you tick.

His hands slowly slide to your breasts, kneading them with such care before pinching both of your nipples between his thumbs and index fingers. You gasp into the kiss at the sensation as it travels down like hot liquid to your core, already pulsing with aching need.

Joel’s small chuckle separates the kiss, and you lean your forehead against his cheek as he continues to toy with your pillowy flesh. Your breathing begins to stagger, mind clouded with the carnal desire for the man who’s stolen your heart.

“Joel,” You’re breathless, legs mindlessly rubbing together for any friction you can get. “Please.”

“Please what, baby?” His chest rumbles with the low vibrato of his voice, goosebumps erupting on your skin once more.

“Fuck. Touch me. Please, Joel.”

“Fuckin’ love when my girl uses her manners. How do you want daddy to touch you?” His voice is a low growl, one hand easily gliding down the curves of your body before his fingertips brush over your mound. You can’t help the soft whimper that escapes you as he easily spreads your legs with his hand, running his middle finger down your slit. “Like this?”

You suck in a breath behind clenched teeth, head dropping back onto his shoulder as he starts to slowly drag his fingers over your slick sex. Even underwater, Joel could feel how aroused you are.

“Answer me, sweet girl. Tell me.”

“Y-yes. God, yes–please—fuck me with your fingers.”

You’ve come to learn how to be more vocal with Joel, always shying away from telling him what you wanted when it came to your pleasure at first. He eventually coaxed it out of you, telling you that there’s no reason to be shy around him. He’d take care of you all the same.

You knew that, but you were still grateful for the man being patient with you when words would get lodged into your throat, seemingly unwilling to be vocalized. It got easier over time, and the confidence you radiated when you and Joel initiated anything intimate was a show he’d always want a front seat to.

You moaned as he easily slipped a finger into you, disappearing down to the knuckle. It was a welcome stretch, his fingers always reaching places yours never could. But it wasn’t enough. You needed more.

“Another one, please.” You sigh, rutting your hips down to grind onto his hand. He easily complies, this time a little bit more of a tight fit. You moan at the sensation, and Joel has a crooked grin on his face as he starts to languidly pump his fingers in and out of you. He was teasing you, you think, because he wanted to hear you beg him to go faster. And, truthfully, you weren’t above doing so.

“Such pretty sounds you make for me, baby,” He starts to pick up his pace, and you subconsciously bite your lip to quiet yourself down. “Uh uh, don’t go all shy on me now, darlin’. Wanna hear you. Wanna hear how I make you feel.”

“You know—shit—you know how you make me feel, Joel,” You reason with him, “You drive me fucking crazy.”

“Good.”

That was all he said before he picked up the pace of his fingers, curling them to press against the spongy spot in you that had your eyes rolling back and your toes curling. He swiped his thumb over your clit, finding a steady rhythm with his fingers.

One of your hands had his thigh in a vice grip, likely to leave scratch marks on his tan skin while the other held onto the edge of the tub. That same liquid heat traveled throughout the course of your body, pooling at the bottom of your spine. Waiting. Wanting. Begging to be released. You grind your hips down to match his pace, just needed a bit more of a push.

The whimpers and moans that eluded you only added to Joel’s own arousal, the occasional grunt from him reverberating off of the bathroom walls. His cock was solid against your back, and you couldn’t help but think how much self control this man had.

“Can feel your pretty pussy clenchin’ my fingers, sweetheart. You gonna come on them? Hm?” His lips are at your ear now, poking his tongue out to lick your earlobe before nibbling on it.

“Yes—oh, fuckfuckfuck. Right there, Joel, please don’t stop. Pleasepleaseplease—” You’re a begging, whimpering mess before you come undone, whole body shuddering as your orgasm washes over you so intensely.

“There you go. That’s it. My girl always does so well, hm? So fuckin’ well.” Joel praises you, slowly sliding his fingers out of you before running them over your slit once more, featherlight and meticulous. You shudder at the sensation, a choked moan escaping the hollows of your throat.

“What do you say?” Joel teases, riling you up.

“Thank you, daddy.” You laugh softly, giving his thigh a gentle squeeze.

You sit up and turn yourself around, careful not to slosh any water outside of the tub. Joel has an amused look on his face and you huff a laugh through your nose before kissing him. It was passionate, like something you’d see in those romance movies on the big screen.

It’s a silent promise, something that can’t be put into words. It surges through your veins and exists in you all the time, heightened by the very man that made you feel these things again.

You pull apart from him, rubbing your nose against his before you lean back to take in his handsome features. His dark brown eyes gleamed with budding love.

Your gaze shifts to the untouched strawberries, and you pluck one off of the plate before taking a bite. It’s sweet; the mixture of chocolate and the fruit dancing on your taste buds. You hold the rest of the strawberry to Joel’s lips, and he grins before taking a bigger bite. You place the calyx back on the tray, gaze drifting to Joel again.

You grin when you see some chocolate on his bottom lip.

“You got a little…” Your words die in your throat as you lean forward, licking his bottom lip before kissing him again. You move to straddle his lap, hips flexing to fit around the broadness of him.

“Be mine forever.” He whispers against you.

“I’m already yours, Joel. You’ve always had me.”

You trail a hand down his chest, toying with his hair before sliding your palm down his torso as your nails slightly scrape his flesh. You plant soft kisses all along his collarbone, tongue poking out to lick his already wet skin.

Your wandering hand brushes through the tuft, wiry hair that sat atop his aching cock. You hum against him and wrap your hand around his length. He pulses in your hand, heavy and waiting to be relieved. You begin to slide your hand up and down his silky flesh, nipping at his collarbone as you did so.

Joel sucks in a breath behind clenched teeth, eyes closing in pure bliss as he tries to refrain from bucking up into your hand.

“Such a pretty cock. Love it so much.” You muse, and Joel groans at your words. He’ll never get used to you worshiping him and his body the way you do, he thinks.

But, he loves it all the same. It makes his heart fucking flutter, and even though he’ll probably never openly admit it, he loves it. It makes him feel worthy. Wanted. Loved.

“It’d look even prettier buried in that perfect pussy.” He says, and your movements falter for a split second. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to his filthy mouth, but it was something you couldn’t get enough of.

You look down at him with hooded eyes and a satiated grin before lifting your hips up to hover over him, swiping his tip over your folds before sinking down on him. You’re slow with your movements, wanting to feel every ridge and vein his pretty, pretty cock has.

You both moan in harmony as you reach the hilt.

“So-fuckin’-perfect.” Joel grits, head lolling back as he takes in the sensation of your warmth wrapped around him so perfectly, like you were specifically made to be there. And you are, you think.

Your hands rest on his shoulders as you start gliding up and down on him, the stretch so welcoming every time you fully sink back down. Joel’s hands settle onto your ass to guide you into a steady pace. He wraps his lips around one of your nipples, giving it a soft bite, and you gasp at the sensation. Joel could feel you clenching around him with every pass of his tongue on your sensitive bud.

One of your hands tangles itself into his curls once more, giving them a little tug. His eyes pop open and he lets go of your nipple with a small ‘pop’, gaze never wavering from yours. You toss him a saccharine smile before kissing the tip of his nose.

“So handsome.” You whisper, kissing every high point of his face before resting your forehead against his once more.

“Yeah?” He asks, fingers grazing down on your ass slotting themselves between the crevice of both cheeks.

“Mhm.” You bite your lip, knowing what was coming. It was something new that you tried around a month ago and really liked, so Joel would implement the action whenever he could.

The tip of his middle finger circled around the tight ring of your asshole, a wicked grin on his lips as your hips stuttered.

“Gotta fill you all the way up, darlin’.” He chuckles as he pushes his middle finger into your tight hole.

Your eyes clamp shut tight, feeling so full of the man you love.

“Fuck, god, Joel– feels s’good.” Your words are slurring together and you’re trying your damnedest to keep the pace of your hips steady, maybe even riding him a little faster if that means his finger in your ass will pump faster, too.

“I know, baby. Doin’ so well. So good for me, hm? Takin’ what I give ya, so full n’ all.” He cooes, nosing at your jaw as your mouth falls slack and eyebrows thread together.

The pleasure coursing through your body is devastatingly euphoric, the sensation of him everywhere driving you crazy in all the right ways.

You know it wouldn’t be long before you fell apart at the seams for him once more.

That deep, throaty growl he does while his eyes are shut in concentration, and the pulsing feeling of his cock is a dead giveaway that he’s going to fall apart for you, too.

“‘M close, Joel.” You’re clawing at his back now, his finger curling inside you as you bury your face into his neck.

Your hips burn from straddling his wide frame, desperate for a break, but you won’t stop. Not until You’re falling apart for him and he, you.

“I know, sweet girl. Can feel ya. Give it t’me, c’mon.” He groans, fucking up into you. His jaw ticks as his teeth clench, feeling you pulsing around him as you cry out his name in pure bliss. Another orgasm crashes through you, eyes rolling back as your body goes limp on his.

It only takes him a few more thrusts before he’s coming, filling you with everything he has. He moans with every stutter of his hips as his chest heaves up and down, body following suit with yours and going completely limp. He removes his finger from you slowly before you lift yourself off of him, already missing the feeling of being so full.

You stay wrapped up in eachother for a few minutes, giving yourselves the chance to catch your breaths. You kiss his chest repeatedly, placing your hand over his rapidly beating heart.

“I love you. So fucking much, Miller.” You laugh softly, tracing patterns on his chest as your head presses against the solidity of it.

The feeling of his beating heart surges life into you. Knowing that you get to exist at the same time as this gorgeous, loving man is a feeling you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. There really are no words for it, you think. At least not strong enough to describe the feeling.

“I love you too, darlin’. Forever.”

And then you think to yourself, you’d do life over and over again if it meant you got to meet Joel in every single one of them.

i’m such a fucking sap dude. lmfaooo anyway, hope y’all enjoyed <3

tags: @nostalxgic ; @ilovepedro ; @endlessthxxghts ; @punkshort ; @joelsgreys ; @pamasaur ; @cool-iguana ; @joeloverture

[slutforalastor]

"Ah, he's got this problem." Your friend Mimzy waved her hand. "You know how animal demons get. I'd take care of him myself but I wouldn't want to spoil our working relationship. We go way back, you know."

Slowly, you nodded. "You'd consider it a personal favour?" That was how things worked in Hell. A consideration for a consideration. And dealing with the Radio Demon in rut was hardly a small favour, even if it did play well to your preferences.

"To me, yeah." Mimzy smiled broadly. "Just take him to a private room in the back and see that he's calmed down before it's time for the show. If he's cranky he's gonna start eating people, ugh." She fluttered her hand again. "Don't worry, though, he's an absolute sweetheart."

Seeing the Radio Demon turn sideways to get through the door, eyes glowing red and his huge rack of antlers festooned with cables, you were starting to doubt Mimzy's definition of sweetheart.

THIS POST CONTAINS MATERIAL NOT SUITABLE FOR MINORS. 18+

Content: Rutting, antlerplay, role reversal, give and take, banter, mutual masturbation, light femdom, biting, marking, a lot of flowery language for smut

You'd heard the stories and rumors, saw the occasional report on VNN, but you'd yet to encounter the Radio Demon for yourself. Even pushed to the edge where something resembling humanity plunges into dark depths of depravity, he's maintaining a grip on decorum, his wavering smile barely forming the syllables when he introduces himself as Alastor, his voice impossibly mimicking the sound of a mono recording from a bygone time. Mimzy is going to owe you big-time.

"I'm doing well, sir. I have to say, you look like you've had an awful day."

"It is... most inconvenient," he stammers, shaking his head like a beached animal trying to throw off water. Just as Mimzy had requested, you'd waited for him in the private room, and you're still laying in the bed, your body draped across the two rows of firm pillows, down to your lingerie for his ease. With wobbling steps, he begins to close the distance, loosening his bowtie.

"I really must insist that this matter... stay between us." The restraint he's displaying seems as though it's taking every bit of faculties he can spare; his breathing, his sight, his ability to stand, all seem to be sustained with the minimum amount of effort possible. Even glazed in electric red, you can tell his eyes are focused intently on you.

"Who would believe me, anyhow?"

"... Too true, no one would dream of calling me a liar," he agrees, pulling his waistcoat off and leaving it in a heap on the bureau. His undershirt is the same deep red, intersecting black stripes making a cross across the center of his chest. He rolls his sleeves up, then sets his cane on top of his waistcoat. "Any... sensitivities I should know about?"

"I like being kissed on the neck," you venture, playing it safe for opening bids.

He laughs wickedly, the glow casting light further than it could reach before, his antlers growing another section in size, branching out that much closer to the ceiling. "Oh, Mimzy didn't tell me you'd be so pure. Surely you have something more entertaining than that?"

"You think I do this sort of thing often enough to have an itemized list?"

He tuts at your attempt at banter, removing his shoes and leaving them in the gap under the bed. "I don't have time for experimentation, my dear. I'm asking if you think you can handle what I have to give."

"I've handled everything so far," you smirk.

"Let's see how you handle the best, then," he mutters. With a wave of his hand, a black tentacle rises to wrap around your midsection, pinning you in place. He's climbing onto the bed, teeth bared like an animal seconds from pouncing. There's hunger in his eyes, desperation in his motion, a frantic bent to the way he's starting to falter, his kayfabe crumbling with every push of his knees. He's got your legs open, mounting you, and you can feel something alive and thrashing, barely contained by the slacks tenting away from his midsection. His eyes are narrowed in ravenous anticipation, his hips pressing him into you, etching his longing lengthwise against the fabric of your underwear. You feel your upper teeth against your lip, knowing that despite all your talk, you can't hide how appreciative you are of his straightforward approach.

With a hoarse exhale, he fumbles with his belt, the restraining tentacle slipping southward to yank your panties down. Your eyes catch a glimpse of how prepared you are for what's coming next, the evidence staining a dark spot in the light fabric. The Radio Demon hikes his slacks down to the midsection of his thighs, the tip of his firmness kissing against your entrance, his erratic movements keeping him from slipping in. You take it in your hands, which makes him rear up in ecstasy, a hissing growl punctuating the reaction, and align it directly where it needs to go. With a thrust motivated by nothing more than primal need, he forces himself deep into you, grunting in satisfaction at your breathy gasps when it settles into your apex. He gives you little time to adjust, burying himself into you with harsh, crushing strokes, the red in his eyes leaving a tracer every time you shut your eyes against the force of it. His hands are against your forearms, pinning the both of them on either side, and when your head goes back, he finds the crook of your neck with his teeth, his tongue, his lips, seasoning you with scratches, leaving welts from kisses and bites. They sting like fire, they excite like aphrodisiac.

"Is that what you mean, my dear? Is that what you're looking for?"

You whimper something that sounds close enough to assent for him to grow bolder, making a map of your body, marking a trail, carving canyons, raising landmarks that stand red and pulsing against the canvas of your skin. All this in the throes of his rutting deep into you. It drives you mad, your legs wrapping around his waist, bidding him to see just how much of his mind he can lose.

"God, your fucking taste. It'd be such a shame to just devour you, though. So many uses for the whole." Or maybe you're using the homophone of that word to make him seem kinder.

A flailing hand finds your throat, freeing your arms by necessity. You catch onto the rack of black antlers nearly driving themselves into the headboard, using them for leverage to arch your back. You can't tell if you've irritated or excited him with your little move, but the result is the same; he's pressing you with enough force that you can feel the force of it in your midsection. You're seeing red, the sound of him making a mess of you ringing in your ears, two organs vying for sensations yet to be experienced, every other part of you a mere pretense, a chorus playing ensemble to the true performance. And he's reaching the climax of it, his bucking hips shaking your entire frame. You can feel every shift of his disposition in the bone of his antlers, and you hold on for dear life as his urge rushes into your lower half, filling you with thick heat. You're moaning unconsciously, letting him keep you impaled for as long as it pulses with diminishing vigor, feeling every twitch in his shaft as it empties itself. Finally spent, he releases you, the tentacle unwinding from around your waist. Your fingers, knuckles sore from strain, release his antlers, and you extricate yourselves from one another. You can feel his seed weep from between your legs, your breathing rapid, your skin slick with sweat. He collapses onto his back, his legs still entangled with yours, the fabric of his slacks a strange texture on your drenched skin. Straining, you lift your head up, seeing that despite his exhaustion, his cock hasn't calmed one bit.

"Still... not satisfied?"

"This damnable rut..."

You pull yourself up, your lower half numb and leaving a trail of translucence as you crawl to the space between his legs. You wrap a hand around him, and he breathes a hissing inhale that tapers into a low, long groan.

"I didn't ask you..."

"You look like you're in misery, you really don't want the help?"

"I am in no position to keep going..."

"So let me handle it."

You can see the conflict playing out in his expression, but his hips gently bucking against your hand tell a different tale. "Not a soul can know about this."

You nod your assent, giving the part that needs it more of your attention. It's as lively as when he was frotting it against you, throbbing with want, coated with spend. It makes a marvelous lubricant, the wet sound of skin against slick skin nearly obscuring his quiet moans.

"I couldn't help but notice that you have sensitivities of your own, sir."

"Surely you can't mean..."

Your free hand dances like a bird across the branches in his horns, his vocalizations and submissive thrusts suggesting that you have stricken quite the nerve. He's already oozing pre into your palm, a searching hand walking a blind path between your legs, caressing you in kind. You've got a wild idea, just crazy enough to sound worth doing. There's a real chance you'll never cross each other's path again, might as well indulge. You spot a path that ends in a blunt point in his rack, and take it into your mouth, flitting your tongue against the rough material, firm and tasteless, but eliciting such a response from him that you'd not dare release it. His fingers are stroking you with all the effort they can muster, his thrusts weak but sincere.

"Cannot believe... you're getting away with this," he whines, his voice so submissive compared to the one you first heard that it threatens to send you over the edge. Why not press your luck? You straddle his waist, inching him into you margin by maddening margin. He's got no more clever quips for you, his curled claws clutching fistfuls of ruined bedsheets. The view from on high is a pleasant one. A few more motions, and you feel that sensation alighting in him once again; you're ready to join him. His whimpers go up an octave, the crackling filter in his voice thickening, distorting. For the second time, he climaxes inside of you, your own orgasm arriving in tandem. The both of you cry out, his subdued and sweet, yours unrestrained and carnal. You fold into him, his initial reaction wanting to pull away, but he grants you this favor, letting you find the crook in his neck in parallel. He speaks unfiltered, more as Alastor than as the Radio Demon.

"You know, it can be so hard to find willing assistants for these difficult times. Perhaps I could call on you again, my dear."

Maybe it should be you that owes Mimzy.

[yourwinchesterbros]

THE TWO OF US

Paring – Joel Miller x Fem reader / 10.3K Words

Summary – You find Joel taking care of you yet again, but not in the way you want. Tonight, you decide to address it.

A/N - I couldn’t stop thinking about this, so I decided to write it. Inspired by Episode 3 of the last of us, takes place in the clearing that Joel and Ellie settle in for the night but this time, it’s Joel and you.

Warnings – Minors, do not interact. This fic is 18+ only

The filthiest thing I’ve written so far, and I put all the blame on Joel Miller. He makes me absolutely feral!

Smut with little plot. Poor girl gets edged for way too long, teasing, masturbation for both, daddy kink, pet names - pretty girl, brat, sweetheart etc. (Joel calls reader whore once) Dirty talk, thigh riding, reader humps her sleeping bag, cursing, soft/dom Joel. Mentions of murder, blood, and wounds and weapons – knives, gun. (Reader has a small cut). Joel is in his fifties; readers age is not specified but absolutely over the age of 20. Please Let me know if I’ve missed anything! Enjoy!

“We’re stopping here f’ the night.”

Joel accelerates the Chevy S-10 ranger off the familiar pavement and onto the rough prairie towards the forest line. The uneven earth below you causes the truck to wobble, you grip the handle mounted above you to stay steady.

The sun is on its way to set and reveal the sky she has in mind for this evening. You hope it’s another blue and pink one, when the clouds blend it becomes a milky mauve and it’s Joel's favourite kind of sunset. Which naturally, and secretly, is the very reason why it’s become your favourite too.

You roll down the passenger window with the manual hand crank, wincing at the sore residing across your collarbone. A souvenir from earlier endeavors. Well, early as in this very morning.

When you and Joel came across what seemed like a stationed FEDRA stop, relief washed over when it was revealed to be just a band of yahoos. You quickly learned they were as nervous as you. Ironically enough, that’s an advantage, as your travelling partner was unlike the lot of you all. Joel possesses a different mindset than others. A different perspective that was always so solidified. Certain.

As the air in the environment shifted, it became hostile. This was a group with no good intentions. Not for the two of you anyhow. Yet you saw the fear grow in their eyes when Joel charged, surging forward, letting survival take over. The thing is, Joel also has a different sense of fear. Such as fear of getting off track while trying to find his brother, among a fear of running out of coffee and most impending, the fear of getting old. That one makes you laugh.

 Therefore, when the two of you approached the group of three men and a lady, fear didn’t have a seat at Joel's table. So, your morning kerfuffle was exactly that – a mere kerfuffle that ended with 3 dead and one spared with a worn-out map. She won’t make it far though. Not on her own.

You initially tried to kill her yourself. An opportunity that was seconds away when you were straddling her chest, your knife hovered above her sternum, promising a fatal strike but you were viciously flung off by Joel with a quick “We don’t kill women” as he returned to bludgeon some poor guy’s face. The woman however had survival rules of her own. Taught by the men she traveled with; her version of death didn’t discriminate.

She was quick to retrieve her blade you’d tossed moments ago. Before you knew it, she was on top of you faster than you could gather yourself.  She now had the high ground, the advantage and with no one to stop her, she swung the sharp steel across your skin with purpose. She aimed for your neck, but thankfully you were faster, your reactions saved you and you were rewarded a swift cut to the collarbone instead. You had reached for her jaw, throwing her off balance as you shoved her face upwards. Joel had then come to your rescue, pulling her to the side by her neck before putting the fear of God into her.

It could’ve been worse for you, but a part of you was relieved as you didn’t have to encounter the grief that weighs on one’s soul when they take a life. You’ve never killed before, but that doesn’t mean you won't. You’ve accepted the fact that it’s only a matter of time, but it’s an event you’re not eager to attend.

As much as you reamed out Joel for letting her go, for letting you nearly die at her hands, you really only chastised to keep hearing his apologies in that low southern drawl. It was a record you could keep on replay for all eternity. Joel saying sorry? What a sound.

With a tender touch, you press against the damp blue material covering your wound. It had stopped bleeding a while ago, but a bit had still seeped through. Joel had given you some gauze which clung to the wound tightly as the blood hardened, like a scab. You figure it’ll have to be changed soon.

You gaze out the window, appreciating the cool breeze whistling across your features. You can smell the soil underneath the green grass as the truck tires roll over them.

To your surprise Joel continues past the trees, into the forest itself. A sliver of anxiety burst in your chest.

“We’re not camping by the tree line?” You question as your eyes frantically scour each gap between the lush evergreen trees.

“Not safe enough” he barely utters to you as he himself scans the earthy environment. “Less chance for surprises deep in here”.

“Mmmkay …” you hum, feeling a wave of sadness as you realize watching golden hour wouldn’t be in the cards tonight. Nature in this area is overgrown, and rich. The trees are abundant, dense, and evade the sky above you.

With a light squeal, the truck comes to a halt, and when the engine dies you know this is home for the night.

You pull out of the passenger seat and groan as you stretch your body, raising your hands above your head.

“Today was a long one hey? How many hours were we on the road?” You question as you glance around your new surroundings.

“You should know, you’re the one who told me you were gunna start observin’ more” He raises a brow, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he unlocked the tailgate. “Guess it’s hard t’ count when you’re nappin’ half the ride.”

“Okay let’s not get carried away there, I don’t plan on being on your level of analysis, Miller.” You smirk at him as you help him unload the sleeping bags and the worn-out Coleman’s barbeque.

With a thud of the bags against the ground he turns to you.

“What’d I say ‘bout usin’ my last name?” His brows are drawn tightly now. His brown eyes dark like char, focus on yours. He places one of his hands, palm side down against the body of the truck, the other gripping his hip.

You raise your own hands in surrender as he scoffs with a shake of his head but continues unpacking. It’s something you tend to poke and prod him with from time to time. But only from time to time.  Well, in the short time that you’ve known him anyway.

For some reason, it really does tick Joel off when you say his surname but that’s precisely why you enjoy using it when he least expects it. Because if he knows it’s coming, he won’t let it slide and you’re left talking to yourself for the remainder of the day, sometimes two. So, you use it when you want to be momentarily scolded, but you say it as if it’s an accident. A habit not quite beaten out of the inner brat in you.

You hear him mumbling to himself again as he splays the sleeping bags out, readying the grill for whatever canned goods are left. Sounds something like “You’re gunna learn one f’ these days” but you pay no further attention as you skip to the driver’s side of the truck, leaning into the center console to grab the cheap lantern. You won’t need it yet, but darkness tends to creep in much faster when you’re in the woods. You want it close by as you’ve not been granted access to firearms. No matter how many times you’ve pleaded Joel, it wasn’t up for discussion. Therefore, you’re left with your trusty blade and ‘works half-of-the-time’ lantern.

Joel heats up two cans, one possessing creamed corn and the other, ravioli. You prefer corn, but you don’t miss the smile that briefly dances in Joel’s eyes when he gets to take the ravioli for himself. Another mental note you’ve made about Joel. He likes his Chef Boyardee.

As the night crawls on, Joel summons you over with a sharp whistle to the tailgate where he’s standing.

“Hey, c’mere,” he pats the hard plastic of the trunk.

“Joel, I just got comfy. I’m finally warm in my little cocoon,” you pause as you wait for his mercy. None was served as he snaps his middle finger against his thumb to you again, motioning the truck with his forefinger as he continues unzipping a little red bag with the other.

“Get over here,” he demands but not in a mean way, his voice was softer than before.

“You’re not the boss of me,” you whisper under your breath as you make your way over to him, shuffling the sleeping bag off your feet.

“Heard that,” he grunts.

“Good,” you chirp back as you stand next to him.

“Up” he says, once again motioning his forefinger upwards to the tailgate.

With a roll of your eyes, you turn your back to the truck and hoist your bottom from beneath you up onto the bench. You sit there quietly, swaying your legs while watching Joel prod through the medical bandages and wipes with his large fingers in that small, little bag. A ping of jealousy rises in your chest as you wished you could have his fingers explore your –

“Quit thinkin ’so loud,” Joel interrupts your thoughts as he tears open a small white package between his teeth. An action that makes you bite your bottom lip involuntarily.

It’s no secret you struggle around Joel. Maybe it’s the long-term effects of the apocalypse, causing so many to lose the common sense of touch with one another. Creating incredibly touch-starved individuals, especially you.

Maybe it’s because you’ve never really been properly touched by a man, and you think Joel would know how, you think of it far too often. Or maybe it’s simply because a man like Joel emits sexuality with his entire being. It’s like he releases a pheromone that makes those around him go feral for his manhood. At least that’s how you feel anyways.

Your eyes tend to linger longer than you’d like when you watch Joel grip his rifle, his strong hand cupping the neck of the gun. The way his fingers trace lightly on the trigger, teasing the bullet inside to erupt. The way he narrows his sight into the scope, his breath held before exhaling in the most sensual way. The way his broad shoulders rise and fall before he makes his kill. Hell, you could watch this man paint and still be in a pool of your own arousal.

Maybe it’s just because Joel is the most masculine man you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, becoming partners with, in the coworker sense of course. He possesses the knowledge, the experience, the determination, the patience, and strength… of survival. But you’ve always wondered if those same factors come into play when he likes to…play. 

Joel has always noticed when you’re thinking, the way you zone out on his lips or his large fingers. Your eyelids become hooded as he watches the filthy gears turn inside your mind. It’s something you do without even realizing and he fucking loves it. It makes his heartbeat fonder; his ego grow bigger and without fail, each time, it makes his cock twitch in his jeans. Which is the final action that brings him back to reality to snap your dirty little naïve mind out of it.

He understands the effect he has on women, how they would stare at him back at the QZ. Crawl to him with need, begging to be put out of their misery. It’s a quality he doesn’t mind as it makes it easy to find release but when it comes to you, he scolds himself for ever letting his mind drift into those delicious, curious, devilish thoughts. Your innocence is a hidden treasure in this corrupt world, and Joel simply won’t corrupt that too.

He recognizes the way you stray close to him as if he's shelter. The way you look at him with wide eyes when he senses danger, how you shuffle so tight into him, because you know he’ll protect you. And he will. He quietly prides himself in being your gatekeeper. How you give him complete control over your life, a feeling he’s only ever had once before.

He pictures you as a small ornament made of thin glass. So precious, yet so fragile and it sits so nicely in his roughed up, deadly, deleterious hands. He could shatter it so easily. Let the pieces fall at his feet and walk away before the fear of failure seeps in, had he done that in the start, his feelings would be protected.

But the problem is, he’s gotten attached to his little ornament. Therefore, he’ll watch every move he makes, to be sure not to flinch and accidently crack it. He dreads the weight that comes with the stiffness of protecting you, how it makes his body and mind ache, but he knew. He knew the moment he took you out of the QZ and into the unknown, that he would ache till the day he takes his last breath. He made his choice that very night, that he's responsible for you. He just didn’t realize how much he would care. How much you’ve impacted him. How much of you has molded into him and the things he recognizes in you that you’ve gained from him. His little ornament, he vows to keep safe because the eternal hell that comes with defeat, he simply won’t go through again. 

He stares down at you, looking at your eyes still trained on his mouth that has just ripped open the white plastic. He wondered if it reminded you of the memories that creeped into his. If you've ever seen one before. A type of rubber that used to sit in his wallet pre apocalypse when he travelled to seedy bars.

“Take your shirt off” You snap your eyes from his lips to meet his brown ones. They’re still dark from the “Miller” comment you made earlier but this time there’s a twinkle you can’t quite read.

“You, y- you want me to take it off?” You speak so softly but in such a needy way Joel has to forcefully repress the groan that’s stuck in his throat. Instead, he smirks at you.

“Need t’ see the cut”. You blush at his words, feeling silly for assuming he’d want anything otherwise. God you were so lost in your train of thoughts, you’d briefly forgotten what you were sitting here for.

Joel catches sight of your blush by the low light of the lantern sitting next to the med bag. He knows he can’t give into you, or let himself ponder on you for too long, but that doesn't mean he can’t have a little fun teasing you.

You grab the hem of your sweater, peeling it up and over your head, leaving you in your white tank top. One that had been stained from dirt and blood, but you’ve washed it in rivers in between travels. The stains never come out, no matter how hard you try.

You hear his breath hitch as you pluck the sweater off, bundling it to your side and it only fuels the ache in between your legs that much more.

You slip in and out of your trance, feeling so vulnerable yet powerful in the hands of Joel. Waiting for his next move. You watch his eyes examine your cut, as he chews on the inside on his cheek.

“S’not too bad, but could get infected, especially when we’re out here,” he explains, opening the wet cloth that was inside the package and before he brings it to your wound, he raises a finger lightly over your shoulder.

“Just... gunna move this out f’ the way” his voice velvet as he softly shifts your tank strap away from your wound to the edge of your shoulder, enough for it to fall down your arm on its own. The motion of it all raising a shiver up your tailbone. You then see his eyes grow heavy, his tongue dipping out to wet his bottom lip.

The touch of his calloused fingers against your skin, the way the strap falls from his grasp, how his eyes briefly drop to your chest before seeing the red blotches form across his neck, all these things have your buds growing hard against the fabric of your shirt.

You groan when he removes the old gauze and finally applies the alcohol-soaked cloth against your cut. The sting somehow adding to your arousal. You can’t help but let a small pornographic moan slip from your lips resulting in a hiss from Joel.

“Jesus” He mutters, more to himself than you. His other hand palms his crotch to briefly adjust the growing hard on beneath the zipper. He thought he was subtle in the dark, but you still saw, and it drove you wild.

His touch shocks you as his hand gently grips your neck, holding you still as he dabs your sore some more. You see the wrinkles forming on his forehead as he bends down, leaning in close to inspect the cut further. You could roll your eyes in pure ecstasy just from the way he has you in his grasp. The way his head is ducked down beneath yours, so closely to your chest, you can nearly feel his hot breath kissing your nipples.

You feel your dignity slipping away. You want nothing more than to submit to him, let him take what he wants. You’ve seen the signs, surely, he’s thought about it too.

His big thumb lightly caresses your sensitive skin as he focuses on wiping up the rest of the smeared mess that stained your collar bone. In between his shuffling, you spread your legs open some more, hoping he’ll come closer.

You peer down, watching his eyes flicker to yours, a warning resides within them. He knows what you’re doing, and he isn’t going to take bait. He’s in trouble enough as it is. You bite down on your lip, trying to suppress the guttural want inside you. But your mouth falls agape when his glare falls back to your neck, tracing slowly back to your wound before looking down lower to your breasts poking through your thin shirt. He inhales deeply through his nose, his eyes closing as if he’s praying for restraint. You hope none delivers.

In one motion, he regathers himself in such a Joel manner, you know he’s done playing. He tosses the crimson-stained wet fabric back into the red bag, zipping it up in such aggression you thought it might just break.

“Just keep it covered, should heal fine,” He orders, not once looking your way.

“Joel” you mewl to him, your hands having a mind of their own as they reach for his jacket.

“No” he says bluntly, his eyes on the med kit. He’s trying to be cold, but you can hear the quiver that laces his voice.

He tosses the bag further into the trunk, he jaws clenching so hard you think his teeth might shatter.

“Joel” you cry again softly, biting your lip. Your arousal is becoming unbearable, downright painful. At this point, you can care less about how pathetic you sound. You just need relief, but this time from him.

“I said no,” He growls, “It’s bedtime.”

Joel then, in one movement reaches one arm under yours, supporting your back and the other hand gripping your waist.

You clutch the collar of his jacket, panting feverishly, your heart racing from his touch. His head had leaned down close enough, you thought he might just kiss you.

But then you realize what's really happening as he picks you up off the tailgate and plants you on your feet to the ground. You don’t miss the way his hand lingers before letting you go.

“I’ve got first watch, get into your sleepin’ bag,” He commands as he picks up his rifle, slinging it over his shoulder.

“I’m not tired” you whine, desperation seeping out of your pores.

“M’ don’t care, we have a long day tomorrow n’ you need rest, so get rested.” His voice is strained as his teeth grit at the end of his sentence. He putters around, putting the lantern next to your bag, closing the lid to the barbeque, not once looking in your direction.

And you know why. He’s trying to hide his desire from you, the evidence sticking out in his jeans. Trying to distract himself from the utter temptation that hangs in the air. Trying to be the good guy that is strictly business and most days his virtuous behavior warms you, but tonight it’s pissing you right off.

“I can’t sleep like this Joel, I, I- I’m uncomfortable” you whimper, your arms at your side as you admit defeat.

“That’s enough” he spits your name “M’ not saying it again.”

Your perk up when he turns, striding towards you but it’s quickly followed by a groan when he passes you to go to the truck. He grabs your sweater, before slamming up the tailgate with force. The sexual frustration radiant in his demeanor.

You watch him come closer; his knuckles white from gripping the fabric of your top. Your breath catches when you meet his eyes, his glare so intense you think you might become a meal, you hope you will.

He raises his fist to your chest; you look down at the blue material.

“Put this on, it’ll protect your wound. I’m checking the perimeters then I’ll be back” he says lowly, peering down at you without tilting his head. When he does this, it makes you feel incredibly small, more than you normally feel around him. Which you like. You frown at his back as he strides away, towards the trees.

“Joel, please” you whine again. “I – I need – “ Tears begin pricking at your eyes, you’ve never felt this needy in your life, and all you want is Joel. He’s the only one that can help.

He stands still, before turning his head to the side, his knee popping out in his stance. He stays that way for a moment before you hear him sigh loudly. He turns to face you, hand gripping his jaw as his eyes scans your figure, weeping in front of him.

“Sweetheart, I know what you need,” His nickname shocks and spurs you on all at the same time.

“Do what you need to do, I’m goin’ to do rounds, I’ll be back when you’re done okay?” His tone shifts from frustrated to understanding, his face somber but riddled with want. You glance down at his jeans, his bulge sticking out so loudly. You feel yourself start salivating.

“Can’t you do it Joel?” You mewl “Help me feel better?”

This time he groans, one so low and gravelly you think you might cum right there.

“Baby girl I can’t” his palm rests on his forehead before he runs his thick fingers through his salt and pepper locks.

“You know I can’t” His voice is getting rougher in between his pants. “I need you to crawl into bed and touch yourself, okay? I know you can do it” He points his index at your sleeping bag and with a sigh he walks off before you can say anything else.

And just like that he disappears into the darkness. You know he won’t stray far, but enough to grant you privacy. You groan to yourself, hoping it wasn’t going to end like this, but it is progress. You had touched yourself before, but always in secret. In worry Joel might get upset or confused, or worse - mad as to why you would need to relieve yourself around him. You always feared he’d find you weak or pathetic if he caught you, so you always waited until he was on patrol in the dark, or settled in his own room in whatever housing the two of you would find.

The fact that Joel now knows, and understands, and is urging you to, is incredibly sexy.

You grab the slippery material and bring it over, near to his that lay empty. You slid yourself in and with shaky hands, undo the buttons and zipper to your confining jeans before snaking your hand down to your soaked cotton panties. You sigh at the touch, savoring in the instant relief that comes with it.

With slow, messy circles, you rub the outside of your panties against your core as you think about Joel's strong hands lifting you off the tailgate. The way his chest was pressed against your breasts, the way his hands lingered on you. Your breathing quickens as you start rubbing circles harder and quicker, cupping your swollen clit. More tears begin to form in the corners of your eyes when you begin to think this isn’t going to work. Not when you know he’s around. Not when he’s the very reason you’re dripping down your thighs in the first place. Not when you need him.

In an act of desperation, you kick off your sneakers, toss them on the grass with two thuds and strip your jeans completely off. Your cocoon becomes so humid with the heat from your arousal that you end up crawling out of it before bunching it up enough to straddle the material, grinding against it. You whine as the friction brings more relief than your fingers as you start humping your sleep bag. The cool breeze against your dewy skin feels like a kiss from mother nature herself. You feel yourself grow closer to your climax as you begin to furiously hump more, your knees against the earth, your thighs spread wide. You know how ridiculous you must look, but you couldn’t give a shit. You need relief in order to have some clarity again.

Then you hear it. The unmistakable clink of his belt buckle coming undone. The teeth of his zipper groaning apart before he lowers his jeans. You listen as you slow your pace, riding the edge of your summit, teasing yourself. You hear him spit into the palm of his hand before you imagine him gripping his length. When he finally groans, you know he’s fisting himself.

You smirk and decide to have fun with this. As you stop your pace all together, you peel off your blue sweater once again, leaving you in the same white revealing tank top. You know he’s somewhere in the darkness behind you, but you aren’t sure if he knows you know, yet.

You hike your panties up higher, the band hugging your hips and exposing more of your plush cheeks spilling out from the cotton material. You hear him grunt again.

As you start grinding slowly, you snake one hand up to your chest and pinch your bud, rolling it between your two fingers, eliciting a moan from you.

“Fuck”

He’s getting louder, still muttering to himself as he watches you from behind a cedar tree. With his rifle still slung on his shoulder, he fists his cock, his other hand wide against the trunk to brace himself.

His eyes have gotten adjusted to the darkness, so when he returned quietly to the base you guys share, he saw you touching yourself in your sleeping bag underneath the moonlight.

He had debated on rubbing one out while checking the perimeters, but his mind wouldn’t let him. He knew he had to come back to you. He knew you would be relieving yourself like the good girl you are because you always listen to him, always do what you’re told.

But when he saw the frantic and frustrated way you slipped your pants off and bunched your bag to start humping, he knew he needed to watch. He needed to see the way you make yourself cum. 

“Joel” You moan out as you continue your pace, your hips bouncing as you hump.

He groans again, his southern drawl slipping out like honey “Oh…  fuck yeah baby girl, that’s it” You could hear his fist becoming more frantic against himself.

You decide to put on a show, grinding your hips in the most sensual way. Your pants getting breathier, your whines higher.

Joel was in a trance; he was fixated on you. Watching your every move, stroking himself to your pace. The view of your ass, the way your shirt slightly rises revealing the beautiful curve of your back, your hair swaying with your hips, you’re like a goddess in the woods. All he could picture was laying beneath you, letting you grind yourself on his mouth, tasting your juices, making you cum all over his face.

God, he wants you. He wants to show you he can be more than just your protector. He can help you, treat you so well, but he knows it would be so wrong. To some degree he’s taking advantage of you. You don’t know any better, not when you’re overwhelmed with all these kinds of needs. Hell, he’s overwhelmed himself but he’s also a lot older than you. He knows how to suppress it, how to will the feelings away and concentrate. But you, you’re not experienced. You need to make yourself cum in order to feel sane again. Once you’re this far deep into lust, it’s primal. It’s a need, not a want. He can’t blame you for caving into your desires yet him on the other hand, he’ll be held accountable by the devil himself.

But if there was ever a time where Joel was losing control with the fine line between right and wrong, it was now.

He continues his strokes, obsessing over how naughty you really are. He’s never seen you like this before. “C’mon baby, you can do it” He whispers.

You couldn’t stop yourself from what happened next.

“Joel?” You call out softly. All sounds cease.

“Yea?” He finally responds, after a long, quiet pause.

“Please” You beg “Please I need you.”

You curse yourself as you hear him zipping himself back up, suddenly feeling embarrassed as you’re still sitting in the state you are. 

You peek over your shoulder to see him approaching you, buckling his belt. His jaw ticking as he stares at your ass. His bulge seems to be growing bigger.

You prepare for the worst. For him to cuss you out or tell you that you missed your chance. Had you left it alone, the two of you would have finished and he would have returned a little later to make it seem as if he wasn’t there at all.

But you just couldn’t do that, could you?

“Get in the truck”. He growls, his boots drowning in the material of your sleeping bag. You look up at him, to him looking down at you. You couldn’t make out his face as the light of the moon is directly behind him.

“W-Why... a a-are we leaving?” You whisper, suddenly afraid you royally fucked up.

“Are you talkin’ back to me?” His voice is sharp. Deep. Serious. Unreadable.

You shook your head as submission rolls over you effortlessly. He hikes his jeans by pinching the denim near his crotch before squatting down to your level. His breath right next to your ear. You stare forward into the darkness as goosebumps rise all over your skin. You feel so vulnerable with Joel right behind you but just as excited. You flinch as soon as he speaks.

“If you want my help, then do what I say” he says in a low rumble. You pause, holding your breath.

“Think you can manage that?” He questions, his tone unrecognizable as he turns his head to inhale the scent of your hair. You shiver, nodding once more. Your heart rate picks up speed, thudding loudly.

“Then, get up and get in the truck.” He orders you slowly. Almost as if he’s trying to stop the words from coming out.

Your eyes widen at his demand, a jolt of electricity soaring through your chest straight to your abdomen. With a careful shuffle, you stand on your feet and start towards the truck.

In any other scenario, this feeling would make you shrink. It’s the way you can feel his eyes on you, the thud of his boots echoing behind your naked ones in the grass. But you love every second of it. You feel your confidence flourishing as you realize he needs this just as much as you do. If not more. You begin to walk straighter, hips swaying wider, a pep in your step as you feel the power shift ever so slightly into your control.

“Someone’s gettin’ cocky” Joel states behind you. His palm gripping his crotch as he watches you.

“I sure hope I get some” You grin to yourself, feeling proud at your remark.

Joel stops in his steps; he can’t believe your dirty mouth. Sure, you’ve been foul around him before, but never sexually and the very fact ignites something dark within him. He proceeds forward, eyeing you down as you wait near the truck with that shit-eating grin on your face.

She’s in for it now.

 “You think you’re funny?” He questions while approaching you. His large frame nearly swallowing you whole.

“Uh huh and I think you love it” You retort in your most sultry tone. The words hit him like a freight train, his cock bobbing in his jeans.

With a tut he leans into you “So ya’ think y’can toy with me?”

You can’t repress it, you’re beaming. You like the way Joel challenges you.

“I think it’d be better if I was yours, Miller” You reach out to grip his cock through his jeans.

He separates instantly, his face loss of all expression. The muscle in his jaw flexes as his eyes lock on yours.

“I think your attitude needs fucking fixin’” Your jaw drops at his profanity. Joel never speaks like this.

“You say that name one more time and so god help me,” He scowls “acting like a fuckin’ brat, tryin’ to rile me up” His eyes now black.

“Think that’ll end well f’ ya?” He questions, one brow raised.

You swallow, unsure if you took it too far.

“Well, you’re lucky, cus’ I enjoy turning brats into good girls... s’ you ready to learn some manners?” He mocks as he grips your mouth, which was still gaping.

“Start with closing that up until I say so, s’not lady like.” He pushes your chin up, your jaw closes with a click of your teeth. 

You scoff in disbelief, pulling your chin out of his hand yet you’re incredibly turned on. You watch him in curiosity as he opens the passenger door for you, his face now as hard as his cock. You wait, wanting to test his patience just a little.

You see his chest heave; his teeth grind together before he grips the door harder.

“Guess there won’t be any lessons tonight after all...real shame too, was gunna make that pretty pussy cream all over me” He shrugs, about to close the door.

“No! I’m sorry Joel, I’m going!” You jump into the seat with such speed it makes Joel smirk, but his jaw goes slack the second he sees the wet spot that had formed on your cotton panties as you crawl in.

He groans at the sight. But if he was going to stay true to his vows, you’d have to keep your panties on or else he may damn himself beyond saving. He only has so much self control.

You rub your thighs together in anticipation as you watch him slowly stride his way to the other side of the truck. Your breath quickens as his door swings open; your fingers shake with sheer excitement.

He starts unzipping his camel-colored jacket before shuffling in. With a toss, his jacket lands in the back seat as he closes the door with a thud.

You listen to him groan softly as he settles into the seat, before reaching down between his legs to pull on the bar to slide the chair back as far as it can go. You find yourself already scrambling onto your knees.

“Needy girl” he tuts “already so excited f’ me”. He locks eyes with you, a mischievous smile grows across his face as he takes his time positioning his legs.

He then reaches to the side of the seat to lean the backrest down, but not too far. This allows him to manspread while he rests his aching broad back at the same time.

With a deep inhale through his nostrils, he looks at you with now hooded eyes.

“Need you to listen closely now” His raises one index in the air. “I’m gunna help you alright?”

You whimper a “Mhm!”

“But there are rules. Rules you need to follow.” You roll your eyes at his comment, which is returned with a scowl across his face. You mouth a brief ‘sorry’ before motioning him to continue, your desires reaching a boiling point.

“You’re not takin’ anything off and you’re not touchin’ me anywhere unless I allow it” He glares sternly.

“Yes, okay Joel” you usher, wanting to be in his touch before he changes his mind.

 “Shouldn’t even be doing this, but I understand you’re having a hard time. Fuck, the state of our lives I can’t imagine the stress you feel, especially when you’re so young”. You squeeze your thighs, clenching around nothing as you wish he would get off the foreseeable guilt train.

“So that’s why I’m going to help you, understand?”

You nod furiously.

“Repeat it” He spits.

“I understand” You reply obediently.

With a quiet pause, Joel scans your features, his eyes trailing your desperate figure.

“C’mere” He pats his thigh with his large, calloused hand.

You obey, slowly crawling over to straddle his lap.

“Mmm” His chest rumbles. “She does listen”.  

His eyes are closed as you position yourself over one thick denim covered thigh, your right knee brushing up against his crotch. He hisses at the touch, letting his head fall back into the headrest.

You raise your hands to rest at the nape of his neck, suddenly feeling sheepish as you’re not sure exactly what to do. You bite your lip, too nervous to start. You realize just how exposed you feel when you're up to him this closely.

He opens his eyes to meet yours, sighing at how beautiful you look when you’re aching but more so at the fact that you’re visually embarrassed, and he loves it.

“C’mon, don’t get shy on me now. You were acting all brave just minutes ago.” He coos.

You blush at his words, starting to feel silly. But you need him to encourage you. You like it.

He swiftly smacks your ass and bounces his knee once – motioning you to get going.

“Joel” You whisper at the infliction, lowering your head to rest in his neck, repositioning yourself against him, closer. Just the contact of your hot core on him, makes your arousal pain even more. And the way he smells, you tuck your nose further in, inhaling the scent of his earthy musk, is intoxicating.

“C’mon baby girl. You can do it, I got you” He finally raises his hands from his sides to grip your hips as his own roll up into you, you follow once with yours. “You need to cum, so you can sleep tonight, trust me I know”. You begin to slowly roll your hips, falling right back into the state of pleasure.

“J-just like that sweetheart, keep going”. His voice becomes raspy.

You hang off his words as you start grinding, moaning at his fingertips digging deeper into your soft skin. Your buds harden at the friction of your wet clothed cunt being rubbed against his jeans. You can’t believe this, the fact that Joel himself is sat beneath you, cooing you to finish yourself off on him.

Your pants become whines as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten with each hump against him.

“That’s it, good girl. You’re gunna make a mess on me aren't ya?” He growls as he stares at your lips. Your cheeks burn at his comment. The embarrassment seeping back into you. You can hardly look at him.

“You keep those eyes on me sweetheart”. He orders, one hand pinching your chin, forcing you to see him, you still look anywhere but.

He can read you like an open book. He see’s right through you. Hell, most of the time he can predict the things you’ll say. He knows you just need some encouragement, some reassurance that it’s okay to be nervous but that you can trust him.

He ceases, waiting for those wide doe eyes to meet his and when they do, he can’t help but grin.

“Why?” You begin to question.

“Tell me you want this” he whispers, the words hang in the silence.

“I want this.” You grip the back of his neck tighter. “I just feel… dumb. I’m not sure how to do this”. You mumble.

“Sure y’ do” his words surprise you and when you look at him, the confusion is clear on your face.

“I just watched you do it when you were all by yourself, humping your bag, tryin’ to make that ache go away” He murmurs as one of his hands brush a stray hair behind your ear. You shudder at the touch.

“That’s all you have to do with me sweetheart, just use my thigh and make yourself feel good”. He urges you as he begins motioning your hips once more, you watch his face as you take over, following the sensation as it builds again.

“There y’ go, nothing to be shy ‘bout pretty girl, y’ just need my help ain’t that right?”

You bob your head yes as your pace begins to quicken.

“That’s my sweet girl, take what you need, s’ just the two of us” He coos as he helps you continue grinding.

You throw your head back at his praise, which Joel saw as his opportunity to fist your hair and hold you bare for him as he trails your neck with wet kisses. A risky move, but he tells himself it’s only to help you. And fuck does it ever spur you on.

His teeth graze against your sensitive flesh and your grinding becomes rougher, more desperate. Your whines turn to moans as you feel your cunt drip through the fabric, your climax just strokes away.

“Stop” He orders, and you do.

 Did you do something wrong?

He releases your hair slowly, inhaling deeply through his nose, his jaw ticking once more. He looks down at his lap, admiring your white panties.

“Slide back” He mumbles as he pushes your hips. “I need t’ see”.  You ease back, your mind drunk off his sudden dominance.

With a moan, he stares at your clothed pussy, admiring the wet slick between your folds. Your pussy lips so swollen, he could see it throb. He breaks away looking up, closing his eyes as if he’s trying to compose himself. Not a second later, he looks back at you again, back to your pooling core, his jaw goes slack as you already seem wetter, your damp stain somehow bigger.

“Look at that.” He gently inches your thighs apart with his massive hands, causing you to throb more.

“You see what you’re doin’ pretty girl?” His southern drawl spurs on another wave of ecstasy to rush through you as you watch his reaction.

He fists your hair once more, turning your head down to face his lap, you yelp in surprise but not because it hurts.

“Look”. He roughly pulls your head in place to view the dark, wet spot you’re making on his jeans.

“Have you been walkin’ around all wet in your panties this whole time?” he cranes his neck to meet your gaze as you look at the mess you’ve caused, mouth agape. His face hardens when he sees yours.

“What I’d fuckin’ say about hanging your mouth open like a whore?” he growls as he squeezes your chin and cheeks with his free hand. 

He holds you like that for a beat, one hand twisted in your hair, the other gripping your face restraining you from any movement. You gasp loudly when your cheeks are released from his tight hold, yet your hair is still intertwined in his fist as he forces you to look at your arousal again.

“That tight pussy droolin’ for me?” He questions sharply.

You finally murmur a yes while clenching your mouth shut as you blink slowly, drunk off being edged for so long.

“Yeah, I thought so” he says raggedly as if he’s been waiting for that very response. He lets you free as you lean back wanting to display yourself more. He sighs contentedly at the sight.

It’s become clear to you why Joel was so adamant about staying away. He’s primal in nature, but you had no idea he was this feral in lust. You smirk as you feel you’ve uncovered his dirty secret, his hidden persona. It makes you wonder how long he’s wanted you like this. If he was afraid of you seeing this side of him. And for some reason, that only makes you want him that much more.  

“Touch yourself for me, just a little rub.” He rests further back against the seat, watching you and those dirty gears running at an all time high.

You comply, running your hand down his chest as you snake your fingers against the white wet cotton, rubbing slow circles over your clit, moaning at the sensation. 

“Good girl” He praises. You can feel your wetness pooling through your panties as you continue rubbing yourself, your orgasm dangerously close. Your mouth drops again forming an “O” which elicits another groan from Joel as he watches you. “Yea, that’s the only time you’re allowed to look like that” He growls.

“I’m – I’m close Joel” You pant as he stares you down.

“That’s enough” You whine when he grabs your hand away from your core, bringing your fingers up to his face.

“Yea, I fuckin’ knew it” He groans, inhaling your fingers deeply, eyes closed. “I know you’re dripping in your little panties when I smell this scent off you” He smears your fingers roughly around his mouth and nose, still breathing you in. You watch in awe, the way he’s completely consumed by you.

“Hard t’ focus when you’re parading that little ass around me, reeking like this, just beggin’ to be filled up, you rub yourself like this around me at night?” He asks, voice hoarse.

Your cheeks burn again, but you nod once anyhow.

“My dirty, dirty girl. You’re just full of secrets, aren't yah”. He pants. “Fuckin’ knew you were wanting my cock. You just needed someone to make that ache go away, huh?”

You whine as you nod more, feeling so heard, so seen. “Yes Joel, yes” All you want is to feel him fill you up. Hit that spot that you can’t ever reach. You succumb to him, hoping he might just fuck you and you won’t have to get off like this. You want all of him. To discover more of who Joel is. Help him, just like he’s helping you.

“And you’re still treating me so good, listenin’ to what I say, even when I’ve been neglecting my poor baby” He drawls lazily as he pulls you back into place, and with another bounce of his knee, you resume your vicious pace chasing your orgasm. The way your perky breasts jiggle in your tank causing him to bounce his knee more, absorbing the view of you bobbing up and down with tears welling in your eyes.

You reach one hand down, to grip his hard on, wanting to feel his thickness again, hoping he might let you see it.

“No.” His hand wraps around your wrist in an instance. A grip so cruel, you swear there’ll be bruises when he lets go.

“Why not?” You cry, your hips still rolling.

“Boundaries, sweetheart. You can’t touch me there.” He smirks devilishly. He knows this is torture for you.

You whimper, your eyes falling to his lips. You want to make contact with those the most.

“Knock it off. I see the way you’re starin’. You’re not kissin’ me either.” His smile is now gone, yet his eyes sparkle. You swear he’s getting off by restricting your contact with him. He knows how badly you want it.

You rest your hands tightly around his neck again, the disappointment visible on your features.

“Don’t look at me like that, fuck, you have no idea what you do to me”.

You pout more, relishing in the way he’s weakening for you. 

“Tell you what” he drawls, slowing your pace. His fingers at some point had slipped into the band of your panties as he held your hips.

“Because you’ve been such a good girl f’me , I’ll let you kiss here” He raises an index to his scruffy cheek “And here” as he points to the other side.

You can’t help the smile that grows on your face as you lean forward gently, placing a soft, agonizingly slow, peck to cheek, your nose brushing lightly against his skin. You test his limits as you get close to his lips as you make your way to the other side. You swear you feel him inch forward ever so slightly before falling back.

“God, you’re just a sweet lil thang aren’t yah” he groans at your light, edging touches. 

You pull back, feeling powerful at just how wrecked he looks. You bite your lower lip, continuing slow rolls.

You decide to do it again.

“Oh fuck, baby that’s enough” He moans as you place yet another teasingly slow kiss to his cheek, but close to the edge of his lips. He pulls his face away, turning to the side. He’s completely fucked out. His eyes heavy with pure want. God and this is just from kissing him.

Then something snaps in him as he grips your ass and makes you rub on him harder and lets your knee make more contact with his bulge.

“Yeah – yeah that feels really good” You mewl.

He turns his face back to yours, staring you down. His grip is getting harder, almost painful but you don’t care.

“Keep going” He rasps. “Don’t stop, I know you’re close.”

“Uh huh” You moan “You’re gunna make me cum Da- J- Joel” Your eyes widen at the fact you almost slipped, but it doesn’t go unnoticed.

His eyes go dark as he clutches your ass tighter, leaning his face into yours.

“What was that sweetheart?” He whispers with his teeth grit, his nose grazing the side of your cheek.

You whine as he helps you continue your pace, pushing you back and forth on his thigh.

His hand snakes up, gripping your cheeks between his thumb and index. “You fuckin’ answer me when ‘m talking to you” He spits lowly.

“It feels really good!” You squeal as he starts to slow your rhythm.

“What else?”

Your hooded eyes connect with his, your cheeky grin making his cock twitch more.

“Tell me” He orders.

You pull yourself into his neck before whimpering into his ear.

“It feels good … Daddy”.

His groan is guttural as he squeezes your ass cheeks together.

“My dirty girl, you need your Daddy to help you huh?” He pulls you closer, your knee making full contact against his throbbing cock.

You nod your head furiously as your brows knit, you know you’re about to cum.

“Tell me why I’m your Daddy” he orders, his brows rising and falling.

You start to babble “Because you protect me” you barely get the words out, you’re so wrecked.

“I do, don’t I?” His voice drops an octave, while analyzing your face.

“And you’d kill for me” you moan.

“I have,” He pulls you down hard into him and holds you there, while grinding his crotch into you. “Killed for you”.

His eyes scour you frantically. Like there is so much he wants to do with you. Endless thoughts running through his mind of all the ways he could ruin you.

“Take your fuckin’ shirt off” he says rushed, as if this moment could get ripped away from him.

You obey, reaching the hem, and pulling it off in one swift motion. You toss it behind you onto the dash.

“That’s right” He spanks your ass hard.

“Go” He grits, and you grind down, your tits bouncing just inches from his face. He moves his hands off you and puts them down at his sides. As if to physically restrain himself from touching you.

“Fucking perfect, like a god damn picture” he watches your breasts as you’re nearing your climax again.

“M’ can’t let anyone hurt my special girl.” His expression turns hard as he feels his possessive side creep up. The men he murdered this morning were an exact representation of what he’ll do for you. Without question. He knew he was going to feel the blade sink in their flesh the second one laid eyes on you, the intention loud in his irises.

“I never wanna be apart from you Joel, you make me feel safe” Your confession comes out before you can stop it.

“I know baby, I know but fuck I love to hear it” He could listen to your sweet voice all day.  

“Take your pants off, please” You beg but it sounds more like a squeal.

“No” He barely whispers.

“Please, Daddy please please, I wanna cum on you, it hurts!” You cry.

“Jesus Christ” His hands go to his belt, anxiously unbuckling, as you continue to mewl hovering above him.

“Always so fuckin’ needy” He pulls his jeans down his thighs before grabbing you and pulling you down aggressively onto him, his boxers the only thing confining his cock. "That's all you get" He spits.

“Wait” You reposition yourself, now straddling his lap. One knee on either side of his hips as you grind your wet, hot clothed cunt onto his massive, throbbing cock.

The moan that comes out of you is straight pornographic.

You suddenly lurch forward, before realizing he reclined the seat back further, almost laying flat.

“Put those fuckin’ tits on my face baby” He commands desperately.

You place your knees higher up on the cushioned seat. You pull yourself upwards to smother his face with your breasts. Joel's rough hands are still by his sides, he knows he’ll lose all sense of control if he gets any closer. No, it has to be your move.

“Yeah, Yeah, Joel please” You moan as he begins to softly kiss your breasts.

 “You need more baby?” He gasps, his voice strained with want.

“Tell Daddy y’ need more, you need more help, I have to help” He consoles himself as he begins to suckle your buds, licking long strips wherever he can. It’s animalistic. You run your fingers through his salt and pepper locks as you essentially motorboat his face.

“You’re my special girl” He spills in a drawl. “Never gunna let anyone touch you.”

You can’t wait any longer, you sit back down on his bulge, wishing it was freed to split you in half but this will have to do. So, you grind, hunting your orgasm down once again, absorbing, engraining this picture of Joel in your mind forever.

And fuck, the way he talks to you, you’re lost in a trance, chasing after your high as you stare into his face. His eyes, his smile lines, the scar across his bridge, the way he looks down at his lap as he watches you, his jaw going slack. He’s perfect.

“Fuck I can smell you baby girl, your sweet pussy is beggin’ to come all over me” He growls “C’mon give it to me”. You take his permission and allow yourself to play on that teetering edge, right on the cusp of your much awaited orgasm.

“S’ okay baby girl, I got you, I got you”. He slumps back further, eyes trained on your clothed pussy grinding on his hard on with such desperation. He feels his own coming on as you rub against him.

 “Not such a brat now huh? Not when I’m taking care of you” he says as his tired eyes scan your figure. You cry out at his words.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, S’ gunna feel better baby, gunna make that ache go away” He drawls out. 

“Fuck, fuck” He mumbles, his eyes so hooded, you could have thought they were closed. All color drains from his face as he continues watching your motions. He can see wet, shiny strings appear from your panties, catching onto his boxers before they break apart from sliding back and forth. He can feel how absolutely soaked you are, that spot seeping through the fabric onto his skin underneath.

“That’s it pretty girl, right on daddy’s cock, right there”. His words fall out.

“I’m cum-I’m cumm-Daddy- oh yeah, Joel, Joel!” You scream.

You squeal as your orgasm comes rippling through, your thighs tightening around him as he feels your cunt pool through your panties all over him, your mouth hangs open as you ride out the waves of sensation.

“Jesus Christ”. He groans at the sight of you.

You rest your head against his heaving chest, riding out the stars that clouded your head.

The two of you sit there for a moment, collecting your breaths before he nudges you to the side.

“Wait here” he mumbles, exiting the truck. You watch him through the rear window, straining your eyes to see him in the dark. You think you see him readjusting his crotch again before he leans down, grabbing both sleeping bags and the lantern.

You’re still dizzy from finishing on Joel's lap, your mind trying to comprehend what had just happened. You never thought you’d see the day where Joel would touch you or look at you in any way other than ‘Cargo’.

The breeze from outside whirls into the truck as you sit there waiting for him. He opens the back door, laying down the sleeping bags on top of one another across the bench.

“What’re you doing?” You murmur, cupping the back seat with your hands, watching him with sleepy eyes.

“Don’t want you sleepin' outside tonight” He responds, glancing at your tired gaze.

“C’mon” He waves you over. You scootch over to the driver seat and let your legs dangle out the door. He meets you there, one of his massive hands held out to grab yours, helping you to your feet and pulling you in front of him, guiding you to the back door. You let go of his touch to crawl to your revised sleeping quarters.

You slip in between the two bags, which Joel had unzipped. Laying one down, the other as a blanket on top. He also folded up his jacket as a pillow, which made you smile. You watch him tuck the fabric under your feet, making sure all parts of you are covered. He finds your jeans and your shirt and puts them aside for when you’d dress in the morning. Your sneakers on the ground beside the truck.

You can’t stop the warm glow growing inside you as you watch this man take care of you in such a way that seems so… domestic. It makes you wonder about him pre break out, and what he was like living in a house, working an 8-5 job, making dinners and probably having cold ones in the evening on a patio.

He closes the driver door before returning to you.

“Are you coming to bed?” You whisper with heavy eyes.

“No” he chuckles lightly “M’ wide awake now, gunna keep watch, we really do have a long day tomorrow so get some sleep alright?” He looks at you as one of his arms draped over the heavy truck door, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He looks proud, which you would roll your eyes at, but you’re far too tired.

“Joel” You whisper, bringing his attention back to you as he was looking over his shoulder, scanning the night.

“Mhm?”

“I still wanna repay the favor y’know” you mumble, your eyes closed, already drifting off.

He chuckles again; the sound brings a grin to your face.

“Not necessary, couldn’t stop myself from cumin' while watching you”. He sighs heavily, muttering to himself “like a goddamn teenager”.

You giggle at the comment. Which Joel couldn’t help but grin too, you didn’t see though.

“Goodnight Miller” You barely hear the words yourself as you fall into a deep slumber.

“Night sweetheart”.

[straykeedz]

day 19: changbin + spit kink

©straykeedz

tw: oral sex (f receiving); hints at edging; changbin calls you baby and good girl (once); unprotected piv sex (don’t do this at home 🤨); creampie; hints at changbin eating you out after he’s cum inside of you; ♡

wc: 1,9k;

this is part of my kinktober masterlist. you can find my regular masterlist here (tho it will not be updated until the end of kinktober) ♡

🔖 (open): @linos-kitten ; @luneskies ; @kxcies-blog ; @idunnomanmynamewastaken ; @cessixja ; @stolasisyourparent ; @kookiesbunny ; @xoxo-xoxo-bunny ; @ivyskzsworld ; @mal-lunar-28 ; @leetaste ; @sunnykynnie ; @channiesgoodgirl ; @seonghwatoothless ; @mrsminho ; @seungminluv3 ; @jin-from-the-block ; @aaasia111 ; @sulkygyu ; @whosanaanyway ; @y-ur--I ; @vixensss ; @nightimescapes ; @freckleboilix ; @dreamingaboutjisung ; @yourbeomiebear ; ♡

to make sure i add you to the taglist, your age must be clearly visible on your profile. also, empty blogs will not be added - add at least a profile picture to your blog so that i’ll know you’re not a bot. ♡

smut below the cut, minors dni.

✦

Changbin long debated whether his favorite thing to eat is French fries or pasta.

In the end, he concluded that it’s your pussy. 

Especially when you’re at the dorms visiting him just to spend some time with him - somehow his face always ends up between your leg, his hot tongue lapping at your folds. He loves watching you struggle to keep quiet, trying to keep it down as he devours your pussy, messy and wet with both his saliva and your own arousal - a juicy mixture of your fluids that he loves to smear around with his fingers before wrapping his lips around them to taste both your flavors and how they combine deliciously. 

It drives him crazy, it makes him go absolutely feral to the point he just has to take you - impatient to feel your tight walls wrapped around him, sucking him in with every thrust. It makes him want to lose himself in the feeling of sinking inside of you over and over again until you cease to be two separate entities and become one. 

That’s how much he likes your pussy. And no, he doesn’t just like pussy in general - he likes your pussy specifically. 

He loves to eat it when you’re standing and he’s on his knees in front of you. You could be wearing a skirt or a pair of jeans or literally any other thing in the world - he wouldn’t care. His face would always find a way to end up buried in your pussy. Always. And he’d lift his eyes to meet yours as his mouth is wrapped around your clit and his strong, firm hands keep your thighs spread just enough for him to fit between them. His strong arms would make sure to hold you in place as your legs begin to tremble when you reach your high, and he’d waste no time in licking you clean, swallowing your sweet release.

He loves to eat you out right before pushing his cock inside of you - bonus point if you’re with your ass up and face down. He’d one hundred percent let a gobble of his spit land on your folds, before attacking them with his tongue and lips, getting you nice and ready to take his cock. 

But most of all - Changbin loves eating your pussy when you’re spread on his bed, legs open wide and your beautiful pussy on full display for his eyes only. He’d be damned if anyone else saw you like that - it’s a sight reserved for him. It drives him fucking wild to the point his brain would soon short-circuit. 

Like today. 

You showed up to his dorm in sexy outfit that drove him crazy - it was neither a revealing dress nor a short skirt, no. You were wearing your favorite pair of black jeans and his oversized t-shirt - and boy, does Changbin love it when you wear his clothes. In his mind, it’s a nonverbal form of saying “Hey, don’t look at me, I have a super sexy boyfriend who won’t hesitate to break you in half!” - it isn’t, actually, but he likes to think the opposite. 

Anyhow, less than twenty minutes later, you’re on your back on Changbin’s mattress wearing nothing but that t-shirt, and his face’s between your legs, devouring your pussy as if it were his last meal, as he rests the palms of his hand on each of your thighs, making sure to keep them nice and spread for him as he traces gentle circular shapes on your inner thighs with his thumbs. 

After at least ten minutes spent making out with your clit, pulling away and smirking at you every time he could feel you were getting closer, he finally lifts his head. Looking you in the eye, you see him collect his saliva in his mouth, before letting it drip past his lips, finally landing on your clit and folds. Despite being a clean and tidy person - Changbin likes sex messy and sloppy. He loves to make a mess between your legs, it just gives him an excuse to clean it up later. 

“Perfect little pussy.”, he grunts as he spreads his spit on your clit and labia with his fingers - his cold touch makes you shiver. “Wanna eat it all the time.”, he runs his digits up and down your folds, teasing your entrance. 

“You already do.”, you point out, shaking you head while smirking at him. 

“You complaining?”, he chuckles, lifting his eyes to meet yours. 

“No, you know I love when you- fuck…”, you’re cut off by his lips wrapping around your clit unexpectedly. “Fuck, just like that.”, you entangle your fingers in his dark hair as the tip of his tongue works magic on your sensitive spot, teasing it repeatedly. 

Then, he pulls away - again -, making you let out a frustrated grunt. “You love it when I…?”, he encourages you to finish the sentence you’d started. He enjoys teasing you a little too much - maybe you should pay him back by giving him a taste of his own medicine. 

“I love it when you eat me out.”, you breathe heavily as he resumes swirling his tongue around your clit, silently praying he lets you finish this time - you’re getting more and more desperate with every touch.

“Mhhh…” an open-mouthed kiss on your clit, “…then cum for me, baby.”, he mutters against your pussy, slipping two fingers inside of you at the same time, not wasting time in rubbing your g-spot, delicately yet relentlessly - wet, squelching sounds filling his bedroom as his movements send you over the edge. 

Changbin has a favorite sound - and it’s the small, timid whimper you let out when you cum, biting your lower lip in order to not be too loud, as you tug at his curls, pressing his face against your pussy as you ride your orgasm out. His favorite sound in the whole world. 

And he also has a habit - a recurrent thing he does every time he’s finished eating you out. He spits the mixture of your release and his saliva back on your pussy, then licks it up once again and, finally, he swallows it all. 

You’ve always wondered how it tastes - the combination of your flavors. Is it sweet? Is it buttery? Is it thick or runny? However, you’ve always been too embarrassed to ask him to let you taste it, since you’ve never done it before. However, tonight Changbin can see it in your eyes. He sees it in the way your stare is set on him in awe, curiosity, lust; he sees it in the way you’re licking your lower lip. 

So he doesn’t swallow your sweet release. 

Instead, he climbs on the bed until his body is hovering over yours, knees on each side of your hips as he balances his body on his strong arm, muscles flexed and big. Then, he squeezes your cheeks, forcing your lips to part and your mouth to open. He looks you in the eye, looking for any sign of uncertainty in your eyes, but he only finds eagerness. 

Then, he lets his spit fall directly in your mouth and it’s his turn to let out a muffled whimper when he sees your eyes roll back in your head, breathing heavily through your nose as you gladly swallow all of it, humming. 

“You swallowed it all, baby?”, he can’t help how desperate he sounds, cock rock hard in the confines of his sweats. You nod, opening your eyes to look at him while biting your lip. “You liked it?”, he asks, caressing your cheek. 

“Mhh, I did.”, you moan, palming his hard cock over his sweats. 

He whimpers, closing his eyes for a quick moment before opening them again, his gaze set on you. “Yeah?”, he licks his lower lip. “You like it when I spit in your mouth?”

It’s filthy, what’s he’s asking you - dirty, and absolutely arousing. You nod eagerly once again. 

“Yeah? You like it?”, you both moan. “Do you want me to do it again?” 

You nod, sticking your tongue out - and you feel his cock throb under your touch. And he does it again, he spits in your mouth once again, directly on your tongue this time, as his fingers squeeze your cheeks. And you swallow once again while slipping your hand under the waistband of his sweats, taking his hard cock out, stroking him a couple of time. 

“Again?”, he asks, voice quivering a bit. 

“Mh-hm.”, you hum, and he’s about to spit in your mouth once again when you stop him. “While inside of me.”, you whisper. 

“Hm?” 

“Want you to do it while you fuck me.”, you whimper, jerking him off slowly. 

Changbin takes his clothes off at the speed of light, tossing them somewhere in his room, helps you take your t-shirt off, and then his body is back on yours. He eases his cock inside of you, bottoming out in one motion while you wrap your legs around his hips, entangling your legs with his. 

He gives a couple of tentative thrusts inside of you, moving his cock inside of you deep and slow, enjoying the way you feel around him - the best feeling in the world. He places soft kiss on your lips as he fucks into you delicately, and when you stick your tongue out once again, he knows you want him to do it again. You want him to spit him in your mouth. 

He gathers his saliva in his mouth before letting it drip past his lips as he thrusts inside of you, snapping his hips faster. After you’ve swallowed, he licks your lips. “My filthy baby.”, he grunts, hips colliding with yours. “My baby likes it when I spit in her mouth?”, the words are rolling off his tongue naturally, he’s not really processing the words that leave his mouth. 

“Binnie…”, you stick your fingernails in the flesh of his ass and tug at his hair with your other hand - the way he’s dirty talking to you is bringing you close to another orgasm. “Like it.”, is all you manage to say - head spinning from the pleasure his cock is bringing you, brushing your g-spot with every movement. 

“Open up, baby.” Changbin grunts. “Gonna spit inside your pretty little mouth once again. You gonna swallow it all like a good girl, aren’t you?”, he moans, and you can tell he’s close too by the way his legs are starting to shake.

You nod eagerly. “Yes, wanna be your good girl. Gonna swallow it all, give it to me.”, you whimper. 

His hand holds your jaw as he spits in your mouth once more, looking you in the eye as you swallow his fluid. He bites his lip as he feels you clench around him, and when you whimper, he knows you’re cumming on his cock - nails digging in his flesh, toes curling as your release coats his cock and balls. 

“Binnie, baby, cumming.”

It only takes him a few more thrusts to finish, emptying himself inside of you with a deep, hoarse grunt as your tight walls milk his cock beautifully. His body falls on yours, and you both stay like this for a while while catching your breaths, your delicate fingers brushing his curls as he toys with the end of your hair. Then, after he’s made sure you’ve both recovered, he pulls his now limp cock out of you and lifts his body from yours. 

You think he’s just going to get water or something - instead, you see his head disappearing between your legs once again, before you feel his hot tongue on your pussy. 

“You’re in for a long night, baby.”

✦

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[loregoddess]

finally gave in to the wild urge to replay Octo2, and replaying with The Knowledge™ is so fun actually, Castti's Ch1 has an entirely different feel to it now that I'm paying attention to...stuff and things

(I started w/ Ochette, bc I love her and she's the best, but this time I chose Akala bc I chose Mahina last time, and I really love Akala a lot already but I know I will be Suffering later)

[foreverrandomwritings]

Leah Clearwater with Imprint- Headcanon

Summary:This is a headcanon of Leah Clearwater having an imprint. I love this misunderstood wolf so fucking much. 

Pairing: Leah Clearwater x afab!Reader

Warnings: Death, swear words, smut at the end MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!

Word count:903 (I really love her okay?)

Masterlist    M’s PMC Masterlist

~It had been both surprising and unsurprising when Leah imprinted on a woman.

~Surprising because they didn’t realize that female wolves could imprint(even though they didn’t really have any knowledge in the female wolf thing anyhow)

~It’s unsurprising however because they had all imprinted on women and had never heard of a wolf imprinting on a guy before. 

~She imprinted on you after you had gotten done telling off a couple guys for being inappropriate with a group of high school girls at the diner you worked at. 

~You had kicked the guys out, made sure the girls were okay then turned around to tell her she could sit where she likes when you made eye contact and your life completely changed for the better. 

~Leah had been ecstatic to finally have an imprint. 

~She does hesitate to tell you that she's a werewolf and that vampires exist. 

~She’s terrified of something happening to you if she involves you in her life. 

~But when she does tell you you are completely understanding why she hesitated.

~You never give her any shit or grief or anything about her having to stay out late and patrol.

~You actually make sure to schedule meetings in good spots while she’s patrolling so you can give her dinner or lunch or sometimes breakfast. 

~She is extremely reluctant to bring you around the guys, other than Seth of course. 

~You and her younger brother get along like two peas in a pod.

~It makes Leah extremely happy to have someone care for Seth as deeply as she does. 

~You always make sure he is fed as well and that he isn’t overworked with patrols. 

~When she does bring you around the guys, you are tough as nails. 

~They try to make fun of Leah for the fact she was so pouty after Sam left her for her cousin. You fly right off the handle. 

~Seth and Leah have had to hold you back from physically attacking Paul and Jared for their words. 

~You also absolutely obliterated Sam and Emily one night, giving them a really long lecture about how much they truly hurt her and they apologized to her profusely. 

~She had never had anyone in her life stick up for her the way you did. 

~The love she held for you showed in every look your way, or the sparkle in her eyes when your name was mentioned. 

~She had always hoped to have the heartache of Sam and Emily patched up and you did just the trick. 

~You were unwaveringly patient with her even if you were her imprint she was still scared of another heartbreak. 

~You guys moved in with each other pretty quickly. Finding a small two bedroom apartment. 

~The thought of not living together made you both sick so it made the most sense. 

~Though separate bedrooms quickly turn into one. 

~She enjoyed having you wrapped up in her arms too much while she slept. 

~You enjoyed being wrapped up in her scent while she was gone too much to stay away from her bed. 

~You also were one of the only things that soothed her nightmares away. 

~Whether they be of her fathers death, the eclipse battle or what could have happened in the breaking dawn confrontation. 

~You reassure her everyday that you will never love anyone the way you love her. 

~You reassure her in the way you kiss her, slowly and passionately letting all unspoken words slip between your lips between her own. 

~You reassure her with the way you start a shower for her when you hear her slip through the front door. 

~You reassure her with the way you always have her favorite snacks stocked in your pantry, your bag and your car.

~You reassure her in the way you stop by and talk to Sue on a daily basis.

~She reassures you of her love with the way she throws your towel in the dryer so it’ll be nice and warm after your shower.

~She reassures you in the way that she hums your favorite songs while she’s doing chores around the apartment. 

~She reassures you with the way she takes you to some of her favorite spots she’s found during patrols. 

~She reassures you with her intimacy and vulnerability. 

~She loves cuddling with you, she’s always the big spoon, she loves the way you hold her hand and wrap it around your middle or lay it on your chest right over your heart. 

~Or she likes when you lay your head on her chest above her heart and tangle your legs within hers. 

~She likes when you braid her hair for her. She also enjoys braiding yours in return. 

~She's obsessed with the way you always seem cold without her. You’ll be wrapped up in 4 blankets, have on fleece pants and a hoodie with fuzzy socks and still somehow be freezing but then she wraps you up in her arms and you are perfectly content. 

~When you guys have sex it’s pretty much always soft. She is terrified of going overboard and hurting you.

~However if you liked it a little rough she would indulge you a little. 

~She keeps her thoughts of you very very private. She does not want the guys to see you in an inappropriate way. 

~Overall this woman loves and worships you undeniably. 

~I am desperate to be her imprint.

A/N: I am a complete sucker for this gorgeous woman. 

Tags(open): @wkndwlff​ @sylviebell​ @dingusteveharrington​

[stackslip]

when i volunteered with kids there were so many who struggled with reading comprehension and they would go from happy, confident people to completely locking down and curling up onto themselves when asked to read. when i volunteered with another org that was specifically geared towards autistic kids, a lot of these children had basically been kicked out of school and of different social environments bc the very fact of being autistic and having any kind of learning disability was basically met with "well you won't do anything with that. guess it's time to institutionalize the kid bc they're gonna be useless". and the org had developed a specific method to teach these kids how to read/write but it did nothing to counter the actual issue at hand: the very idea that someone can't learn to read/write makes them inherently undesirable and destructive and they must be kept from wider society. not to mention that in my country conservative politicians rage every day at how lower income kids (especially of immigrant origins) have lower literacy rates and how that means they're Not Integrating Into French Culture and it's a sign that they're inherently stupid, and savage, and unable to assimilate.

people will say reading comprehension and literacy are inherently virtuous and the lack of those means you ARE lacking and broken, and then add that these are easy skills that anybody can and should be able to acquire easily. and then they'll claim that saying anything to the contrary is actually the REAL ableism/racism/classism bc social barriers and learning disabilities aren't a thing or aren't that hard to surmount i guess. meanwhile they'll also moan about how people like YA too much instead of reading REAL literature, while never thinking about what they consider real literature and why, and who tends to write these books and how they got published. or the history of schooling in their country and how it ties to the destruction of minority languages or oral tradition. or the ableism baked into education systems. or etc etc etc

anyhow literacy and reading comprehension ARE value neutral, and idc how annoying you find YA, or feel superior to people who only read magazines or to random strangers who say they don't like shakespeare. stop bemoaning how kids these days have weird takes on your old english literature curriculum and this means it's the end of civilization and maybe think a little about how to remove the barriers people who can't or don't possess literacy skills for *any* reason have to face every day, and how destructive these barriers are, especially under capitalism.

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 21: Holiday

You, Joel and Ellie celebrate Christmas in Jackson. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-20 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut :D. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 7k 

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

December 24, 2026

“They really didn’t make Christmas music with dancing in mind, did they?” 

Your head was on Joel’s shoulder, a pleasantly drunk haze falling over your mind and sinking into your limbs. You smiled at Tommy’s question, his arm around his wife’s shoulders. 

“No they did not,” you said, even though you knew the question was rhetorical. 

Half of Jackson was crowded into the Tipsy Bison. Christmas music was on the stereo, someone in the kitchen had made egg nog, the whole bar was draped in multi-colored Christmas lights casting everything in a a cheerful glow. 

You’d been in Jackson for more than a year now, something that was hard to believe. Last year at this time you’d spent all your spare time at home alone - except when Ellie all but broke down your door, anyway. You’d missed all this without even knowing that you’d missed it. 

Christmas hadn’t mattered much to you in years. The last real one you had before the world ended was really only special because you got to see your brothers again for the first time in months. The holiday itself hadn’t been what mattered. 

But you’d felt an odd sense of anticipation this time, something you hadn’t felt since you were a kid. Being around other people who remembered the time before - who knew what it had been like when there were things like Christmas tree lots and mall Santas - made it feel exciting in way the holiday hadn’t in years past, even when you were a teenager. 

It helped that Joel was recovered from the incident in August. He had returned to business as usual, going out on patrol with Tommy who had fully healed, too. But their first time out, you’d insisted on going, too. 

“You really don’t need to worry about it, Sweetheart,” Joel said. “It’s just a day long patrol, not goin’ anywhere rough. Gonna be fine.” 

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem with me going,” you shrugged. “Olivia can cover for me at the stables and I can cover you and Tommy’s asses.” 

Joel laughed a little and sighed. 

“Alright,” he kissed your temple. “If it’ll make you feel better, you can come out with us. This time.” 

It had been an easy day, unseasonably warm for October. The three of you went to a small town that was about a five hour ride from Jackson, a town that happened to have a record store.

“Oh shit!” You said, flipping through CDs on the dank and rotting shelves. “They have the White Stripes!” 

Joel frowned, looking over your shoulder. 

“Who’s that?” 

“I’ll play you something when we get back,” you said, turning the CD over to look at the track list. “They’re good and they have a girl drummer which automatically makes them even better. I was just thinking of them the other day, I think Ellie would like them…” 

Joel smiled. 

“Yeah,” he said. “She probably would.” 

You stashed the CD and a few others in your pack, saving them to give Ellie at Christmas. They were wrapped and under a tree in Joel’s living room now and you were more excited about watching her open them and listening to them with her for the first time than you were to open what had your name on it under the tree. 

“Think I can con you into a dance anyhow?” Joel asked, brushing your hairline with his nose. 

“You know,” you smiled. “Think I’m just drunk enough for it to work.” 

He took your hand and led you to the dance floor just as It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas came on the stereo. You smiled and draped your arms around Joel’s neck, your whole body pressed against the front of him, so different from the first time you’d danced with him. 

“You sure are pretty,” he smiled, swaying gently, his hands at your back. 

“You’re one to talk,” you replied, smiling too. 

“Sure you don’t need glasses?” He teased and you rolled your eyes before tucking your head against his chest and shoulder, your nose brushing his neck. 

“I’ve known you for a year now,” you said quietly after a minute of just moving gently with him. 

“That all?” Joel said. “Seems like I’ve always known you.” 

You smiled against him. 

“I think I would have gone looking for you sooner, if I knew you existed,” you said. “Just didn’t know any better.” 

Joel’s lips brushed your cheek. 

“Would have definitely gotten my ass out of Boston a few decades earlier,” he said. “Lot I would’ve done different, had I known better.” 

He held you a little tighter. 

“Is it bad that I think I’m lookin’ forward to the day after Christmas more than Christmas?” He asked. 

“What?” You laughed a little and pulled back from him enough to look at his face. “Why?” 

“Two days just you n’me,” he smiled. “I know it’s patrol but… feels almost like a camping trip or vacation. Getting out of town, ridin’ through snow covered forest, ski lodge waiting at the end? Can’t think of much better than that.” 

“Well when you put it that way,” you teased, tucking your head against him again. “But I get what you mean. Though I’m pretty excited for Christmas with Ellie. Haven’t had a real Christmas with trees and lights and shit with a kid in a long time. Almost feels like I should try to convince her Santa is real or something, just really make the whole experience happen for her.” 

“I’m just glad she’s speakin’ to me this Christmas,” Joel said, giving you a squeeze, his voice thick. “Got you to thank for that.” 

“She’d have come around eventually,” you said. “Kids… They’re smart. They see things, they know. She knows you love her. She’d understand it one day, even without my help.” 

“Startin’ to feel like all the good things I got I got because of you,” he said softly. 

You lifted your head to look him in the eye, his gaze gentle and deep, his eyes crinkling at the edges with his soft smile. 

“Well you’ve saved my life enough times,” you said. “Seems like it’s only fair. I couldn’t have anything without you. Don’t think I’d want it without you.” 

He pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes on your own and, for a moment, you were certain there was no one left inside the bar but him and you. 

He took you home after, walking slow through the falling snow with the first coat Joel had ever given you wrapped around you. You closed the curtains on the front window before plugging in the lights on the tree, just looking at it twinkling in the dark as you curled against Joel’s side on the couch. But before too long, you kissed him all soft and needy, his tongue dipping into your mouth. 

Joel undressed you gently and stretched you out beneath him on the couch. He covered your body with his, warm and hard as you rocked your hips against his length. He kissed you as he entered you, sinking into your tight heat until his body was flush with yours and he was buried within you. He pulled his lips away from you for a moment and your eyes met his, the lights reflected there as your heavy breaths matched his own. You reached up and traced the outline of him, your fingers brushing into his hair. You could feel his heartbeat in your own body, the life and warmth and vibrancy of him enveloping and consuming you. For a moment, you thought you might be able to know anything that crossed his mind, that he’d know anything that crossed your own. You were broken open and laid bare for him and all you wanted him to do was hold the pieces of you close and understand with a deep certainty how they fit together. You didn’t think you’d ever been this close to another person. You never wanted to be this close to someone who wasn’t Joel ever again. 

Everything in you was drawn tight and desperate, the heat of want threatening to swallow you whole and you were sure you were going to burst with it. 

“Joel,” you were almost squirming below him, needing the friction, needing more, eyes wide as you panted for breath. “Please…” 

“Please what?” He sounded almost as desperate as you. 

“Need you to move,” your eyes searched his. “Need to feel you, it’s too much, need…” 

“Shh,” he brushed your hair back, his palm lingering on the crown of your head. You were suddenly aware of everywhere he was, how he was everything. He was around you and inside you and over you, the thick weight of his cock filling every hollow space of you. He dropped his forehead to yours and closed his eyes for a moment, like he was concentrating before opening them again. His pupils were blown and he was looking at you as though you were the only thing left in the world. “I’ve got you, Baby. Gonna take such good care of you.” 

You just nodded against him and he pressed somehow deeper into you, his pubic bone pressing almost painfully against you before he pulled back, the slow drag of his hips making you moan as his the ridge of his head worked your channel. He pushed back into you firmly, tenderly, opening your body to him so he could reach parts of you that he seemed to have claimed for himself and you were happy to offer them. 

Like this with him you could understand why it was called making love. There was a sense that feeling him like this, experiencing him like this, had to exist somewhere outside of just yourself. It was too big to contain within yourself, what the two of you created when he brought you to your peak with an aching and heady rhythm. 

“You’re gettin’ close,” he panted, grinding his length deeper into you. You just nodded even though he hadn’t really asked. He knew. He didn’t need to ask. “Love feeling you like this. Want you to come for me, Baby. Want you to give in to it, want you to let go for me.” 

You nodded again, past the point of being able to form words. Your back arched, closing whatever minuscule gap there was between your bodies. Joel took your hand, lacing his fingers with your own before putting it over your head and pressing it down into the couch, pulling a strangled moan from you as he did. 

“Joel,” you managed. “Want… want to feel you…” 

“Just let go,” he whispered. “Give you everything you want if you just come for me, Baby. Just come for me…” He pressed deep and you felt the building tension in you crest and overflow, your channel fluttering over him, working his thick shaft as you came with a broken cry. 

“Oh there we go,” he held himself deep inside, dropping his head to your shoulder. “That’s it Baby, just keep coming, just keep…” 

He moaned and you felt him throb inside of you, felt the heat of his come as he filled you. His hand tightened on yours and you instinctively tilted your hips to make sure he was as deep within you as he could possibly be. 

You held each other like that for a while, Joel still buried inside you as his broad hand gently stroked your hair as you looked at him in the glow of the Christmas tree. 

He must have carried you to bed at some point, and you woke up tangled with him, your head on his chest and his hand splayed wide on your back. The light pouring through the window was bright, the morning sun reflecting on the fresh snow and making his bedroom light and crisp. You kissed his chest and he sighed contentedly. 

“Merry Christmas,” you smiled at him. 

Joel smiled back. 

“Ain’t you just the prettiest damn present.” 

You laughed a little. 

“Ellie say a time she was comin’ by?” Joel asked, hand sliding up your back to brush your cheek. “Or just that she was?” 

“Just sometime in the morning,” you said. “Why?”

“Thinkin’ I really want to fuck you into this mattress before makin’ you breakfast,” he said. “But don’t want to be interrupted…” 

As if on cue, you heard the bang of the front door against the wall downstairs. You laughed and pressed your face into Joel’s chest to muffle the sound. 

“Where are you guys?” Ellie yelled. “Being gross?”

“Down in a minute, Kiddo!” Joel yelled back as you pulled your face from his chest to look at him again. He held your face and pulled you in for kiss. 

“Later?” You asked quietly. 

Joel groaned. 

“Absolutely.” 

You got dressed quickly and found Ellie sitting on the floor by the tree, turning the paper-wrapped packages over and examining them. 

“Merry Christmas, Kiddo,” Joel smiled at her and she looked up from the gift in her hands. 

“Did people really used to believe a fat old man came down their chimney and left them shit?” 

You snorted and Joel laughed a little. 

“Generally just the kids,” he said. “Gimme a minute to make some coffee, then you can rip into everything.” 

You tucked yourself into a corner of the couch and smiled, watching Ellie rifle through the presents under the tree. It made your heart ache a bit to watch her. That she’d never had this as a girl hurt. That you hadn’t been able to do this in decades hurt, too. It felt like so much lost time, so many things that could have been better or different and they weren’t. So many things that you missed out on because you’d been holed up in the wilderness and hadn’t looked for a place like Jackson, hadn’t had the faith that a place like this could exist. 

You tried not to think about it, fought to focus on anything but what could have been if you’d just tried to find this place years ago.

Joel pressed a warm mug into your hands and sat next to you on the couch, putting his arm over your shoulders, tugging you against him and kissing the top of your head. You took a sip and smiled a little at the taste of whiskey. He’d spiked it.

“Alright Old Man,” Ellie said, picking up one of the packages she brought and holding it out for him. “This one is for you.” 

Ellie had made you each a charcoal drawing. Yours of Renaissance, Joel’s of you. Your eyes went a little wide at it. It’s not like you’d posed for her or anything, you hadn’t even noticed her doing it. It was strange to see yourself the way Ellie apparently did. You were pretty, the way she saw you, a softness in the drawing that you didn’t associate with yourself. 

“This is amazing, Baby Girl,” Joel said quietly. “Thank you.” 

“Figured I already drew you a horse,” she shrugged. “Thought you’d like something pretty to look at. And she’s got good taste, thought she’d want something better than your face on her wall.” 

Joel laughed before you could protest. 

“Got that right,” he said. 

Joel got Ellie a stash of art supplies that you knew he must have been tracking down for the better part of the year, watercolors and pencils and full sketchpads and you gave her the CDs and a few comic books you’d found that you thought she’d like. 

“Oh shit!” She yanked open the first comic. “Look at this guy, he’s got like… laser vision!” 

You laughed and pressed closer to Joel and he kissed the crown of your head before he leaned forward and picked up something from below the tree, handing it to you. 

You unwrapped it and opened the old shoe box. Inside was the carving of a horse, beautiful and intricate, delicate legs and a tail that looked like it was somehow in motion while being formed out of wood. 

“Joel,” you gasped, running your finger over the smooth surface. “It’s beautiful…” 

“Thought you needed somethin’ of your own in that house over there,” he said. “Or over here. When you want.” 

You looked over at him and smiled, tears stinging at your eyes, and you wrapped your arms around him. You stretched and got your gifts for Joel next before you ended up fully crying on Christmas morning. 

He opened the first one slowly and smiled at it, a holster you made from scrap leather for a knife he’d picked up the last time you were on patrol together. 

“You act like you can’t do shit like this and then you make somethin’ great,” he smiled at you, running his thumb over where you’d burned his initials into the sheath just like you had with the guitar strap. 

“Tell me that after it holds up for a few patrols,” you said, face getting hot. You took a sip of coffee. 

He opened the next one as you gnawed on your lower lip. It was just a little box and he tugged the top off of it, revealing a slender chain with a piece of metal as a charm. He frowned, running his thumb over it. 

“I made it from part of the bullet they pulled out of your leg,” you said, looking over his shoulder as he turned it in his palm. You’d cut “E + B” into one side of it. “Thought you should have a reminder that you’ve got people waiting for you. Next time you’re out for a few days.” 

He took a shaky breath and kissed you tenderly, deeply, before putting it on, looking at it in his palm. 

“I love it, Baby,” he said softly. 

“Look at Bambi, being all sentimental,” Ellie teased from her spot on the floor, already using one of the new sketchpads from Joel. You glared at her, trying not to smile, and she laughed. 

“One more,” you said before pressing your nose into Joel’s shoulder. For some reason, this made you anxious. Like the gifts were leaving you exposed. You dug your nails into your thigh to keep your leg from bouncing too much. 

Joel unwrapped the cassette tape, looking at the label. 

“Daylight,” he read from the tag. You’d tried to write it out in your best handwriting, the kind you hadn’t used in years but that your mother had drilled into you. “Don’t think I know this artist, who’s…” 

You cut him off before he could read the name aloud. 

First, middle, last. 

“You do,” you said. “That’s… that’s me.” 

His head whipped around to look at you, his eyes a little wide. 

“I wrote it,” you nodded at the tape. “The quality is questionable - it’s just from an old audio recorder from my house - and I’ll play it for you if you want. But… Anyway, I wrote it for you and… well, felt like I should put my real name on it. No one’s really known it in a while but I wanted you to.” 

“Baby…” he breathed, looking back at the tape. “This…” 

“You can keep calling me Bambi,” you smiled a little. “Everyone else does. Which is still your fault, by the way.” 

He laughed. 

“This is amazing,” he said. “You’re amazing, I…” 

“I’m going to need you guys to not be gross when I’m in the room,” Ellie groaned dramatically. 

“Don’t worry, Kiddo,” Joel said. “Think we can keep it under control. Got a few more here…” 

He picked up a small package and handed it to you. 

You opened it, a CD inside, one you didn’t know. You looked at the back, frowning, only to find that it was an album of accompaniment tracks for violin. 

“Oh, cool!” You said, looking over the track list. “I could definitely adapt these parts for guitar and…” 

“Well, didn’t say you’d need to do that,” Joel said, clapping his hands on his knees before getting up. “Just a sec…” 

Joel left and you frowned to Ellie, who just shrugged, her pencil frozen over the paper. He returned just a minute later, a violin in one hand and something you didn’t recognize in the other. 

“Wasn’t sure how to wrap either of these so…” 

You practically jumped off the couch, eyes wide, and took the instrument from him, holding it reverently. 

“Where did you find this?” You asked, looking over the body. It looked to be in amazing condition. 

Joel smiled. 

“Been on the look out for one since you told me what instruments you played,” he said. “Got a bow and extra strings too, should be set for a bit.” 

You threw the arm that wasn’t holding the violin around his neck and he laughed before giving you a squeeze. When you pulled away from him, he turned to Ellie. 

“And this is for you,” he said, unfolding the bundle in his hand. Ellie got up, frowning at it for a second but watching as he did. “Figured since you’re gettin’ real good at your art, you should have all the tools…” 

He finished putting it all together and set it down, an easel that was the perfect size for the largest sketchpad that Joel had gotten her. 

“Oh shit!” Her face lit up. “This is like… real artist stuff!” 

“Well yeah,” Joel shrugged, crossing his arms. “You’re a real artist, Kiddo. Need real artist stuff.” 

Ellie practically hurled herself at him and he laughed, catching her out of the air. You smiled, watching them. They had become so much more like what you imagined them to have been before Ellie learned the truth about the hospital. It had taken a few months to get them there and you learned that giving them projects to work on together seemed to be the best way to move them along. 

You started with shoeing the horses and quickly pinned down Tommy to come up with some more ideas for ways to get them progressing toward a common goal. They worked with him to build a new, larger pen for some of the livestock. You ended up concocting busy work that didn’t seem like busy work every other week or so until you noticed Ellie coming by the house of her own accord and Joel spending more than a few perfunctory minutes when he went to the outbuilding she called home. Every now and then, you still saw signs of Ellie being introspective. Sometimes she would go quiet, glancing at Joel with her brows drawn together and her eyes dark. But it was so much better than it was and you could clearly see the people they had become to each other as they survived crossing the United States.

The two of them were doing better than you’d ever really seen them by Christmas. You weren’t sure if it was the holiday or they had always been building to this point, but there was no sign of the tension that had been there as long as you’d known them both. It was hard to believe that the Ellie who was color swatching her new pencils and excitedly telling Joel about things like the saturation of the pigment was the same Ellie who had come over to your house, upset that you and Joel were together. 

She left to exchange gifts with friends in the afternoon and you passed the time playing guitar with Joel while watching the snow drift down outside before holding each other on the couch, stretched out long and pressed close, something that earned you both an “Ugh I thought you were supposed to be adults, show some self control” when Ellie came back a few hours later. 

After dinner with Tommy, Maria, William and the rest of Jackson, Ellie went home and Joel tried to put the cassette you’d made him in the boombox in his room but you begged him not to. 

“Why not?” He frowned. “I’m excited to hear it…” 

“I’ll make you a deal,” you said, putting your arms around his waist. “I will let you fuck me if you wait until I am not within earshot to listen to that. I can’t stand hearing my own stuff, makes me want to crawl out of my skin.” 

Joel smiled and shook his head a little. 

“You were gonna let me fuck you, anyway.” 

“Moot point.” 

He kissed you gently. 

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll wait until you go home tomorrow to get your stuff for patrol. Think I’ve got the self control to hold off ’til then…” 

You laughed and kissed him again, his hands growing eager against you. You rode him, your hands spread wide on his chest, memorizing the way the moonlight reflecting on the snow cast the shadows over his face, coming around him with a whimpering moan. As you fell asleep on his chest, his softening length still inside you as he held you close, you felt more at home than you had since you’d fled the home you’d made after the outbreak. 

“I love you, Joel,” you said softly. You weren’t sure he was conscious enough to hear you but he held you a little tighter all the same. 

***

Joel had always loved the outdoors but there was something about being in the woods after it snowed that was damn near magic. 

It was like that now, out with you the day after Christmas. The snow hung heavy on the trees, boughs drooping toward the earth like they were covered in frosting, the crystalline layer catching the light and sending it shattering off the tree trunks.

The almost blinding light caught your eyes and hair and the snowflakes did, too, making you look like some otherworldly being. One that he should know better than to try to touch but was too selfish not to. 

He’d listened to the tape when you left to head to your place to gather your things for patrol that morning. He just held the cassette for a moment, eyes tracing over the graceful lettering that spelled the title and your name. 

You’d given him your name. You had told him why you didn’t like to share it, why you hadn’t shared it with anyone but the doctor here in decades. There was a power in it. So much of what you had and who you were had been weaponized against you since the outbreak. It made sense that you’d keep something close and for yourself and yourself alone. And he’d been content with that. He had more of you than he deserved, he wasn’t about to go and ask for more. 

But you’d given him your name. First, middle, last. Because you wanted him to have that part of you, too.

He said it out loud to himself, testing the words on his tongue, picturing you as he did, tying the person he knew to the name that belonged to you. 

Joel put the tape in the stereo and pressed play, turning the volume down a little. Just in case someone was walking by outside. He didn’t want to share this with them in any way. This was just for him. 

There was a few seconds of crackling almost silence before you spoke, the sound clearer than he’d really expected it to be. 

“Hey Joel,” your voice sounded close and almost nervous. He smiled at that, that you’d be nervous playing for him even after all this time. “I’ve kind of been wishing I was better with words since I’ve known you. I’m not exactly a poet so it’s kind of hard for me to say what you mean to me. But… well, I do know music. This doesn’t quite say it right, either, but it does a better job than I could on my own. I love you, Joel. So much.” 

He listened close, could hear the quiet sound of your breaths and the sound of you adjusting the guitar in your arms before you started playing. 

The music made Joel’s heart ache, so beautiful it almost hurt to listen to it. It was slow and gentle and intricate and longing, made him think of what it was to look at you and feel you and have you consume so much of who he was because he wanted you to, didn’t want himself without you.

When the song ended, the final chord hanging on the air, there was a pinch of tears at the back of his throat. He sniffed and tried to blink them back as there was a rustling on the recording and he could picture you adjusting your guitar. 

“I hope you liked it,” you laughed a little. “And I hope it makes sense. Hope you know how much I love you. Because I do. Always will.” 

The tape ended and Joel rewound it, collecting himself before listening to it again. 

You were already at the stables when Joel got there, strapping your things to Renaissance’s side and humming to yourself. Joel didn’t say anything, wasn’t sure he’d really be able to speak past the lump in his throat. Instead, he went to you and you frowned when you saw him. 

“Everything OK?” You asked. He grabbed you roughly and pulled you into his chest, kissing the crown of your head and clutching you close. You paused a moment before wrapping your arms around his waist and giving him a squeeze. “Joel?” 

“Love you,” he managed, not willing to let you go quite yet. 

“Love you too,” you pulled back from him to look at him and laughed a little. “You alright?” 

He kissed your forehead. 

“Got you,” he said. “I’m great.” 

The patrol had been quiet, just like Joel thought it would be. He hadn’t gone out with just you since snow started falling and he was ready for the kinds of patrols that came with winter. Last patrol with you had been in late October and the two of you had been caught up in a hoard of infected that was making its way south, migrating to survive the winter. You’d gotten pinned down at one point, Joel damn near panicking at the sight of it. He was able to get to you and knock the infected away, giving you enough space to raise your gun and fire. You’d made it out unscathed but with a lesson learned. 

“Need shit I can use at close range,” you’d panted, dusting yourself off. “Baseball bat. Axe, maybe. Knife isn’t enough.” 

Joel had found you an axe the second the two of you were back to Jackson and it was strapped to the side of your horse where you could easily free it to swing at anything headed your way. 

But he didn’t think you’d need it today. This point in the season, the raiders were holed up to ride out the weather, not wanting to risk exposure by roaming much. Infected - with a few exceptions - had all fled the cold. These patrols were mostly to make sure anyone watching knew that Jackson was going to protect and maintain its territory, even when there wasn’t much to protect against. 

The forest was quiet, you riding alongside Joel when the trail was wide enough to allow for it. You just looked around at the trees, enjoying nature for what it was, Joel taking advantage of the quiet to watch you do it. He’d be happy to watch you do just about anything. 

“Almost like the end of the world never happened when you’re out here,” you said quietly, looking up at the snow-coated branches. “Like it’s a whole other world.” 

The two of you saw no signs of anyone else when you made it to the lodge for the night, twilight on the horizon because days were short and nights were long this time of year. You settled the horses while Joel got a fire going in the fireplace inside. He set out your sleeping bags in front of the stone hearth, the setting sun casting the snow in shades of pink and orange from the wall of windows beyond. He pulled a small pot out of his bag and put some leftovers from the Christmas dinner the night before he’d managed to snag before they all got snapped up, turkey and stuffing and gravy warming as you came in from taking care of the horses. 

“That smells incredible,” you said, putting your arms around Joel’s neck and pressing your body close. You were in his coat and his shirt, wrapping yourself up in him and he loved it, relished that he was what made you feel safe. 

“Can’t take much credit,” he said, kissing you gently. “Just swiped it.” 

“More than I managed,” you tangled your fingers in his hair, your soft gaze holding his. He sometimes thought the entire universe was contained in your eyes, like if he looked into them for long enough he’d find the answers to everything he’d ever questioned, the fulfillment of everything he’d ever longed for. “This was nice. Should talk them into letting me out of the stables more.” 

“Won’t catch me arguin’,” he smiled, nuzzling against your cheek. “Not sure I can promise the more gourmet dinner options the rest of the year, though.” 

You laughed and kissed him, soft and sweet, tongue dipping into his mouth. 

“Think we’d be just fine with jerky,” you said, voice breathy. 

He smiled back. 

“Think so, too.” 

You ate dinner close together, you tucked against his side. After, the two of you took turns playing guitar and singing, sticking close to the fire as it grew dark outside. Eventually, Joel set the guitar aside and took your face in his hands, kissing you deeply before smiling against your lips.

“What?” You teased. 

“First kissed you up here,” he said. “Worried I wasn’t ever gonna get to again. Now I can kiss you whenever I want.” 

“And it’s somehow not enough for me,” you kissed him again and he pulled you onto his lap before he undressed you slowly. You unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it down his arms until his skin was warm against your bare chest. You pressed yourself close and tight to him, rocking your clothed core over his hardening length. 

“Want you,” you were damn near panting. 

“Past wantin’ you,” he pulled you somehow closer. “Been far past it all day. Since I listened to your tape.” 

You pulled back from him a little and he took advantage of the distance to look at your bared skin. 

“You heard it?” You asked quietly. He nodded. “Did… did you like it?” 

“Oh, Baby,” he cupped your cheek. “I loved it.” 

You smiled and kissed him again and he held you close before maneuvering you onto your back on top of the sleeping bags, the heat from the fire warm on his skin. He tugged your jeans and panties off, casting them aside before removing his own. He ran his hands over your thighs, the softness of your skin in sharp contrast to the roughness of his own. His fingers reached your slit, all damp heat as he traced over you to your clit. You moaned, rocking your hips against him. He watched the muscle of your thighs tighten and shift and he took your ankle in his large hand, moving your foot to his shoulder so he could trail his lips over the supple flesh of the inside of your leg. He took his hand from your leg to grip his hardening cock as he toyed with your pussy as your back arched below him. He brushed his head against your swollen sex and all he could think about was opening you up to him, burying himself inside you until he couldn’t separate himself from you anymore. 

His eyes traced over you, your pupils blown, your chest heaving as you panted for breath. 

He lined himself up with your tight, grasping hole and lowered himself over you, his chest on yours, his lips inches from your own. He sank into you slowly, watched as his making space for himself inside you came over you, your eyes rolling back every so slightly before closing, the delicate moans from your parted lips. He breathed your name — your real name - as he reached the very end of you and you gasped, eyes opening to search his. 

“Joel,” you whispered. He kissed you softly, sheathed within you. “Call me that again. Want… want to hear you say my name.” 

He obeyed, pressing impossibly deeper before pulling out, slow but firm, before opening you up to him again, your name on his tongue as he did. Joel worked your body slow and steady, his orgasm building slowly alongside yours, your name falling from his lips again and again like a prayer in the night until your fluttering core made him spill into you. 

Neither of you bothered putting clothes on before climbing into one sleeping bag, your bodies close and warm. He watched you sleep in his arms by the dying firelight and he wasn’t ready to let you go when you both woke up in the morning. 

The warm glow of you left him optimistic as the two of you got underway again. It didn’t seem like anything could happen when he was with you like this. Like the two of you existed in a separate reality where people didn’t get hurt, where the evils of people couldn’t exist. 

“Joel?” You said, a few hours into the journey on the return trail. He stopped his horse alongside yours and you nodded into the woods, a good 10 feet off the trail. It looked like a large animal had been making its way through the snow before turning around. 

“Could be an elk or somethin’,” he said. “Might not be a horse…” 

You didn’t respond. You just dismounted, grabbing your axe and patting Renaissance’s neck as you picked your way through the snow and the brush to the point off the trail. Joel sighed but followed you, catching up to you just as you froze, staring down at the snow. There were distinct signs that there was a person with the animal and Joel sighed before he realized exactly what you were staring at. Just the start of a footprint in the snow, it didn’t have the chance to sink low to the ground like they’d been stopped. Just shallow enough to easily make out the size of the foot. It was small, too small to belong to a grown man. It was either a child - maybe a teenager - or a small woman. 

“Bambi…” he said cautiously, but you ignored him, turning on your heel, hooking your axe into its place on your saddle and mounting Renaissance. 

“Those tracks are relatively fresh,” you said. “It was snowing until after midnight and they’re not covered.” 

“We should go back and…” 

“No,” you said sharply. “Then it might be too late. We have to try. Joel, please…” 

He met your gaze, your eyes wide and desperate. 

“Please,” you whispered. 

He sighed but climbed back on his horse. 

“Somethin’ goes bad,” he said. “You get back to Jackson, get help. Understand?” 

You nodded and Joel led the way, trying to move as quickly as he could through the woods and the snow. 

After going almost two hours out of the way, the two of you stumbled upon what had clearly been a campsite not all that long ago. There were signs of at least a dozen or so men, the campfires no longer warm but not snow-covered either. 

You got off Renaissance again and started going around the area but Joel wasn’t sure what you were looking for. He dismounted, anyway, following close behind you as you picked through the signs of life that were here. Eventually, you whistled, something almost like a bird call but slightly off before going quiet. 

“Bambi…” 

“Shh.” 

He obeyed and you gave another whistle the same way, holding your hand out to signal him to stay quiet. There was no response. 

You visibly deflated before turning and pressing your face to Joel’s chest. He put his arms around you and held you gentle and close, feeling your warmth against him. 

“You’re OK Love,” he said softly. 

“Not me I’m worried about,” you sniffed, voice thick. 

“I know,” he held you closer. “I know… I know you want to help people who are hurtin’ like you. But you can’t save everyone, Baby, you just can’t.” 

You were silent and he just held you close. 

“We’ll head back,” he said quietly. “Report it. Send a team out with enough guns and men to handle a group of this size, see what we can’t find.” 

You nodded against him, clutching him close. 

“We wouldn’t have been able to help ‘em,” he whispered. “There were too many of them, would have gotten us both killed. Better this way. They’ll have a chance now.” 

You pulled away from him and dried your eyes. 

“Should get back,” you said, tone serious. “Sooner we’re back to Jackson, sooner we can send help.” 

“C’mon,” he put his arm around your shoulders and guided you back to the horses, turning to look back the way the two of you had come. 

He stopped in his tracks. 

Just like the sign you’d spotted months before, freshly carved into the trunks of the trees, were two large Xes, like they were waiting for him. 

What scared him more was the thought that they might be waiting for you.

Next Chapter

A/N: Yay, soft Jackson Christmas!

...other stuff is happening too.

Really really really soon.

BUT I LOVE YOU!!!

Thank you so much for reading and for being here. I'm seriously so excited to share what's coming next, I hope you're excited to see what happens, too. All your kindness and support means the world, just thank you thank you thank you. Love you all!

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