#apocalypse now rough cut

[cloud3francois]

What happens after Apocalypse Now?

[fluffy-dixon]

Sleeveless

No warnings, just a bit of heated tension between two people who are obviously very attracted to each other.

This was inspired by seeing Norman wearing his cut off Joy Division t-shirt.

-

Today was a very ordinary, chilled, and relaxed kind of today, almost feeling like a normal Sunday afternoon despite the apocalypse. Daryl, your best friend who you spent the most of your time with, all the time in fact, stands there in the garage tinkering with his motorbike, the sunlight filtering through the dusty windows, casting a warm glow on his tanned skin. His motorhead T-shirt, its sleeves artfully cut off, clings to his broad shoulders and defined biceps. As he leans over the bike, his back muscles ripple beneath the fabric, and you can’t help but trace the lines with your eyes.

That damned t-shirt does things to you within.

His hands, calloused from countless battles with walkers and working, move with a graceful confidence—fingers adjusting bolts, tightening screws. You watch the play of tendons as he grips the wrench, the way his knuckles flex. It’s as if every movement is a symphony, and you’re the sole audience member, captivated by the performance.

The things he could do with those hands, mhmm.

What.

You snapped yourself out of your thoughts but then it hits you: the sudden realisation that this isn’t just admiration for his mechanical skills. No, it’s something deeper, more primal. Your heart races, and you wonder how you never noticed before—the way his laughter reaches your soul, the warmth of his gaze when he catches you staring.

You’re undeniably attracted to Daryl, and the garage becomes a stage for a different kind of tension—one that has nothing to do with bike repairs. The air crackles with possibility, and you find yourself wondering what it would be like to trace those arm muscles with your fingertips, to feel his lips against yours.

But for now, you keep your secret, watching him work, knowing that this newfound desire will forever colour your perception of motor oil and metal. And as he looks up, meeting your gaze, you wonder if he senses it too, he smiles at you, exposing his emotions - a very rare moment which he only shares with the people he cared for most.

“Watcha starin’ at, huh?” His voice, gravelly and deep, wraps around you like a warm embrace. You find yourself speechless, utterly captivated by his every move. Daryl stands there, mere centimetres away, his presence filling the garage. Your feet dangle over the edge of the toolbox you’re perched on, and he steps in between your legs.

His palms, rough from countless hours of tinkering with engines, rest on the tops of your thighs. The heat from his touch seeps through your skin, igniting a fire within you. You’re acutely aware of the tension—the charged air that crackles between you two.

And then, without warning, the words tumble out: “You’re really hot.” You hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but desire has a way of bypassing reason. Daryl blinks, confusion etching his features. “Wha?” he stammers, caught off guard.

Quickly, you backtrack, your cheeks flushing. “It’s really hot,” you correct yourself, hoping he didn’t quite catch your slip. But the heat in the garage isn’t just from the weather; it’s the electric pull between you and him, a magnetic force that defies explanation.

[stuckinthesun]

The Jacket // R.G. x Fem!Reader

Summary

Rick catches you pleasuring yourself while wearing a familiar article of clothing

Warnings

nsfw, dark themes, kinda murder couple vibes, fem masterbation, voyerism, Dom!Rick, mean Rick, teasing, pet names, fingering, p in v, overstim, pussy slapping

Word Count

2.8k

You don’t even remember what you came into his room for. The moment your eyes landed on the familiar brown jacket, your mind became fuzzy and all other thoughts were forgotten.

That jacket.

The one you’ve seen Rick brutally kill dozens of people in, you could even still see blood permanently stained in the wool collar of it. And when you walked into the man’s room to find it just lying on his bed, heat instantly pooled between your legs.

You’ve been in love with the leader of your group since the moment you met him, and that love only grew the more he protected your group from the dangers of the world.

The two of you weren’t together though. There was tension, to long looks and lingering touches, but never anything more. Life in the apocalypse was so brutal and fast paced that it never left time for anything like that, so you were left to pine.

But now here you stood, in his room, staring at his jacket, the jacket you’ve fantasized about him fucking you in countless of times.

You walked further into Ricks room, like you were in a trance, until you were standing at the foot of his bed, and running your fingers along the rough material of the brown jacket.

It wasn’t just the fact that Rick looked damn good in it, that was just a bonus. No it was the fact that, the moment he got this jacket, something shifted.

You remember being reunited with him after the prison fell, under the dirt and blood he was wearing this coat and you remember thinking, he’s different.

You picked up the jacket, it being heavier than you expected, and buried your nose into the wool collar. It was surprisingly soft against your skin as you inhaled, smelling the old detergent everyone used, soap and something that was distinctly Rick.

It was musky and heady and filling you with warmth, making a small whimper leave your lips. Your fingers gripped the material harder, bunching it in your fists and almost hugging the jacket like a pillow.

You should feel embarrassed, you should stop and walk away before someone undoubtably catches you, but you can’t stop. It feels too good when you squeeze your thighs together, thinking about the way Rick looked killing Gareth, wearing this exact jacket.

“Fuck-“ You moan, finally sparring a glance at the bedroom door. Empty, not a soul in sight.

Am I really gonna do this?

“Besides… I already made you a promise.”

Fuck.

In a split second decision, you rush over and close the door, before going back toward his bed. The jacket feels almost heavenly as you slip it on, the smell of Rick enveloping you and making goosebumps appear on your skin.

You’re on your back instantly, fingers undoing the button and zipper of your jeans. You quickly slip your hand under the waistband of your underwear and pants, fingers sliding between your folds and feeling just how wet you already are.

Moaning you turn your head to the side and bury your nose into the wool collar of Ricks jacket again. His heady scent making your eyes roll back and your hips buck against your hand.

Your heart was beating loudly in your ears, the rush of adrenaline only turning you on more and you had to bite the material to stifle your moans. Your fingers rubbed small, quick circles on your clit, your movement’s limited due to your jeans blocking you.

It wasn’t enough, you needed more, you needed him.

A frustrated whine left your lips.

“Maybe it would feel better if you took your pants off.” A deep, familiar voice said, startling you.

You paled with embarrassment when you sat up to see Rick leaning in the doorway. His arms were crossed, and he wore a smirk as he looked at you with amusement.

“R-rick I–“

“Don’t mind me, keep going sweetheart.” Rick cut you off, stepping away from the doorframe and closing the bedroom door.

He turned around and resumed his position, this time against the wooden surface. His piercing blue eyes burned holes into you, making you squirm, “What?”

“Keep. Going.” Rick said, tone dropping and his face changing from amused to something darker.

The heat in your abdomen returns in full force and you involuntarily squeeze your thighs together. You watch the smirk return to Ricks lips as he watches, and with an embarrassed flush you lay back down.

You resume the position you were in before, on your back with your hand shoved down your pants rubbing your clit. This time though, when you turned your head to bury your nose into the jacket, you turned to face Rick.

Soon your embarrassment was forgotten as you let out a moan, your fingers circling your clit just right. You stared directly at the man of your desires, watching for a reaction.

Wanting to see how Rick would react to you touching yourself on his bed, while wearing his jacket.

All you got was Rick pulling his lips back against his teeth, making a ‘tsk’ sound, as he got off the door and began walking over toward you, “You’re so desperate for it you can’t even properly undress yourself?”

His boots rang like thunder against the hardwood floor, and if you were of clear mind you would’ve found it strange you didn’t hear it earlier. Instead the sound just made your hips buck, and you watched as he stopped in front of you.

You whined as Ricks hands touched your knees and slid down your thighs to rest at your hips. He began pulling your jeans and underwear off, and you stopped rubbing your clit, eagerly lifting your hips up to help him.

Suddenly Rick stopped though, and when you looked at his face confused, you saw he was glaring at you, “Did I say you could stop?”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head. This only made his glare deepen and he tilted his head as he said, “Use your words.”

“N-no, you didn’t.” You choked out, feeling yourself clench around nothing.

“Then keep. Going.” Rick hissed, and you nodded frantically as you began rubbing yourself again.

Seeming satisfied, Rick started removing your pants and underwear again, exposing your aching core and your fingers playing with your clit.

Rick stared at you like he was in a trance, and it made your embarrassment come back while adding to your arousal. You flushed at his stare and moaned as his hands ran up and down the inside of your bare thighs, pushing your legs further apart.

You could feel your release getting closer and you rolled your hips as you whined, “Rick please.”

“Please what?” He asked, his voice sounding hoarse and his eyes never leaving your movements.

“Touch me.”

“I am touching you,” He answered plainly, hands squeezing your thighs as if to prove his point.

His grip only pushed you closer to the edge and you let out a frustrated groan, “But I’m gonna c-cum if I keep-“

“Then cum.” Rick said, finally looking into your eyes, “Isn’t that what you wanted? To make yourself cum while wearing my coat, laying on my bed?”

You moaned, arching your back and clenching around nothing, and his eyes flicked back to your center, “Now I just get to watch.”

That was it, that was all it took. You came with a loud shout, hips bucking against your hand and head turning into the wool collar.

Ricks hands were still rubbing along your thighs as he talked you through it, “That’s it, good girl. Let me see just how good you feel.”

You had barely finished riding out the high of your orgasm before you felt two fingers push inside of you, making you gasp, “You’re drenched from just rubbing your clit?”

“Rick wait!” You cried out, trying to move away from him. His fingers inside of you were too much, the pleasure turning painful. His free hand moved to your abdomen, holding you in place as his fingers curled inside of you.

“A minute ago you were begging me to touch you and now you want me to wait?” Rick teased you, that mean smirk back on his face.

A sob escaped your lips and you closed your eyes as tears filled them, “T-too much!”

“You can take it, sweetheart.” Rick leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Tell you what, doll. I’ll stop teasing you and just fuck you, if you tell me what it is you like about that jacket so much, Mhmm? Sound good?”

As if to seal the deal, Rick began thrusting his fingers in and out of you at a brutal pace. You cried out, arching into him unintentionally. Your hands came up to weakly push at him, trying to get him to stop, but it was useless.

“Come on baby, it has to be something.” Rick cooed, pulling away from your ear to watch your face closely, “I mean, you came in here and put it on to touch yourself. Obviously you like it a lot.”

“I-it’s y-yours!” You managed to get out, hands no longer pushing him away but holding on for dear life.

You opened your eyes saw Ricks pupils dilate but he just shook his head, “No. That might be part of it, but that’s not the whole thing. Come on, why do you like it so much? I mean, it still has blood stains.”

The loud moan that escaped your lips startled both of you. Ricks fingers stopped and your eyes widened in panic.

Shit! He’s going to think I’m insane and kick me out and-

The smirk Rick had before was replaced with something almost manic, “So that’s it.”

His fingers were moving inside of you again, curling instantly to find your sweet spot and making you see stars. The hand on your pelvis began sliding up, pushing your shirt along with it, revealing more of your skin as he stared at you in wonder.

“That’s what it is, you like that I’ve killed so many people and walkers while wearing it, huh darling?” Rick asked, and leaned closer to you. His words, his fingers and his closeness were all pulling you back to the edge. The pain from overstimulation completely gone, and now you were rocking against his hand between your legs.

“So what is it exactly that gets you this wet, huh baby? Is it that I’ve killed people? That I’m capable of killing people? Or that I’m willing to protect the people I care about at any cost?”

You looked at him with teary eyes and choked out, “T-that you’d be willing to k-kill for m-me!”

Ricks face softens just the slightest bit, “Oh sweetheart, I’ve already killed for you.”

Your orgasm ripped through you suddenly, making your hips come off the bed and your juices spray everywhere. You didn’t even realize you were squirting, your senses were zeroed in on how Rick felt finger fucking you as you came down from your high.

Soon it became too much again and you started pushing at him, and this time Rick actually took pity on you. He slipped his fingers from your sopping cunt and put them in his mouth. You heard him moan around the digits as he licked them clean and you blushed when you finally realized what a mess you made.

The front of Ricks shirt was soaked, along with the bed and the jacket underneath you. You blushed deeper at the thought and covered your face with your hands as you huffed out tiredly, “I’m sorry for- Ah!”

You were cut off by a rough slap to your pussy, sending a shockwave through your body and making you flinch violently. You uncovered your face and looked at him, completely taken aback.

Rick just glared at you as he began unbuttoning his shirt, “Finish that sentence and I won’t fuck you.”

Your eyes widen and you instantly clamp your mouth shut. He smirks, shrugging his shirt off, “Good girl, now undress for me.”

Sitting up, you only hesitated a little before letting the jacket slip from your shoulders and pool around your waist. As you pull your shirt over your head, you hear the buckle of Ricks holster. Throwing your shirt to the floor you watch as he sets the gun on the bed next to you.

The idea of fucking with it on the bed makes you squirm in excitement.

The sound of a belt buckle draws you back to the man standing above you, and you look up to see him smirking at you, “You’re one kinky little slut aren’t you?”

You blush a look away from him, instead focusing on unhooking your bra. When you finally got the damn thing unclasped and you let it fall from your chest, you heard Rick make a noise.

Looking up you saw that he was staring at you again. This time at your now exposed chest, and he reached one hand out to squeeze one of your breasts, while the other pulled his belt from the loops of his pants.

You sighed at the feeling of his palm pressing against your nipple, “Please hurry Rick, need you.”

“So impatient for someone who’s cum twice,” Rick teased, letting go of you to pull himself out of his now unzipped jeans.

Then he did something that both shocked and delighted you.

Rick reached down and slid his jacket from around your waist, before bringing it up and slipping his arms into the sleeves.

You shivered at the sight of him, in that jacket, and you can’t help the little whimper that escapes you. Then you realize the positions you’re in, him fully clothed except for his cock and balls, and you completely naked and already soaked in your own juices.

“Fuck,” You moan, and you just can’t help yourself anymore. Reaching up, you grab the collar of the jacket you love so much, and pull him in for a kiss.

Rick instantly kisses you back, one of his hands coming up to hold the back of your head as he pushes his tongue into your mouth. You hum into him, and allow him to push you on your back.

You feel the drag of his cock between your folds, gathering your slick up, and you moan breaking the kiss. Ricks teeth sink into your bottom lip as you feel the head of his cock push against your entrance.

Letting your lip go he groans, “You’re gonna take my cock like a good girl, right?”

“Yes! Yes please let me take your cock please!” You cry out, desperately trying not to roll your hips to try and push him inside of you.

“Good,” Is all the warning you get before Rick pushes fully inside of you in one thrust. You cry out and instantly wrap your arms and legs around him to ground yourself.

You didn’t really register how big he was a moment ago, but now that he’s inside of you, you can feel every inch of him splitting you open.

“R-Rick!” You sob, shaking in his arms, and you feel his beard tickle your skin as he kisses along your neck.

“Take it sweetheart, I know you can.” He growls against your skin, biting down in the crevice between your neck and jaw.

You barely got a moment to adjust before Rick started moving. His thrusts were quick and hard, making your eyes squeeze shut and your toes curls. One of his hands gripped your thigh so tight you were sure you would have finger shaped bruises, while the other stayed planted next to your head.

“Fuck,” It was Rick who moaned, and the sound made your eyes roll to the back of your head, “Feel so good wrapped around my cock.”

“O-oh god,” You whine, lacing your fingers through his hair and tugging.

“Shit baby,” Rick groans, hips stuttering slightly. “This what you wanted, Huh? Me fucking you while wearing this jacket you like so much?”

“Yes! Yes fuck!” You yell, rocking your hips to meet his, “I’m so close Rick please!”

“Come on baby,” Rick grunts, squeezing a hand between the two of you to rub at your sensitive clit, “Cum for me, cum on my cock.”

It only takes a few more thrusts before you do exactly that. You cum so hard it almost hurts, nails digging into Ricks skin so hard you’re probably drawing blood.

The feeling of you squeezing around him like a vice pulls Rick right over the edge with you. He spills inside of you with a grunt, filling you with his hot seed.

You lay there limp when you come down from your high, limbs slipping from around Rick as he carelessly pulls out of you and fall to lay down at your side.

You’re both breathing heavily, you’re throat feels raw from how much you screamed and the cum cooling between your legs feels gross.

You’ve never felt better.

With a happy sigh you turn your head to the side to see Rick already looking at you. There’s a smile on his face and his eyes hold that same amusement from earlier.

“So… my jacket, huh?”

You playfully push his face away.

…idek

[chelseypprimrose]

I Dare You / Negan X Reader / pre apocalypse

Summary: A game of drunken truth or dare turns into the best sex of your life.

Warnings ⚠️: daddy kink, unprotected sex/rough sex, choking, oral, spitting, slight voyerism, slight dumbification and use of degrading terms (slut ect) bfd!negan, age gap

As always, all respective parties are over age of consent ect. 🤍 *Not proof read yet*

A/N: whelp here we are again, i started rewatching the walking dead from season 7 and tell me why I had totally forgot that Negan cleans out Alexandria’s houses just to burn their mattresses right down the road from them, the more I watch the more I remember how evil he really was and it makes me giggle and kick my feet i can’t lie lol. Enjoy this little depraved story, I’m just loving writing stories where the reader is very fully aware of someone watching/walking in bc it’s just so dirty I can’t freaking cope 😂love ya’s and my requests are open as always 🤍🎀🧟‍♂️

Straightening out your dress, you walked through the wooden gate at the side of your friends house, the loud thumping beats of music and chatter blaring through your eardrums. You held a bottle of Smirnoff in your other hand, remembering the teaching from your mother about never showing up to a party empty handed, that was considered rude and insulting.

You’d left the party girl lifestyle behind, having your fun in your early twenties but mellowing out in the last year or so, finding more enjoyment in a cup of tea and a good book. Not to the extent of being anti-social, just cutting off bad habits and rethinking where you wanted to take your life. Coming fresh out college filled you with a sense of doubt and confusion, you studied heavy, dedicating your time to educating yourself but hadn’t yet found what you wanted to be in the world. No matter how much you were freaking out about your next step, you couldn’t miss your friend’s birthday party, so you’d decided to have some fun and let loose, deal with reality tomorrow instead.

Pushing those dreaded thoughts underneath the surface, plastering a smile on your face as you entered the already crowded back garden of your best friend, Natalie. You’d known Natalie for years now, exact number you couldn’t remember but through high school and many ups and downs, you’d always stayed close, spending nearly every weekend at her house. That was with her mother though, she’d recently moved in with her dad, due to domestic arguments with her mother getting too toxic. You’d only ever seen her dad twice in your life, normally when he’d pick her up after the various extra curricular activities you two enrolled in together. Negan.

Such a unique name, you’d thought when you first laid your eyes on him. How anyone could give him up would be a mystery to you, from your limited interactions he’d always been sweet to you. Offering to drop you home as well but always denying, not wanting him to drive out of his route just for you. Those polished, pearly teeth gleaming at you when he asked, practically making you melt right there on the spot. You’d cursed yourself for manifesting a little crush on the man, who was your best friends dad, the forbidden attraction. The way he’d sit lazily in the driver side, his large hands gripping the steering wheel, your mind wandering to thoughts of what they would be like gripped around your dainty neck. The black bikers jacket he’d always wear even in scorching temperatures, fitting his frame just right.

“Hey hey girl, how are you?” She wrapped you into a affectionate hug, her candy sweet scent hitting your nostrils, her birthday tiara shining in the sun’s beam. You reciprocated, giving a small squeeze as you released her, holding the bottle out to her. “Happy birthday, Nat. It’s been too long!” You replied as she took the bottle out of your hands, thanking you for the gift. “Come on let me get you a drink and we can catch up!” She lead you through the crowd of people, a mixed bag, some young and some old. You recognised some familiar faces from growing up, giving a small nod at those who recognised you, commenting small hellos.

Natalie motioned for you to take a seat at the rattan sofa lounger, near the side of the backyard porch, a small fire pit in the middle, keeping you toasty as your dress was a little shorter than you were used to. Negan entered through the same gate you’d come through minutes ago, returning with a crate of beer from the garage. He fought his way through the crowd, handing out the liquor to those he’d promised it too. Small ‘thank you’s in acceptance, placing the remaining bottles into a cooler with ice. Wiping his hands off with a small towel, fingers slightly numb from handling the ice, his eyes moved around the yard, silently cursing his daughter for inviting so many people to this place. His annoyance came to a halt when his eyes locked onto you, recognising your face in the sea of people. Watching you laugh with Natalie over old pictures she was showcasing to you, he’d know your laugh from a mile away.

He couldn’t help the heat that ran through his body, his jeans getting tighter as he watched your chest rising, your arms placed in front of you, making your breasts press together firmly, slight cleavage coming into show for him to memorise. You’d definitely grown up since the last time he’d seen you, taking a beer out for himself, he started sauntering over to you, discreetly adjusting himself on the way.

“Well if that isn’t who I think it is? It’s been ages doll!” He exclaimed, your head whipping around to meet his gaze. He looked similar to how he did when you’d last seen him, the only major difference being his beard being thicker and slight whiteness now peaking out of it. “Hey! Mr Smith, it’s nice to see you after all this time!” You almost purred, he loved the way that name sounded rolling off your pretty lips, that familiar heat rising to his cheeks slightly. While it sounded completely innocent to everyone around, he could tell the difference. “Oh why so formal? Call me Negan, we’re all friends here.” He grinned, those familiar pearly whites coming into view as he swiped his tongue along his lower lip lightly. “Are you ladies okay for drinks?” Natalie waved her dad off, claiming they were fine, he took his leave but not before taking one last gaze over your body, your curves almost putting him under some witchcraft spell.

It was later in the evening, the sun setting over the horizon, you’d been roped into playing a game of ‘Truth or Dare’ under the suggestion of Natalie, it being the game you played at all those sleepovers you’d had with her back in the day. You were sat with a few other girls, ones you’d recognised from high school. You weren’t best friends with any of them, not knowing them well like you did Natalie, just more so the fact they were the only girls left at the party.

You’d played it safe up to this point, only choosing truth, you decided to throw caution to the wind when your next turn came, proclaiming dare to the group.

Natalie’s eyes found yours, you could practically see the cogs turning inside her head, it got you wondering what her depraved mind was going to come up with. “I dare you to… seduce my dad.” You almost spat your drink out, eyes widening at the request, palms hot with embarrassment. “What? You actually want me to do that? Are you insane?!” You asked, a confused look sat on your face. “Not to be rude but… you aren’t his type at all, so it’s a guaranteed point for me! I’m just being strategic!” She claimed, her eyes meeting yours, goading you to back down. Your heart sank at the confession, you couldn’t understand why it stung so much, it was just a little silly crush but you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit this new information made you feel a bit low. Your hurt feeling started slowly turning to slight rage, still watching Natalie as she challenged you with her eyes.

“Okay, how about we make this interesting though? $100 suit you?” You smirked, pulling a hundred dollar bill out of your purse, waving it in her face, mocking her. She returned your smirk, that goddamn egotistical smirk she got from her father, her manicured hand coming out in front of her to offer a handshake to seal the deal. “You are on, sister. You have to bring something back to the table that’s his, it’s the only way I’ll believe you.” You raised from the couch, slamming your empty cup down on the small table, taking your hair clip out, hair falling to the top of your back in loose, bouncy pin up curls. The girls watched you walk through the patio doors, sliding it to let you in before continuing on with the game.

You got into the kitchen, a few people standing around in conversations, you politely asked one of them if they had seen the man you were seeking out, answering that he’d gone up to his bedroom to change shirts, alcohol being split on him about five minutes ago. Making your way to the top floor of the house, you started trying doors, having absolutely no clue which one was his as you’d never been in the house before. You came to the last one at the end of the landing, being met with the very man you wanted to see.

There he was, shirtless in front of you, his room rather large. A four poster bed in the centre of it, black and red silk sheets with matching puffy pillows, a small door which lead into a en-suite, two bookshelves at the sides of the bed, small circle led lights above the headboard. He threw the wet t-shirt he’d taken off into the wicker laundry basket, not yet noticing that you’d entered the room. “Mr Smith? Sorry for not knocking, I need to speak to you about something.” You mumbled, the anxiety of what you were about to ask him gaining on you. He slightly jumped, a flirty grin on his face when he realised it was you who was there. You took a seat in the leather loveseat, matching the bed sheets, red and black were obviously his favourites. Your hands nervously played with the hem of your dress, his eyes wandering to your delicate fingers. “I’m all ears doll, ask away!” He says, turning his back to you as he found another t-shirt to change into, you opened your mouth to talk, nervousness managing to stop you in your tracks.

He turned back around, his face contorting into a confused look, wondering what you be needing to ask that would get you so worked up like this. “So Natalie dared me to… seduce you in our game of truth or dare. I had every intention to give it my best shot but she told me I’m not your type. W-which is fine, but I kind of bet $100 on it. Is there any chance you could give me something out of this room that I can take down to prove I did it, without actually doing it?” You awkwardly explained, your eyes not being able to meet his, if they had you would have seen the shimmer in his eyes as you cutely fumbled over your words out of embarrassment. He let out a large laugh, your face squirming, if his daughters confession made you feel bad, this was ten times worse. You felt a small tear gathering at the bottom of your eye, wanting the earth to swallow you in this moment.

It was the touch on your knee that made you look up, meeting his gaze as he knelt down to come to face level with you, Negan hadn’t bothered to put another shirt on, the low light of the room landing on his body just right, your core feeling slightly slick as his muscles tensed deep. You thought he was about to make fun of you for such a childish request, when he grabbed your chin firmly, making your head stay in position it was, looking into his eyes, not having the nerve to look away.

“Now doll, please tell me why you’d ever listen to such a fucking stupid thing like that?” He questioned, his thumb tracing your jawline slightly, still holding your chin in place. Your ears perked up, the total opposite of what you thought he was going to say coming out. “Uh, I’m not sure?” You replied, your voice not coming out as confident as you would have liked, that smirk still on his face. He was enjoying watching you squirm underneath him, his hand let go of your chin, hooking either hand around the underside of your thighs, pulling you slightly forward so your ass was half on the chair and half off. “How about I do you one better? Why don’t we actually complete the dare, huh doll? I don’t know why she’d say some crazy shit like that, probably hasn’t been paying attention to how I haven’t taken my goddamn eyes off you all night. You’ve really grown into a fine ass woman, you know that right?” You let out a slight moan, the feeling of his large hands keeping your legs spread open for him to see making your whole body electric. A vision of white panties peaking out under your dress, your new position on the seat making it rise up to your waist. “Thanks for the compliment Negan, but if… if you don’t touch me right now, I’m going to lose my mind.” You managed to make out, in broken breaths, your chest rising heavily up and down as you did, eyes wandering to his abdomen.

“Your wish is my command, pretty girl. Just relax and let daddy take care of you.” He whispered lustfully as his fingertips moved your panties to the side, showing your ever wetting slick pussy to him. He had to take a sharp breath in, nothing he’d seen was a prettier sight that this, hadn’t even imagined you looking this good, exceeding his wet dreams. He gathered saliva in his mouth, a powerful spit right on the centre of you, you whimpering in response at the degrading and dirty action. “Well, look at that! Someone likes a bit of domination doesn’t she?” He proclaimed to you, he couldn’t believe his fucking luck. You gasped as he finally took your clit into his mouth, sucking on it softly, teasing you with his devilish tongue.

He moves back to your pussy where he runs his tongue over your wet lips. You let out a deep guttural groan, as you grab large pieces of his slicked back hair, tugging him slightly, guiding him to all the places, you needed attention on. Negan continued to lick long strips down from your sensitive bud to your opening, listening to your moans and whimpers as he did. “Fu-fuck Negan! Yes, your making me feel so good.” He took his tongue of you, whining at the loss of contact. A darker look shifted on his face, more pressure as his hand dug further into your thighs. “Listen here, dollface. Tonight I’m not Negan, tonight I am daddy, you get that? Or has my tongue already made that pretty little head of yours blank?” He growled out, his tone completely like nothing you’d ever heard him sound like before, you’d truly woken the beast inside this man and you couldn’t wait for the journey. “Yes, yes, I’m sorry daddy, please put your tongue back on me, it makes me feel so fucking good!” He sinisterly grinned at you, parting your folds again and letting your juices flow down onto his tongue. He finds himself vigorously tongue fucking you as you begin gyrating on the chair, trying to push your hips into his face more, nothing mattering to you more than the pleasure he was providing, while pulling his hair with your fingers.

As he begins sucking your clit, he works a couple of fingers deep into your pussy, finding how tight you clamped around him, trying to intensify your pleasure. Negan begins to alternate between licking and sucking your clit, as you became more and more impassioned. It isn't long before you thrusted your pussy hard against his face, his beard scratching against you as your first climax washed over you, your hips bucking even more, back arched, your arms that were holding you up shaking.

“Fuck, daddy, I need you inside me now, please!” You whined, Negan hoisting you up off the now wet chair, the slick shining sun in the light of the room. He slammed your body on the bed, your head hanging off the edge of the bed, the blood rushing to your ears. “Goddamn doll, this pretty little pussy is going to be the death of me, pull that top down, I want to see those tits bounce as I fuck you dumb.” You obeyed, pulling your breasts out of your dress, the style of dress restricting you from wearing a bra, cupping them and rubbing your nipples as well. He could have bust right there and then, the image of you below him, looking like something out of a damn Playboy magazine.

He trails kisses up your body, tasting the thin layer of sweat on your skin until he reaches your mouth where he kisses your lips deeply, snaking his tongue into your mouth as he lined up at your entrance, rubbing his dick up and down your folds, setting your whole body on fire, nerves standing on edge. He releases your mouth, moving to your neck, nipping and biting at it as he finally stretched you out, filling you up nicely.

“That’s it doll, fuck. You feel goddamn heavenly, such a good slut for my dick right?” He grunts out, leaning away from your neck to hover over you as he put his hands around your throat, his pace getting more erratic, unable to control himself from his hard thrusts as your skin slapped together. Your head was starting to go dizzy, between being upside down and your oxygen being slowly cut by Negan’s large hand, it intensified your impending orgasm. Negan pulled out quickly, turning you over from your back to your stomach, forcing your back to arch as much as you could, slipping back into you. The new angle sent you nearly cock drunk, Negan too mesmerised watching his dick going in and out of you, not noticing the door slowly opening slightly.

You looked over to see Natalie looking on at you and her father, like time had stopped in place. You couldn’t see her whole face, just her eyes. Frozen, she made no move to say anything or close the door. You smirked at her, your eyes not breaking eye contact. “Oh daddy! You fuck me so good, my pussy belongs to you!” You moaned, a narcissistic grin sitting happily on your mouth. “Shit yeah doll, this pussy is all fucking mine you dumb whore.” His hand coming down in your hair, his other placed around your neck again. Hips snapping repeatedly against you at a now familiar pace, a moan leaving you every time he snapped. You raised yourself up on your elbows, repeatedly rubbing your thumb over the tips of your index finger and middle finger, the universal sign for Pay Me. Her eyes squinted in anger, closing the door again, not wanting to see anything else and now pissed she owed you money.

You quietly laughed to yourself as quietly as you could, feeling your walls clamp on Negan’s dick as you were ready to orgasm. “Fuck daddy, I’m going to cum again!” You whimpered, gripping the silk sheets below you both, Negan shallowly grunting above you. “Shit doll, me too. Let go for me baby, milk daddy’s dick doll.” You squeezed the bed sheet again, your whole body shaking as you closed your eyes, breathing irregular as you flopped forward on the bed, panting heavy. Negan pulled out at just the right moment, hot spurts of his cum hitting your lower back, cooling off after a couple seconds sat there. He carefully placed himself next to you, pulling you towards him so you rested in his arm. “I’ve been waiting for that for years, you know?” You told him, your fingers slowly drawing small circles on his forearm. “Could have told me sooner doll, that was fucking sen-sat-ional! You are perfect.” You laughed, kissing the side of his face, leaving a small nip at his ear lobe.

Two orgasms and $100 richer, it was worth leaving the house after all.

[leclercstarrs]

watching from afar, daryl dixon.

summary: in which you get bored in the prison and starting noticing a certain someone, who ends up noticing you as well!

warnings: not yet proof read!

notes: request from anon! hope you enjoy and i hope i did this right!

From day one, since getting to the prison, there’s been absolutely nothing to do. Obviously, that’s not including killing walkers and being on watch duty, but on those days when you have no duties, it quickly gets boring.

Until you started taking a liking to a certain hunter, Daryl Dixon. You’ve known him for a while now, unsure of exactly how long due to losing track of the days during the apocalypse, but you only recently started really looking at him and noticing every small detail.

For example, when you’re babysitting Judith and watching her as she peacefully naps, you might listen in to Daryl’s nearby conversations, picking out specific details about him. Or, when you’re on watch duty in the guard tower with him, you can’t help but sneak small glances his way. Despite how long you’ve known him, you’ve never actually spoken to him, aside from the occasional conversation regarding keeping watch and hunting.

Despite all of this, you don’t know that he’s taken notice of this too. He only noticed recently, but ever since, he’s started doing the same things to you. He hears you talking to Rick? He pretends to be doing something nearby, listening to the interaction between the two of you.

This all leads up to right now, your current situation, the two of you on watch, Daryl finally deciding to confront you. “Ya know I always see ya looking at me?” He says, his voice rough. “What?” You act oblivious, shaking your head before turning away from him and looking back out into the prison courtyard. “Don’t play dumb, girl. I just wanna know what it’s about.” He says, a small smile forming when you start to look flustered. “Now you’re playing dumb.” You scoff, looking at him and folding your arms and across your chest, a firm look on your face. “What?” He gives you a confused look, his eyebrows raising. “Come on. You can’t tell me that you don’t know what it means when a lady stares at you and acts nervous around you.” You laugh. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, so you speak up instead.

“It means she likes ya, Daryl.”

“You like me?” He looks surprised. Daryl knew about the little things you’d do when near him, he just never thought you’d really have feelings for him. “Yeah.” You nod, a wave of nausea flowing through you. “Oh.” He pauses, “Oh.” He repeats himself. “Oh?” You bite your lip, wondering if the chorus of ‘Oh’s’ is a bad sign or a good sign.

Probably bad. Damn.

“Okay.” He grins, stepping towards you.

“Okay?” You raise an eyebrow, opening your mouth to say something, confused at his words. “I-“ You start, getting cut off as he connects his lips to yours, causing you to let go and stop feeling tense. It’s been so long since you’ve kissed someone, same with Daryl, so the kiss is intense and desperate, the two of you craving each other.

“Wait, we have to keep watch, we can’t-“ You pull away, placing a hand on his chest to keep him back for a moment, no matter how badly you want to continue. “Fuck it, it’ll be fine.” He reassures you. Part of you wants to resist and continue your duties, but you give in quickly, opening the door of the guard tower and pulling him in for privacy.

[joelsmochi]

Joel Miller — There You Go

Part 2 here.

warnings: post-apocalypse, pre-ellie, age change + gap (joel is 53, reader is 33), smut (minors dni), unprotected piv sex + creampie, outdoor/public sex, reader has a thing for joel’s hands, joel has a thing for reader being a pillow princess, joel also has a thing for praising reader, joel loves spoiling reader what more can i say, definitely ooc joel, pet names (baby, pretty girl, doll, etc.), dirty talk, vanilla sex (? should this even count as a warning LMFAO), possessive!joel (only a little it's kinda cute), fluffy!joel, probably an over-usage of the word “pretty”, i always lazy proofread so there may be some typos <3

wc: 4k

a/n: there are so many mean!joel or rough!joel smuts (don’t get me wrong i be eating that shit up!) so i thought i’d do something a lil different & give y’all a sweet and endearing joel smut <3 this is lowkey inspired by the scene from jason’s lyric + inspired by a comment i saw where someone said pedro/joel would definitely talk you through it .-.

“The sun feels so good,” I think aloud. “Come lie down! You should try it!” I glance over at Joel who is cleaning the pot that we just ate dinner out of.

“You’re gonna get sunburnt,” is all he says. I don’t respond, enjoying the warm blanket the sun is providing. A few minutes later I hear him sit next to me which makes him block the sun from my face so I open my eyes and smile up at him.

He and I aren’t that close, but it never hurt to try and grow closer with him—sometimes he’d give in and laugh with me, but most of the time it was like talking to a brick wall that occasionally grunted at you or rolled its eyes. I understand though. I’m sure he lost someone he loved so deeply and that kind of shit changes you. I’ve lost more people than I can count and no matter how much you try to prepare for it, you’re just never ready. That’s why I always try to get him to smile, I want him to know that someone still cares about him even if he doesn’t care for anyone anymore.

But I know he does. I know for a fact that he cares about me. He never let’s me hold him when we’re trying to sleep but the second I hear his breaths deepen I always wrap my arms around him and he shuffles his back deeper into my body. I loved the way he was too emotionally calloused to warm up to me because it makes me want to fight harder for him which reinforces the fact that I care about him.

“Thank you for dinner, you sure know how to whip up some twenty-year-old ravioli,” I joke.

He just nods and looks at the trees in front of us.

“How old were you when this all started? Thirty-two?”

“Thirty-three,” he corrects.

“Hmm, same age I am now.”

“Ain’t that a bitch?” He huffs, clearly exhausted from our hike. I sit up in front of him and grab his hands; he tries to pull back while giving me a dirty look so I just grip him harder. “What are ya doing?” He asks.

“Holding your hands,” I say with a cheeky tone and a grin.

“Why?”

“Because I think about touching ‘em all the time,” I tease.

He takes a few breaths, watching to see if I break my smile. “You think… About my hands?”

“Mm-hmm,” I hum, “I think about your fingers.” I hold one of his hands up to my face and analyze his digits, memorizing the cuts and bruises and wrinkles along them. Even though my words are true, I still played as if I were joking endearingly, but the more I looked at his fingers the more complicated it got. I feel my nipples perk up underneath my tank top from the cool breeze and… Well, from being horny. “I think you’re a cool guy,” I say after looking at him and dropping his hand.

“Why?”

Shrugging, I say, “Because you take care of me. You teach me a lot.”

His eyebrows rise and force wrinkles onto his forehead. “I teach you a lot?”

I hum again, nodding slowly and blinking even slower not able to hide my true intentions anymore. “Yeah, you… Taught me how to use a gun safely… You taught me how to get past an infected… You taught me how to hunt a buck.”

“Shit your parents shoulda taught ya when your were a kid,” he retorts, letting me know he doesn’t see my desperation.

“Maybe,” I whisper. I carefully move onto my hands and knees, slowly crawling closer to him. “Maybe I was just meant to have you as my teacher.” The look in his cold eyes shifted yet he continues to leave me confused. I may be overstepping here, but his lack of resistance only urges me to push further and further. I bat my eyelashes at him and reach my nose just in front of his. “You could even teach me how to fuck.”

His eyes bat shut and he exhales as if he were committing the worst of sins. His eyes reopen after a few quiet seconds and they flicked between both of my own eyes. His cold irises were now warm with dilated pupils and his pulse is beating so strong I could see it pump against the skin along his collarbones. I glance at his lips more than once and press one of my hands to his thigh.

“Is this okay?” It comes out shakier than I intended it to as my breathing feels much heavier than before. Joel makes me feel so small but in the best way possible. It’s as if he were my sworn protector and I could always count on him to be there for me. Like a lovestruck twenty-year-old, I cling to him in my most desperate of times even though he pretends to hate it. I could tell he likes having someone to take care of, and I love that he takes care of me.

Hesitating, he nods and carefully reaches for my forearms.

“You sure?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he whispers sounding more desperate than me.

I can’t help but simper at both his confirmation and touch, finally touching my nose to his. A knot twists deeply into my stomach, and my chest fills with waves of nervousness. “I’ve only done it a couple times,” I whisper.

“That’s okay,” he hums against my lips, his chest rumbling at the low vibrations from his voice. “I’ll teach you.”

I snicker and giggle at his words earning the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen on him in the time I’ve known him, then he presses his lips to mine so softly I thought I was imagining it. The smack of his warm mouth dazes me momentarily and I grasp onto his shoulders before completely falling into his touch. He lies back onto the blanket and encapsulates my body with his thick legs and firm arms. He whines into my mouth and holds onto my waist as if I would fall apart if he let go.

I pull away after a while to look down at him, wondering how we should start. It’s been well over a decade since my last time and I don’t want to disappoint Joel.

“Lie down,” he instructs while admiring my flustered look.

I do as he says and allow him to take my shoes off, which he does so carefully. I always pegged Joel to be a bit rougher, and eager for it, especially after a long time of waiting.

His fingertips nuzzle the hairs along my calves and thighs up until they reach the hems of my shorts and this is where my expectations become true; he wraps his fingers into the folds and tugs gently, probably trying to pace himself, but the rise and fall of my chest catch his attention and his patience runs out. He yanks my button undone and doesn’t even bother taking my shorts off, he just slips his hand inside to feel around. I prop myself up with my elbows to get a better view of everything. He strokes the stubble along my pelvis, then around my clit, dipping down to my entrance and slightly parting my lips to see how ready I am.

I inhale at the feeling of his warm finger coming into contact with my cool precum, locking eyes with him to watch the subtleties in his face change at every new feeling he notices. He just barely whispers, “Fuck,” when he rises his finger to my clit. He gives it a gentle stroke and watches me breathe slowly for him. “You’re doing so good, staying still like that for me,” he praises. I bite my lip and confidently smile at him. He starts to rub soft circles onto my skin, eliciting a gentle coo from me. The space between my eyebrows tightens at the relief and my eyes close softly. “Fuck, look at’ya… So eager for me already, huh?” I look at him and nod. “Tell me how bad you want it, doll.”

“Do you remember the night we first met?” I ask between moans. “And I had that cut on my arm that you had to clean and wrap? All I could do was stare at your fingers and—and imagine how good they would feel rubbing my clit the way you’re doing right now. It was the first night I had touched myself in almost a year.”

He squints at me sharing this information and rewarding me with more pressure from his fingers. “And how often do you touch yourself now?”

“In the past two years I’ve known you?” I sheepishly ask; he nods and halts his moving fingers. Desperately wanting him to keep going, I shout, “Almost anytime I get left alone for longer than ten minutes.”

“Since we’re being honest…” He leans down to my ears to whisper, “…Sometimes I leave you alone to touch myself as well.” He takes his hand out of my shorts to slide them off of me.

He looks around the trees, and I do the same to make sure no one living or infected is around; once we’re sure it’s clear he sits to remove his boots which I laugh when it starts to take a long time. I reach for his shirt buttons, undoing them carefully as a few were hanging literally by a thread. I push his flannel shirt off of his arms while he finally kicks his boots off, then he hovers his head over mine and just barely pushes his pants down to reveal his swollen cock. I reach for it despite my intimidation at the girth but he stops me, guiding me to lie down again.

“Joel?”

“Yes, baby?” He asks against the skin above my collarbone whilst placing lovely kisses all over my neck.

“It’s really big,” I say tensely, laughing at myself.

He gives me a juicy kiss and shares a winsome look with me. “I’ll be gentle if you want,” he promises. I barely smile, not realizing how harshly my nails are digging into his arm. I give him a slight nod and spread my legs slowly for him. “I promise I’ll be real nice to your pretty pussy.”

I lift my head up to kiss him again and he shifts to rest his body weight on top of me with his hand reaching between our bodies to line his tip up with my entrance. His tongue folds over my lips and into my mouth restlessly and I feel his hips push forward against me. I prepare myself for the discomfort, squeezing my eyes tightly and pulling away from the kiss to brace myself.

It’s difficult to breathe with my ribcage pushing against him and I feel him leave a trail of kisses along my jawline in an attempt to soothe me. I constantly squeeze around his thick cock, trying to ignore the slight burning and get used to the pain faster. He notices how long I remain tense and anxious, so he taps my cheek gently with his fingers and I open my eyes to look at him which relaxes almost every nerve in my body.

“Just relax, honey, okay? Can you do that for me?” My eyes roll to the back of my head as his raspy voice continues to beg me to relax. “Hmm? Can you relax for me, baby girl?” He pulls back a little and begins to slowly pump himself in and out of me, chuckling as he watches my body actively relaxing around and beneath him. “There you go… There you go… Here.” He adjusts his knees to be flush against the back of my thighs and moves my arms and legs to wrap around his back. “How’s this?”

I wait for him to start moving again, noticing the difference in closeness. “Yes!” I hiss. I feel his hand pop my boobs out of the top of my tank top and I look to his fingers to watch them rub against the sewn-in rose in the middle of the shirt, but soon enough his hand cups my boob and gives it a delicate squeeze. I notice my pussy get wetter at the steady pace he is going at, feeling the curve of his cock hit the deeper parts of me.

“That feel good, baby?”

“Yes, Joel,” I moan. I slide the straps of my shirt off of my arms to get a better grip on him making him smile at the now bunched-up fabric around my waist. All I can do is moan and roll my eyes back and forth at his cock filling me up repeatedly. With my thighs trembling around his hips, my nails digging into his back, and my back arching deeper into the ground, he lifts his upper half off of me more than likely to see me—all of me.

He drives his hips faster, not fully entering inside of me but using the curve of his shaft to his advantage. As my hands flail around either gripping the sheet or his arms, I accidentally dig my knees into his stomach, and I can tell it’s hurting him but he doesn’t stop.

“Come on, baby,” he grunts, somehow managing to go even faster, “cum for me, pretty girl, I can feel it—oh, look at’cha!”

I whine at the ticklish feeling of his tip rubbing against my g-spot, feeling sudden shocks in my nerves from my stomach to my feet. I feel my muscles stop squeezing around him and start pushing against him as my orgasm creeps up. Joel hunches over to pop one of my nipples into his mouth adding waves of electricity to swim through the rest of my body.

“Joel, I—“

“Shh, shh shh shh,” he mumbles against my breast. “Look at me, darlin’. Hold onto me.” My fingers wrap into his curls and I watch his eyes trail over my face. I feel myself fall over the edge and into my orgasm, and his words seem to only exist to intensify this burst of energy. “God, look at you cumming for me—oh, my God, I can feel it," he repeats. "I can feel you cumming, it feels so fucking good."

“Yeah?” I whimper. “Fuck, please don’t stop!” He grunts and gets a bit more sloppy with his thrusts which help ride out the rest of my orgasm. I release his hair and drop my legs down next to his, feeling soreness spreading throughout my thighs from them being stretched. “Do you want to switch?” I ask after seeing how tired he is.

He pretty much pouts and shakes his head, cupping my face in one of his hands. “No, baby. I wanna take care of you,” he says. “You look so pretty in the sun.”

I blush to thank him, then take his scruffy face into my hands and give him a few kisses until they turn into our tongues dancing together. I moan at the taste of his skin, pushing my hips down to get his shaft deeper inside of me.

He listens to my body and instead of thrusting he rocks his hips after resting some of his weight on me again. I feel the layers of sweat from both of us stick his skin to mine but we just ignore it. All I care to focus on are his groans and the way his cock fits so perfectly inside of me.

“I was made just for you,” I moan, reaching out to run my hands along the hair on his chest.

He shoves one of my legs up on his shoulder, bending forward to somehow fuck me even deeper. “You were made just for me?” He asks, kissing the inside of my knee.

I mewl out, cursing at how smoothly his hips continue to roll in between my thighs. “Yes, Joel!” I shout when he shoves his dick all the way inside of me, stopping once he presses against my depths. “My pussy was made just for you!”

I watch his pretty eyes roll under his twitching eyelids, and he whimpers. He actually fucking whimpers. I gasp at his shaft throbbing inside of me and cradle the back of his head.

He lifts himself to his knees again, forces my legs to spread apart, and pulls out. “Fuck, baby,” he groans with furrowed eyebrows. “You keep talking like that you’re gonna make me cum too fast.”

Grinning wide, I sit up and turn around to my hands and knees like earlier. I figured a change in position could help excite things a bit more, plus my ass is starting to hurt. I moan and giggle while I tauntingly wave my ass for him to grab. Instead, he yanks my knees back knocking me down to my stomach which admittedly hurt a little bit, but I didn’t care. I finally got to have Joel and that was all I needed.

He pushes my legs apart with his chest pressing against my back. I shudder at his warm breath on my sweat-covered cheek and ear, flinching when he nibbles on my lobe—not from pain, but surprise. He moves down to bite my shoulder, then my spine before I feel his hand push his thick cock back inside of me.

I kick my limp legs up to meet his wide thighs and lay my face against the ground. He fucks me like he’s desperate for me to know how strong he is, how weak he can get me. I arch my neck up for my lips to meet his chin; listening to his little whimpers has my entire body weak for him. I didn’t want the noises to stop, I don’t want him to stop.

“Oh, baby,” he whimpers some more, “you feel so good. S-oh good.” His breath is shaky as are his words.

“I want you to cum inside of me, Joel,” I beg before pecking his chin. I relax the arch in my neck to instead bury the back of my head into his shoulder. He stops for a few seconds to absorb my words, using this time to wrap his arms below and around my stomach. “I love the way you fuck me,” I whisper against his jaw. “You make me feel so good, baby.”

“That’s my job, honey,” he tells me, thrusting a couple of times. “Oh sh—oh my God,” he mewls. He bites my cheek which makes me giggle and turn my head to kiss him. He starts to drill in and out of me while our lips fold over each other, our moans and begs and whimpers falling out occasionally. I feel that bubble growing inside of me again just itching to be popped, and I completely crumble when he says, “You take my cock so good, princess, I know you got another one in ya.”

I can’t even speak whilst he wraps his strong hand around my neck to hold my head up rather than to choke me. I cry out his name shallowly and squeeze around him so tight I’m sure his cock started to ache. He curses into my neck, not letting up on my pussy one bit. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it.

“You look so fucking pretty when I fuck you. Look at how helpless you are, fuck. You’re mine, pretty girl.”

“I love the way you fuck me, Joel,” I say breathlessly as my orgasm doesn’t let up.

“My sweet girl,” he coos in my ear. “Keep talking to me, mmm, I love hearing you beg for it.”

By this point, I am suffering from the pain of overstimulation, which I never thought could hurt so bad but feel so damn good at the same time. “You’re so good to me, Joel,” I tell him doubtlessly. “I want you to cum for me, please.” His body jerks a few times and it instills confidence in my tone. “I want you to use me… Use me to cum, please…”

“You want me to cum in that pretty pussy a’yours? Hmm?” He cuddles his face into my shoulder blade, striving to reach even deeper inside of me. “Turn around. I wanna see you,” he whispers; I turn around and he lifts me onto his lap, still standing on his knees. His burly forearms manage to hold me up enough for him to keep doing all of the work, but by this point, I was thankful for it with how much he’s worn me out. “You take my cock s’good. Look at your pretty face, your pretty little helpless face.”

I watch as he takes his lip between his teeth into his weeping mouth, breathless gasps leaving my own. He looks so majestic with how the sun casts subtle shadows along his face; his vulnerability coats the look in his eyes as his face begins to relax which tells ms he is close. His nails dig into my spine and he looks to me for reassurance.

I run my fingertips over Joel’s broad shoulders and blink slowly, drawing my tongue out to lick his lips briefly. “Can you cum for me, baby?” I ask softly.

“Yes,” he says, heavily nodding his head. “Anything for you, honey.” He kisses me swiftly, smiling at me and stroking my thumb over his cheekbone. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

We both moan out little praises against each other's faces and lips and sometimes kiss roughly. My chin burns from his stubble but I don’t pull away from him. I don’t want to. I just want to feel all of him.

He tells me he’s going to cum once more and I say, “Look at me, baby. Look at me when you cum.”

I hold his head still in my hands and rock my hips against his, but he stops me by pushing my hips into him and holding me there. I whine but allow it, cockily grinning at him when I feel his warm cum paint my walls. He is a whimpering mess, cowering his face to my chest. His body twitches underneath my legs and his hands fall to my ass, squeezing it enough to lift my hips up and back down a couple of times. Grunting when he finishes, he peels his face from my skin to smile down at me after lying me down carefully. He looks around for a moment before pulling out and laying next to me.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away,” he says, still out of breath.

I look over at him and twist to my side. “It’s okay. I know you like taking care of me.”

“Do I now?”

I nod and hum. “You’ll never say it, but I know you do.”

Joel also turns onto his side to stare at me. “I like taking care of you,” he admits with a hoarse voice. He reaches to pull my shirt straps back over my arms before covering my boobs, then grabs my panties to slide them up my legs but stops when he gets to my vulva just to place a kiss on it. He half-dresses himself before pulling my warm legs onto his lap; I sit up to get more comfortable and stare at his hands massaging my legs. “Your face is sunburnt,” he tells me.

I touch my cheekbone and flinch when I feel it is indeed sunburnt. “Dammit.”

“Doll, I want ya to know that this doesn’t mean nothing to me. It isn’t nothing, I mean… It’s something… If you want it to be.”

“Something?” I question with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah…” He shrugs, looking back down at my legs. “If you want.”

I crawl into his lap, responding to him with a loving kiss. “I want you. Not something.”

“Oh, pretty girl…” He moves some hair from my face and bashfully smiles at me. “You already got me.”

[chaotic-mystery]

Pairing:Joel Miller (jackson era to be specific) x f!reader

Summary: practicing your knife skills goes south when you find yourself hiding in a janitor’s closet with Joel.

Warnings: 18+ only- MDNI. Smut, porn w minimal plot, unprotected piv, big girthy age gap but it’s not specified, forced proximity, knives, cutting panties, fingering, roughness & degradation, cum eating, spitting, dirty talk, Joel is a panty thief once again! No use of y/n. Let me know if I’ve missed anything.

Notes: Big big thank you to @pr0ximamidnight for helping me with the idea & this post inspiring dialogue for it. Also a big thank you to @amanitacowboy for Beta reading it. This is my (late) secret Santa gift to @planet-marz1 ! Hope you like it baby! 🖤 || wc: 1.5k || notif blog ||

Christmas in Jackson was like any other day for Joel, the same shit needing to be done but just a different day of the week. For you on the other hand, you were excited for the lights strung all over the town, kids throwing snowballs at each other, the overall warmth it spread. Joel had other plans for today, practicing your knife skills. The last time you two were on patrol, things got kinda hairy and you almost got stabbed with your own knife. Needless to say, he wasn’t happy having to beat a skull in with a log.

It was going well, stabbing snowmen he built all over the open field next to an old abandoned factory from years ago, when suddenly you could hear rowdy raiders yelling rude remarks towards you and Joel off in the distance. He grabbed your wrist, looking in their direction before going into his stern mode he stopped putting on for the brief moment you had with him. “Don’t ask questions and don’t make a sound, got it?” He rhetorically asks before running inside the dark building with you close behind him on his heels. The quickest solution was to hide inside an empty janitor's closet and make it seem like you ran upstairs to the empty floors or maybe even out the windows.

Joel tucks himself in the corner away from the door with you pressing tightly against him, his hand squeezing over your mouth. The clammy skin made it harder for you to breathe, your chest heaving rapidly with anxiety as you both watched the shadows run past the door.

Joel grunted as he shifted slightly behind you, a bulge pressing against your ass. Though a natural reaction to someone being up against you, he still didn’t want you to notice, not at a time like now. Several minutes go by before you hear any more noise, a voice booming down the hallway and more footsteps running past the door again. You move your ass against him a little more and whimper the faintest bit before he sees your little game.

“Knock it off before you get us found.” He grumbles in your ear and yanks you to him, his other arm holding you against him tightly.

Joel was always someone you wanted but couldn’t have. He never gave into you the way you wanted him to. Joel would flirt the day away with you but when it came down to business, he’d tell you to find someone your age who won’t break your heart. That was easier said than done in an apocalypse.

As soon as Joel doesn’t hear any more movement in the building, his hand slips around your waist and grabs you roughly.

“Santa won’t leave you on the nice list if you keep this up.” Joel's harsh tone shouldn’t be like a symphony to your ears but it is and you need more. He couldn’t get over the fact you were the only person not scared of him, scared to push his buttons to make him snap. His hand doesn’t leave your mouth and he tugs for you to meet his eyes. Your hand follows down your body until you find his, trying to drag it between your thighs.

You grind your ass against his bulge, not looking away from his eyes that glimmered with the faintest line of sunlight from a broken window to the side of you. Pulling your head away so his hand slips off your lips, you meet his eyes once more.

“Maybe then I could get an old man to punish m-” not another letter escapes you before Joel’s lips crash onto yours.

He turns you to face him with his forceful arms tugging your torso against his chest. Clawing at your body like a fully starved man, his breath gets heavier with each kiss to you.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere. Not until I’m finished with ya.” He tuts at you as his hand travels down the front of your pants and discovers how wet you are for him.

“Do you always get like this when someone manhandles you? Fuckin’ Christ you’re so pathetic for me to touch you. Where do you need me, hm?” Joel whispers into the crook of your neck, groaning from the pit of his stomach as he finds your throbbing clit with his index and middle fingers. His freehand grabs your bicep, holding your body against the small table pressed to the wall.

“Right there, pl-please Joel-oh fuck.” you whine out, knees buckling with every rub to your clit.

He matches your moans as his hand on your arm squeezes tighter like you’ll slip through his fingers if he eases up on you for even a second.

“Turn around for me, let me see where I’m gonna bury my cock.” Joel orders in your ear and spins you before you can do it yourself. So desperate for him to keep going, you bend over the table, arms tucked in underneath you. The stale, cold air hits the soaked fabric covering your pussy as Joel rips down your jeans to your ankles and cuts your panties right off you, causing you suck in a sharp breath. His warm tongue covers your clit and dips between your folds until he reaches your entrance. A groan vibrates against you as your head spins, groaning out anything to make him go faster. A smirk grows on his lips as he fiddles with his belt buckle, giving his cock a few tugs with his right hand.

“You’re about to absolutely ruin my life aren’t you? Make me so needy I only want you to fuck me..fuck, Joel.”

He spits on your glossy cunt before standing up, burying his cock deep inside you and grabbing your shoulders to keep himself steady. Your back arches as his hips start to slam into your ass, Joel's groans getting longer with each thrust. Joel tosses the closed pocket knife onto the table in front of you along with your ruined panties.

“I’m gonna fuck every last thought out of this pretty little head, you understand me?” Joel manages out between moans, squeezing your shoulders harder.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” You smart mouth back at him, hoping he’ll lay into you and make you rethink ever wanting him to be so rough on you.

His left hand covers your mouth once more and yanks you against him, your back a deep arch while he continues to fuck into you. Joel’s teeth nibble on your earlobe, panting softly before mumbling, “Doesn’t matter, you’re a filthy fuckin’ girl and I know you’ll enjoy it either way.” The broken sentence slips from his lips.

He was right. It didn’t matter how he gave it to you, you wanted him to shred you apart from the inside out.

You two moaned in sync, his hands roaming all over your clothed chest as he pumped inside you, half-open mouth kisses shared between gasps of air. Joel shoved you down on the table, pushing the side of your head down to keep you still.

“Joel-I’m gonna come, baby i’m gonna come, i’m gonna come-” You chanted, eyes screwing shut as the table squeaked louder from Joel going faster.

“Come on, baby come all over my cock, c’mon baby, c’mon.” He squeezes the back of your neck as his jaw clenches, encouraging you to let go.

With a couple of more snaps of his hips against your ass, you unravel on him, struggling to keep yourself standing as your knees were giving out trying to close your thighs together. The struggle had you whining his name while you grinded against him to ride your high.

Joel barely pulls out in time to come all over your lower back, grunting profanities as he watches his load dribble onto your skin.

“Stay there, stay fuckin’ there.” Joel ordered as soon as he finished letting out every drop of cum from the tip of his cock.

You’re too fucked to argue or move away and within moments you feel his tongue lick up the dribbles of cum from your skin and his freehand turns your head, meeting your eyes with his as he spits into your mouth. A rough kiss follows and you moan in each other's mouth before he goes back for the rest that was left on your back.

“Open.” Joel mutters and pinches your cheeks firmly to part your lips, spitting the rest of his cum in your mouth. You swallow willingly before he kisses you again.

“Think you’re never gettin’ off that naughty list, baby.” He chuckles and presses a few soft kisses to your clothed shoulder blade.

He unpins you from the table and tucks his cock back into his jeans before pulling yours up to your thighs and letting you finish the rest.

“W-what about my panties?” You question as you pocket your knife, looking at him with a smirk.

“Merry Christmas to me, I ‘spose.” Joel kisses your forehead and takes your hand in his, leading you out of the building.

[itsgrimeytime]

When you love him... || Rick Grimes (TWD)

When he loves you (sequel)

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

It was a rough day. A really rough day, you had constant nightmares -screaming faces of your family, jaws thrashing and running. Running until the breaths in your lungs burned and sweat dripped down your brow, you were running-

You woke up with a scream on the tip of your tongue, on the edge of-

"Hey," he hummed, groggy but forceful, "-hey, darlin', wake up-"

You came to almost immediately, the pounding, the screaming, the blood- it all went silent, only a mere ache in the back of your head now. When your vision cleared, you saw Rick -leaning over you, hands on your arms, gently shaking you awake.

"Hey," he spoke softly, a gentle whisper, "-hey, There ya are."

"Did I-"

"Light sleeper," he whispered, his drawl low and growly, "-'Heard ya shufflin' around."

Your cells were pretty close, maybe two off from each other but you were still surprised that he heard you from there. Were you loud? Were you screaming? You didn't want to wake-

"I cut you off from a scream," he seemed to read into your silence, "-No one else is awake, 'promise."

"Okay," you spoke, shakily, and, with his hand, he guided you up, "-okay."

His hand stayed there, on the small of your back -rubbing up and down with the gentle push of your breaths. You felt safe then, with his hand there, with him-

You pushed away the thought.

"Do ya wanna talk 'bout it?" He echoed, accent strong from the buzz of sleep in his voice.

"Just-" you started, deflecting, "-Just the same things everyone deals with."

"Just 'cause everyone deals with it," he spoke, more authoritatively -like you'd seen around the prison, "-don't mean it ain't important."

"My family," you relented, something catching in your throat -you hadn't told anybody, "-I watched them... Right in front of me, I was... I was so helpless."

You weren't built for an apocalypse, you knew that the second it started. When you'd come across the farm, you'd never even held a gun nevertheless used one. They had to train you, keep you practicing and make you confident-

You were used to it now, a familiar weight in your hand. Even when you used something else, it was okay, you knew it -you were getting used to this life.

You didn't know whether to sob or celebrate.

"You ain't helpless now," he spoke, hand finding its place on your shoulder -grounding, "-and I know it hurts but you can't change it. You just gotta... keep on movin' for 'em."

"I didn't think I'd make it this far," you confessed wiping at your tears -looking anywhere but at him, "-can you believe that? I thought... After my parents, my family, I thought I would go out just like them. Scared and afraid-"

"You didn't," he consoled, turning your face to face his own -your skin tingled under his fingertips, "-You won't. You survived. You are survivin', they'd want you to survive."

"Yeah, I know," you hummed, brought back to earth, "-I know."

"Plus," he clarified, looking straight into your eyes, "-you ain't alone anymore, alright? So don't, don't think like 'at."

"Okay," you exhaled, your breath a little more stable -he'd brought you down. The heaviness in your shoulders lifted, and something in you shifted -looking at him.

"'Kay," he started, hand rubbing your shoulder one last time -it left an ache in its wake, "-get some sleep, 'be good for ya."

"You too," you whispered, watching as he left -something building up in your chest, a little twinkle. An overwhelming feeling of... of wanting him to stay.

He has a pregnant wife, your brain dinged as you laid back down to sleep -head heavy and eyes exhausted but the thought kept you up.

You didn't sleep a wink.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Here you will find the full list of my works for Daryl Dixon and other characters portrayed by Norman Reedus. [Main masterlist]

Requests are OPEN

⬇️ Masterlist under the cut! ⬇️ [My Ao3]

★ indicates smut, 18+ content.

Series

Paintings & Picture frames [Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7]

No apocalypse AU. Daryl and reader are studying at the same college and are assigned orientation project parters. [ONGOING, HIATUS]

Wings [Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6]

Judith plays matchmaker by stealing your jacket and making it match Daryl’s

Oneshots

Records of forgotten times

Digging through old music brings back sad memories, but also happy talks of the future.

Sinful ★

Father Daryl enjoys some private moments with the not-really nun.

Ruppel

You're chilling on the couch watching your favorite show. Daryl joins you because he wants to learn about your interests.

Shielded (Fantasy AU)

Everyone openly shows and uses their powers, except for Daryl. Until you get hurt.

Bad ideas ★

During a laundry round while home alone you find some ..'used' items of Daryl's to fuck yourself with and now have to work through the concequences.

Girlfriend

Daryl is in a sucky relationship but doesn't see it at first. Reader helps him see and later shows him how a good partnership works.

Hunters Ink

One tattoo leads to many more when you fall head over heels with the artist.

Creep (modern AU)

Finding an apartment in this new town was easy, but now you needed a job.

Daisy chains

Daryl gets separated after the prison attack. He comes across a home for him and his kid to hole up in. Your home.

Beef

Requested : "Could you do a Daryl x reader where at first he doesn’t like her, and she tries to get to know why hes so mean to her? Maybe he yells at her and then some comfort after?"

Rough times

Requested: Hi! Would you be willing to maybe do a one shot with Daryl x reader in a pre established relationship but the reader is pregnant with a child that doesn't belong to him and she isn't proud of? (non-con if you're comfortable with that) Some angst about the reader being worried he won't love her once he finds out 👀

The fun has just begun

Two men snatch you away for some fun. Before they even get anywhere you and Daryl have turned the tables and have some fun of your own. CW: Torture

Forest Guardian [pt.1] [pt.2]

You plan a week long vacation to a luxury cabin. Luxury is nowhere near what you find.

Not your usual undead (Vampire AU)

Which undead do you choose? The ones outside, or the one in front of you?

Drabbles

Period cramp relief

Photographer Daryl

Different kinds of sex w/ Daryl

You needed Daryl for something

"Hey buddy, what are you doing here?"

"Carol gave me some cookies to share!"

Rick and Daryl go out on a run

Old man Daryl

Showing Daryl how beautiful he is ★

Worshipping Daryl's worn body

🐺Were!Daryl 🦊Were!Reader

🐺Series🐺

Shared interests [Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] ★

Grimes!reader. Your father shares information about the man he considers his brother in support of your interests. Those interests take a different turn than he expected..

🐺Multichapters🐺

🐺Monsters among us [Pt.1] [Pt.2]

Your water breaks in the middle of nowhere but you find the prison in time for them to help you. There you meet the man of your nightmares. CW: childbirth

🐺🦊Feral for you [Pt.1] [Pt.2★]

Request. Daryl develops a crush on a soft and sweet lady, afraid to ask you out and ruin your sweetness, only to learn later on your have a feral side as well,

🐺Oneshots🐺

🐺 His girls (xOFCs)

Alexandria's new residents find a dog. And his very handsome owner.

🐺Full moon meetings

You get stuck in the woods, surrounded by walkers and are saved by ..something.

🐺Night shifts

During a night shift with Rick he sends you to investigate movement in the woods, knowing it would end with two of his group members coming home together.

🐺Dog person ★

You’re Dog’s new favorite human and Daryl gets jealous. Lucky for him you’re also good with his dog-side.

🐺Creature Feature ★

After overhearing your spilled dirty little secret of old world fantasies, Daryl suddenly feels like he does have a chance to get you into bed with him.

🐺Unexpected

This can be read as a continuation of Dog Person. Reader is pregnant with Daryl’s pups and has to hide it from the community until they can leave for Daryl’s cabin. CW: childbirth

🐺Roses for the ones left behind

Daryl gets taken and leaves a pregnant reader, not knowing her child and partner aren’t human. CW: childbirth

🐺New comforts ★ alt. ending ★

No one needed to know that sex between the two of you was for human Daryl only. Alt.: Rick now knows.

🐺Witch hunt

Thanks to an emotional slip-up you almost risk your home in Alexandria.

🐺Arrows & Rags

You help a wounded creature who leads you back to its den, where you find the one person you thought you had lost in the walker attack.

🐺Why didn't you tell me?

You follow Daryl into the woods on the one night he asked you to stay away.

🐺🦊The softer the skin, the sharper the teeth

Request. WereDaryl and Glen find a she wolf (in human form) out and talk to her about coming to the prison. She and Daryl are mates

🐺 Shame

Your most private moments are shared with the intent to drive you away. And it amost worked.

🐺 Not a monster

Request. Beauty and the Beast inspired fic. Set during Alexandria times.

🐺 Domesticated

Request. Cuddling in bed, like mundane little moments in their relationship

🐺 Bath time

Daryl's distaste for showers rubbed off on his children.

🐺 Forbidden ★

Strickt parents and werewolves don't mix, so you run.

🐺🦊 Found

Daryl finds a young girl and takes her home. He adopts her and learns she's a wolf too.

🐺 Savior ★

You show a little too much interest in Negan's new prisoner so he uses you as a test subject. CW: Non-con, forced impreg

🐺King of the cage

In the apocalypse, entertainment is hard to come by. Until you hear of underground groups fighting with anything nonhuman.. CW: Descriptive violence and murder.

🐺King and his Queen ★

[KING series pt.2] After Daryl's match he gets treated like royalty by his loving partner.

🐺Instincts

Daryl finds a woman with her newborn pup, taking them into the group. Slowly their bond grows stronger.

🐺Rules of Nature

Daryl gets hurt on a simple hunting trip and reader patches him up.

🐺Get rid of it

You and Daryl never fought, until you did. Daryl relives old traumas while you stay at Hilltop.

🐺Drabbles🐺

🦊 Daryl was out on a hunt > Daryl liked being around her > Daryl has never been so proud

🐺 Daryl hated full moon these days.

🐺 You, Carol and Daryl go out on a run.

🐺 "Man, 's colder than a witch's tit."

🐺 You and Daryl had a great life.

🐺 Daryl came home early today.

🐺 Daryl saves you

🐺 You were all sitting around the bonfire

🐺 Daryl came home from a run. (xOFCs)

The adventures of Daryl the werewolf and his witch girlfriend.

Inked Sigils. ★

Fate brought you together. Spells finally brought you family

Bored ★

You tagged along with your boyfriend who ‘just needed a minute’, but you were so bored..

Momma's boy ★

You find your boyfriend all alone and desperate in your apartment, so you help him out. Again.

Warm & fuzzy

You just love him. It doesn’t matter what the others think

Much fun indeed ★

A summary of what being with the biker has thought you over time.

Coming soon??

Double Stuffed ★ Daryl/Scud/reader

It's your birthday so you get to have twice the fun!

[luveline]

Jade, after the last zombie blurb I can’t stop thinking about like, r taking care of Steve’s knee. Poor boy does so much for everyone else and probably doesn’t think to take care of himself so r just wraps it for him or something. Feel free to use this as a prompt if you’d like, no pressure!!

thank you for the prompt beautiful, I thought it was a great idea!! steve zombie au — you wrap up Steve's injured knee and get ready to move out of your makeshift camp. tw for zombie apocalypse typical violence and gore

There's a misery in the air thick as coal dust. For five days now, you, Steve, and the rest of the survivors from The College have been holed up in an apartment building within the city that surrounds The Michigan–Indiana border. At first, you'd been scared that the raiders who ruined your community would follow the tracks and find you, but a handful of scouts doubled back to find the ruins of your community completely empty. Wrecked, but uninhabited. 

With no one to hide from, a new problem emerges. How are you going to feed this many mouths, support so many children who can't fend for themselves? 

You have to get back on the road. 

So people are packing up. You, amongst the injured, can only sit and watch, though your cuts and bruises get better everyday and this is more of a Steve-mandated bed rest than a necessary sit down. Meanwhile, Steve limps around on his hurting knee and pretends it doesn't hurt at all. You can see him across the room from you now, helping a young girl tie her borrowed shoes tightly. You'll be walking as far as you can tonight, which with little ones won't be very far, but to them will seem like miles and miles and miles. 

"How's that? Not too tight?" he asks, tying her laces.

"It's okay." 

"You need them nice and snug so you don't get blisters, I know it's not comfortable. You're being really brave, Debbie." 

"Is my dad coming home soon?" 

You're terrified for a moment that her dad is one of the people who didn't make it here with you, but luckily Steve must know who she means, and he says, "Any minute now, the river's not far. Do you want to come and sit with me and my girlfriend?" 

She nods to her left, where a book rests face down. "I'm okay. Thank you." 

"You're welcome. We're just over there if you change your mind, okay?" 

He points at you. Debbie and Steve notice you watching them, and you give them a friendly smile and wave. You know you don't look especially inviting. You have marks all over your arms, more on your legs though they're hidden by your pants, and your hair hasn't been taken care of in a week. Your wave falters, even as Steve waves back. 

You pull on the jacket you've been given and pull the hood over your hair before Steve gets back to you.

Steve sits down next to you and sighs.

"Ready to go?" he asks. 

"Yeah." It's not as if you have any possessions to pack. "Are you?" 

"For sure," he says, dropping his face into his hands. "No, god… I'm tired, I don't wanna walk. I wish we could stay here." 

"I know, I'm sorry." 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and straightens up. You haven't had a whole lot to talk about with one another lately, but luckily love doesn't need a lot. Your hands meet like magnets and your fingers thread together, his palm rough as yours but pleasantly warm. 

You sit like that for a while. 

"Here, the boon you requested," Robin announces, dropping a little white parcel into your lap. "Did you guys need socks? Sarah said she'd swap me four whole pairs for one of my hoodies." 

Robin being willing to swap one of her hoodies for socks makes you wanna cry. You smile at her. 

"We don't need any socks. You need to stop trading your things away," Steve says. 

"I know you'll find me another one." She looks between you both and bites her lip, hands moving up to her hair. She scratches through it. "Maybe we could stay here tonight, catch up with everyone else tomorrow," she suggests, eyeing you both thoughtfully.

"No," Steve says, kind but firm. "We're ready to go." 

"Okay. Well, I'm gonna go see if Chloe needs a hand with baby Ada," Robin says. She makes a heart with her hand and pushes it down at you. You make one back. 

"She doesn't even like babies," Steve says as she leaves. 

"She's amazing. Okay, take your pants off handsome." 

Steve blinks at you. "Excuse me?" 

You hold the bandage Robin brought you between your index and middle finger. "Time to wrap you up." 

"I'm not cut." 

"I know, but we're gonna be walking, and your knee still hurts. The compression will help." 

Steve knows you're right, even if he isn't eager to be looked after. You shake the blanket over his lap and he slides out of his pants, baring his purpled knee to you unhappily. 

"The bruise is worse," you murmur, unwrapping the bandage from itself in looser circles around your hand. "But it doesn't look swollen anymore. How does it feel?" 

"I was shit scared it was fucked forever, but it was just sprained. It's definitely getting better," he confesses. 

"And if it was fucked?" you ask. He told you it didn't even hurt. "Were you going to pretend forever?" 

"As long as a I could." 

You rub your thumb over his kneecap and wince at his wincing. "Lame… This is gonna hurt, I'm sorry, but not for long." 

"How d'you know it won't make it worse?"

"According to Sarah's copy of Field Medicine for Injury and Disease, it won't. I'm gonna start on top so it doesn't chafe while we walk, and I'm going to pull it really tight, so tell me if it doesn't feel right." 

"Can I ask you something?" Steve says severely. "Who the fuck is Sarah?" 

You wrap his knee. One round of white bandages at a time with a continued pressure, your fingers as gentle as they can be over the stain of his contusion. He doesn't make a sound the whole time, though you know it aches. 

"Did Robin give you her last quarter?" you ask. 

"What, the oxycontin? No, I think she gave it to Jonathan. His burn is scabbing over."

"Then you have nerves of steel." You want to call him my love, or my boy, but you're not often like that, and not in front of so many people. While nobody's watching, you lean down and kiss his knee. You're embarrassed as soon as you've done it but you can't take it back; you sit up and finish tucking in the end. 

Steve takes your face into his hand unexpectedly. 

He might call you honey, or baby, but he's quiet. You miss him so much and he's right here —you don't need The College if he's with you, but you'll miss your bedroom, because there he'd talk for hours about whatever he wanted. You'd give anything to be back there even for a second listening to him re-explain the plot of Fast Times, or try to convince you that cheese didn't even taste that good anyways so don't bother missing it. 

But you're here, and he's gonna be fine. One day he's gonna feel like chatting his nonsense again and you'll be there to listen. Until then, you'll do your best to take care of him.

"Thanks," he says, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. 

He looks so pretty. Brown eyes, the lingering purple and yellow of the shiner he suffered nearly invisible under the dark shadows beneath them. His hair is limp and a tiny bit longer than he prefers to have it, kissing his neck on both sides. He doesn't look clean, and it doesn't matter. 

"You're welcome. Now put your pants back on, Steve. We have places to be soon." 

He squeezes your cheek. "I don't think I can stand up." 

You help him back into his pants, the both of you laughing, and shuffle on your butt so you can sit hip to hip with him, your arm curled behind the small of his back. 

"Put your head on my shoulder, please," you say. 

Steve complies. 

You smile to yourself when he starts to talk quietly, "Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I went to Switzerland? Skiing?" 

"No," you murmur back. "What happened?" 

"I fell on my face. So, I was seventeen, and my mom…" 

—

if you’re reading this, thank you so much! I know some of you are dedicated readers of the zombie au and it warms my heart completely, it makes writing for them so so rewarding and I couldn’t be more grateful <3 if you have any requests for them let me know if you’d like to! but thank you again either way!

[cloud3francois]

Apocalypse Now: The French Plantation Analysis

[brighttears]

Filth

Joel Miller x f!reader

One use of y/n, no physical description other than having hair

Summary: You and Joel are on the road, heading to nowhere in particular, but going there together, though you're nothing more than partners on the road. It takes a risky yet intriguing move by you in the face of danger to urge Joel to explore your relationship a little further, and it leads to you touching for the first time, then much more than that, and feeling things neither of you have ever felt before. Aka: you have wild sex in the dirt

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: violence, starts with suicide of a stranger but basically porn with plot (minors dni!), unprotected PiV, Rough sex, hair pulling, lots of biting, multiple orgasms, creampie, brief sub!Joel but almost all just dom!Joel, possessive!Joel, Joel is just extremely horny (I think that’s it on that front? but pls lmk if I forgot to anything!), pet names (darling, baby)

A/n: like 7k of this is just smut ok. Idk what came over me. Anyways Im so fucking terrible with multi parters but now I have three chapters written, I’m writing like Joel Kerouac and his fucking scroll I stg I just have like 20 pages to rewrite to be presentable and split into parts. So welcome to part one of filth. Btw sorry if the formatting is weird my wifi’s down so I can only use my phone

series masterlist

—

“Come on, keep up.” Joel says, looking at you over his shoulder. 

You trot to his side as you approach the building—a large and wide, run down brick warehouse by the side of the road. It’s the first thing you’ve come to in a long while, walking down the empty road, surrounded by trees. Joel slows his steps as you come closer, and you follow his lead. There’s a large metal door on the side and the only windows are around the front, a thin rectangle of glass block windows high up on the wall. Joel glances back at you as he pulls out his gun, and you pull yours out to raise it in two both as you reach the door. 

It’s surprisingly silent as Joel pulls it open, but as you pause just outside, you hear a faint shifting. 

“There’s somethin’ in there.” Joel says quietly. He looks back at you, “Stay close.” You nod, and he starts with slow steps inside. The room is big and deep, and you can barely see, but you catch the glint of a doorknob on the other side of the room, and you walk towards it with quiet, careful steps. 

Joel stops to turn to you, “Ok. You stay right behind me—” Suddenly, you see movement behind him, and the beginning of a screaming growl before you raise your gun and shoot. An Infected falls dramatically at your feet, its face splattering on the concrete ground. Joel looks at it, then at you, his eyes wide and brow pinched sternly, and he whispers angrily, “What the fuck was that?”

“You didn’t see it, it was behind you,” you start but Joel cuts you off. “You don’t just go shootin’ at anythin’ that moves.. We don’t know what else is in here. Could be full of Infected. Could be full of Clickers.” There’s a silent pause before you reply, “Doesn't sound like there are.” Joel sighs, glaring. 

“Don’t shoot unless I tell you to. Got it?” 

You nod shyly, somewhat embarrassed now. 

“Jesus.” Joel says under his breath, shaking his head as he looks head at the door. When he looks back at you, he states firmly, “Stay behind me.” 

You nod again, and start back towards the door. You enter an office room, those same glass block windows shedding much more light into the smaller room. There’s a desk and a chair at your side, a fake plant set by the windows next to a line of filing cabinets. The room is pretty much untouched. Nothing of value, even before the apocalypse. Behind the desk, next to a pasteful, plain painting caked in dust, is another door, slightly ajar. There’s shuffling inside, then stillness, and you can hear very faint, fast breathing. 

“There’s a person in there.” You whisper to Joel. 

“How do you know it’s a person?” He looks back at you skeptically. 

“I hear breathing. It’s fast, but they’re trying to be quiet. Infected don’t do that.”

Joel pauses his eyes on you, considering, then looks back to the door. You approach slowly, and Joel nudges the door open with his foot, announcing, “You’ve been found out. Come out into the light where we can see you, hands up.”

There’s more breathing, faster now, but no movement. 

“I said, come out, into the light, hands raised.”

Finally, they step out into the line of light—it’s a woman, absolutely terrified, with a bite mark on her shoulder. It’s fresh, and infected. Thick, tangled dark hair farms a pale face, piercing blue eyes bugging out of her head as she stares at you. She grips a gun in her hand, but it’s pointed at the floor. Her breathing is rapid. 

“Drop the gun.” Joel demands. After a pause, “Drop the gun.” 

The woman squeezes her eyes shut, flinching, then drops it, her hand shaking, and it thuds on the carpet. 

“Kick it to me.” She pauses again, and Joel repeats himself harshly, “Kick it to me.” She does it without opening her eyes. Gun tsill trained on her, Joel leans down to pick it up and then shoves it into his belt. “Now give me one good reason not to shoot you.” He says as he straightens. The woman’s eyes fly open, and she looks petrified. Her lips try to move, quivering, but she’s unable to speak. 

Joel cocks his gun, but you put your hand on his shoulder, “Wait.” He glares at you with wide eyes, but you step towards the woman, lowering your gun to your side. He clamps his hand around your arm, but you shrug it off, not even looking at him as you walk up to her. When you get to her, you see that her entire body is quaking. 

“Hey.” You say in a soft tone, “What’s your name?” She stays silent, wide eyes staring. You continue, attempting to be friendly. “My name’s Y/n. It’s ok. I’m not gonna hurt you.” You keep your voice as soft as you can and shake your head lightly, “I’m not gonna hurt you.” You shift closer to her side, trying to keep her eyes on you instead of the barrel of Joel’s gun. 

Eventually, she swallows, and speaks, “Maggie.”

“Hi, Maggie.” You reply with a light smile, continuing slowly, “We saw that Infected in the other room. Looks like he got you, huh?”

She swallows again, then nods. “Yeah, I–I was alone,” her voice tremors, “and I didn’t see him, n’…” she trails off, swallowing hard again and blinking at you. 

“Yeah, we almost didn’t see him either. I’m sorry.” She stares back, a deer in the headlights. You take a breath before continuing, “I think… you know what has to happen now.” Maggie closes her eyes and pauses, then nods vigorously. “Look,” you start again, “I wanna give you an option. We can do it for you. You can close your eyes, it’ll be quick.” You raise your hand, holding your gun out in your open palm, and she looks down at it. “Or you can do it yourself.” You say quietly. “It’s up to you.” 

This wasn’t planned. You just couldn’t bear to see her go in the state she was in, is still in.

Maggie looks up at you, down at the gun, then back at you. “I… I wanna do it myself.”

“Ok.” You whisper.

Slowly, she takes the gun out of your hand, then raises it shakily to her temple, wide eyes glued on yours. She’s still shaking. She pauses. 

“It’s ok.” You assure her, slowly nodding, then slip your hand into hers. Maggie nods vigorously again, trembling, and you squeeze her hand. She squeezes it back, then the trigger, bang, and slumps against the wall and then to the ground, her hand slipping out of yours, the gun thudding with her. 

You look down at her, swallow, and pick up your gun. 

“Can we go now?” You say to Joel. He looks shocked, though trying to hide it, then nods. 

“Let’s go.”

He walks quickly back outside, and you struggle to keep up. He’s obviously pissed, but there’s a strange look mixed within it. He continues quickly past the building, then suddenly stops, turning to you. 

“What the fuck was that.”

“I don’t know, I just, she just, she looked so scared, and you—you asked her for a reason not to shoot her, but she couldn’t speak, so I just wanted to give her a chance—”

“That was stupid.” Joel glares. “Walkin’ up to someone who’s infected, someone with a gun—”

“She dropped the gun, and the bite was fresh.”

“You don’t know what she was gonna do.”

You cut him off, defensive, “She was scared stiff. She couldn’t have done anything if she wanted to.”

“Why the fuck did you give her your gun? She could’ve shot us both.” He shoots back fiercely. 

“She wasn’t going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I was looking in her eyes. She knew she had to die. There was no reason for her to shoot us.”

“You don’t fuckin’ know that! Even if she didn’t, havin’ no reason hasn’t stopped people before.”

“You had a fucking gun pointed at her. If she had even flinched, you would have shot her.”

Joel looks at you, then down, shaking his head. “That was fuckin’ stupid.” He takes a breath, then looks back down the road, and starts walking back along it. Following beside him, you glance at his face. On it you see a mix of anger, confusion, but maybe a hint of recognition, of understanding as he mulls it over. Then, that strange look from earlier, something else you can’t place. 

After a while, he stops suddenly, turning to you, “Why’d you give her an option?”

You pause, then shrug, voice shy, “Well, she had to die, and she knew that… but… I don’t know…”

“‘You don’t know?’ That’s the answer you’re going with?” He responds, irritated. 

You take a breath. “Because there’s not much choice left to be had anymore, with anything. She’d gotten this far, which mean she’s had to do the same kind of shit we have, and she was just so fucking scared, and I just wanted her to have some kind of say in how she went. I wanted her to be able to go with some kind of dignity.”

“Was it that, or did you just not wanna get your hands dirty?”

“I’ve shot people. I can do that.”

“That’s not what I was askin’. I’m askin’, were you doin’ it for her, or were you doing it for you?”

“For her.”

“So, you could have shot her, but you chose not to.”

“Yes.”

He pauses, then says, “If I told you to shoot her, would you have?”

“Yes.”

Joel pauses again. “If I told you to, you would have done it, no hesitation, no mercy, no nothin’?”

“Yes.” 

“No hesitation, no mercy, no nothin’.” He repeats. 

“Yes.”

“Just cause I said so.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I trust you.”

There’s a long moment of silence, the both of you just looking at each other, before he asks, “If I told you to shoot me, would you?”

“…Why would I shoot you?”

“Just answer the question.”

After a moment, you reply, “Yes.”

There’s a longer moment of silence before Joel says, “Get on your knees.”

“…What?” You ask quietly. 

“Do as I say. Kneel.”

You pause, then do. “Are you going to shoot me?” You ask, voice still small. 

“Close your eyes.”

“Are you going to shoot me?”

“Close your eyes.”

After another moment, you do. You’re blind now. It’s quiet. The wind gently brushes over your face. I trust him. I trust him. I trust him. You repeat the mantra in your head as the seconds tick by. 

“Open your eyes.” Joel’s voice is much closer now, and when you open your eyes, he’s squatting in front of you, face less than a foot from yours. 

Your breath hitches. 

Silence. 

Joel’s eyes bore into yours, searching, you don’t know what for, but searching. You feel naked. Exposed. Still blind, though your eyes are open. You’re lost, no idea what to do, or what Joel will do next. I trust him. 

“…What is it?” You ask eventually, voice coming out quieter than you intended. 

He stares into your eyes for a long while, and then his lips move, but he stops. Eventually, he says, voice quiet but strained, “I want something from you.”

“What?” You nearly whisper. 

He pauses for another long while, then, quiet, desperation in his answer, “Everything.”

“It’s yours.” You whisper back almost immediately. Your mind swirls, velvet ropes twisting around each other, your gaze frozen on Joel, so close to you. “You can take it. Anything. I’m yours.” You answer like you’ve been waiting forever for him to ask, and only now do you realize that you have been. 

Joel lips part and he lets out a soft breath, and then he moves his face closer, lips merely inches away, and while your eyes are trained on his, you feel his knuckle brush gently over your cheek. 

Then, he kisses you. You breathe in as soon as his lips meet yours, your mind bursting and melting as they slip between yours, tasting him, sweet and heady. Quickly, he deepens the kiss, passion pressing into your mouth, and then pulls you forward, tugging his arms like a hook around you to pull you into his lap. You straddle him, his strong hands immediately going to grip your sides, and you comb your hands through his hair. Joel lets out a soft moan, the sound shooting a jolt of electricity through your body, and you press yourself closer. When he slides his tongue between your teeth, you open yourself for him, hands sliding around his face, through his hair, just, all over, messy, eager, starving to finally touch him. He lets out another soft moan, your lips parting with it before he brings your them back in, kissing you slow but passionate. 

As you push and pull your hands around his head, Joel’s neck relaxes, letting himself lean and fall with your touch, his hands traveling over your sides, your back, your hips. You feel him relaxing under you, letting out more breathy moans; he’s being submissive, you can feel it, his defense falling. Big bad Joel is putty in your hands. 

You keep moving over him like this, then start planting kisses over his cheek and jaw before you move your lips to his neck. Wet and sloppy, your tongue travels over his neck, relishing in his flavor–pungent, earthy, salty with caked sweat, but it doesn’t make it any less palatable. It’s him. With your chin pressing over his collarbone and chest as you advance around his neck, his beard scratches your temple, breath warm in your ear. You lower your hands to ball his jacket in your fists over his shoulders, keeping him there. 

Joel’s hands tighten around your sides and he breathes out, “Shit.” More whispers of moans come out of him, his hands back to sliding all over your torso, and he breathes out, “God,” before his grip hardens, rubbing cupped hands up and down your sides, and then he moves his chin down to nudge your face away, grabbing your lip with his teeth and pulling you back in to kiss you, rougher, hungrier, immediately pushing his tongue past your teeth. One of his hands reaches up to clutch your chin, squeezing your cheeks to hold you in place. He slides the grip around to the back of your neck and bends it to get at your neck. 

He kisses, then starts to bite, as if he’s claiming you, and you melt at the idea, your mouth falling open. To be his. He bites harder, sure to leave a dark make. There’s no one to see it, but if there were, they would all know. You’re his. Joel uses his nose to slide your shirt away so that his mouth can reach your shoulder, biting again before he brings his tongue to lick a flat line along your collarbone. You moan, your entire body buzzing. He kisses hungrily, his tongue on that sensitive spot along your neck, just above your collarbone and next to your throat. He nips it, then moves back to the side of your neck, almost opening and closing the entirety of his mouth around your skin, sinking his teeth in like an animal. 

You feel his hands start to slide under your shirt, running up and down your back, his mouth still pinching your neck, enough for it to hurt, but you don’t stop him. You don’t want him to. You want him to do as he wants. Mark you. Own you. 

His thumb lays along your jaw as he holds you open for him, and then he slides it up, his palm over your ear with his fingers around the back of your head to pull his lips back into yours. Eager, frenzied, fervent. Joel’s hand slides from your side to your thigh, squeezing it while the other falls to the collar of your shirt, tugging, and you’re pulled further into his mouth, hands gripping his shoulders, just for support, just to hold on. 

His grip moves to your ass, squeezing, while his hand continues to tug at your shirt, the fabric digging into the back of your neck as you hear the sound of fabric ripping, and you let out a quick moan, your mouth opening with it as your neck is tugged down. Slowly, dramatically, he licks back into it, his tongue hooking around the back of your top teeth to keep your mouth on his as he continues to rip the fabric of your shirt, finally tearing it fully in half. As soon as he does, he pushes forward, leaning you down so that his mouth can travel past your chin to drag it wetly down over your sternum. He kisses down the center of your chest while his hand caresses your breasts, the other still simply clutching your ass. 

With every part of you squirming, you grip his jacket in balled fists. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been touched; and like this, never like this, by someone like Joel, no kind of animal like him. Tilting your head to the sky, you moan, eyes closed, brow drawn up, shivering both from his touch and the breeze over your bare chest. 

Joel drags himself back up, sliding his hand back up to your neck to slowly pull your faces back together. He looks at you under lids half closed, his teeth almost barred. He bites your lower lip, then his teeth come back down over your neck, biting it unrestrained, mouth open, teeth on either side, as if he was trying to take a piece out of you, and then both hands go down to start to grind your hips over his. A cold fire runs over your skin, engrossed completely in him, mind spinning, him all around you, every part of his body against yours. 

Joel moans into your skin, and you relax your body, letting your arms fall lax around his shoulders, allowing him to move you as he pleases. Let him do what he wants with you. Let him have you. Feeling it, Jole moans again, deep and low as he sucks a breath in through his nose, inhaling you. His fingers curl around your jeans at your hips, tugging them, almost unthinkingly, just tugging. In response, you lean your head down to push him away so that you can look down to start unbuttoning your jeans for him. When you look up, you meet his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes makes your breath hitch, and in the most erotic way possible, you feel like you’re being boiled alive. He’s looking at you like prey, like he wants to rip you apart, full of lust, of need, and he nearly growls as he leans his lips back onto yours, and you wrap your arms back around his shoulders. 

With your jeans undone, Joel slides a hand down, and his fingerw press into you already soaking through your underwear. Instantly, his touch instantly pulls a loud moan from you, breathless. He moans right back, deep and low as he sucks on your bottom lip, then opens his mouth again over yours to kiss you harshly, his hand smoothing up and down between your thighs. Your fists bunch the fabric over his shoulder again, moans cascading from your open mouth, and Joel leans back to watch you. 

You open your eyes to him and moan just at the sight, his mouth open and dribbling both of your spit, his cheeks flushed, still looking at you under half lidded eyes, looking like a wild animal as he feels over your wetness, and your body rolls into his touch. He slides his hand up from between your legs in a line up to caress your chest again, your own cum trailing over your skin. His other hand keeps hold over your hip, grinding you down over his hips again. Right from under your core you can feel his hardness, and you release a shaky breath, a deep craving boiling up in your chest. Joel’s eyes flutter closed for a moment as the contact rolls from between you, his mouth falling open wider as a moan falls through a deep breath. 

His hand falls fast from your chest down to the band of your underwear, tugging it as he his mouth goes back to your neck, now doing nothing more than sliding his tongue along it, then bites down again as he begins to rip apart the next piece of clothing. He brings his mouth back up, both hands gripping your hips now to pull you down and grind, his bulge firmer now, making deep contact right against your opening through your jeans. With both of your mouths open, your lips brush and bump, breathing moans into each other’s mouths as he moves you over him faster, almost bucking into you as he holds you down, rolling your hips back and forth. 

With a deep growl, he grabs the fabric of your underwear, ripping it down until it pulls away, exposing your pussy for him to slip his hand back onto, sliding all of his fingers up and down as he continues to grind, each pull gliding his fingers farther in. Your moans louden helplessly, your heart pounding. Joel’s forehead rests on your chin, mumbling things you can’t make out. The hand from your hips reaches for your hair, bunching it in a fist to find your mouth again. He breathes hotly into it, mumbling unintelligibly before he slides his tongue back in. You’re almost throwing your hips over him, both his hardness and his hand making sweet contact with your pussy as your tongues find a rhythm in each other's mouths. 

Your hands fall to fumble with his belt, undoing his jeans with haste, and Joel’s breath quickens, going back to clutching your hips before you’re even done, moving desperately against you. He lifts you up and you get the message, moving swiftly with him to remove your boots and jeans, the remnants of your underwear flapping against your leg at the one spot that they’re still attached over your thigh. As you climb back onto his lap, you slide your hands eagerly over his chest, hooking your thumbs around his shirt to lift it up. Joel lets out a breathy, loud moan as you do, then hurriedly pulls it over his head to toss on the ground before he pulls your hips back towards him, placing you down on his dick. 

A loud moan skids from your throat as he enters you, and he takes no time to start pumping himself into you, loud as he tugs and rolls and pulls. Your hands slide over his back and into his hair, combing and clutching as you’re lifted up and down over him. His firm cock fills you repeatedly, his body warm and powerful around you. 

Joel has his mouth back on your neck, kissing and licking and biting, your skin sore, the stumble on his cheek scraping against your throat. He becomes rougher, controlling your hips with his hands gripped so hard it hurts, but you relax your body again, rolling with his movements, allowing him to take you as he wants. Joel leans back and your head falls to look down at him, and he still has that hungry look on his face, wet and flushed, breathily heavily and leaking low moans. Your own voice becomes louder as you take in his expression, and he lifts his hand to clamp around your mouth. He looks back down, his head against your chest as he watches you coming up and down over his thick cock. He lets out a long moan before wrapping his arm around your waist, pushing himself father into you, keeping his hand on your face with your head leaned over his shoulder. He picks up his pace, mouth on your neck again, the sensitive skin abused at this point, but pain has never felt so good, and you let your moans loose into his palm. 

The pleasure builds as he thrusts himself deep inside you, faster, and you whine into his hand. Joel lets his mouth come off your neck, leaning his head into the crook of your neck, letting out loud, breathy moans. His arm comes back around from your waist to close around your hip again, bringing you down harder at him, widening his thighs to go deeper, hitting your limit repeatedly, and you nearly cry out.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel breathes out, “you feel so good.” His voice jumps with the beat of his body as he repeats, “Feels so good.” 

He lets go of your face to bring it back to his, kissing wet and rough, sucking and licking, your teeth clicking together. 

“Feels so fuckin’ good,” he says again, though it comes out almost like a whine, muffled in your lips. He starts moaning more, going harder, faster, and it starts to hurt your hips, but he keeps a relentless pace, griping so hard you know your waist will be covered in bruises—another mark from him, he’s claiming you, your his, and you know it, and so does he. 

“Shit,” he breathes out, wrapping his arm around your back and his hand back over your mouth to hold you close as you cry out moans. 

The pleasure is almost too much at this point, but he’s fucking you, finally, so you take it, and his moans grow louder, sounding almost pained, like he’s trying to hold back though he’s already fucking you in such a desperate manner. As he hits your limit, sweetness slicks its way from between your legs through your body and up into your mouth like he’s plunging sugar up through you, and you clamp your legs around him, knees on his sides, twisting your ankles around his waists as your toes curl and your eyes screw shut. You cum around his dick, thigh shuddering around him. 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Joel breathes out, as if you had a choice. You're almost screaming moans into his hand when he doesn’t let up, fucking you relentlessly through your orgasm, but he still doesn’t stop, only going harder. As he keeps going, you feel tears start to ball up in the corners of your eyes, falling down your cheeks to meet your spit already wetting his palm. You grip the hair on the back of his head, body wrapped around him, holding on for dear life. Joel let’s go of your mouth, wrapping it around the back of his neck to tug your face down into the crook of his neck. 

“Bite down,” he tells you, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, pushing you further and further, and you obey, closing your mouth around his trap. Joel moans loud, a deep breath puffing out his chest against your body, and he squeezes your ass hard, tugging your onto him while he bucks up into you. His fingers in your hip nearly reach the bone, fucking you animalistically, like he himself can’t stop, is unable to stop fucking you. His breaths are ragged, and he makes another sound like a moan and a whimper, once again sounding pained, and he moves his head up to press against your neck, mumbling things you can’t understand into your wet, bruised skin. 

He pauses, slowing, almost stopping for a moment, but not even long enough to catch any sort of breath before starting back up again, rougher, urgent, hammering into you, moaning loudly. He bunches your hair into a fist with his hand still pulling and tugging you over him. His movements become frantic, aggressive, needy, and he pants into your neck. 

“More,” Joel breathes against your skin, sounding more like an escaped thought, and then he jolts into you, starting to simply press your hips down on his cock. More, he wants more, and you don’t know how much more you can take, but you’ll give it to him. His moans come out like whimpers, pained, but he wants more, more, more. 

That deep euphoria starts to build inside of you, and you know you’re about to cum again. You release your teeth from his shoulder, almost pressing your lips to his ear as you grip his hair, forearms tight against his back, holding tight, and you tell him, “I’m so close,”

At the sound of your voice, his movements and breaths start to slow a little, seeming to put effort into speaking, “I know,” then slowly, carefully, pressing deep inside of you, he says, “so, so close.”

You whimper loudly, and he takes it as a sign to start fucking you faster, like he’s starving for it, like he needs it more than anything. That feeling grows inside of you, an incredible pressure that feels like it can’t twist any tighter, and you moan gutturally, almost completely overwhelmed. He’s all over you, all around you, his spit, his breath, his hands, his dick deep inside of you, all you can smell is him, all you can taste is him, all you can feel is him. He makes a groaning, moaning growl, somehow fucking you faster, and he holding tightly onto your torso as your body jolts against him. 

He slows then, letting out another growling, groaning sound, and his grip loosens slightly, only for his fingers to dig back into your skin. He reaches up to pull your head back by your hair, looking at you with almost glazed eyes. They move down from your eyes to your lips, and he pulls you into another kiss, his tongue pressed into your mouth as he moves slowly inside of you. 

Just when you thought he had finished, he starts moving faster again, but more deliberate. Purposeful. Did he cum, but what’s more? He kisses you deeply, holding you as close as he can, arm pulled around your waist with his hand pressed firmly against your back. He keeps himself attached to you as if he can’t pull himself away, like he’s physically unable to let you go. 

He moves faster again, movements becoming more frantic, almost primal, keeping his mouth on yours. He pulls back to let his forehead press against yours as he fucks urgently, then starts mumbling incoherently again, like he’s unable to speak properly anymore. Joel pushes you farther, farther, his movements aggressive, clutching at you like he only wants to take more of you, like taking you is the only thing that matters, the only thing that exists, the only thing he can physically do. He starts moaning again, breathy but loud and jolting from his throat, breath hot into your open mouth as he fucks faster, leaving bruises in a pattern of his fingertips. He stops his mumbling to reattach his mouth to neck, simply holding his mouth around your skin, teeth digging to the beat of his hips, claiming you, and you feel yourself close to cumming for the third time. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whimper, and he takes his mouth back to yours, kissing you again, sucking your lips. 

Then, in a low, quiet voice, he says, “I’m… greedy… I need… more…” 

“Everything, take everything,” you reply, out of breath, and his throat starts back up with moans, leaning his forehead against your cheek. You bring your hands over the sides of his neck, pulling his head back to look at him, but his eyes are screwed shut, his teeth bared slightly, like he’s in pain, but then he opens his eyes to meet your gaze and he looks so incredibly desperate. As he watches you, he adjusts his hands on your hips, moving harder, pumping into you relentlessly. He looks to have forgotten everything other than you, held onto him, like he’s lost himself completely in you. Need. Need. Need. Your body almost hurts, that place for pleasure almost abused by now, and yet, you feel yourself drawing closer to another climax, and you cry moans, still focused on his face. His movements are frantic, taking more, moving as fast as he can with wild intent. He closes his eyes, lips searching for yours again, and you give them to him, your tongues instantly meeting. His hands slide around your torso, nails scratching down your sides, shifting the, around your ass, your back, your hips, your stomach, up your front, clutching your breast, moaning and touching and kissing as if he knows nothing more than this. Like he was made for it. 

He pushes you father, taking you deeper, filling you to the brim, and you feel yourself so close, the pleasure more raw, so you pull your lips away to tell him again, whining, “Joel, I’m so close, I’m so close,” 

He keeps his eyes closed, then barely gets out, “Just a lil’ more, baby, just a lil’ more, please, please,” and you couldn’t refuse if you wanted to. And then you feel it, that wave of euphoria flowing back through your body, taking that route from your pussy through your thighs, up your chest and shooting into your head, and it’s completely overwhelming this time, and you hear yourself crying out jagged, long moans, eyes squeezed shut and leaking tears. You feel nothing else, only him, all you know is him and this feeling and his arms sliding and clutching and pumping into you as you bounce on his cock. You feel like you’re going to burn, like you’re not even human anymore, but he doesn’t stop, only going faster as your entire body trembles around him. You hold onto him helplessly as he fucks you violently. 

For a split second, it seems as if he’s stopped moving and it makes some sort of sound come out of you, right in the middle of rapturous orgasm, but then he changes how he takes you, not just pushing into you now, but painfully gripping onto your hips to pull you down over him. You try to relax your body again for him, letting him move you, slower, pulling and tugging you down over his cock over and over and over again as you cum.

“Oh, god,” he says, breathing heavily. His moans sound nearly anguished, as if he’s still somehow holding something back, like he’s trying to keep this going as long as possible. 

All he wants is more. You can tell. Nothing else. Only more. He starts to quicken his pace again, bouncing you in his lap, aggressive again, fingers digging into you. You feel like you can barely take anymore, but you want to, and you can tell that he’s going to keep going until his mind or body breaks, taking you until he can’t anymore. And you’re his, all his, for him. He moves like he can’t control himself anymore, purely wanting more, more, more. 

Joel presses you down hard over him, fitting every centimeter of himself inside of you as starts thrusting to that limit again and again and again. He kisses you like he wants to consume you, like he needs you to be completely his, and if you had room to talk, you would tell him, I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours. 

His fingers crab and claw at you, and you feel things you’ve never felt before, that you couldn’t even describe, and it feels so otherworldly good. He kisses you frantically, like he can’t get enough, moving like he can’t possibly go as intensely as he wants. His tongue probes, digs, licks. There’s no stopping now, it doesn’t even feel like an option. Your body is a mess, mush in your stomach with some other substance filling the rest of you, something created by him and, naturally, for him. You feel yourself about to cum on him again, surprised that your body can still function like this, you’ve never been able to go this long, but he makes you, Joel takes you there. 

He mumbles more against you lips, and you can barely understand it, but you hear him say, “God, oh, god, so good, so good, please, I need it, I need you,” and his words alone are enough to push you over the edge again, and you tremble, almost vibrating around him, legs still locked around his back, and he moans loud and quick as you cum on his throbbing, bucking cock. 

He grips your body like he wants you to implode you around him, and you just might if he doesn’t stop. Your orgasm is longer than any one before, and the long moans you let out are almost gargled in your throat as every muscle in your body shudders around him. He’s almost like a god, creating this feeling that you didn’t know existed. With your head tilted up, Joel kisses and licks your throat, breathing raggedly, sounds never ceasing to come out of him—simply sounds, almost words but not quite, and he wraps his arms around you, keeping you held tightly onto him as you squeeze helplessly around his cock. 

If you could speak, despite how close you are to your absolute limit for everything, you would beg, for more, anything, everything, for him to get what he needs, all you want for him is to get what he needs from you. You gasp as the complete euphoria blossoms and pours over you, almost an unbelievable wave of pressure and pleasure, and you think, this is like heroin on steroids, a kind of euphoria that prods repeatedly through your pussy into every part of your body. And from the way he’s going, you know this must feel just as good for him as it does you. As the feeling encompasses you, you’re like a rag doll in his arms, though your hands grab and claw at his back, your fingertips feeling like they’re vibrating as they press into his skin, then climbing through his hair to bunch and clench in your fists. With your chin hooked around his shoulder, Joel continues to pour mumbles into your neck. You’re not human beings anymore, just piles of pleasure attached onto each other. You have no control, and neither does he, fucking you like an animalistic machine, violently, his arms fumbling to wrap you tighter, going deeper, faster, harder, and you’re both crying out at this point. How much more does he have, how much longer could he possibly keep going? For god's sake, he’s in his late 50’s. 

You grasp onto him, crying and clawing and squeezing and gripping. “Oh, god,” he groans out against you, bucking frantic and chaotic, and this must be it, he must be at the top of that cliff, about to crash down from this record breaking climax. He cries out one final, long, guttural moan, falling into whimpers as he thrust as deep as humanly possible inside of you, becoming slow jerks as he finally pumps the rest of his cum inside of you. 

Eventually, it slopes into just twitching and shaking, him pinned deep inside of you. Joel’s body starts to relax, releasing his grip that leaves behind throbbing prints. You lean back on him, muscles exhausted, and look over his face. You begin sliding your hands around it, feeling over his cheeks, brushing your fingers over his wet and puffy open mouth, your thumbs over his eyebrows before pushing your fingers through his hair. His shoulders heave with deep breaths, looking back at you through half lidded eyes, dazed. Now suddenly gentle, his hands slide up your thighs and over your sides, gliding up your ribs before falling back down to rest over your legs. 

Joel lets his head fall forward, resting in the crook of your neck, breathing hard, and you brush your hands through his hair as you both catch your breath. 

You are an absolute mess, and so is he, both coming back down to planet earth in each other's arms. Eventually, both of your breathing starts to slow, coming into an even rhythm. Lazily, he slides his hands back up and down your sides, and you keep your hands in his hair, petting him like a dog. You keep your eyes closed, being in nothing other than this moment, nothing other than in each other's arms. One of your arms slings over his shoulder, brushing your other hand over the side of his head. 

Joel raises his head slightly to rest his chin on your shoulder, his nose leaned into your neck, and he lets out a deep sigh. You sigh after him, then start planting kisses over the top of his head. When you pull his head back to look at him again, he looks like he could fall asleep right here in your arms, but, with your eyes open again and now actually grounded back into reality, you start looking at your surroundings, and anxiety starts to bubble up as you realize that you are in the dirt on the side of the road, completely out in the open, and completely naked. 

“Joel, we need to get up,” you tell him, still scanning around. You cup his face in his hands, looking back down at him, but he seems to be mesmerized. “Joel, we need to get up.” You tell him again, then finally recognize realization in them. 

“Oh, shit,” he whispers as his eyes widen, and you pull away from each other, him removing himself from inside of you, and, having to use each other for support and balance, you pull each other up to your feet, wobbling. 

With his warm arms still wrapped around you, Joel sighs, looking over your face. You desperately wish you could just stay like this, standing here in the dirt, looking like Adam and Eve, but you say, “We need to get dressed.” As you look around at the ground, searching for your clothes, you realize that your shirt is now unwearable. “And I need your jacket,” you add, “I don’t have a shirt anymore.”

“Wha’d’you mean, you don’t have a shirt anymore?” Joel looks at you with his brow pinched tiredly. 

Your lips tug up shyly when you remind him, “You ripped it in half.” 

“Shit.” He says, his lips tugging up with yours, then looks down at the scattered clothes. “I did, did’n’ I? Sorry, I just got so caught up in you. Did’n’ really mean to.”

“It’s ok.” You reply quietly, smiling back up at him. 

“Shit,” Joel breathes out with a smirk as he totters over to pick his jacket off the ground, coming back to bring it around your shoulders. He holds you by your biceps in front of you, looking over your face with another slurred “Shit,” before pulling himself away as you both stumble around after your clothes. You shove your arms through the sleeves of his jacket before finding your boots and pants, realizing the other detail of your shredded underwear. 

“God damn it,” you chuckle to yourself as you pull your pants back on, then sitting to do up your boots. When you look up, Joel is leaned over his boots, pants on but not buttoned up. You grab his shirt off the ground before hobbling over to him, holding it out to him. As he straightens back up, he gives you another smirk as he takes it from his hands. You step a little closer, looking down to do up his pants for him. When you step away, he’s frozen, still holding the shirt in his hand. 

“Never had someone do that for me.” He says, smirk fallen from his face, and you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek with a smile. When you pull away, he chuckles, then pulls his shirt back on. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” He says as he pulls the hem around his waist. 

“By now, I think I have an idea.” You smile back at him, and he chuckles again before bringing you back against his chest, cupping your face to pull you into a kiss. “God, you are somethin’ else.” He says, lips teasing yours. 

“Says you,” you smirk, pulling away. 

He looks down at you, chuckles, then looks back down the road. “Alright, we really gotta get going. We’ll find some clothes somewhere along the road.” He leans down to pick his pack up and sling it around his shoulders. “We already got a guardian angel lookin’ over us the way we were screaming out here. Jeez, we really did get carried away.” He turns to walk back down the road, looking at you over his shoulder with his hand offered out. 

“I’ll say,” you reply as you grab your back and trot up to stride next to him, slipping your hand into his with a smile. 

Swinging your hands at your sides, he smiles and chuckles. “Jesus, I really wasn’t expecting that from myself.” He lets go of your hand to instead link your arm over his. He hums a deep sigh, then says, “You make me feel dangerous, dangerous things.” You look up at him, twisting a smile around your face. He glances down at you, smirks and chuckles, then tugs you into his side as you walk. “You wanna know somethin’?”

“Yeah, what?”

“The first time I saw you, I knew you were special.” He chuckles lightly, “I was like, ‘Jesus, she’s pretty.’” He chuckles again, “‘I could fall for her if I’m not careful.’”

“Well I’m glad you weren’t.” You smile. “You wanna know something?”

“I do… what?” He asks, looking back down at you. 

“I’ve been wanting you to do me like that since the day we met.”

He pauses, looking at you, “No kidding?”

“No kidding.” You say, grinning, fluttering your eyelashes, hardly able to believe what’s in front of you now, that Joel feels the same way, that he wants you just as bad as you want him. “Jesus, I haven’t smiled this much in a long time. My face hurts.”

“That not just from smilin’.” Joel smirks down at you, and you feel your face going hot. Suddenly, he spins you around to hold you in front of him and leans into another kiss, then moves his head down further, biting your neck lightly. It’s painful, and you shiver, but smile. “Look at’chou, all marked up my me.” He whispers against your neck, and your eyes fall closed, another hot shiver running through you. “You’re mine.” He teases his lips along your skin, “Always gonna be a little bit mine.” He rubs his lips over your neck lightly before whispering again, “I want you. So I’m gonna mark you up,” you feel him smile against your neck, “make sure everybody knows. This cute lil thing over here? Nobody touch. She’s all mine.” Heart fluttering, you chuckle lightly,. “N’ I’m all yours.” He breathes out over your neck, heating up your entire chest, then plants a simple kiss. “And you know what? I don’t want just a little bit of you.” He bites lightly again, “I want all a you.” 

“I told you,” you breathe out, only able to get words out like that, “everything. You can have everything. I’m yours. All of me.” 

Joel nearly growls, whispering more against your neck, his hands sliding up your waist, “You have no idea how bad I wanna take you again, right here.”

You smile but shy away, grabbing his hand to pull to keep walking. Part of you wants him to, despite how ruined your body already feels; you’re obsessed with him at this point, but you try to keep yourself reeled. “Not here.” You tell him, “We gotta keep going. Find somewhere before it gets dark. Besides,” you bump your side against him, “I’d be shocked if you could get anything else out of you now.” Joel chuckles and you squeeze his hand, changing the subject, “I hope we find a town somewhere up ahead.”

Suddenly, you hear dogs barking, a lot of them, and Joel tugs you into the tree line. He pulls you to face him, his face now entirely serious. He raises a finger to his lips, “Shh.” Dripping with anxiety, entirely caught off guard, your eyes are wide as you look at him. You nod. You have no idea what these dogs mean, but it’s a threat, and your hand instinctively goes to your gun on your hip. He sees your hand move, then shakes his head no. 

“Don’t move. Be silent. And follow my lead. Ok?” He whispers sternly. 

You nod, brow pinched with anxiety, but you’ll do anything he says.

[concretevampire]

Early Morning Breeze

arthur morgan x f!reader ꔫ 9.7k ꔫ emotionally fueled smut, icky gooey lovey-dovey stuff for thou // based off of the Dolly Parton song // religious themes

A/N: this is my first rdr2 fic & my first post on tumblr & english is not my first language so critique is highly encouraged

You sniffle, forearm coming up to wipe away stinging tears clinging to lashes. 

A rough exhale escapes your lips, and you can feel the sweeping glance Abigail sends you. Sniffling again, you press the heel of your palm to an eye, the other shut just as tight. 

“Guess a couple’a vegetables is all it takes to get you cryin’,” she jokes, cleaver slicing off the head of a trout; her apron stanches the briny blood, scales scattered across her forearms like small slivers of moonlight. 

“Onions,” is all you can muster as you finally allow yourself to turn away from the cutting board. You turn your face upward, cracking reddened eyes open to peer at the sky. 

Big clouds– white, ozonated mountains beyond imaginable reach– float by lazily. 

Another sniffle escapes you, but the dam of your eyes has been rebuilt, and the tears secede. Your sinuses still burn though, sending a horrible ache to the back of your throat. 

Swallowing, you return to chopping onions. 

Other than Abigail’s humming and the incessant clucking of hens in the distance (Grimshaw and chickens alike), the camp is quiet. 

Shady Belle is certainly an improvement to dirt-ridden tent floors and crickets in your pillow, but it’s rather gloomy at times. You’re sure that it’s simply the haze of Bayou Nwa and the spectral creeping of ivy along chipping, gray paint. But it would be foolish, and most of all, naive, to ignore the simmering discomfort lingering under everyone’s skin. 

Kieran’s death. Jack’s kidnapping. Dutch’s… nerves, if you were to give it a name. 

Arthur feels it, and so do Abigail and Hosea, but all four of you are unwilling to mention his waning psyche for fear that it’ll only darken the already half-lit moon of his mind. It isn’t worth it. 

And frankly, Arthur’s loyalty to Dutch is suicidal. 

He will hem and haw, but in the end, orders are followed with abandon. Loyal to a fault, you tell him. It’s all I know, he says back, gently smiling as if an inside joke has been said. This ol’ dog can’t learn new tricks, and he’ll chuckle wryly at the quip, head shaking like the sins of the world have been settled and folded into the intestines of his mind. 

You can only let him wallow for so long when he gets like that. 

Though you’ve learned (after too many years as friends and a few more years as something quaintly more) how to put an end to it: a routine. Artfully mastered, a precariously balanced act that includes a succinct scold paired with a slap to his shoulder before pressing a soothing kiss to his cheek as he grovels over his journal like an overgrown child. 

But another layer to the quiet and unease around camp is unarguably Micah's presence. Filthy, bastard leech of a man. Suckling away at Dutch’s good faith. 

The fifth horseman of the apocalypse: treachery.

The way he saunters about is simply nauseating— skinny fingers pricking and prying into people’s souls. And he’s always been particularly taken with you. Disappointingly. 

Micah finds sheer amusement in laying out your arteries on cork board, needles stabbing; displaying your heart like a prize butterfly, blood glittering like topaz stained glass. 

It was simply infatuation at first, back all those months ago. 

A game he had played with many women before and one you brushed aside easily. And then he discovered that you and Arthur were something— and Micah became a true savage, fueled by both contempt and his peculiar fascination with having taken women. 

Even now as he makes his rounds with the gang, purposefully adding to the gloom, his eyes linger on your figure. 

Micah veers closer, and you take a step towards Abigail. Her shoulders straighten, so do yours– a useless attempt to create some sort of fortress. He’s approaching in your peripheral and Abigail slams her cleaver down onto another trout, a singular clawed scale landing on your blouse. 

You’ve moved from onions onto potatoes, your knife cutting away skin in precise shallow strokes.

When he’s close, Micah says your name– a horrible rasp of letters strung together by cigar smoke and glowing ash– the depths of hell holed up in his esophagus. You ignore him. And in turn he grins wildly, as if presented with riches beyond King Midas’ imagination. Your jaw clenches, eyes set on the knife and the naked, golden flesh in your palm. 

“How’s Morgan’s broodmare?” 

Abigail side eyes him. Your next slice is thicker than the last, heavy handed, taking off more flesh than you’d like. A waste. 

“Or has he moved on after all these years? Got tired of the same fuck.” 

You set the nude potato aside, picking up a new one. You imagine it’s Micah’s prick: dirt ridden and calloused. You begin to skin it too, taking extra care to needle out any dark spots. 

“Been awhile since he’s been back in camp too. Makes you wonder.” 

“Oh piss off, Micah,” Abigail hisses, her cleaver resting threateningly against the dark wood of the table. A sharp, glaring warning. 

His smile widens. 

He shifts his stance, shoulders slackening as his thumbs hook on the flap of his pockets. “Hit too close to home? Remind you too much of Johnny and how he ran off?” 

“Micah,” you finally interrupt, picking up a new potato. “Shut up.” 

“So that’s how I get you to talk.” 

You stay silent, returning your attention to vegetables and other honeyed daydreams of skinning the Devil alive. 

“Ignoring me again.” His eyes linger, thinking of horrifically creative ways to dissect and tear you apart as you stand. “Wouldn’t you be worried though? He’s been gone for a week.” The statement is mocking and cruel. 

He wouldn’t know what concern was if it ate his face off, ravaged his eyeballs and devoured his tongue. 

Abigail glowers, this time pointing the cleaver at Micah. “Yer just jealous.” 

Micah sneers, the cylinder in his revolver shaking off a warning like a rattlesnake curling up to bite. “Jealous of what Miss Roberts?” 

“Jealous she ain’t with you.” 

Micah opens his mouth to retort something evil and violent, obvious in the way his pupils have contracted, gray eyes gone silver with wrath. You stab the knife into the cutting board, punctuating the air. 

Both of them have stilled, turning towards you. 

“Quit it.” You snarl. Abigail gives an apologetic look, but not before sending Micah another scowl. She’s back to chopping off fish heads. 

And Micah, damn him, always needing the last word spits out a, “Bet he got himself killed,” before he rushes away, seething and gnashing his teeth. 

It’s quiet again. 

You get through six more potatoes before speaking. “You didn’t have to do that.” It’s a gentle chide towards Abigail, one that makes her huff.

“I just hate how he talks to us. ‘Specially you. And I hate how you don’t do anything.” Her hands wring together harshly, not having any more trouts to dismember. 

“It’s best to ignore him. He gets off on it, the sick freak.” You keep your gaze fixed on your work. 

Abigail relents, fingers stilling momentarily. 

Her gaze rises, eyes trained on Jack’s small silhouette at the far edge of camp, playing in the weeds and brambles. He seems completely ignorant to such plights. What bliss. 

Abigail’s raised him well. 

“Ain’t ya worried though?” She says suddenly, spinning to look at you. You pause your ministrations, glancing into her perturbed blue eyes. “I mean,, well, Micah had a point, I guess.” She’s annoyed at the admittance, even if it is her own. “Arthur’s been gone for a while. It ain’t like him.” 

You sigh. “It is like him,” your teeth chew at the flesh of your cheek, “but you’re right. He wouldn’t leave for a week without saying something.” 

Abigail nods but her fingers have knotted and tangled once again. “Hunting trip?” 

“Yeah, but with how long he’s been gone you’d think he’s trying to take down an entire herd of angry caribou in heat.” 

She snorts. “He would try. Strong enough for it.” 

“Bullheaded, that’s what he is.” And you scowl, starting to dice the potatoes far too quickly; bound to cut yourself. Abigail sends you a sympathetic, knowing smile. 

“So you are worried.” 

“Whatd’ya mean?” 

“I mean you ain’t as calm and cool as yer pretendin’ to be.” 

You continue chopping away, somehow not having cut yourself. Years of practice you suppose. 

“Course I’m not. I’m always worried when it comes to him.” 

Abigail snorts. “Well, ya never act like it.” 

“Because if I act like it,” and you finish dicing off the last potato, ‘then that means something bad would actually be happening’, “then who would you have to talk to when you’re worrying?” And you give a knowing smirk.

She laughs, shaking her head, hands coming to a rest. You feel your own face brighten to a smile. 

That’s the way it is with her; with all the girls. Quilted conversations complaining about men and life and backaches all riddled with coy smiles. 

The breeze picks up then, and Jack comes tumbling along it, hands rusted with the red Lemoyne dirt and beaming at his mother like a little sun; too bright; seen without looking. 

His eyes barely peek over the table, but he’s determined, placing a bundle of messy daisies next to dismembered fish, yet to be fileted. 

“For you Mama,” he adds with his gift, hands clutching the edge of the table to watch her. And Abigail smiles tenderly, picking the flowers up. They drip, raw with dew and fish blood. She tries, ever so delicately, to wipe away the crimson stain on their petals. 

“Thank you kindly, Jack,” she says. And he gives a toothy grin and runs off— on the breeze once again. Abigail ponders the daisies for a moment before offering you one with a teasing smile. “M,lady,” she jests, giving a sloppy curtsy. A true country princess. You snort, but fawn delighted shock, pricking the flower from her nimble fingers. 

“Oh how romantic,” you add, putting a hand to your chest. Pocketing the daisy, Abigail does the same with hers, now fully smiling. 

And with a few giggled words you separate; the chores around camp  looming as Grimshaw’s eyes sharpen into blades, her tongue preparing to tear you both apart. 

You help Tilly with the laundry. 

Karen and you care for spare guns. 

Under the shade, you patch up holes in socks and shirts and handkerchiefs all while Mary-Beth tells you about her new book— a romance, of course— about an outlaw and upper class woman finding love. 

It makes you snort.

Amusement brewing in agitated, annoyed swirls in your chest as you’re reminded of Mary.  

You’re too smart to be reading those kinds of things, you tell her, needle pricking your finger as you push it into the cotton of Dutch’s union suit. She shrugs; tells you she likes it. 

You don’t blame her. You used to too. 

And the sun has begun to set, casting long shadows on long faces after a long day. And people begin returning. 

Javier and Bill from a home robbery. 

Lenny with a wagon of purchases from Saint Denis. 

John and Sadie each with a few rabbits in hand. 

But no Arthur. 

It’s a bit disheartening.  Like a sunshower with no rainbow. What’s the point of the rain then? 

You’ve grown anxious, your hands fussing the linen of your apron though there’s nothing to wipe away. And you don’t have the stomach to eat or the heart to make conversation— so as the gang begins settling in for the night you grab a basket, your revolver, and leave. 

Charle’s, keeping watch, eyes you like a ladybug in winter, but keeps quiet. 

You thank him with a glance. 

And you’re not stupid. You know it’s dangerous in Bayou Nwa— whether it be under God’s sun or the Devil’s moon— crawling with bipedal predators and freaks of nature beyond comprehensible understanding. Arthur has warned you. Don’t you go out, firm words with even firmer hands on your shoulders. Not without me.

But you go.

You need to, if only to catch your breath; to steel yourself away from prying eyes if he doesn’t show up for yet another week. 

And in the tall, marsh grass and bundles of cattails you’ve found something quiet and private; a place where you can crouch and pick away at plants with a frown you don’t have to hide. 

And your fingers are shaky and uncalculated as you rip apart the oleander and sage, like a newborn colt, teetering across grass. You shove the foliage into your basket as if it took Arthur away personally. As if they’ve laced their way into his veins, choking and drying him out. 

You’re upset, but you won’t cry, obviously. There’s no reason to, it’s hysterical and ridiculous, but you’re frustrated.

Because even if Arthur is painfully terrible at communicating, he at least has always told you how long he’d be gone for. 

It’s a luxury you’ve gotten used to. And out of all the silks, jewels, and luxurious baths the world offers, it is your favorite.

The promise of his return. 

“Yer mutterin’.” 

The voice would’ve made you jump if it weren’t for the far too familiar rumble of it. Too often has it soothed you and brought you to climax for it to scare anymore. 

You look at Arthur over your shoulder, glaring. “I do not mutter.” 

“Sure ya do,” he says, stepping over a log to reach you. 

His horse stands in the distance behind him, grazing and chuffing indignantly at the occasional alligator. Flighty things, horses are. Arthur’s is braver than most. 

You turn back around before said man reaches you, hands resuming to the ripping and the pulling and the tearing. 

“I told ya not to come out here without me,” he’s standing right behind you now. 

“I know,” you grunt. And it’s quiet— heavy under the screeching of crickets and cicadas— until Arthur sidles his shins up to your skirts and places his hands on your shoulders, leaning. 

“Yer mad.” 

“I am not mad.” 

“Sure ya are.” 

“I am not,” and you look up, seeing him gaze out into the bayou with a gentle smile. “I’m annoyed,” you correct. 

“Did Reverend chat ya up again?” And he chuckles, stepping aside to finally crouch beside you. 

His knee brushes against yours, a touch starved way of saying hello.  Under the golden sky, his blue eyes have filtered into grays and greens, seafoam and jade alike. 

He looks tired but that pleasant smile is still there; too happy with your presence to be bothered by such ridiculous notions as the human need for sleep. And as much as you’d love to sooth the eyebags away, you continue frowning. 

“You may be surprised to learn that Reverend was astonishingly quiet. For a week.” You add the last part roughly, hoping Arthur gets the message. 

For a second, you think he doesn’t. 

But then his hand raises, the pad of his thumb passing over the furrow of your brow. Achingly attempting to pacify you. To tell you he’s sorry. 

“What’d I do this time?” And his voice rumbles over the question, soft and sweet, a tone he takes only with you. You sigh, turning back to the plants. 

His hand retracts as you pick away at the leaves, but his eyes are heavy on your face, as if he trying to kiss you with just his gaze. 

You’re sure he wishes. 

“I just don’t like when you leave like that without telling me, or anybody really,” you say. And with Arthur, you always keep things succinct and out in the open because lord knows he won’t read between the lines. 

He’s not like you, where you can tell he’s in a bad mood just by the way he drinks his coffee in the morning. 

And Arthur takes a deep inhale, and then an exhale. “Yeah, I know.” 

You look up, raising a brow. 

“Sorry,” he coughs and you know it’s the most you’ll get out of him. It’s always that way with Arthur. Hands-on approach. Not much in the way with words. 

The only way he failed Hosea. 

“Abigail was worried too,” you add absentmindedly, finally letting yourself dawdle a bit now that he’s by your side again. 

Arthur scoffs. “She’s always worryin’ about somethin’. Jack, John, you, me.” 

You can’t argue with that, but you can’t blame Abigail either because you worry too. You just hide it better. 

And you look up, less angry this time. 

He left with a stubble and has returned with a beard. And though you’re sure his hair hasn’t grown much in a week, you notice the way the sandy blond locks brush against his shoulders— like golden willow on blue hills. 

Finally, you acquiesce. 

Your own hand raises, reaching out. And before you can even touch him, his fingers brush against the skin of your forearm. Ferns to sunshine.

You meet his cheek, wiping away at a smudge of dirt before tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear and hat. 

“Your hair’s gotten long.” 

Arthur looks amused, leaning into your palm not unlike the way a puppy does. 

“Want me to cut it?” 

You shrug. “That’s up to you. But at least take care of this.” And now both hands are on his cheeks, rubbing childishly over his beard. You beam at the way his nose crinkles. 

“Wha’ I thought you liked my beard?” 

“Not when it’s this long. You’d give me a rash every time you kiss me.” 

Arthur smiles, dropping his head to laugh quietly. 

And you stand, hand reaching to pick up your basket, but Arthur already has it in his grip, rising too. 

“Oleander. Sage.” He notes expertly. You hum. “Tryin’ to poison someone?” He asks. 

“You,” is your easy reply as you step away from him and to his horse. He follows in a pavlovian fashion, well trained. 

“That mad about me leavin’ huh?” Long strides quickly bring him to you, arm brushing against shoulder. 

“I wasn’t mad. I was annoyed,” you correct once again.

Arthur makes an entertained sound as he grabs for his horse’s reins. You finally notice all the carcasses strapped to the poor creature. A doe, a fine pelt, geese and rabbits hooked here and there. “Ya missed me?” He teases.

And before you can snort and tell him off, he leans down to kiss you. His hand cups the back of your neck gingerly; giving you all the ability to pull away if you’d like. 

But you don’t. You never would. 

Instead, your eyes slip closed as Arthur presses further. His lips are uncomfortably chapped, dried from the days on the road but so incessant in their need to feel you that you wouldn’t dare tell him to stop. 

Instead your hand rises to hold his wrist loosely, a move that’s always made him melt for one reason another. 

Then just as quickly, he pulls away, brushing his nose against yours. 

“I missed ya.” And he breathes in as you breathe out. 

“Me too,” You admit, though it’s not a secret. He knows. His favorite little luxury it is; the promise you’ll be there, awaiting his return. 

Hasn’t gone a day without it since meeting you. 

Admittedly, 1891 was a bad year to meet Arthur. Grieving, and angry; Eliza and Isaac freshly dead. 

But you were there, picked up by Dutch, almost like a feral animal. Rabid enough to shut down Arthur’s (correction: everyone’s) bullshit immediately, yet organically compassionate to soothe him through bad nights. Even when you barely knew each other. 

That was you. 

Strained it all was at first. Funny, what time can do to two people. 

Unraveling knots and kinks to smoothly twist two lives together. 

And you watch as Arthur starts walking, not bothering to clamber onto his mount— even if the exhaustion in his step is obvious, like meatpie in a patisserie. 

“You’re not gonna ride?” 

He pauses and shakes his head, turning to look back at you. 

“Personally? ‘M tryna get as much time alone before we have to be surrounded by fools and degenerates.” 

You snort, strolling over to his side. “So what kept you away for a week?” 

The back of his hand brushes against yours as you both begin walking. 

“Heard about a wolf in Cotorra Springs. Wanted to check it out and well,” he eyes the pelt. “ Didn’t think it’d take me that long to hunt her down, but she was sneaky.” 

He shrugs. “The rest of this I got on the way home, knowing how Pearson’ll be if I don’t come back with somethin’.” 

You nod knowing how the man can get. Feisty about food, placid about most everything else. Sometimes he reminds you of a bear going into hibernation, and you doodle it on scraps of paper— messy, untrained caricatures of the gang. 

They make Arthur laugh. 

“Me and Abigail joked about you hunting caribou in heat. Not to give you ideas.” 

Arthur flicks a brow. “I wouldn’t do that.” 

“You would if there was money in it.” 

“Is there?” 

“I’ll say no for my own sake.” 

Arthur laughs at that, and you grin, his joy infectious. A bad disease you’re willing to catch. 

“So what have you been up to then, if not grumblin’ and mumblin’?” Arthur asks, eyes sweeping your frame. 

“Cooking. Cleaning. Sewing.” You shrug. Arthur frowns a smidge. 

“You gotta get out more.” 

“I wanted to go out to Saint Denis but I got caught up with Grimshaw, I guess.” 

All he can do is press against you a bit closer. “I’ll go with you soon then.” 

An incredulous look is sent. “No you’re not.” 

And Arthur looks so genuinely offended you have to laugh. 

“What do you mean I’m not?” 

“You hate Saint Denis.” 

“I know but-“ 

You lean your cheek into his bicep. “Thank you, but you don’t have to torture yourself for me.” 

He pouts. “It ain’t torture.” 

“Mhm, sure.” 

Voices in the distance become louder, the echo of Molly’s gramophone and Uncle’s drunken singing coming to a crescendo— smashing and breaking the isolation in a gradual blunder. 

And you pull away, taking the basket from Arthur’s hand as you do. 

Charles greets as you approach, and you hand him the spoils of your anger-fueled gather with another silent thank you. He nods politely, in his own grateful way. 

And as Arthur hitches his horse— cooing with all the affection in the world— you leave him, going up into your shared room. 

You know he has to take care of a few things before you can really have him for yourself: 

Talk to Dutch. 

Contribute money and check the ledger.

Load the hunt’s catches into the kitchen. 

Help with any last minute chores. 

Say ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’ to Hosea, Jack and John; Abigail and Tilly; Sean if he’s in a good mood too. 

So you sit. Passively reading and waiting as you lean against the bed’s headboard. 

And half an hour later, Arthur pulls open the door and then shuts it tight. Like maybe if he held it closed for long enough, the walls would thicken then burst fantastically into a hot air balloon; sending you beyond reach of civilization. 

Under the yellowed light of the lantern, he seems entirely exhausted; the slope of his shoulders dooming, his usually straight back hunched. 

Ain’t no rest for the wicked, Arthur jokes at times. 

He sits down on the bed. For awhile he’s like that; just sitting and staring at the white canvas of the wall. And his eyes are flicking back and forth, like he’s sketching whatever he’s seen in the past week on the molding wallpaper. 

It’s strange when he gets like this. 

It’s not that he’s sad or upset, just caught up in his head. 

“You should get undressed,” you command gently, sliding off the bed as you undo the buttons of your blouse. 

Arthur watches. You pause. And then you deadpan. 

“Are you serious?”  But he says nothing, and neither do you, not as you come to stand between his knees. 

You take his hat off, shoving the worn leather jacket down his arms, and he rests his head against your collar bone, pressing impossibly close into the revealed skin there. 

Like maybe, just maybe, this time your atoms will combine and he won’t have to leave your side ever again. 

When you begin unbuttoning his shirt, his hands finesse to undo the clasps of your skirt and you have to momentarily brush him aside, slapping his hands like a toddler gone for the cookie jar. 

“Hey,” he protests, blue eyes pleading. But the way they blink slowly and idly tells you everything. 

“No. Sleep. We can do that tomorrow.” 

Arthur groans but listens; hands dropping, head knocking against your chest. “A week,” he grumbles. 

“And whose fault is that?” 

He’s quiet as you work, up until he catches a look at the thin silver chain around your neck. His finger notches on the ring that’s hooked to it. 

“I wish you would wear it,” he mumbles languidly. 

“I can say the same thing,” and you glance at the gold band he keeps tucked away on the rope of his hat. “Maybe if things get better.” 

“When,” he amends. “When they get better.” 

“Sure.” 

He glares, the lines of his face darkening. “Don’t be like that.“ 

“Arthur.” And you cup his face, kissing him quickly and quietly. “It’s late.” 

He stares up at you, an odd mix between enamored and frustrated. 

A huff then escapes his lips, and he unbuckles his belt as you finish with the last button of his shirt. Your hands toys with the hem momentarily as if gripping to the tendrils of his soul. 

But you let go, and turn away. 

Getting rid of your own clothes is quick work, but Arthur makes even quicker work of kicking his pants and boots away, collapsing onto the furs and blankets of the bed. And as insistent as he was, he’s out quicker than nightshade, his arousal forgotten. 

You’re sure he’ll remember it in his dreams. It’s happened before. 

And you dim the lantern, laying yourself next to him in your chemise. Even though his back is facing you, a half-hesitant hand runs through his hair. 

He’ll need a wash tomorrow. 

You’ll force him into it, chase him around with a bucket if you have to. But for now, you let him rest; let sleep capture him like a firefly cupped between two soft palms. Pleased, your cheek presses against his bare shoulder blade. 

Obviously, you wake before him. 

Already dressed before he can even become lucid enough to call for you, hand reaching out to grab your missing form. You bend down, press a hand to his forehead, and whisper for him to forget you in favor of his dreams. 

His soft snores ensue. You drift away. 

And today, like yesterday, is quiet. But it’s less gloomy, more of a peace that’s settled because, praise be, Micah is out for the morning. It is both surprising and delightful, and nobody takes it for granted. 

And you drift around the manor and camp, helping with the odd chore, saying hello, sipping at coffee. 

At some point you walk off, where the ground is more solid and less swamp to have a quick word with God in the early morning breeze. 

He doesn’t reply though you knew he wouldn’t. Still, you hope he heard. 

At your return, Grimshaw unloads a torrent of harsh words, quickly placing you on dishes duty. You accept it. 

Mean spirited, but kind hearted, that one. Always has been. You don’t have the will to complain though— not since Arthur’s come back. 

He pacifies you, Hosea has teased, a coy smile hidden by the brim of his hat. At first it was embarrassing, but soon you came to realize denying it is like looking for oranges in an apple orchard. Psychotic and pointless.

Abigail has said the same thing, John nodding along enthusiastically. 

It’s annoying and the truth, and you have no energy to argue. 

Arthur is still asleep by the time you’ve scrubbed both the cast iron and your skin raw. Unsurprisingly. You’ve seen him passed out for nineteen hours once. 

You wish you had that ability, especially with how hot and sticky the Lemoyne air is; boiled molasses in your lungs. You would sleep the entire afternoon just to avoid it all. 

But in the slowness of the day, and your boredom, you approach Dutch, reading as always. 

“Anything interesting?” You ask, readjusting the basket of laundry at your hip. It’s a conversation you have often— ever since you’ve joined the gang your time to read has dwindled— being much more preoccupied with needles and guns and terrible men instead.

He hums, flipping a page. “A collection of essays done by Ralph Waldo Emerson. I presume you know him?” 

You nod, stepping closer. “He wrote before the war. A Transcendentalist, wasn’t he?” 

“Yes,” and Dutch smiles. He’s always told you that you’re too smart for your own good. Smarter than he deserves— than the gang deserves. But you never indulge in his compliments (at least not too much).

And you’ve never really been sure if they’re true.

He’s kind, though that may not be the word. Merciful. Insightful. And perhaps that has fueled the compassionate part in him. 

But as of late it’s all been brought into question you suppose. His sanity. Whether or not he’s still the same old, reliable Dutch that he always has been. 

But you brush it aside for now, letting yourself pretend it’s all normal and everything is okay. A happy family. 

“Which essay are you reading?” And you lean against the doorframe, fixing your apron. 

“Man the Reformer. Do you know it?” 

“Only parts. I think. Care to read me some?” You tilt your head, tucking one ankle behind the other. 

Refined with him, always, even with his penchant for savagery. 

“For you, my dear? Anytime,” and his eyes scan the pages, flipping through to find a piece he likes. “Ah,” he says after a moment, knuckle tapping the paragraph. He clears his throat, then starts. 

“Hence it happens that the whole interest of history lies in the fortunes of the poor. Knowledge, Virtue, Power are the victories of man over his necessities, his march to the dominion of the world. Every man ought to have this opportunity to conquer the world for himself. Only such persons interest us, Spartans, Romans, Saracens, English, Americans, who have stood in the jaws of need, and have by their own wit and might extricated themselves, and made man victorious.” 

He turns away from the page, his face lilting towards yours. “Isn’t that lovely?” he asks you. “Just gorgeous, isn’t it?” 

And Dutch, like most men, has a strange idea of what gorgeous is. Finding it in bloodied knuckles and revenge. In essays about man and power. 

In hatred. In violence. 

You’re unsure why you suddenly remember this— but when you were young, still attending school, you had read that Moses was not allowed to enter the Promised Land. 

It had confused you. Hurt you even. 

And when you had asked one of the nuns: Why? What was the reason? Why couldn’t he? What was the point if his fate was to die? 

And you remember that nun, with reverent eyes and sad smile, told you: 

“For freedom to be reached, the memory of subjugation has to die.” 

And that is why Aaron, and Miriam had died as well. Zipporah too. 

You stare at Dutch. 

“Do you see yourself as Moses?” You ask. It’s a blurted question, not entirely thought through, and you’re embarrassed the moment the words leave your mouth. 

Dutch stares back, his own dark eyes swirling with momentary surprise before he laughs, hitting his knee. Shoulders slacking, your own breathy chuckles escape as you watch. 

“You’ve heard The Good Word?” he questions, almost shocked. 

“Read it.” 

“My, aren’t you full of surprises?” 

“Are you calling me a sinner, Dutch Van Der Linde?” 

He tilts his head, raising a brow. “Aren’t you?” It’s said as if it were common sense. 

“Maybe I’m not a saint, but I don’t think I’m a sinner.” 

Dutch hums, bouncing his knee. “You pray?” 

“When I’m dying,” you tell him, half joking. 

“And how often is that?” 

“More than I’d like.” 

Dutch doesn’t laugh, but a warm, hearty chuckle rumbles in his chest and he picks his book back up. 

“Isn’t that the truth.” 

Looking away, your eyes flick about the greenery outside his window. The chickens cluck incessantly, bouncing about like cotton ball clouds on grassy mountains. 

You can make out the outline of Jack, bounding around a tree with a stick in hand, occasionally swiping the trunk. Abigail keeps a watchful eye. 

And it’s all very domestic. 

A little green rectangle of quiet love, framed by rotting wood and sin. It seems so far away, you can’t tell if it’s real. But you know for a fact it is, and it makes the deep, longing pain in your chest all the worse. It’s a dream really, one you think of often and one you and Arthur have only discussed either after sex or in the early morning— when everyone is still asleep and when things are a little imaginary. 

When dreams rule the plain of existence. 

Suddenly Hosea passes by the room. His gaze stabs through you, a knowing familiar look he’s sent over the past few months. 

Like you’ve discovered a dirty secret. 

And it seems you’ve both come to a conclusion you’re both equally unsure of. Same with Abigail. Same with Arthur, even if he denies it. 

“I should get back to work,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the doorframe.

“Atta girl,” Dutch simpers, but you’ve already walked off, head full of fears and doubts and thoughts you know you’re not supposed to have. 

Hanging laundry is one of the easier chores, one that eases the nerves. Gentle afternoon breeze, as humid as it is, drifts by, wafting the smell of soap and swamp water. Earthy and clean, rolled into a lavender clay. 

Jack hovers around your skirts as you work, and you easily indulge him in poems, songs, and stories, all with a gentle smile. 

He glances at the manor. “Uncle Arthur sure does sleep a lot.” 

“He does, doesn’t he?” 

“Where did Uncle Arthur go?” 

Clipping a bedsheet to the line, your eyes gleam, turning to Jack. “He went beyond civilization” and you crouch down, making claws with your hands, a playful grin at your lips, “hunting wolves.” 

Jack beams, grabbing at your hands, easing the claws. “I wanna hunt wolves!” 

You laugh a little, pulling away and reaching for a pair of drawers in the basket. 

“You’re still too small— they’d eat you up.” 

Jack frowns. “No they wouldn’t.” 

And you hide an amused grin with the back of your hand, thinking of John. After a moment, you nod. “You’re right. They wouldn’t eat you, you’re too skinny.” 

“Hey!” And Jack pouts, tugging at your skirts. You finally laugh, dropping a hand to pat his head, fingers sifting through soft brown locks. 

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t let them eat you. None of us would.” 

Jack seems appeased. “Do you think Uncle Arthur will take me next time?” 

And not wanting to break his little heart, you say, “I think that’s something you have to ask him.” 

And Jack seems to be somewhat miffed by the answer, reserving himself to sit by the laundry basket as he watches beetles and ants march along the dirt. 

Little brown capped soldiers. 

“Have you ever hunted wolves, Auntie?” 

You hang up the drawers, humming. “No. But one time Uncle Hosea took me hunting for a bear.” 

“A bear!?” And Jack crawls a bit closer. “I don’t remember that?” 

“It was before you were born.” You add gently. 

“Ohhh. Was it scary?” 

“Well only at first. It tried to eat me, but Uncle Hosea wouldn’t let that happen.” Embarrassment bubbles at the memory. The way Arthur had laughed when you sulked, telling him and Hosea you would never hunt again.

Jack smiles. “Do you think Uncle Hosea will take me bear hunting?” 

A downturned smile marrs your features. “I hope not.” 

Jack complains at that, and you gently assert that bears are much worse than wolves, and they wouldn’t care how skinny he is. 

And the moment is sweet and funny and utterly ruined when a horrible, rasping voice says, 

“There she is.” 

Micah’s back. 

Setting your shoulders, you gently tell Jack to find his Ma. Tell her those stories I told you, murmured by his ear. And he scurries away, an excited smile on his face. Your full attention is then granted to the laundry basket and the sodden clothes inside. 

Micah stands on the other side of the clothesline, watching you between the flaps of bedsheets and button ups. A fabric jail cell keeps you separated. 

“Heard our workhorse is back, hm? Where is he?” 

A sock is hung up, next a union suit. 

“Oh, so you won’t even talk about your darlin’ Mr. Morgan with me?” 

You’re running short on clothespins. 

“You gettin’ tired of him?” 

There’s still enough for now. 

“Mr. Morgan, running off for days on end, only comes back to fuck his little mare good and then runs off again. Ain’t that just sad?” 

You could use a new skirt maybe. You’ll head into Saint Denis tomorrow. For now though, another sock is hung. 

“I could take care of ya, while he’s gone. He’ll never have to know.” 

Two blouses are clipped on the clothesline and you’re officially out of pins. 

“So, what d’ya think? Offer stands.” 

You step away from the hanging laundry, your eyes meeting Micah’s. It startles him but turns him on just as quickly. 

And then you walk away, to the manor in search of more pins. Micah doesn’t follow, though you feel his eyes burning holes into you, gaping pits of Tartarus on your skin.

You’re surprised to see Arthur leaning against the windowsill, cup of coffee in one hand, the other scratching away at his journal in long precise strokes; a wolf. And he’s trimmed his beard and hair, his skin clean. 

Washed away of filth and stress. 

An easy smile comes to him when he turns to see you— he downs the rest of his coffee, closes his journal, and steps over. 

“Good afternoon,” you say. 

“Afternoon,” and Arthur glances around for peeping eyes before kissing you chastely. “Thought we could go to Saint Denis today like ya wanted,” he offers. 

You shake your head. “I can’t today; maybe tomorrow?” 

He pulls away, looking bemused. “Always ‘tomorrow’ with you, woman.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s too late to go to Saint Denis anyway.” 

“We could rent a room.” 

“I am not spending money on a bed I have here,” you chide. 

He raises his head to look at the ceiling, hat tipping back slightly back as he does. A stiffness overcomes him, like a thousand rocks have settled into his stomach. “You always gotta make things difficult.” 

“Shut up,” and you pat his chest, stepping around him to continue your search, “I’ll see you tonight.” 

That seems to help him digest the rocks but he still grabs at your wrist, stopping you. And there’s a deep longing in Arthur’s eyes; lust and sorrow mixing to create something entirely desperate. 

“I love ya,” he mumbles quietly. 

And it’s not something you say often, never really finding the need to. You know. He knows. You’re on the same page. 

But sometimes, you’ll indulge each other with those three little words. 

And Arthur lightens when you smile and nod and tell him you love him too. It’s like he’s seen the ocean for the first time, eyes sparkling in wonderful adoration. So he lets you go, assured he has you no matter what. 

Expectantly, you barely see eachother for the rest of the day, each preoccupied with your own tasks. Small glances are thrown, like pebbles against windows, but nothing more. 

Not until night falls. 

You’re sitting around the fire with Abigail, snorting over a not so appropriate story Karen is telling when you see him in the distance, past the embers, crawling back into the manor. Admittedly, it is late but not late enough for Arthur to call it a night. 

Usually, he’d stay with the group– drink a bottle of beer and sing a tone deaf melody with Tilly and Javier. But not tonight. Tonight he’s waiting you out. 

And so when Karen finishes her story, you give one last laugh and leave. 

Arthur is sitting on the bed when you come in, writing something slowly; the clear mark of verbal constipation.

And the lantern is lit low, warm and golden like a dying star. He only looks up from the page when you close the door, his hand pausing. There’s a droll moment where you stare at him and he stares at you– the little lift of amusement curling your lips can’t be helped. 

In a brisk moment, you’re standing between his knees; but this time it’s him who undresses you. And you let him take his time with the clasps and buttons, resting your palms on his shoulders.

“Jack asked me if I’d take him wolf huntin’,” Arthur mumbles, standing to kiss at the junction of your neck and jaw. In nothing but your chemise, it’s easy to feel the hard line of him press against your hip. “Did’ya put him up to that?” 

You laugh, hands rising to undo his own shirt. “Maybe.” 

A rough palm presses between your shoulder blades, the other cupping your cheek as he nudges you to tilt your head with his nose. 

“Yer evil,” Arthur mutters into your skin, “making me be the one to say no to him.” 

“Was he angry?” 

“Nah,” Arthur sighs, knocking his hips with yours, “just said I’m no fun.” 

And you slip his shirt off, revealing broad shoulders and firm muscle, laced and sewed with scratches and scars. 

You run your hand down a particularly marred one at his ribs. Knife fight. 

“Did he hurt your feelings?” You tease. The hand at your cheek drops, bundling the hem of your chemise up your thighs. And before you can poke his ego again, the hand dips, grazing against your bundle of nerves. 

You sigh, leaning into him as he lazily dips a finger in and out, in and out. 

“John looked like he was ‘bout to have a panic attack,” Arthur rasps right in your ear. “If I had said anythin’ other than no I think he woulda killed me.” 

“Can’t have that,” you hum, and Arthur snorts. 

“Ya need me around to fuck ya, is that it?” 

Scoffing, you pull away. “You’re ridiculous.” Your chemise falls back over your thighs, covering the slick Arthur built up. And he gives a soothing smile, hands lifting yours to twine fingers together. 

“Did I hurt yer feelin’s?” And though you’re frowning, you let Arthur guide you to the bed— let him push you down onto the mattress. At your silence he runs his lips across your face; kissing at your brow, your nose, cheeks and chin. “I didn’t mean any harm by it.” 

Lifting himself on his forearms, he watches you. You’ve softened exponentially, pliant and willing under him. 

Only him. 

And the look on your face is so fond— too loving and so soft, that he feels as if you must be a figment of his imagination. A sick twisted trick his mind is playing to feel something. 

But you’re here, breathing against him, and looking like a drop of sunshine under the lantern’s light. 

He’s struck gold. 

Bending down, Arthur kisses you and in turn you breathe him in, arms coming up to wrap around his neck. You roll your hips, and a groan verberates in his chest— the sound makes your bones rumble— the first sign of an avalanche. 

He lifts the chemise once more and a knee comes up to sit between your exposed thighs. Arthur dips his hand again, this time spreading you open on two fingers. 

The both of you have gotten very good at being quiet after so many years of barely any privacy; a tarp or tent at most; but in Shady Belle, bless the heavens above, you allow yourself little, quiet whimpers. 

The gift of walls. 

And Arthur feels himself pulse as he edges you on, fingers increasing in speed. His thumb brushes against that bundle of nerves again and you choke back a moan, hands gripping onto the sheets. 

“Arthur,” you pant, eyes shining with adoration. And he pauses. You stir something in him, some sort of odd childlike devotion he hasn’t felt since he was in his early twenties. 

Not since Mary. 

And he remembers when you had first gotten together, back in ‘94, you had told him you wouldn’t ask him to stop loving Mary. I could never, ever do that to you. It’d be cruel and unfair of me, you had whispered. 

And you knew he never would stop because that’s how first loves are. Permanent. 

But maybe now, maybe in this moment— just like every other moment with you— he has stopped loving Mary. Perhaps not entirely, but he wouldn’t chase after her like he used to. 

Not when he has you. Not when you beg his name. 

And Arthur rises, lifting you up with him as he sits up against the headboard, huddling you into his lap. His skin is warm, as it usually is, and you can’t discern whether that’s just him or if the Lemoyne heat has to do with it too. 

It’s overwhelming and you’ve barely gotten started. 

Making a pathetic little noise in the back of your throat, you see the way it lights his eyes on fire, as if you hold the keys to enter the Gates of Hell. And it’s almost too easy for him to pull off your chemise, leaning forward to press his lips against yours. 

He’s scarily and surprisingly gentle. Always has been. But tonight there’s an underlying torture in the way he bites at your bottom lip, then soothes it, admonishing his own efforts. 

And Arthur, this sweet, sad man who has killed, murdered, and torn apart men from sanity has resorted to fluttering his fingers against your hips; as if you were a prized butterfly, ready to fly off at any second. 

For one reason or another, it makes your heart ache. 

Your own hands cup his stubbled jaw as you lean down, opening your mouth and letting his teeth gently collide with yours clumsily. 

There’s another rumble in his chest when you kiss the corner his mouth, an apology for your gauche actions. And you can’t tell if it’s a breath or a moan, but you assume that it’s something good. 

A quiet plea for you to continue. Don’t stop. 

Because if you do Arthur’s sure he’ll sob in a pitiful, defeated way that would leave him rutting into the mattress. 

To his relief, your thighs press against his hips all the more, and your chest meets his. One of his own hands slides up your side, and he moans into your mouth at the feeling of your skin against his palm.

Silk against stone. Soft where he is rough– ruined by bullets, knives and meaningless labor. And he decides then, he’ll preserve this. Preserve your warm humanity, if it’s the last thing he does. 

And he is a fool, but he isn’t insolent. He knows you’ve seen and experienced things that would have him reeling with nausea. 

You’re a woman, of course you have. 

But if he can help it, he will keep you like this. Coy and kind. Too good for him and too good for what the world has to offer. 

Arthur realizes he’d gotten engrossed in his worship when you pull away to look down at him, giving a shaky exhale. Running your fingers through his scalp, you let your hand settle at the back of his neck, peering at his face as if he were a saint. 

Arthur can only stare back. Fervently and biblically.

He follows every unspoken order you give him with a ferocity bordering desperation that only stems from his complete adoration. And you’ll never know how or where it started and you won’t ask, in fear of an answer that that any other man could give you. But this outlaw, brute, grunt; this man of all men has become an angel under your gaze and touch. 

It’s intoxicating.  

For awhile this continues. The kissing– the petting and exploration. Whispered ‘I missed you’s’ brushed across your lips, neck, breasts. At some point, Arthur wraps his mouth around one of your nipples, and you stifle a whimper against his temple. 

A hand pushes into the curve of your back, imploring and needy, making you keen. The other, brushes against your core unexpectedly and you almost yelp from the sudden contact. But he dips his fingers into you gingerly, restarting the ministrations from earlier. 

You all but melt. 

You’re panting into his neck, gripping onto him as he plays with you. It’s shameful how a week apart has ruined you so terribly. 

You’re oversensitive and overstimulated. 

When your breathing becomes more desperate (which happens quicker than you’d like) Arthur pulls away again. And he likes this game; the build up before breaking you. An annoyed sigh puffs out from your lips, and you find yourself grinding into his lap for some form of relief.

His trousers have become a hindrance. 

Arthur’s leaning into your chest, eyes half-open and cheek pressed against the space between your breasts. His mouth is hot and open, panting as you grind further into him.

And though you can feel him twitching against you, it isn’t enough. He’ll need more than the dull pressure of your core. But for now, he lets your hips roll, watching brightly as your slick coats the seam of his pants. 

“No more,” he suddenly rasps, the first words said in a long time. “Please, no more teasing.” 

You ponder him for a moment, then nod.

The trousers are off in an instant. 

And his skin against yours is a relieving sin. Hands on your hips, he rubs you against him— and all you can do is sit it out and watch with bated breath. Arthur, at the feeling, lets out a stilted, raspy whimper. 

Before he can do more, you lower a hand, pumping him up and down, up and down; a choked sound catches in the back of his throat when you do. 

He’s bigger than average, but not impressively so. The real volume of his size comes from his width, noting that your thumb and middle finger don’t and have never connected when you jerk him off. 

And you do this for some time, listening to his gasps and mumbled moans, only stopping when he begins pulsing in your palm. 

Arthur whines when you pull away, eyes gleaming almost angrily, and you have to smile at the hypocrisy of his behavior. He bites back a curse at the way you look at him, too entranced to be upset. 

Then, pushing him flat onto the mattress and straddling his waist, you kiss him. His hands land on your back once more, begging to press you closer, further. 

Wanting nothing more than to simply have you against him. 

And finally, you slide onto his length. 

It’s jarring at first, uncomfortable in the way it splits you open. And you feel his every millimeter and every movement. It takes a minute for your body to adjust, to realize it’s him. Arthur lets you wait it out, lets you take your time as you finally sink down completely. 

He thrusts, once, shallow and uncertain, brows furrowed in concentration. And your eyes close shut with a gasp, squeezing your legs even tighter around his waist. 

Then, you lift your hips off him and sit back down. And then you do it again. And again. And again. 

The pace you’ve set is slow, but it allows you to further assimilate to the stretch. Furthermore, the friction is accumulative. You quickly find that Arthur’s hands have lifted to clasp around your own shaking ones in an act to sooth you. 

To quell whatever ache has settled in your abdomen (for the time being). 

And his eyes are shining with an indiscernible emotion as he watches you; something that makes you want to cry out of sheer wonder. 

You’re so sure it’s love. It has to be. You refuse for anything else. 

You refuse to be a broodmare or quick fuck. 

And something must flip inside of Arthur because suddenly, he flips you two over, and moreover, he turns you over onto your stomach. 

“Arthur,” you mutter, as you lift yourself up on your forearms. And he bends down pressing a kiss to the vertebrae in your neck as if they were jewels on a crown. 

His hands return to your hips and bring you towards him. 

“I know,” he replies. It only takes a second for him to slip into you again, letting a deep, pleasant groan out. 

In this position he’s quicker, rougher. Less careful. 

Arthur utters the occasional incoherent word and you can only pant in reply. After a while of this— of his hips slamming against yours— your shaking arms collapse under you, and your cheek presses into the mattress. 

Arthur doesn’t stop though, nor does he slow, and the whole thing overloads your nerves. 

Yet somehow, his touch is still loving— even as he takes you so harshly. It’s an odd dichotomy. You’re not quite sure he knows his own strength in this moment. Maybe he never does. 

And you can’t help but be utterly grateful that this is the only way Arthur uses his strength on you. To fuck you into a mattress. 

And the only noises you can make are broken little gasps for air, an entire lifetime’s worth of vocabulary forgotten. He’s moving in and out of you at a far quicker pace than you had initially anticipated; and you feel yourself begin to shake, quivering for help beneath him. 

“Please,” you beg. 

“Please, what?” 

Your face flushes, hot and embarrassed even if you’ve done this hundreds of times before. “Arthur,” you whine, and he gets the message, quickening his pace as more broken, unintelligible syllables bumble out of your lips.

He brings one hand away from your hip to cup under your chin, lifting your face slightly so he can press his cheek against yours. 

A loving act that tells you this is more than lust and cum. 

Your hands claw into the mattress and his other hand leaves your hip to land on top of your own— fingers moving to curl into the spaces between yours. You’re crying now, sobbing quietly for some form of release at the absolutely brutal pace he’s set. 

And you feel yourself coming close to climax, warmth pooling and subsequently dripping from your abdomen. 

Arthur’s close too. You can tell by the way he twitches inside of you and by the way his groans have become hoarse and breathy. 

He then removes the hand from your jaw and you sink back into the mattress, his fingers reaching for that bundle of nerves and rubbing it. You leave an open-mouthed whimper into the bedsheet, your breath and spit creating a hot and sticky spot. 

Delicately, he pushes your body over the edge.

The orgasm rushes over you like a snap— quicker than lighting but drawn out like thunder. It singes and quakes as you quiver around him, moaning dumbly and begging for some form of sanity. Your back, arching, pushes him further into you, ignorant of your own overstimulation. 

Arthur’s grip is tight on your hips as he watches, having to stop himself from spilling into you right then and there. He would. 

He would if things were better. He would if he were stupid and ignorant. 

But he holds himself back, teeth gnawing at his lip. Eventually you calm, the bedsheet loosening in your grip, leaving linen hills in your wake. And as soon as you take a quiet, deep breath, he continues to thrust just as quickly. 

It’s now his turn to gasp and whimper, and you’ve never heard him so desperate— properly crying as he presses his face into your neck. 

Your own tears bead at your eyelashes as you let him use you, abandoning any and all self respect for yourself. 

But it doesn’t last long, as he’s quick to follow you over the edge. His hips begin to stutter and you know it’s over. 

Arthur pulls out, and you feel him throbbing against you as he cums into his hand. He’s practically collapsed on top of you as well, his body gone boneless and weak from the aftershock. 

He’s still for some time, catching his breath and his mental faculties. 

And you’re not sure how much time has passed until his lips press against your neck and shoulders gently; but you sigh quietly at the feeling, pleased and sated. 

He reaches under your body, cupping your waist so he can roll the two of you over to lay on your sides. And Arthur curls himself around you protectively, like he could obstruct everything evil with the slope of his shoulders. 

It’s quiet and peaceful, as the aftermath of sex usually is. 

And each time he kisses your skin indolently, you press back into him— a silent message that you want to kiss back. He seems to understand.

After a while, he mumbles your name. 

You don’t expect it, his usual preference for silence being the norm. But either way, you hum in reply, entirely lost in comfort and bliss. 

“I’ll kill Micah.” It’s said so simply, like an everyday part of his itinerary. Cleaning, hunting, murder. Well, maybe it is then.

You don’t open your eyes though. This is not a new conversation, nor is it one you like. 

“You heard him today I’m guessing.”

“When you were doin’ the laundry.” 

You want to frown. “It’s fine.” Is all you can say. 

“No it ain’t.” 

You pull away from him a little. “I don’t wanna talk about him. Ever. He doesn’t matter.” 

Arthur’s quiet again. But then he nods and closes the space you created. 

“Okay.” 

[quillsareswords]

A little blurb for me 👉👈 QFWW

What if the boys (Jon & Dami) wanted to make Valentine's day super special but the chaotic duo just make a mess of things but it ends up being even more endearing. Like wanting to bring reader flowers but something comes up and the bouquet never makes it home fully intact. Or breakfast in bed but the kitchen looks like a disaster and one of the boys ends up with Distract Reader But Don't Make It Suspicious Duty™ so that they don't see the mess. Something super cute and chaotic :))

WARNINGS: language, talk of food, mentions of bike crash, 2,000 words of poly garble just for you 😘

See Three is the Luckiest Number master list for more poly fics!

MASTER LIST in BIO

   "She knows something is up." Jon whispers, eyes cutting toward you nervously.

   "Of course she does. You're whispering and looking at her every seven seconds like you're trying to hide something."

   "I am hiding something!"

   "Shh!"

   You look up from your book through your eyelashes. They're right where they were the last time Jon got a little too loud: standing in the kitchen, pretending to make dinner. Pretending, because there's been an empty pot sitting on the stove for ten minutes.

   They've been acting strangely the last few days. Jon more so than Damian. You really hope it's something to do with the upcoming holiday and not something serious that they're trying to keep from you.

   "Everything okay in there?" you call, skimming the page in your lap for the line you left off of.

   "Fine," they respond in unison.

   It's probably fine.

   "This is the exact opposite of fine," Jon hisses. "It was supposed to be here days ago."

   "I've reported it missing and a replacement won't be here for two weeks at best. There isn't anything else we can do about it now." Damian drums his fingers against the counter. "We have to come up with something else."

   Jon bites down on the nail of his thumb. "V-Day is in three days. We have no time."

   "We've overcome worse." Damian assures. Armageddon, alien apocalypse, city-wide bomb threats. Surely they can handle a last-minute Valentine's Day gift, right? "We just need to…get creative."

   Jon's shoulders cave toward his chest anxiously. "Okay, well, I know what she got you, and a macaroni necklace is not comparable."

   Damian, out of the kindness of his own heart, resists every urge not to roll his eyes at his darling boyfriend. "Not that kind of creative," he corrects. "Perhaps instead of a gift, we do something for her."

   Jon's eyebrows raise. Damian senses his skewed thought process like waves in a pool.

   "Food, Jon. We should make her food."

•••

   Damian keeps forgetting to fix his ringtone. It always slips his mind until he’s somewhere in public, like walking to his next lecture, trying to seem imposing in front of his peers with his nice sweater and his heavy peacoat, and his phone starts screaming Lady Gaga’s poker face.

   “...and Baby, when it’s love if it’s not rough it isn’t fun~!”

   He almost rips his pocket open trying to get a hold of the fucking thing.

   “Jon, if you ever touch my phone again-”

   “You’ll torture me and all that extra fun stuff, I know, I know. You have my full consent.”

  Damian rolls his eyes with a huff and ducks away from the main walkway. “I take it this isn’t an emergency, then?” Because, in typical Wayne fashion, it’s always his gut reaction.

   “No…well, I mean, not really.”

   He jerks to a halt. “What? Are you alright?”

   “Yeah! Yeah, sorry, I’m fine, everybody’s fine. But, um…Did you order the chocolates?”

   He shoves out a breath and continues on his way. “Yes, of course. Have they arrived?”

   “Yeah…except, uh, I think you ordered the wrong ones.”

   He stops again. “...What?”

   “These aren’t right. I am, like, ninety percent sure these are not her favorites. Actually, I think she avoids these?”

   “Look at– Was there a packing slip? An order sheet of some kind?” Damian asks, eyebrows pinched.

   He hears shuffling, crinkling. “Uh, yeah, here is it.”

   As Jon rattles off the assortment, Damian’s heart starts sinking. He pinches the bridge of his nose like it might relieve the pressure building behind his eyes. “Yes. That’s…She hates those.”

   How. On this good green earth. Did he mess that one up?

   Sleep deprivation. It must have been. He ordered it the night Ivy defaced the Wayne Tower by using vines to form a heart and shape I + H through the middle. At least she’d apologized. At least Harley liked it.

   Shit. He’d better check Jon’s too. Milk chocolate, coconut, caramel, right? That’s what Jon’s was supposed to be. Maybe he should have you check it.

   “Is the name on it right?” he sighs.

   More rustling. “Oh. No. It’s addressed to a…Walt Morgan.”

   Thank. Fuck. He's not the third worst boyfriend in the building.

   “Okay. Okay. That’s easy to fix, then. I’ll call them and sort the whole thing out. With any luck, a new one will be delivered the day before.” He’s thinking out loud, already scheming out how to sneak a three foot tall heart-shaped box of chocolates into the apartment and past you. “This is fine.”

   Jon laughs into the phone. “What, like the meme? Are you sitting in a burning room right now?”

•••

   The moment Damian gets home, lecture notes fresh in his mind, Jon meets him at the door.

   "Problem," he blurts. He's holding something behind his back.

   Damian squeezes the strap of his bag. "With?" The League? The Titans? The city?  The world? His family? Jon's family? God forbid, you?

   "The flowers," he answers. His hands move, and suddenly Damian is staring down at the squished, crumpled remnants of a flower bouquet with all your favorites.

  He sighs in relief. "What happened?" He rubs his palm across his forehead and tries to resettle his nerves.

   "I rode my bike home. I hit that stupid bump in the parking garage and it was either the flowers or the groceries, so…” He squeezes a limp petal between his thumb and his pointer, eyebrows furrowed glumly.

   Damian plucks the best looking one of the whole cluster and looks it over. “It’s alright. I’ll call in the morning and order another. You should hide these, though.”

   Jon shrugs. “Yeah. I think the old lady across the hall would like some. I’ll pick out the ones that survived.”

   Damian’s lips curl up at the edges. It's just like Jon to find some act of kindness in a cluster of crushed flowers. “I think that’s a great idea.” He jams the flower back into the middle. His hand comes up to cup Jon’s cheek instead. He presses his lips to his temple. “Well done, saving the groceries. She’ll like the food better anyway.”

•••

   “Jon,” Damian hisses.

   Jon turns around very slowly, eyes wide. His clothes seem to have survived unscathed, but there are speckles of batter across his face. He’s still holding a spatula in one hand.

   He takes a deep breath. “I was gone for two minutes. What happened?”

   Jon smiles sheepishly. “See, I wanted to flip pancakes like you do. Like, without the spatula? You just, like, throw it with the pan?”

   “Right.”

   “Well, I tried it because it looks easy when you do it, but, I…I kind of miscalculated how hard I was supposed to jerk the pan. So it kind of…” he trails off, gesturing confusingly with his hands. Damian quirks an eyebrow, so he points toward the ceiling to clarify.

   Twelve feet above him, Damian finds the pale wet splatter of batter on the ceiling. And on the floor below it, the dry, cooked side of an unfinished pancake.

   “You launched a pancake so high it hit the ceiling?”

   “It stuck for a few seconds. I mean, see, if you think about it; it’s really a testament to your cooking skills. Right? The batter was just…that good.” He grins convincingly. Dirty little suck up. Those puppy dog eyes may work on you, but they rarely do on Damian.

   Rarely.

   Damian stares down at the ruined pancake still leaking uncooked batter, grossly lumpy with chocolate chips. It’ll be a pain to clean later, so he may as well get it done with. He might as well wipe down the counters, too…

   He looks to the rest of the kitchen while Jon starts unraveling some paper towels. “Jon.”

   The man in question glances at him as he crouches to start scooping up his failure. “Hmm?”

   “What have we done to the kitchen?”

   “What do you mean?” Jon mumbles, turning toward the counters, “I was kind of cleaning as I went…oh.”

   They may have had a little too much fun making breakfast. Chocolate chips spilled across the counter where Jon was measuring with his heart. Dishes nobody thought to do after the movie last night piled in the sink beneath all the bowls and measuring cups from this morning. Half of the pancake ingredients are still sitting on the counter because Jon got handsy when Damian finally made it to the stove top. Flour is dusted around the area where Jon had been mixing everything in the bowl. There’s also batter slopped over a corner of the counter from when he got handsy the second time.

   It’s fine. It’s looked worse. The time you tried to make sushi rolls. The time Jon tried to make pudding-filled cupcakes. The time Jason realized this apartment was a lot closer than the Cave and would mop up better than his safehouse once he was done bleeding all over the place. That time Titus switched foods too fast.

   "She can't see this," Jon whispers. He projects his hearing back out past the living room, listening for any sign you've woken up. "She cleaned Saturday. She will kill us."

   "Agreed. We take this to our graves."

   "Agreed."

   Damian takes a deep breath. Scans the room again. Pulls together a plan. "Can you finish the pancakes?"

   "I'll burn them. Don't look in the microwave. I'll start cleaning." As if to cement this, he ducks around Damian to get under the sink for the cleaning supplies.

   Damian glances warily toward the microwave. He decides his mental health is more important than seeing what's inside.

•••

   For the first time in a long time, you wake up to an unexpectedly cold bed.

   You stretch out, sleepily thinking you must be mistaken. Maybe you just aren't quite used to the California King upgrade. You roll onto your back and sacrifice your remaining body heat to search for a new source to leech from. You're surprised to find the end of the mattress on one side and the edge of the comforter on your other.

   Odd, considering everyone took Valentine's Day off from everything, and they'd begged you to sleep in the middle last night so they could both reach you. There weren't any agreed upon plans this morning, and none of you bother to crawl out of bed if you don't have to. Lazy mornings always find at least two of you in bed, staring at screens or book pages, waiting on the last to wake up. Some mornings, you don't even get up then.

   Which means there must be a good reason they're out of bed and not training to be professional bed warmers.

   You dart upright. You squint against any light struggling through the blinds. The room is just as it was when you went to bed last night; yours and Jon's clothes spotting the floor, Damian's laptop is closed on the nightstand by the door, Jon's phone is still charging next to yours on the other nightstand, the blinds are still half closed.

   More importantly, the locked drawer in the bottom of the dresser is still closed. Which means there wasn't any super-sneaking. 

   "Boys?" you call.

   "Stay there!" Jon's voice rings through the door from down the hall.

   "We're coming to you!" Damian adds.

   You rub a knuckle into your eye. "What're you doing?"

   "You'll see," Damian answers, closer now. Then he's whispering, "Jon, get the–"

   "I can't, I'm carrying two–"

   "Okay, fine, just put your hand here– no, there. And I'll–"

   The door creaks open, and there they stand, your heroes: both wide-eyed, Damian with a long white tray, and Jon with three mugs and a bottle of syrup balanced in two hands.

   Damian smiles widely. "Happy Valentine's Day, Beloved."

   Jon grins and practically skips into the room. "We made your favorite," he sings.

   You scoot closer to the headboard to make room. You laugh breathlessly. "What?"

   Jon sets two of the mugs alongside the phones, and pushes the other into your hands as he climbs into bed beside you. "We got you something really good, but there were some, uh…complications." He glances at your other sweetheart for confirmation.

   The man in question plants his knee on the bed before he leans over to pop the legs out to set the tray over your lap while you hold your mug out of the way. "It's delayed. You'll have it soon, but we thought we should make it up to you." Once the tray is sturdy, he climbs in on your other side.

   "Are you telling me I get breakfast in bed and a gift?" your smile turns suspicious. "Sounds an awful lot like I'm getting buttered up for something,"  You glance down at the spread that's been placed before you, "...just like these perfect fucking pancakes, good god!"

   Damian chuckles, leaning back into the pillows so he can stretch out a little. His arm reaches past you, resting against your back while his hand finds a spot on Jon's shoulder. "Perfect sounds dramatic, but thank you. I did have a lovely assistant."

  "Is that right?" you shift your attention to Jon.

   He smiles sheepishly. "I mean, I didn't much–" He stops short when he blinks and suddenly your nose is a few inches from his ear.

   "Shut up and take some credit, baby." You clip your bottom lip between your teeth as his cheeks bloom pink. You release it, only to press a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."

   You give him a breather so you can lean the other way and bestow the same thanks to Damian. "And you, deary."

   You melt a little at the way he smiles up at you. It's all warm and tender; a side of him only these four walls and two sets of eyes get to see. "You're very welcome, Love."

   Jon's head meets your shoulder as he reaches for an orange wedge from Damian's end of the tray. Well, the end closest to him. It's arranged more like a buffet than a set table.

   "You tired, honey?" you chuckle, setting your hand on the side of his head, smoothing your thumb over the beginning of his ear.

   "Mhmm. Worth it, though."

   "How early did you get up?" Your smile fades a little. "How long have you been unsupervised in the kitchen?"

   He stiffens against you. "Huh? I dunno what you mean. What are you talking about?" He jumps when Damian pinches his arm."

   You turn slowly toward the other one. "Damian. Is my kitchen a mess?"

   He stares up at you, suave as ever laying among these pillows, one arm tucked behind his head and the other laid out behind you. "Would I ever allow such a thing to happen? On a day of love, no less?"

   "That's not an answer and you know it."

   His eyes cut beyond you, to something Jon does, or maybe to encourage him to do something.

   Your eyes narrow on him. He's guilty, you know that much. He's bad at hiding it from you, or Jon, because he doesn't like hiding things from either of you. Which means the kitchen is probably a complete wreck…but fuck it; it's Valentine's Day, and the loves of your life have made an amazing breakfast in bed to share. You'll fix the kitchen tomorrow. Or the next day. Maybe the next.

   You pretend to think about a little longer than you really do. He watches your face all the same, even if he knows you're making a show. Finally, you take a sip of your coffee. "I suppose that you can be forgiven. For the sake of the holiday. And because you made me chocolate chip pancakes, but I'm considering that cheating, so…"

   Jon's head is back on your shoulder. "So?" You can see the puppy dog eyes in your peripheral. You can feel them heating up the side of your face—so much so that you wonder if he's utilizing a tiny fraction of his laser-heat-whatever vision. Not today, Satan.

   "So, let's eat this food while it's warm and pretend the kitchen doesn't exist."

[beardedjoel]

closer | part fifteen

joel x f!reader. non-apocalypse au  

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3  

chapter summary: you try to hide the fact that you’re afraid of thunderstorms from joel, but he sees right through you, coming to your rescue at the perfect time. slutiness and cuteness ensue. 7.8k words.

chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI, age difference (joel is 42 and reader is 25), soft!dom joel, protective!joel, boyfriend asf!, consensual somnophilia, oral (m receiving), unprotected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink

a/n: this chapter means i’m up to date on all the chapters i have posted on ao3 right now, so my updates may be a tad bit slower than they have been on tumblr. ty for bearing with me i love u all ♡

You used to like thunderstorms as a kid. They were fun back then - watching the lightning and listening for the next claps of thunder. Running around outside as it poured buckets on you and soaked you to the bone. It was fun. And now, you’re twenty five years old and afraid of them, thinking back on how you got here as you cower slightly from the most recent flash of lightning outside.

Your second year living in Chicago, there was a storm that you got caught in while driving home from class late one night. You should have waited it out, but things took a turn for the worse once you were already on the road, and you ended up in a car accident where you lost control of your car and crashed it. You were too afraid to move, seemingly stuck in your car anyways with the seat belt locking, airbags deploying, the whole nine yards. You were lucky you didn’t have many injuries, just a broken arm and some bad bruising. To this day, it’s the thought of hearing the rain pounding on the pavement, your only memories being the flashes of lightning and sound of thunder while you waited for someone to help you that really sticks with you. You’ve tried working through it, and made great strides for dealing with the anxiety that comes up during thunderstorms, but it doesn’t mean it’s completely gone.

Of course your parents are out of town this weekend, too, so while you lay in bed, trying to distract yourself, the power cuts out, and you cower completely. You’re glad that you’d already brought Benny up here earlier to keep you company. You’re just laying in the dark, feeling frozen in your little anxiety bubble, unable to get up to even find a lighter and some candles to bring some light into your space. You’re going to have to force yourself to do it soon, but you’re trying to get past the shaking from the surprise of all your lights suddenly going out.

Your phone rings, startling you even further, and you see Joel’s name pop up on your screen. You feel reluctant to answer, not wanting to bother him with your stupid, juvenile fear. You reach with a trembling hand to grab your phone and decide to answer the call.

“Hey,” you say, a slight waver in your voice.

“Hey baby, I just got in and my power’s out. Is yours?” Joel asks, and you swallow hard, pushing down your emotions.

“Mhm, yeah,” you say into your phone. “It is.”

“Everything alright?” he immediately asks, quickly sensing the difference in your demeanor. Damn him.

“Y-yeah, everything’s good. Benny and I are just, uh, hanging in the dark,” you tell Joel, running a hand over Benny’s belly as he lays stretched out next to you. He’s anxious too, you noticed, not seeming to like the pounding rain on the windows or periodic thunder. Poor boy, at least you can relate to how he feels.

“Alright, then. Just checkin’ in.” You can hear Joel shuffling around in the background. “Lookin’ for some more candles,” he murmurs to explain all the noise.

“I should light some, t-too,” you say, feeling and sounding completely robotic. You’re out of it now, your anxiety with the storm trying to take you to another place where you block it all out.

“Wh- are you sure you’re alright? You sound kinda weird,” Joel replies.

“I’m not being weird,” you snap slightly, then bite your lip, not wanting to lash out at him unfairly. “Really,” you try to say reassuringly.

“If you say so…” Joel trails off, and you hear a small sigh. “Found ‘em,” he adds quietly, completing his search for some more candles to light.

“Actually, I should go, sorry. Benny is uh, whining. He’s scared right now, I think,” you say, despite Benny lying quietly at your side. Why the hell are you lying to Joel now?

“Okay, darlin’, just text me or somethin’, okay? Hope this power comes back soon,” he says, and you hurriedly tell him goodbye before hanging up.

There you go, blowing your one chance for an out from this anxious mess you’ve found yourself in. You know Joel would probably rush over here in a heartbeat if you’d told him, and for some reason, it embarrasses you that it would be for something that seems this silly. It’s just a storm, and while you remind yourself of that constantly, it’s too difficult to not let your mind go to that familiar place when you experience weather like this.

Not even five minutes later, there’s a knock on your door. You start, but freeze after, the sudden knock only heightening the tightness in your chest, and you realize tears are pulling at your eyes now. Fucking hell. You force yourself up, walking over to the door with ginger steps, trying to focus on the present. Benny is at your side, tail wagging between his legs skeptically.

“Sweetheart, it’s me,” you hear through the door when you’re only steps away. Your eyebrows lift slightly and you close the gap between you and the door, swinging it open. Joel is standing on the landing outside of your door, completely soaked through and looking at you through concerned eyes. He takes one look at your crumbling façade, pulling you into him as he steps towards you slightly to keep you out of the rain.

“What’s goin’ on, hm?” he asks tenderly, his wet palms gripping your cheeks before wrapping around you completely.

“N-nothing.” Your face gives you away, eyes completely doe-like and fearful as you come down a bit from your anxiety when you feel his arms around you. You don’t care that his wet shirt is soaking right into yours now, you just need to breathe him in for a moment and everything will be ten times better already.

“Swear, if you don’t admit you’re afraid of thunderstorms to my face right now…” Joel says, slightly scolding but only because he cares, you know. Your eyes widen, hating that once again, he’s got you all figured out.

“Yes…” you reply, sagging your shoulders in defeat. “It’s s-so stupid, I d-didn’t want to tell you, it’s not worth it.”

“Not worth it? Look at you, you’re shakin’, baby.” Joel pulls his head back and looks you up and down. Benny nudges both of your bodies, curling up against your legs, and Joel smiles sweetly down at him. “I’m takin’ you both with me, c’mon.”

Joel grabs your hand and turns to walk away, but you hesitate, his grip on your hand tight yet you stand firm and unmoving. Joel shoots back a look and before he can even ask or you can protest anything, he swoops you up under the knees and holds you, carrying you down the stairs. He calls after Benny to follow, and despite his own anxiety, Benny trails you, likely making sure you’re okay - he’s always been a good protector like that. You’re instantly soaked, the rain hitting all of you in hard droplets, and you tilt your head down into Joel’s chest to avoid it getting in your eyes. A clap of thunder roars above as you enter into Joel’s yard and you tremble, your breathing shaky for a moment.

“Shh,” Joel murmurs near your ear, “Almost there.”

He rushes to his house and slides open the back door. You’re immediately welcomed by glowing candlelight all through the kitchen, and you can see past into the living room to see Joel has lit several candles in there as well. You feel an immediate sense of relief seeing the calming, flickering lighting and feel your body sink into Joel’s arms. He sets you down in a kitchen chair and steps back, taking stock of you and Benny in your soaked state.

“One sec,” he murmurs, walking off and returning with a towel before crouching down and rubbing Benny all over with it. Benny pants happily in Joel’s face and he cracks a smile when the chocolate lab shakes off some extra moisture all over the two of you. You manage to feel a smile tug at your lips now too, feeling like the worst of this night is over now.

“Your turn, darlin’,” Joel says, standing and taking your hand. “Let’s get you some dry clothes,” he adds, guiding you upstairs to his bedroom.

Joel grabs another Texas football themed shirt from his dresser before walking over to you, helping you undress before you get the chance. As he reveals your bare chest, he barely makes note of it, and you appreciate his gesture to make you feel safer. He slides the t-shirt over your head and then smiles down at you.

“Shorts next,” he tells you before tugging them down and tossing them in a pile with your wet shirt. He hands you a pair of his boxers, and you slide them on, and although they’re ill fitting, you adjust them until they’re able to sit comfortably enough on you. You sit back on the edge of his bed and smile appreciatively while Joel gets to work changing his own soaked clothing. The view of Joel damp and shirtless is almost enough to make you forget your unease from this evening, and Joel gives you a cheeky smirk as he notices you admiring him.

“Now isn’t that a sight,” he comments as he sees you lounging on his bed, clad completely in his clothes.

“This?” you ask incredulously, motioning to the baggy boxers and shirt you’re wearing.

“Never looked better, if ya ask me,” Joel says, throwing a dry t-shirt and athletic shorts on. He approaches you on the bed and leans down, kissing you on the forehead, his smell breezing past you as he does it, leaving you sighing quietly. “So sexy in all my clothes,” he adds, pulling his face back to look at you again, giving you a wink.

“C’mon, let’s head back downstairs and keep Benny company,” he suggests, and you follow him back to the living room where Benny is laying down next to Joel’s couch, clearly exhausted from the storm that continues to rage outside. Joel pulls you down so that you’re settled onto his lap, and you instantly curl into him, the warmth coming off of his body a welcome sensation despite the house starting to heat up without the air conditioner running.

“Alright, talk to me baby,” Joel says, curling his arm around you and rubbing your back.

“Promise you won’t think I’m dumb?” you ask him timidly.

Joel shoots you a wry look and tuts. “Promise.”

“I just… get anxious during storms now,” you pause to swallow hard, readying yourself to dig into the bad memories. “I had a really bad car accident a few years ago and it was during this huge thunderstorm. I-I was waiting for ages, I was too scared to move and reach for my phone at first, not knowing if I’d broken anything. A-and the seatbelt was stuck, so I just had to sit there and hope someone found me until I was able to finally get to my phone...” You stop, gathering yourself and biting inside your lip anxiously. “I was waiting and struggling for ages just listening to the rain, and I just get this irrational anxiety that comes up now when the weather is really bad like this. I don’t know…” you trail off, feeling a few hot tears brimming your eyes now.

“Hey, hey it’s alright. That ain’t irrational, makes a lot of sense to me,” Joel says reassuringly, continuing to gently stroke your back and shoulders.

“There’s a part of my brain that knows it’s irrational, but the other part just

“This weather just puts me back in a bad place sometimes. It doesn’t happen with every storm, but especially when I’m alone,” you say with a small, defeated shrug, concluding your explanation to him.

“Okay, now that I know that, I can help you out baby. Why didn’t you tell me on the phone?”

“I felt embarrassed, Joel. I don’t tell very many people about this since I just feel totally crazy and irrational when it comes up. I mean what kind of grown adult is scared of thunderstorms?”

“Someone who went through somethin’ scary like you did,” Joel replies in a heartbeat. You sigh and lean your cheek further onto his shoulder.

“Yeah… I guess so,” you reply skeptically. It’ll take more than his words to change your mind that it’s not an overreaction, but knowing he believes in you is a huge step.

“S’alright, not a bit of judgment from me darlin’, promise,” Joel says sweetly, giving you a squeeze. “I’m afraid of cockroaches,” he admits sheepishly, and you chuckle.

“See? There’s my girl.” Joel pokes his fingers into your side, sending you squirming and laughing. Just the mention of those two words you love - my girl - immediately lightens the tightness in your chest.

“Everyone is afraid of cockroaches, but I appreciate the sentiment,” you murmur, wrapping your arms a little tighter around his neck.

“You need to eat? We’ve got to eat some stuff in my fridge before it goes bad,” Joel says, and you perk up a little. “Wait, I’ve got just the thing,” he says before nudging you off his lap and onto the couch. You sit and wait for him to return from the kitchen, where he brings over a carton of ice cream.

“S’gonna melt, so we better go for it,” he says, offering you a spoon. You take it with a grin and he sits down next to you while you both dig into the already half melted ice cream. You sit back a little, draping your legs across his lap and he instantly starts running a hand along your shins and thighs. The ice cream and Joel’s presence is already immensely helping you ride out this thunderstorm, which is already seeming to lighten up a bit outside.

“So…” you say nervously, “I’ve seen your guitar in here every time I come over, but I’ve never heard you play…”

“You askin’ if I’ll play for you?” Joel asks, a cocky smile on his lips.

You bite your bottom lip and nod slightly, glad you don’t have to say it so directly. You’ve been dying to ask him about it for weeks but were worried about putting him on the spot.

“I’m not anythin’ to write home about, but I can certainly strum somethin’ up for you, darlin’,” he replies, and your heart melts a little when he stands up, handing you the ice cream to finish off as he picks up the guitar.

You sit patiently as Joel plucks at the strings, checking the sound. He sits himself in the same spot next to you, giving you a last glance before he starts to play. As it goes on, you realize you don’t know the song, but it has a relaxed, old time country sound to it. You feel completely mesmerized by it already, the way he looks down at the guitar with concentration, his fingers deftly moving along the neck as he strums. Your heart lurches, an undoubtedly lovesick smile on your face.

As if you weren’t already about to burst, Joel starts humming quietly along with the song, his eyes closing as he loses himself in it. You relax back into the couch, letting the beautiful music he’s creating lull you into a further sense of security. Now that you’ve calmed down enough to see straight, you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sleepiness that’s coming over you now.

You stifle a yawn and let Joel keep playing as your head gets fuzzy and your eyes start to blink more and more slowly. After a few songs, Joel stops playing, and you force your eyes open despite how tired you are and see him putting his guitar back on the stand.

“‘M gonna go to bed,” you murmur sleepily, stretching your arms up over your head a bit before sitting up.

“M’kay, darlin’. I’ll be up in a bit, you head on up there though,” Joel replies, planting a kiss on your forehead. He helps pull you off the couch, gently patting your ass as you move past him, and you shoot him a wry glance before walking up the stairs.

You use your toothbrush that Joel still has set out for you, and it makes you smile all over again. You can’t feel anything but grateful for everything he’s done for you tonight - you’d probably be having a restless, sleepless night if he hadn’t intuitively come and rescued you. You barely even remember your head hitting the pillow, your anxiety having knocked all the energy out of you this evening, before you’re fast asleep.

You wake up suddenly, a light gasp escaping your mouth as you sit up, trying to shake off your unsettling dream. You aren’t surprised by it, you tend to have strange dreams when your anxiety is high like it was tonight. You suddenly shiver, realizing the air conditioning is back on and Joel’s power must have come back while you two were sleeping. You burrow yourself under the covers a bit more to warm up and look over at Joel. It’s not often you get to watch him sleep, he tends to wake up before you when you spend the night together. It’s amazing that he manages to be an even earlier riser than you.

Your eyes soften as you look over him in the dark, bare chest dusted with hair rising and falling gently and his mouth slightly open. You suddenly feel a pull between your legs when you notice that there’s a small tent at his hips under the thin sheet, and you curl your toes as an image of his hard cock flashes through your mind.

You suddenly don’t think Joel would mind at all if you were to thank him for everything he did for you tonight. You don’t want to wake him just yet, so you slowly reach your hand over and cup the bulge in the sheet gingerly, rubbing ever so slightly. A small moan comes from Joel’s throat as he stirs slightly, but he immediately stills back into sleep as you continue to stroke him. You dare to do it a little harder, and Joel shifts again, but you can tell he isn’t quite awake yet. You smile deviously to yourself, finding that this turns you on more than you would have imagined. You try to reposition yourself without shaking the mattress too much, scooting closer and pulling the sheet down. You can now see that Joel has gotten significantly harder, straining against his briefs while you stroke your fingers along his lengthy shaft. You have to bite down to fight off the moaning that’s now on the tip of your own tongue.

Joel murmurs your name in his sleep, and your eyes go wide, thinking maybe he’s woken up, but he’s clearly just thinking about you in whatever horned up dream he must be having, and that makes your smirk grow even more. You have to fight off a giddy laugh now at the thought of it.

You slip your hand under the waistband of his briefs, caressing his warm, hard cock in your hand as you fist it, running your hand along the length as you position yourself in between his legs. Your hands hook around the sides of his briefs, pulling them down and exposing his throbbing cock to you, a drip of precum already leaking out from the light touching you have been doing. The power you hold over this man right now… the one who typically holds all the cards, the one who tells you what to do, is mesmerizing. You’ve got him in the palm of your hand, quite literally, and plan to do nothing but pleasure him until he wakes up to himself coming into your mouth.

As you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, Joel’s hips writhe and he stirs a little more, a deep groan sounding from him when you take your mouth over the head and plunge it down further. You gather spit and push your mouth down, drooling all over his cock and taking it deeper and deeper.

“Wh-” you hear from above you, and you smile around his cock as you realize Joel is at the least half awake now. He breathes your name in questioning, his head tilted off the pillow and looking down at you. You glance up at him while continuously taking his cock over and over into your mouth in slow, even strokes. You pop the head out of your mouth and lap at it a few times, causing Joel’s hips to twitch up.

“Shh, just relax and try to go back to sleep. Want to say thank you for tonight,” you coo, immediately taking him back into your mouth, letting your tongue drag along the bottom of his shaft. Joel’s eyes flutter shut as he leans his head back again and groans at the sensation of your warm mouth.

“Baby,” Joel murmurs with a little pleased grunt, giving in easily and letting you take the reins for once.

He’s throbbing, already satisfyingly close to release as he sleepily pumps his hips up into each stroke of your mouth. You pull your mouth off and lick strokes up his length, flicking your tongue as you go, and he just about loses all control as he hisses through his teeth. You sink your mouth fully onto him, taking every inch you can to the back of your throat and Joel starts, sitting forward and grabbing the back of your head, bucking his hips up into your mouth as he comes hard, groaning your name while his warm seed spills deep into your throat. You relish every moment of it, swallowing everything he has to offer you with pride. Joel’s body goes limp, flopping back onto the mattress, his chest heaving and limbs spent.

“Jesus, girl,” he utters, running a hand over his sleepy eyes and down his face. You tuck him back into his briefs and slip under his arm, resting on his chest. “What was that all about, huh?” Joel asks, cozying up to you.

“Like I said, I was saying thank you for tonight. You helped me out, so I helped you out.”

“Helped me out…” Joel echoes with a drowsy chuckle, his eyes blinking shut slowly. “Funny girl.”

Joel’s breathing evens out, and you think he may have fallen back to sleep, when he suddenly speaks out into the darkness of the room.

“You know you can talk to me, right baby? Don’t hide yourself from me,” he says, opening his eyes again, a slight pain in them at the thought of you feeling the need to do that. You blink a few times, trying to avoid the tears that are threatening in the back of your eyes at his sudden declaration.

“I’m not trying to, I swear,” you start to explain. “I just knew you’d go out of your way if I told you the truth earlier.”

“And didn’t I anyway?” Joel asks.

The corner of your lip turns up and you nod.

“Cause I know you, darlin’. Always easy for me to read you,”

You furrow your brow, frustrated by that fact considering you find Joel hard to read a majority of the time. You tense up, about to protest what he said when he cuts you off.

“‘Fore you get all huffy it’s no offense, it just means I’m payin’ attention to you,” he explains, and you settle down a bit, running your fingers along his bare shoulder and upper arm.

“Well when you put it like that…” you say, giving up your angry facade completely.

“Dunno if you noticed but I’m awful protective, it’s not always a good trait. Sometimes it helps, like tonight, other times…”

“You end up fucking me against a wall because another boy talked to me?” you add cheekily, and Joel looks playfully taken aback.

“Oh she’s gettin’ mean now,” he chuckles hoarsely, “But fair point. It’s gotten me in trouble before.”

You bite your lip, debating on digging into what he said further. What kind of ‘before’ could he be referencing?

“Like… with other people? Women, I mean?” You surprise yourself by asking before you can think about it any longer.

Joel nods slightly, a smug smile on his face. “Yes baby, and we both know that gets you jealous.” You open your mouth to speak, and he cuts you off once again. “Don’t even try to deny it, sweetheart.” You concede, snapping your mouth shut and letting him carry on.

“I’ve been known to be a jealous boyfriend. Some people like it, others… not so much. Simple as that.”

You find yourself reeling for a moment at his choice of wording. Boyfriend… Your eyes peer out into the dark room, wide and searching, debating how to respond to him.

Joel must read the look on your face as he glances at you and he starts to backtrack. “Now darlin’, don’t get too excited, I just meant, in my past relationships.”

You clear your throat, trying to hide the disappointment from your face. “I-is that what you’d call this, then? A relationship?” You don’t mean to, but you know your eyes are full of a pleading hope, desperate for the answer you’ve been craving from him for so long.

Joel releases a sigh, clearly still warring with himself over it. “Listen, sweet girl, I had some… stuff happen before. The woman I was seeing, she and I started to not see eye to eye on things. I held her back, if I’m honest. Or so she thought, I guess. Things got real resentful, and I can’t go through that sort of thing again, y’understand me?”

Things are clicking into place, your mind beginning to race with all this new information. That’s exactly where Joel had gotten this wording from about holding you back - it must have been spit in his face by his ex once things reached that resentful place he was talking about. You would never be like that, you think solemnly - you could never resent Joel, he’s done nothing but bring joy into your life since you first saw him.

“Y-you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want t-to, I’m sorry,” you half mumble, suddenly feeling guilty for bringing up something painful for him.

“‘S’okay, angel. That’s not the point. It was a long time ago, and yeah, it does hurt to think about, but just ‘cause I can’t do that to someone else I care about, y’hear me?”

You nod, not sure you know what you’re agreeing to right now. “O-okay. I don’t think you’re holding me back, Joel. You make me… really happy.”

“I see that, baby. And that’s why I worry. I don’t want my selfish shit to get in your way if we do this thing. Ever. You’d have to promise me, at the first sign of it, you’d go running from my ass.”

You blink hard, not sure if you’d heard him correctly. You’re hardly even able to comprehend the second half of what he said, fully stuck on the joy rising in your chest at his imposition. “If we do this thing? Wh-“ you start, lips trembling slightly as you try to get the words out.

“Yes, darlin’, if this ain’t a relationship by now, I don’t know what to call it.”

You press your lips together to fight it but a sparkling smile breaks through, spreading across your whole face now. Joel closes his eyes and sighs at the sight, knowing he’s just agreed to his own potential downfall. He still isn’t managing to hide the little smile pulling at his lips despite his worries.

“Easy, now,” he says, letting his smile crack through the facade even more. He leans over and slides his hand around your cheek, pulling you closer as he finishes closing the gap between you and kisses you. You kiss him back softly, relishing in the feeling of it after this new confirmation from him. When Joel pulls away, there’s a beautiful, soft look in his eyes.

“My girl,” he says quietly, gaze locked onto yours. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you say breathlessly, and you mean it wholeheartedly. You can’t imagine being anyone else’s, feeling the constant, burning passion and care that you do for Joel for anybody but him.

“You okay with me being a jealous, possessive bastard? Needin’ to fuck you half to death every time anyone gets any ideas ‘bout you? Barely able to keep my hands off you around everyone else to remind ‘em you’re all mine?” Joel lists off, his voice growing hoarse with need as he looks at you hopefully with a sly smile.

“God, yes,” you breathe out. Even hearing him describe those situations makes you ache between the legs, and you know he’s going to the absolute death of you. “I fucking love all of it - we were made for each other, Joel. Let you do anything you need to me any time if it means I get to remind you I’m yours,” you say, hips lurching towards him as you feel slickness gathering in your underwear.

“Oh, really? Anything any time?” he repeats back to you, his features a shade darker now.

“Mhm,” you murmur with glazed eyes. “I’m all yours to play with,” you tell him, and Joel tenses next to you. You slide a leg over his, turning closer to him, your body begging for any kind of touch from him. Joel goes to reciprocate and lean into you but stops short, pulling back slightly.

“Wait, darlin’. You gotta promise me what I said, though,” Joel says, sobering up a bit. You look into his eyes and dip your head in confirmation.

“Say it,” he demands, and you wince a little, desperation clawing at your insides.

“J-joel, I don’t want to go running from you. I won’t let you keep me from living my life. P-please, please just let me be yours,” you beg, not caring how helpless and vulnerable you sound right now. You want this more than anything you can ever recall wanting, just for him to call you his and mean it in a real, tangible way. You gulp down the sob that wants to come out of you, blinking and sniffling quickly to try to hide it.

“Okay, okay, sweet girl. I’m sorry. I just care so much about ya, you know that, right? I’d never want to make that same mistake again.” Joel’s hold on you tightens as he sees how much this is affecting you.

“I know,” you tell him, pressing your forehead to his. “You will never be a mistake to me, never. Couldn’t ever regret being your girl,” you say, liking how the words sound spilling off your tongue. Joel seems to be appeased by your words and believe them, because his features quickly melt back into a soft, heady gaze as he stares into your eyes.

“You like bein’ my girl, hm?” Joel asks, voice low and slightly scratchy. He brushes his lips across your cheek and you breathe out shakily.

“Mhm. Every time you say it, I feel… so…” you trail off with a little smile, unable to even find a word to express it.

“My girl,” he whispers next to your ear, and you giggle at the tickling sensation and joy his words bring you. “I’m thinking,” he says, placing a kiss on your neck right below your ear, “we should,” he continues, another kiss closer to your lips on your jawline, “celebrate.” His lips find yours and you kiss him feverishly, barely letting him come up for air as you slide your tongue into his mouth and flip your body on top of his, sinking down onto him.

“Yes,” you say simply, finally releasing your lips from his. Joel smirks, his eyes glistening with lust for you as he notices every curve of you press against his mostly naked body.

“So eager when you get what you want, aren’t ya?” he says, the sparkle in his eye turning devious as his hands grip your hips, pulling down so you grind against his quickly hardening cock.

“Don’t have everything I want yet,” you reply, pushing your center onto his cock again, and Joel groans at the warmth radiating off your core through your clothes as you brush over his cock.

“About to rip these fucking clothes off of you, my insatiable little thing,” he grunts, immediately diving into the demanding, possessive persona you’ve grown accustomed to when he’s turned on.

“I’d like to see you try,” you squeak out quickly before hopping off his lap and using the bed to bounce yourself down onto the plush carpet. You giggle as Joel’s hand reaches out and just misses to grab you and pull you back to him. He growls, low and deep in his throat as he sits up and quickly launches off the bed, coming right for you. You dart around the room on light feet, Joel’s lumbering form struggling to keep up with you.

“The things I’m gonna do when I catch you, sweet girl,” he says, a sinful smirk on his gorgeous face, “You’ll wish you never tried this little stunt.”

“What, gonna punish me with your big cock?” you quip back, giggling like a mad woman as you hop up on the bed and sprint across it, heading for the bedroom door. Joel simply growls again, laser focused on his mission to get you back in his arms.

You dare a glance back and Joel is close on your tail, but you’re already on the stairs, halfway down them when a large arm wraps around your waist, stopping you mid run and nearly knocking the breath out of you. You haven’t stopped laughing throughout the entire chase, loving how worked up Joel was over the whole thing, but it’s cut short as your torso slams into his arm on the impact.

“Got you,” Joel says, menacing and quiet, tucking his arm tighter around you and pulling you into his chest with a thump. You don’t have a moment to catch your breath, being suddenly spun around, Joel’s large hand on your chest forcing you down onto your ass as you sprawl back on the stairs. Your chest heaves with excitement when you look at Joel standing above you on a lower part of the stairs, keeping your body down with just his hand alone as he snakes his arm out from around your waist and uses that hand to yank his oversized shirt you’re wearing up and pull down your boxer shorts and underwear. He kneels down, his cock out moments later, and he tugs under your thighs to pull you right into him as he slams his throbbing, dripping cock right into you without any preamble. A loud, guttural noise flies out of his mouth while your own breath is caught in your throat feeling him fill you so quickly. He’s moving already, barely giving your body a moment to register the sheer thickness of him. His eyes are flooded with untamed, savage energy as he delivers his discipline upon your body, recklessly thrusting in quick, sharp thrusts.

“J-joel,” you whine out, still unsure if the walls of your cunt are adjusting to him. Everything feels so tight and raw, your whole body tense from the way he’s moving.

“Don’t wanna hear any whining,” he grits out through ragged breaths. “Take my cock and be a good fucking girl about it.”

You whimper, his words sending your walls clenching around him and another rush of wetness coating his cock.

“Mmm,” Joel murmurs, feeling how slick you’re quickly getting, pussy squelching under him with pure need. He pulls out so quickly your body shudders upwards several inches, confused by the swift change before Joel manhandles your hips roughly and flips you onto your hands and knees, barely giving you a chance to catch yourself on them.

“If you thought that was a punishment, sweet girl…” Joel ambles, stroking one finger down your spine, sending your whole back spasming under his touch. “Look at how you fall apart for me…” Joel purrs. “What would it take… to break you, hm? Have you beggin’ for me to fill you again…” You’re equally fearful of and turned on by his twisted tone and the look on his face as you glance over your shoulder to give him doe-like, pleading eyes. His hands grip each of your ass cheeks, kneading them roughly before delivering a hard smack onto one of them.

“Nothing… I-I’m begging now… Joel, p-please,” you cry out softly, praying he’ll listen.

“Lucky I’m feeling generous for my girl tonight, aren’t you?” You nod furiously, popping your ass in his face slightly as your hips writhe for his touch between them. “Even after that little stunt you pulled…”

Joel’s finger explores your slit now, gently sliding down it and to your entrance, swirling a teasing finger. “Could fill this drippin’ little hole with my cock, is that what you want, baby?” he purrs as he teases your entrance with the tip of his finger, pushing it in.

You nod quickly again, knowing he likes it when you’re eager and begging. “Fill me, fill me Joel,” you say desperately, fingers clawing into the carpet on the stairs. Joel’s other hand trails down your back with light touches from the tips of his fingers and you whimper, your entire body shivering with the tantalizing touch.

“Ain’t gonna say please?” Joel asks as his hand reaches your ass, squeezing hard enough to leave a mark.

“P-please,” you correct yourself hastily, swallowing hard, feeling your body starting to break out in a sweat with the animalistic need you’re feeling for Joel right now.

“Good girl. That’s better.” He smirks, withdrawing all touch from you as he repositions himself behind you, his hard cock beginning to push in between your legs devastatingly slow, and as usual, you find yourself impressed with the restraint he can have when you’ve never been able to resist a single thing he does to you. Once again without warning, he slides himself inside of you, pushing up to the hilt, getting as deep as your body allows him at this angle.

“That’s it, baby, such a good girl,” he says more lovingly now, fingers kneading the supple skin of your hips as he holds you steady while he trusts in and out of you. You’re already moaning, the feeling of his cock at this angle sending you into a quick plummet towards release every single time.

“F-fuck, Joel, f-faster,” you manage to whimper, pushing your head down further to get an even better angle for him to hit the sensitive spot deep inside of you. Joel obeys without any question or comment, an unusual occurrence, but you can hear from the noises he’s making that he’s just as undone at this angle as you are, able to get deeper and feel your walls clench around him so deliciously.

“L-look so p-pretty takin’ my cock,” Joel says, his voice straining with his ragged thrusts. “Play with yourself, wanna feel you come with me,” he demands, and you slip your finger on your clit, rubbing circles and melting into all the pleasurable sensations your body is taking right now.

Joel’s movements slow down, dragging his cock in and out along your fluttering walls and you yell out, his name spilling from your lips repeatedly. The languid circles on your clit quicken while you reach your breaking point, a fever pitch breaking within you as you moan out pathetically for him, your whole body shaking and shuddering as stars explode in your vision. Joel rides you through half your orgasm, a few pumps into you before your clenching walls draw his own pleasure out of him and he comes deep inside of you, crying out your name in the process. His hips twitch and buck as you whimper at the sensation, your finger continuing to rub as a second quick orgasm tears through you from the aftershocks. Joel curses and hisses through his teeth as you bear down on him again, feeling you explode underneath him while you come all over his cock another time. You collapse onto your belly, bringing Joel down with you. He lays half on top of you, the both of you unable to speak while you catch your breath.

Joel places sweet, lazy kisses along the skin closest to him on your back, sighing heavily. “Fuckin’ incredible, baby,” he whispers, biting you playfully on a sensitive, ticklish spot.

You let out a tired laugh and wiggle under him before he pulls out of you, moving to readjust your clothing so it’s back on completely. He tucks his arms under your shoulders and lifts you up, and then slides them to your thighs, continuing to lift you and you gladly let him, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist and arms around his neck as he carries you the short distance back to the bedroom. He’s gentle as he lays you down, following up with pulling the bedsheet over you and crawling into the bed next to you. You two kiss for what feels like ages, no expectation in any of the meetings between your lips, just the desire to feel the others warmth and affection. Joel lets out murmurs of “my girl” periodically between kisses, building the emotion inside of you until you feel a single tear slide from your eye, traveling down onto the pillow beneath you.

“Your girl,” you find yourself quietly whispering as the two of you fall asleep cradled in each other’s arms.

With your parents out of town, you get to spend the entire weekend at Joel’s without anyone wondering where you are, and it’s some of the best hours of your life, holing up in his house together. You only leave to take Benny for his walks, get him food from your parents’ place, and on Saturday night to sneak into your parents’ pool to skinny dip in the dark. It’s exhilarating, letting Joel chase you around in the pool as you splash at him with the promise of something sexy to come after.

Joel cooks for you - breakfasts and lunches, and he brings you fresh fruit and periodic snacks while you lounge around, binge watching new reality shows for Joel to try and a movie that makes you cry. When you look at Joel through your tears, you notice the shimmer of tears in his and try to suppress your smile. You order pizza for dinner, learning that Joel’s go-to is a pepperoni and mushroom pizza, which happens to be at the top of your list too so you don’t have to argue about it.

You live in Joel’s clothes, not even bothering to stop at your place for anything since Joel cheekily suggested that you go without underwear, leading to yet another mind-blowing round of sex that leaves you pleasantly exhausted. That’s how it goes, the both of you in close quarters together - one small flirtatious comment leads to Joel’s tongue on your cunt, your mouth around his cock, or him buried deep inside of you for countless times over that Saturday and Sunday.

Everything is so easy, and you never run out of things to talk about together over the course of the days you spend together. When Sunday evening rolls around, you pout continuously at the prospect of having to leave and for the two of you to have to go back to reality and work the following day. Your parents are supposed to come back tonight, and you know you can’t stay at Joel’s much longer. He caresses your naked body to his once more after a particularly frenzied fuck, knowing you’d have to leave afterwards he wanted to leave you with something to think about tonight. And rest assured, you certainly will be.

You groan, looking at him and opening your mouth to speak.

“I know,” Joel says, placing a gently finger on your lips. “You’ve gotta get going, angel.”

“Nooo,” you whine, burying your face in his chest.

“Clingy little thing,” he jests, counteracting his words by clinging you tighter to him and laughing.

“You’re clingy too, remember all the times you had to fuck me this weekend ‘cause your cock gets hard if I even look at you a certain way?” you poke back with a raised eyebrow, challenging him.

“Don’t start talkin’ about my cock now, or you know what happens,” Joel warns, even though he knows neither of you have time for what would come next. “C’mon now, I’ll walk you down,” he says with a nudge into your side.

You frown but slide out of Joel’s bed, throwing on another one of his shirts and pairs his boxers. You are somewhat eager to wear something that fits you after days spent with this as your uniform, but you’ll miss having the feel and scent of Joel covering your body at all times. This certainly won’t be the last time you put on his clothes, anyways, you think as a comfort to yourself.

Joel follows you down to his kitchen, where he holds your hips as you stand at the sliding back door.

“Thanks for stayin’ over sweetheart,” Joel says before tugging your body flush with his, leading you into a warm embrace.

“Should be thanking you,” you reply, thinking of all the food, comfort, and care he gave you.

“Alright, off with you now,” Joel says, reaching around you and opening the door. He’s still got his arms wrapped around you in a hug, and he moves the few steps with you until you’re on the threshold of the door. You giggle at the awkwardness of his steps following yours before he captures your mouth in several kisses, the two of you leaning outside of the door now. You pull away reluctantly and place a hand on his chest, smiling coyly up at him.

“Bye,” you say quietly, and Joel steps backwards into his house before you turn to head back to your parents’ house. It’s early evening, and they’re supposed to be back in a few hours, giving you plenty of time to shower and change into fresh clothes that aren’t Joel’s, take care of the house, and get Benny settled back into your parents place after spending the weekend with you and Joel. He’s been at your heels as you said your goodbyes, and you call for him to follow you out of Joel’s house.

When you look up from Benny and over the fence towards your parents’ yard, you lock eyes with one of the last people you’d wanted or expected to see - your dad.

Well, shit.

taglist: @paleidiot​​​ @mumma-moonchild​​​ @soph55​​​    

[7-wonders]

Apocalypse Now

Michael Langdon x Reader (Mad Love Act II, Chapter XII)

Summary: The end is here, despite your best efforts.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: I'm sorry, this is straight angst. Oops?

Mad Love Masterlist

Tuesdays are objectively the worst day of the week. Though Monday is rough, being the first day after the weekend, it can still be spun as a positive—a brand new week, just full of possibilities. Wednesdays, at least, have the “hump day” moniker to give one some hope that the week is half over. Thursdays are alright because that means it’s almost Friday, and Fridays are what it must be like to take every party drug at once.

Tuesdays, though? Tuesdays suck. It’s far enough into the week to feel none of the residual weekend happiness, but the upcoming weekend is still very much out of grasp. Tuesday is hopelessness personified, if one is feeling particularly dramatic.

That’s why it’s fitting that the world ends on a Tuesday.

You’re in class, because where else would you be? Luckily, this is your capstone class, which is just a class for seniors who are, predictably, working on their capstones to be able to bounce ideas off of and support each other. Since you and Kate are both seniors (and because you literally signed up for this class at the same time) you have the class together, thankfully—you keep each other sane by being insane together, and nowhere is that more apparent than when the two of you work on your respective theses.

“You think I can get away with calling Kant a cunt if I do it, like, academically?” Kate whispers into your ear from where she’s sitting next to you. She keeps her eyes on her laptop screen the entire time, making you choke back a laugh at her easy nonchalance.

“Not by using those exact words, but yeah, as long as you cite your sources.” You run the same drill as Kate, refusing to look away and draw suspicion as you both snicker quietly to yourselves. “Do you wanna grab coffee and pretend to keep working after class?”

“God, yes. Then I can tell you about what went down at last night’s Greek Life exec meeting.” She glances at you from the corner of her eye. “It came out that three of the Chi O sisters are dating each other.”

(With hindsight on your side, you’ll look back on this day and think with bitter regret about how utterly, perfectly normal the day the world ended was. The gossiping conversations, the plans being made, the going about your day with all the confidence that you’ll see tomorrow.

You miss that innocence.)

You gasp under your breath at this exciting tidbit. “No way! How did they–”

You’re cut off by the alarm on someone’s phone blaring. No, multiple phones are blaring out an emergency alarm, and those that aren’t are vibrating, yours included. People dig their phones out of pockets and backpacks, and you pick yours up from where it sits on the table next to your computer and flip it around so that you can see the screen.

You wish you didn’t.

“BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND. SEEK SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL,” the alert on your phone reads.

You look up at Kate as your classmates begin to mutter around you in a mix of nervous laughter and disbelief, only to see the same shock and confusion on her face that must surely be reflected in yours.

“Do you think this is real?” you ask, your heart beginning to hammer in your throat at the implications of such a message.

“It can’t be. It’s–it’s like that time in Hawaii, remember? We’ll get an alert in a few minutes saying that it was all a mistake,” she assures you, always so calm and rational about everything.

You nod and take a couple of deep breaths to calm down. Kate is right, you tell yourself. Somebody accidentally hit a button at a command center when they were trying to conduct a test, and now everybody’s freaking out as a result. They’ve probably already caught the mistake and are preparing to do damage control. The employee will lose their job, unfortunately, but that’s to be expected when accidentally causing mass panic. All in all, this will make a fun story in a couple of years: the time you thought you were about to be caught up in nuclear warfare.

Screaming draws your attention to the large windows to the right of you, and you and others cross the room to see what the commotion is. Outside, people of all ages are running in various directions across campus for—well, for their lives. The way everyone hurries reminds you of watching an ant farm. Someone trips and goes sprawling to their hands and knees, only to have to roll to the grass to prevent almost being trampled. Their belongings, having fallen from their grasp, are kicked and scattered without any care.

The panic from outside leaches through the wall and begins to spread through the classroom like a fast-moving disease. Warning sirens, which you didn’t know were still in operation after the Cold War, begin to wail. Some classmates start trying to reach friends or loved ones on their phones, while others just make a break for the door. At the front of the room, your professor sits, paralyzed, with tears running down his face while he scrolls his social media and tries to find anything to confirm that this is all just a terrible misstep. 

Your stomach drops like you’re lurching down from the top of a very tall roller coaster, and you look back at Kate. “We gotta go.”

“Where?” she asks. You just shake your head, throwing everything into your backpack and zipping it up before grabbing Kate’s hand. You don’t know where it is you need to go, only that you can’t stay here. Taking one last look back at the classroom to make sure you have everything, you and Kate join the flow of people heading down the stairs to try and escape.

Hand in hand so as not to get separated in the crowd, you both run through the campus green. It’s a perfect late-autumn day, really. The sun is high in the blue, cloudless sky and the temperature is warm, but with a bit of a chill from the wind. It’s the type of weather that makes you want to spend all day outside so as not to waste it. The juxtaposition, between the pleasant weather and the chaotic, frightened atmosphere, is not lost on you.

“Wait,” Kate raises her voice to be heard over the panicked din, “we need a plan.”

You wrack your brain, trying to think of anything beyond how scared you are. “Uh…we’ll get in my car, okay? I filled up on gas this morning. And–and we’ll drive as fast as we can, to get as far away as we can before the blast happens. I think we can get out of the major blast zone.”

“Okay, yeah. That sounds good.” 

She nods at you, and you nod back, both trying to reassure the other. The parking lot appears as you round a corner, and you tear your backpack around to your front so that you can find your keys.

“Wait!” Kate says again. “What about Brennan? And Michael?”

Hearing Michael’s name sends alarm bells flaring in the back of your mind. There’s something about him and this nightmare that are connected, but the primal parts of your brain, the one telling you that flight is the best option for survival right now, is too active for you to have any sort of introspection in this moment.

“Call them,” you answer without hesitation, “we can pick them up on the way out of town.”

Kate grabs her phone, finding Brennan’s number and hitting ‘call’ before holding the device up to her ear. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” she mutters, listening closely. “Fuck! I can’t get through.”

“Keep trying. One has to go through eventually. And if they don’t, we at least know where they both are.”

“Do you really think this is going to work? That we’re going to survive?” Kate asks, dialing Brennan once more.

The truth is that you don’t know. You hope it does, that you can at least give yourself a fighting chance to not immediately die when the missiles hit. But there’s just as big a chance that you can’t make it out, that you will die. That’s terrifying, and it makes your throat tighten from terror. The only thing that keeps you from outright freaking out is that, if you do die, at least you’ll have Kate right there next to you.

“I don’t know. But I can promise you that we’re going to try our hardest to survive,” you say.

You can see your car now, only a couple of rows away. Maybe you will actually make it. Maybe this plan will work, and the four of you will end up riding out the end of the world together. Maybe survival can happen; you’re all pretty resourceful, and if you can at least get past the blasts, you can—

An armored vehicle screeches to a halt in front of you, sending you and Kate rearing back as your path is cut off. Two figures dressed in black suits hop out and begin to walk towards you with a purpose. Behind them, military personnel also exit the vehicle. Immediately, your worst fears are confirmed, and you know what this must be. Trying to avoid the inevitable, you begin taking hurried steps back.

One of the men in black says your name. “You need to come with us,” he commands.

“Fuck you, I’m not going anywhere with you!” You try to run to your left, hoping to catch them off-guard and make a break for it, but the other man in black stands in front of you.

“I’m afraid we can’t accept that,” he says, motioning for the military personnel. 

Two of them approach you, their rifles belted to their fronts and serving as a menacing reminder that you have no power here. They each grab one arm and begin to drag you towards the vehicle, paying no mind to you as you start screaming and trying to fight your way out of their grasps. You hold desperately onto Kate’s hand for as long as you can, but it’s only a matter of time before you lose your hold.

“Wait! Where are you taking her?” you hear Kate yell behind you.

“Kate! Kate!” you shriek, high and piercing and terrified. 

You look over your shoulder to see two other soldiers blocking her from reaching you. You’re both sobbing, but there’s nothing either of you can do about it. You’re unceremoniously thrown into the backseat of the armored vehicle, the door slamming shut before you can even think to move. Up front, the driver throws it into gear and peals away from the parking lot. When you scramble to your knees, you’re forced to watch as Kate’s figure rapidly grows smaller and smaller.

“Please go back! You have to take Kate, too! Please!” you beg.

“Shut up!” One of the men shoves you down into your seat, and when you try to get up, he backhands you across the face.

“Hey, be careful with her!” another warns. “You remember what they said. No harm is to come to the boss’s wife.”

The pain of the slap has you reeling, but it also serves to clear your mind enough that the reality of what was just said begins to sink in. You’re apparently the boss’s wife, which means one thing and one thing only.

He’s done it, then? This is all the doing of one Michael Langdon, who for so long swore to you that the world would not end for years, that you would be well aware of when and if his plans were going to be realized? You don’t want to believe it, but, unfortunately, it’s the reality that you seem to be faced with. In response, your tears dry up, and you sit silently and stoically for the rest of the ride.

It’s not a very long journey to wherever you’re being taken to, maybe fifteen minutes or so before the truck is driven into a garage. You look out the back window again to see the garage door closing behind you, the rectangle of light growing smaller and smaller until it finally disappears. Deep down, you know that this was probably your last time seeing the sunlight. You don’t know whether watching it will make you feel better or worse.

The soldiers drag you out of the car just as they dragged you in, marching you through what looks like an underground parking garage towards an elevator and forcing you to stand between them as the men in black join your little group. One of them reaches out a hand, gloved in black leather, so they can stab at the control panel. Even though they press the topmost button, the elevator begins to move down.

The silence begins to stretch on, and you shift uncomfortably. “Is my—” your voice breaks, and you clear your throat. “Is Michael here?”

Predictably, they ignore you, staring straight ahead at their distorted reflections in the chrome doors.

When the doors do finally ding open, they reveal what looks like the living room of an apartment. The walls are bare, but there are all the normal furnishings that one would expect to find: a couch, a TV, a coffee table. There are no windows, you note, the only light available emitting harshly from the fixtures up above. You’re sat down on the couch, and you glare petulantly at your kidnappers.

“Where are we?” you demand. “I deserve answers.”

“You’ll be safe here,” one of them says instead of answering your question. 

Single-file, they move back into the elevator, presumably to return to the surface. As the doors shut once more, you hold eye contact with the soldier that hit you.

He looks at you in fear, his lower lip trembling almost imperceptibly.

The elevator whirs back to life as it begins its travels up, and the sound serves to jolt you out of your stunned state and remind you that you have free will. You jump up from the couch and run to the elevator, hoping for a way out. There’s no call panel on the wall next to it, meaning that the only way it can be accessed is from the inside. Effectively, you’re trapped.

Panic returns in full-force at this revelation, and you frantically start trying to get your fingers into the seam of the door. Maybe if you pull hard enough, you’ll be able to pry them open? You’re not sure what you’ll do after that, but at least then you’ll have options.

Just as you’re starting to delude yourself that you think you can feel a gap widening under your grip, an explosion rocks the world above you. It’s loud, louder than you thought possible for how far below ground you must be, and you scream as you fall to the floor. The shock of the blast reverberates all the way down to what must be the Earth’s core, causing the room to shake around you. The lights flicker and go out before being replaced by an eerie red glow, and an alarm starts to methodically sound.

A sob rips from you, your heart knowing what’s just happened before your brain can come to the same conclusion. A nuclear weapon, dropped right over your head. Death and destruction wreaking havoc on the world in a matter of seconds. Mere circumstance saving you, while those you love are left to perish.

Against your will, you’re forced to imagine the scenarios. Kate was probably still outside, nowhere near any sort of safety. Brennan must have been so worried, trying just as desperately until his last moments to try and reach Kate. Mallory, you know, would have been more worried for her students, for her girls, than herself. Your parents…fuck. You didn’t even get to tell your parents you love them. The grief is overwhelming, and threatens to swallow you whole.

A hand comes to rest under your chin, lifting your face up from where it’s been hanging in despair. Through tears, you see a figure with blue eyes and golden hair crouched in front of you. Their thumb gently presses on your lip, and you inhale sharply at the pain, the source of which must have been the slap.

“Who did this to you? Was it one of the personnel who brought you here?” he asks, fury in his tone.

“Michael,” you cry out, letting him collect you in his embrace. He’s so comforting, so familiar, that you can forget for a moment that he’s the source of your current agony.

“Oh my love, it’s alright. We’re both safe,” he soothes, rubbing a hand on your back as you sob into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t warn you beforehand, but these plans were extremely confidential.”

That reminds you who it is you’re crying on, and you pull yourself up off of his shoulder. Michael’s looking down at you with all the love in the world in his eyes and frowning just slightly in sympathy for your plight.

Rage, hot and incandescent, floods through your veins.

“You did this, then?” you ask.

He smiles proudly. “As I was born to do.”

“And…everybody’s dead?” Your voice comes out strangled, though you try your hardest to school your emotions.

“Not everybody. Those that managed to earn a spot in an Outpost are all alive and well. There will be a good number of people who were far enough away from blast zones to have survived the initial blast. The fallout will take care of them within a couple years, though.” He shakes his head in pity. “Nasty thing, nuclear fallout. If exposed for even a few minutes, cancer and sores can easily develop. Mutations as well.”

That sounds horrifying. However morbid it may be, for the sake of those you love, you hope that the blasts killed them.

The look on your face must match how you’re feeling, because Michael quickly takes your hands in his. “I know, it sounds terrible. But their deaths were necessary! They fulfill a purpose.”

“And what purpose is that?”

“To cleanse the world and remake it in my father’s image, for you and I to rule as we see fit.”

A wave of nausea takes over you, and you have to close your eyes and breathe deeply to keep from becoming sick. You stand, backing away from Michael as quickly as you can. He tries to follow, but you hold your hands out in front of you to stop him from coming any closer.

“You bastard,” you whisper.

His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What?”

You look up at him, fire in your eyes. “You. Bastard.”

“You don’t really mean that.” You can’t tell if he’s in disbelief or if he’s challenging you to repeat that.

“Yes, I do. You killed them! You killed all of them, for no good reason—”

“You know the reason!” he yells, grabbing onto your upper arms and pulling you to him. Though you try to fight your way out of his grasp, your resistance is futile. “I am doing this for us,” he hisses. “So that we can have the future we’ve dreamed about, the future that we’ve earned with our hard work.”

“This is not the future I dreamed about.” You shove him away, making him glare at you as though you’re his enemy.

Your Michael, the one that you know and love, is nowhere to be seen. Gone is the Michael that would tell you everything. The Michael that researched grad schools as though he was the one that would be attending, the Michael that took a body shot off of you, the Michael that lit up the first time that he saw fireflies, the Michael that loved Valentine’s Day because it meant that he got to shower you in love and there was nothing you could do about it.

Now, there’s a man wearing your husband’s face, who stands before you unrepentant and assured in his actions. This stranger has been completely and utterly corrupted by his father, and in such a short amount of time. As it turns out, all of your hard work only served to send him quicker into the throes of darkness.

  “I don’t know who you are anymore,” you say, tears welling in your eyes for the umpteenth time today.

“This is who I have always been,” he proclaims proudly. “You just haven’t wanted to see it.”

“You’re a fucking monster.” Amidst all of the uncertainty that you’re currently faced with, through all of the horror you’ve been forced to endure in one day, this is what you can be certain of.

Michael smiles patronizingly, as though you’re a mere child who insists that the bogeyman is real and he’s the adult that knows better. “You’ll come to your senses. Just give it some time.”

He grabs your hand against your will, bringing it to his lips and kissing the back of it. 

“Soon, our reign begins.”

//

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(I really don't know why I still do a tag list. Habit, I suppose.)