#mark me not a savage fic

[graciereadshannigram]

Five Star Fics: Hannigram Edition

hey fam, welcome to the inaugural roundup of the best hannigram fics i've read this past month! i read over 60 fics total, and these were the cream of the crop.

the ingredients for a five star rating typically (but not always!!) include some combination of a.) believable characterizations of both Hannibal and Will, b.) compelling plot and/or character arcs, and c.) high quality smut.

that being said, my judgment of the aforementioned ingredients is powered almost exclusively by vibes and as such, is incredibly subjective.

in no particular order, let's go!

~

Title: Veins As Fine As Rabbit Hair Author: lovetincture Word Count: 42,953 Summary: After their fall, the little yellow house Hannibal brings them to is a charmed space. It’s easy to forget there, when Will is in the mood for forgetting. In the Pennsylvanian woods, it’s easy as breathing to ignore the life he left behind. Simple to pretend they’re the last men on earth. Molly and Jack, the murder victims and the FBI seem farther away in the sea of tall, sweet grass—an echo from someone else’s dreams. That’s their life now: Will wants to forget, and Hannibal wants to let him. But reality has a way of asserting itself. No one can ignore it forever.

This was absolutely beautiful. And tender. And sweet. This is probably my favorite post-fall fic. I just get Will and love how they figure out their dynamic together. Definitely hit me right in the gut, but in a very very good way.

Title: Peccavi Author: Yggdrastiles (yoingle) Word Count: 30,067 Summary: After a terrifyingly vivid dream, Will realizes that he's going to need to pick a course of action, and the one he picks no longer involves betraying Hannibal. He knows he'll have to confess because if Hannibal were to discover the original plan on his own, it would tear them apart, and Will's not planning on letting him go anytime soon.

I'm a slut for a well-executed daddy kink, what can I say? Long enough to get really invested in the characters and top-notch smut. Nothing more to say here, folks!

Title: Demonstration Author: HotMolasses Word Count: 11,660 Summary: Will goes to a heat clinic a few days before he is due, to determine whether he wants to use the facility. But then he finds himself blindly following the scent of a delicious Alpha. Before he knows what's happening, he finds himself naked, bound, and gagged on an examination table that is being prepared for a medical demonstration, given by Dr. Lecter to a room full of students on how to properly treat an omega during heat. At first he is mortified, but Dr. Lecter's treatment soon has him enjoying himself to the point of begging for more.

This got five stars purely for the SCORCHING smut. If you're into the omegaverse and also enjoy exhibitionism, you'll enjoy this!

Title: Paragon Author: BloodyWar2411 Word Count: 552,462 Summary: When Hannibal met Will Graham (the man who had, three years prior, been mistaken for the Chesapeake Ripper), he expected amusement. What he got was his first taste of obsession. Dark and bitter in the back of his throat but achingly sweet on the tongue. He knew at once that this feeling, this Man, would consume him. And Hannibal would consume Will right back.

Need I say anything? I still don't have words for how much I loved this fic. The plot was excellent, well-paced, and I loved the characterization of Matthew so much! Bonus points awarded for making me truly understand the appeal of primal play.

Title: Realignment Author: HigherMagic Word Count: 23,120 Summary: Hannibal has a daddy kink. This was easy enough when he was younger - plenty of men were eager to take a pretty-faced, arrogant youth in hand. But as he got older, people started to see him differently, even though his own tastes and kinks never changed. He started to attract men who expected him to take the lead, and it just felt awkward to try and broach the subject. Then he met Will Graham.

As I said, I can't resist a well-executed daddy kink, but I was surprised to find out how much I enjoyed Hannibal calling Will daddy.

Title: Mark Me Not A Savage Author: KatherineKrawl Word Count: 401,953 Summary: When Will opens Hannibal's letter, it wakes something primal locked inside of him. He doesn't understand it, but what he does know is that he has to go to Baltimore hospital for the criminally insane, and he has to go now. Dear Will. He could still see the words, written in the curly elegance of Hannibal's hand, burning behind his eyelids. He breathed deeply through his nose to try and calm the unsteady flutter of his heart. A deep breath. One that clawed at his nose, one that penetrated his nostrils like a liquid, a smothering sting he felt intruding behind his eyes. One. Deep. Breath. And then it took him.

An INCREDIBLE omegaverse fic that convinced me hannigram was made for ABO dynamics. Not only was the smut incredible, but the author brilliantly incorporated their canonical mind melding and retooled it for the omegaverse. I think I also set a new reading record by reading this in under 48 hours.

Title: Kindling Author: gleamingandwholeanddeadly (something_safe) Word Count: 10,281 Summary: “You should take a date to your fundraiser." “Yes, perhaps you’re right. It would be improper to invite someone under false pretence, mind, and for my patient to understand, the evidence would need to be… compelling.” “Perhaps an ex-girlfriend,” Will says, unsure why the thought makes him feel flat and remote. “That would be incredibly inappropriate.” “A friend then. Someone you can explain the problem to. You could take-” “You,” Hannibal interjects. The words belly-flop into silence. Will’s mouth opens, and then closes, and then opens again. When Franklyn's advances of friendship become too much for even Hannibal to politely ignore, he enlists Will's help.

Another favorite trope: fake dating. This fic just had me giggling and smiling the entire time and I loved it. I feel moderately bad for Franklyn as a character and yet... I love when Hannibal and Will flaunt their relationship in front of him. Sue me.

Title: Nothing For It... Author: phenobarbital Word Count: 11,360 Summary: ...not thinking to consult Hannibal on the matter, Will went ahead with venting his anger and he thudded the headboard against the wall again, before pressing his lips together and letting out a loud humming moan, which he trailed off into an ‘aaah’ sound as he parted his lips. He didn’t even glance behind him, totally missing the startled and intrigued look on Hannibal’s face as he made another humming moan and thudded the headboard lightly again.

GOOD GRIEF. This fic left me UNWELL. In the best possible way. We love making homophobes uncomfortable, and if it leads to accidentally having sex? Oh noooo. Also, Beverly makes an appearance at the very end and she's great. Love her.

Title: Transcendent Suffering Author: itsbeautiful Word Count: 484,659 Summary: Blue eyes closed suddenly against Hannibal’s searching gaze, sucking in a breath, body going rigid. “You can’t say things like that to me, Hannibal. You cannot glorify the dark impulses inside of me and call them… beautiful.” Will stared up at the ceiling, head thrown back as if struggling to breathe, fragile and bending against the sound of his voice. “You can’t. You just can’t say them.” “Only the celestial moon and I have truly seen you bathed in blood, savoring the darkness, embracing your becoming, and I can assure you it was truly breathtaking.”

I can't remember the last time I read a fic that was as deeply gut-wrenching as this one. I cried. Multiple times. If you like incredibly well done, character-driven stories, this is IT. And the author also wrote some of the most romantic stuff I've ever read, ever. I will be processing this fic for the foreseeable future.

Title: Love Is What You Make It – A two part series! Author: orphaned on ao3 Word Count: 181,771 (both parts combined) Summary: Will and Hannibal make their way to Hannibal's safe house in New Hampshire a couple days after their plunge off the cliff and plot their next move, Will coming to terms with the fact that he is committed to it this time.

A twofer!! And oh my god this was TENDER. I am a sucker for fics that really explore Will and Hannibal's emotional journey post-fall and I think this did an incredible job of realistically portraying that, while still being indulgent. The first fic is very character-driven, and the second part is more plot-heavy. Both are so good! I found myself actively taking breaks just to make it last longer.

And lastly, the honorable mention(s)!

Title: Hannigram: Cuts Unscene -- Season 1 Author: DBMars Word Count: 71,097 Summary: Cuts Unscene is a Hannigram fanfiction challenge – to write one scene for each episode of the series where Will and Hannibal have some kind of intimate interaction that builds their romantic connection. These stories operate on the concept that they were scenes cut from the original episodes, and the attempt is to make them fit into the plot in ways that are as plausible as possible while still having a good ol’ time writing them. The devil is in the details!

Okay WOW, this is the first of four (one per season, and then an imagined season 4), and I am so deeply impressed with how the author made these truly feel like cut scenes from the actual show. The only reason I'm not giving a full five stars is because I want to actually rewatch a couple episodes and pause to read some of the cut scenes to really assess how well they fit into the overall plot. I'll hopefully have an update on this at some point in the future!

~

And that's all she wrote, folks! Feel free to let me know what y'all are reading and what I should read next :)

[highdefhoetry]

tags: NSFW!!! female reader, MMF threesome, penetration (penis in vagina), unprotected sex, possessiveness, jealousy, voyeurism, vaginal fingering, cream pies, dirty talk, big dick, size kink, size difference, hair pulling, biting, marking

summary: sequel to this fic. gojo and toji fight over who fucks you better.

word count: 1,441

The knock had been a warning. Satoru Gojo had no intention of waiting for you to answer, nor did he have any intention of letting Toji Fushiguro take what was rightfully his. Not after what he’d just heard. He kicks open the door and waltzes inside without so much as a greeting. Hands in his pockets, lips curled into a smirk.

Your heart pulses steadily as the two giants stare you down, devouring your nude body with their piercing eyes as you stand before them completely bare. Gojo on your left. Toji at your right. You back presses against the cold wall as you suddenly find yourself cornered by two powerful men that didn’t know how to share. Both tower over you at their massive heights, like two rabid wolves leering at their prey.

Satoru rips the dark blindfold off his face, shoves it in his pocket, gazes deeply into your eyes as his sparkling cerulean blues drink up the sight of your nakedness. Something within them, wild and untamed, threatening to break loose. 

“What a naughty girl you are, (Y/N). Shacking up with a loser like him, when I’m the only one you need.” Gojo says as he takes your hand in his, planting soft kisses on the inside of your wrist as he looks down at you with big, doe eyes. “You’re breaking my heart.”

You feel his right hand on the side of your neck, caressing the sensitive skin before sliding upwards, his fingers intertwining themselves in your hair. A flurry of breathy gasps fall from your lips.

Toji is a bit more aggressive. Displeased, he seizes your other arm, snakes his free hand around your back to rest on your waist, pulls you towards him with viscous strength. 

“Don’t be stupid, (Y/N),” he growls into your ear after dragging his teeth up your neck. “Remember who you belong to.”

Your heart races as their battle continues.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Gojo wraps his big hand around the back of your neck, yanks you back to him so he can kiss and nibble your ear in between whispered threats. “You’re mine, (Y/N).”

Toji snarls at his nemesis, bares his teeth like a savage beast as if preparing to tear apart this trespasser who has stepped into his territory.

“Back off, brat.”

“Get bent, old man.”

You feel yourself being pulled backwards onto the bed. They toss you down on your back like a ragdoll, pin your arms and legs down with their long limbs. Both men on either side. Your heart pummels your chest, thumping so loud you can barely hear your own breath while your eyes dart back and forth from Gojo’s wide smile to Toji’s deep frown.

“Well, (Y/N)?” Gojo smiles as he strokes your hair. “Let’s show him all the cute little noises you make whenever you fuck me."

You feel his large, weathered hand drift down your side, stopping to caress your hip before resting on the top of your thigh. His soft movements make you writhe in pleasure, fueling Toji’s anger. 

“Not before we show this stupid brat how hard I can make you cum,” he grumbles in a deep, gravelly baritone. Somehow he regains his dominance, forces himself into a position on top while Gojo is pushed to the side. He balls his fists in your hair, yanking your head to the side, allowing him full access to your vulnerable neck. You feel his rough, calloused hand squeezing your breasts while his mouth sucks on your skin so hard it leaves red marks. And once you’ve been warmed up, he pushes his fingers inside you. One at first, then two, both curling upwards in search of that spongy spot that makes you scream. He finds it in seconds, grinning wickedly as he watches your entire body tremble with pleasure. You feel yourself cum all over his fingers, letting out high-pitched shrieks as your orgasm sends shockwaves through your body. 

He pulls out his finger and licks them clean, savoring the taste of your juices. 

“That’s my girl…” he croons.

As you lay there panting heavily, skin dampened with sweat, your eyes turn to Gojo. He patiently waits for Toji to finish, donning a terrifyingly serene smile. Then, in one swift and graceful motion, he takes control, shoving his way to the top so his hands can work their magic. Toji disappears into your peripheral as Gojo strokes the undersides of your breasts, the sensitive areas he discovered during one of the nights you’d spent together. His touch is electric, like lightning. You whimper as his fingers trail down your sides, ghosting the tender skin on your hips and inner thighs.

“He's so aggressive with you,” Gojo complains in a lighthearted tone, teases your clit with one finger, circles around the hood while he relishes the way you arch your back and whimper. “You prefer a much gentler touch. Right, baby?”

He cups your cheeks in his hands, runs a thumb across your bottom lip. You feel his desperate lips press against yours, and invite his tongue inside to dance. He kisses your jaw, drags his lips down your neck. His tongue flicks your skin, making you cry out with every little taste of you he steals. 

"There we go," he smiles into his kiss, making you shudder with his words. "Cum for me, baby."

Your second orgasm comes just as easily as the first. Gojo’s fluttered words, the gentle teasing on your clit, and the delicate touch of his hands on your chest bring you over the edge. He coaxes out your orgasm, grinning madly as he watches you unravel. Your throat feels raw from the constant cries of pleasure both men have been forcing out of you, yet your moans do not cease. 

Neither men allow you any respite. A pair of forceful hands take hold of you, pulling you on top of a pissed off Toji who is now laying on his back in the bed. He yanks down his boxers, reveals his throbbing, pulsing cock. Before you can utter a sound, he lifts you up, then sets you down with your hole slowly taking him in. You throw back your head and moan, hearing your voice crack as your wall clench tightly around his dick. He lets out a deep, rugged moan that sounds like the bellow of an animal. His hands remain on your waist, controlling every one your movements. You hold onto his hands for dear life, digging your nails into his skin as you squeeze your eyes shut and feel yourself overcome with pleasure.

Meanwhile, Gojo climbs behind you, his own boxers long discarded somewhere on the floor. He grabs your hips while you’re in the air, stealing you from Toji once more, then shoves his own cock inside of you without warning. The sudden feeling of his massive dick inside you almost makes you cry. Now in doggy position, you surrender to him and sink your nails into Toji’s shoulders, bracing yourself while Satoru Gojo slams into you again and again and again.

They take turns stealing you, pumping their dicks in your tight hole as you whimper and cry for more. Toji ends up finishing first; you sit on his cock one last time and throw back your head as you feel his warm cum fill you up. You clench your walls around his pulsing dick one last time, and don’t release him until he’s completely empty. And while he lays limp on the bed, Gojo grabs your hips once more, caring not for the thick white cum leaking out of your pussy. He shoves himself inside, reclaims your hole as his. His strokes are quick, yet deep. He’s thrusting so fast you see stars, the corners of your vision going fuzzy. When he finally cums, you feel that same warmth spreading through your body and let out a sigh of relief. You’re panting like hell, sweating bullets as you gasp for air. 

You collapse onto the bed, and Gojo follows suit. Sandwiched between the two, you take a moment to catch your breath and still the rapid beating of your heart. You feel two sets of hands exploring your body, caressing your tender breasts and stomach, stroking your hips and thighs. Gojo buries his face in your neck, kissing it softly. Toji grabs your chin and pulls your face towards his for a kiss. 

“(Y/N)...” Gojo murmurs in one ear. “Say it. Say that you’re mine.”

“(Y/N),” Toji growls into the other. “Be a good girl and tell me who you belong to.”

You start to speak, but all that comes out is a fluttered sigh.

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

@oatmealdrool @magalimachete @heartbroken-whoore @freebananabeard @niname-sensei hope u enjoyed <3

[acapelladitty]

sweeter than honey

Pairing: Cooper Howard/Fem!Reader

Summary: "You'd let me," Cooper pauses to allow the truth of the question to hold in the air, "rip my teeth into you and take a bite of you for myself? No knife. No healing. Just teeth." Groaning at the very thought as you consider the other wicked things those teeth are capable of, your thighs widen in open invitation. "Yes."

(warnings for: oral sex, cannibalism, biting, blood, sub space painkink, cum marking, masochism, teasing)

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

Slick with sweat, your breath comes in shallow pants as every inhale breathes fresh life into your burning lungs while you drift in the pleasurable haze of your post-orgasm comedown. The sloppy mess which steadily drips free of your cunt to the leather duster below is quick to stain the fabric as Cooper's electric eyes gaze up at you from the flat position between your thighs where he'd long since dropped his body.

"Nothing like it, darlin'. Sweet as honey and enough to make a man want more."

His mouth and chin glistening with your release and his own spit, for someone whose own mess streaked the dusted ground where his groin has rubbed itself into a frenzy, Cooper didn't seem quite finished with you as he licks a lazy stripe across your slit - the simple move making your legs jerk as his tongue grazes your engorged and overly sensitive clit.

Brain fuzzy, you can only squeak out a casual acknowledgement as you lazily egg him on with a dopey grin.

"Take more if you want."

Cooper scoffed.

"Last time, your foot kicked seven shades of hell outta my jaw cause it was too much for you, sweetie. I ain't falling for that shit again."

"Not like that." You smirk, recalling the fantastic yowl which fled him as your overstimulated body acted of its own accord and cold-clocked his wicked mouth. "I mean take what you want."

"You know what I want." Low voice rumbling from his throat like an approaching storm, Cooper presses his lips to your thigh in a chapped kiss before continuing. "But some things just ain't likely, are they?"

"I'd let you do it."

"You would, huh?"

"I mean, if you wanted-"

"You'd let me," Cooper pauses to allow the truth of the question to hold in the air, "rip my teeth into you and take a bite of you for myself? No knife. No healing. Just teeth."

Groaning at the very thought as you consider the other wicked things those teeth are capable of, your thighs widen in open invitation.

"Yes."

Something savage, almost animalistic twists at his features as he takes the encouragement for what it is, his face rubbing against your thigh as he nestles himself against the flesh. His lips ghost across the skin of your inner thigh with reverence; licking the skin there with a textured tongue as he steals a taste of what's soon to be his.

"You sure, darlin?" It's an ask, more like a plea, as he tries to hold back the excitement in his tone - his blazing eyes flashing up at you for one final acknowledgement, a final chance to back out and forget the offer.

"Do it, Coop. Take what no one else ever will."

Teeth blunt and not designed for a clean tear, it hurts like fuck when he sinks them deep into the flesh of your thigh; the heat of the pain burning like hellfire and forcing your spine to go ramrod straight as you beat your fists against the floor and writhe in place against it.

"Fuck! Fuck- ow! Fucking hell, Coop!" You whine out, the words only able to break free of your gritted teeth as the white-hot pain levels out into a terrible ache which makes your limbs tremble and tears slip free of your eyes.

Despite it all, there's a heat in the actions - a thrill of pain and pleasure rolling across your spine as you glance down through watery eyes to see him swallowing down the small part of you he had ripped free.

Part of him now.

It was enough to make you light-headed. Well, that and the blood loss, as the fresh wound bleeds freely and droplets trickle across the skin of your legs as they follow the curve of your thighs to drip to the duster.

His mouth licking at the wound, almost like a cat as he catches the blood he can - his hands slips up to cup at your cunt and his fingers are quick to spread your lips as he sinks past the mess he left to circle his calloused digits around your clit.

Mewling out something incomprehensible, nausea and arousal making the pressure in your skull difficult to ignore, you can't muster up the energy to push him away as each gentle touch feels like fresh lightning scoring across your overheated flesh.

"Every part as good as the last, sweetheart." Cooper speaks eventually, flashing bloodied teeth at you as he covers the wound on your thigh with his free palm, the pressure making you squeal in discomfort. "A man won't be able to forget an experience like that."

"Remember it well, handsome, cause that hurt like fuck and I ain't doing it again."

The threat of an approaching orgasm quickly making your heels curl against the ground, you gasp out your response before his actions have you reduced to a babbling, sobbing mess - so lost in that hazy space where pain melts with pleasure that you doubt you'd even notice him sneaking his way in for a second bite.

Slipping higher until the sensation of his breath on your cunt makes your brain short-circuit, Cooper is as enthusiastic as ever as he growls playfully at your words.

"Noted, sweetheart."

[azrielslightintheshadows]

You've got me on an Eris kick now oml

Could I request an Eris brat tamer fic please?

Reader is a healer coming into his court to serve him now that he is high lord. But she is also kind of chaotic and free spirited which gets under his skin but he loves it none the less. Reader is just a feral little wood herbalist that steals his heart but he needs to tame her 😂 honestly just have fun with it, throw in some sexual tension and flirting in and I'll be happy as a clam

Thank you for all you do! I hope everything in your world is a bit brighter from your last update 🩷

-leaf anon 🌿

Sucker for a brat.

Eris x f!Reader

Masterlist.

Warnings; smut (18+) , brat taming. The smut is towards the end and I've marked where it starts.

Hello leaf anon!!! I'm so happy you're back! I was thinking about you the other day and suddenly you requested this and I was like "Omg I summoned the leaf anon". Hope you enjoy this!

It was the second time that Helion begged you to go to the Autumn court as a healer. The first time you immediately told him no, saying that you had way too much respect for yourself to serve Beron, and Helion accepted that and didn’t press the matter. Now though that Beron is dead, and his eldest son Eris became High Lord you couldn’t find any excuse to deny. So, you packed your few stuff and left for the Autumn court hoping that Eris is nothing like his late father.

The moment you stepped into the Forest House you cursed under your breath. The house more like palace was huge, and you were sure that you would get lost at some point. A maid approached you with a kind smile on her face.

“Welcome to the Autumn Court” she said, “The High Lord is waiting for you in the throne room”.

You snorted and mumbled “Of course” before following her.

You entered the throne room and glanced around, everything was covered with red and brown ornaments, five huge chandeliers were hanging from the ceilings, decorated with rubies and sapphires. A red narrow carpet covered the path between the door and the huge throne on the dais. Your breath hitched at the sight of the High Lord sprawled on his throne, his thighs spread wide, and his head cocked to the side, his eyes were scanning you and a smirk appeared on his face. 

“Hello little fox” he purred.

You scowled and stood in front of him, bowing your head in a mocking way. Amusement filled his eyes and the smirk turned to a mischievous grin.

“Oh I see, we’re going to have way too much fun” he said.

“I’m here to do my job, you can have fun on your own… my lord”. You replied.

The maid gasped at your reply and hurried off with her head bowed.

“Y/n my dear is this the way to speak to your high lord? I can have your tongue for that.” He purred.

His attitude and the velvet in his voice made your insides burn, and you hoped he didn’t notice your arousal.

“My apologies my lord I didn’t mean to bruise your ego.” You smirked.

The smile left his face, and he cleared his throat.

“Nissa is going to show you to your room and infirmary” He spoke and pointed at the door, an old female was standing there, her tired honey eyes fell on you, and she smiled.

“Enjoy the rest of your night” you smiled and left, not missing the glare he sent your way.

You winked at Nissa and strolled past her to the big hall.

“So where is my room?” You chirped.

“Follow me my lady” she chuckled “it seems like the high lord found a perfect match”

You snorted at that.

“I just don’t really like the authority… all those high lords are so cocky and demanding. Why can’t we all appreciate the magic in us without all those laws and regulations” you huffed.

“Those laws are what keeps us from being savages” she smiled, and you shrugged.

It’s not that you didn’t appreciate the system that Prythian has, you just wanted to be free to make your own choices and create a life you enjoyed.

She stopped in front of a wooden door and looked at you.

“This is your room, the infirmary is on the other side of the house. I will come get you in the morning and take you there.” She said and bowed her head before turning around and leaving.

“Good night” you shouted and opened the door.

The room was slightly smaller than the one in Helion’s palace, but you didn’t mind it, it looked cozy, and you didn’t even have that much stuff to fill it.

All the furniture were made from wood, a big bed was set in the middle of the room, the headboard against a chestnut-colored wall and a small coffee table was placed next to the big window across the door. You walked inside and hummed when you noticed a door that led into a bathroom. You placed your bags on the bed and started unpacking. The closet was full of clothes, their style and color screamed autumn court making you roll your eyes.

After you were done unpacking you took a hot bath and then laid on the bed, you knew you had a long day ahead and you needed to rest.

To your mortification your dreams were filled with a certain high lord bending you over his throne and wrecking your body.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 🍁 🍂 ☁️˙✧˖°

Eris was sitting on his throne, his hands shaking with annoyance. He couldn’t believe the way the small female spoke to him, she has a fire in her that’s for sure and he knew that being around her would challenge his own fire until he exploded. He thought about all the ways he could make you shut up and each one of them made his cock harden. The way you looked didn’t really help with his arousal, you were a sight for sore eyes and Eris felt a primal need to claim you even though he only saw you once.

He rubbed his face and started walking towards his room stopping in front of your door for a moment. Your sweet scent filled his nostrils, and he clenched his fists. He shook his head and hurried off to his room. The moment he walked inside he stripped his clothes and grabbed himself pumping fast and hard, letting all the annoyance out as he came on his stomach with a groan.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 🍁 🍂 ☁️˙✧˖°

You woke up frustrated, your dreams flashing in your eyes making you groan. You got dressed in one of your day court dresses not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you in Autumn colors. As if on cue Nissa knocked on your door.

“Good morning my lady, I’m here to take you to the infirmary” she smiled when you opened.

“Good morning Nissa, please call me y/n I don’t like the titles” you snorted.

“Of course” she smirked and started walking.

“What are you smirking about?” You asked.

“Our high lord likes females with strong spirits”.

“Well too bad those females don’t like him” you chuckled.

Nissa shook her head and grinned.

You walked past the throne room, and you peeked inside, no one was there.

“He is out on a hunt” Nissa said.

“I don’t care”.

“Okay”

You really wanted to slap the smug look off her face but she seemed like a nice person, so you just clicked your tongue.

You reached a room without a door and walked inside, a large table was set in the middle, the wall across the door was made of glass, offering a view of the forest bellow and a counter filled with bowls and tools was placed against it. You hummed with excitement and approached the counter. You examined the jars filled with different types of herbs and picked a piece of paper and a quill. You wrote down what else you needed and gave it to Nissa.

“I will need those things”.

“Okay I will send someone to get them. Do you need me for anything else?” She asked.

“No, I’m okay, I will make some basic ointments in case something happens and we don’t have enough time” you smiled and picked an apron.

“If you need any help just give a shout” she said and left.

You grabbed two plantain leaves and placed them in the mortar and began squashing them with the pestle, adding some oil now and then and humming a song your mother used to sing to you. You were so lost in the rhythm and in the healing power that was flowing out of you into the ointment that you jumped when you heard the barking of hounds. You peeked outside and saw around 8 hounds running towards the gates of the house, they kept spinning around and barking towards the woods. You furrowed your eyebrows and moved closer to the glass, trying to see what had them so excited, and there he was… Eris emerged from the trees, dressed in a maroon tunic decorated with rubies and tight pants. His red hair a mess from the wind and his face flushed and filled with mischief.

He lifted his gaze and his eyes fell on you, a predatory smile taking over. You rolled your eyes ignoring the shivers and returned to your herbs.

As you stirred the ointment adding more oil you felt his presence in the room.

“High lord” you greeted without looking at him.

He came next to you and sat on the counter.

“What’s this?” He nodded to the mortar.

“I’m making an ointment, this is used to address infections and heal both burns and wounds, it also helps with insect bites.” You explained and opened a small container to pour the substance in.

Eris hummed and gripped the container keeping it still to help you.

“Thank you” you said once you were done.

“Any particular reason why you decided to make an ointment for burns?” He smirked.

You gave him a questioning look and he placed his finger beneath your chin pushing your head up and exposing your neck more.

“Are you afraid that I’m going to burn you little fox?” He purred.

You huffed and smacked his hand away.

“I’m not afraid of you my lord”.

“You should be” his voice was even deeper and raspier than before.

“I doubt that” you rolled your eyes.

In a blink he had you bent over the counter, his hand hovered above your ass and his face rested against your shoulder. You bit back a moan and grabbed the edges of the counter.

“Careful how you use your tongue little fox, you won’t like the consequences” he growled.

Your brain stopped working and you arched your back.

“Who said I won’t like it” your voice was low and sensual as you spoke making him groan.

“Don’t play with this fire, even your ointment won’t be able to save you afterwards” and with that he was gone.

You stayed bent over the counter for a few minutes trying to process what just happened. You only met him last night and the need to have him was already making you mad, you couldn’t imagine surviving here forever or at least until he found another healer and released you from your duty. You couldn’t focus on making any more salves or ointments, your power felt uncontrollable and with a sigh you removed your apron and left the room.

Nissa was fixing some paintings on the walls of the big hall, she took a step back and smiled when she saw you approaching.

“Are you done with your herbs?” She asked.

“Yes couldn’t really focus, so I only made one” you shrugged.

Nissa smirked and nodded knowingly.

“Do you usually pry into your high lord’s life or you just want to get on my nerves?” You huffed.

“I raised him child, I know him since the day he was born. I just want him to be happy.” She spoke.

“Aren’t you afraid that he is going to punish you if he finds out what you’ve been saying to me?” Your question was genuine and Nissa could tell.

She sighed.

“Eris is nothing like his father, he respects his people, and he is trying to make his court a better place. Most of us speak freely without any fear from the moment Beron let his last breath. Others are a bit skeptical about Eris, but they are slowly trusting him.”

“You really believe in him huh?” You quirked a brow.

“He is the savior of this court.” She said and turned back to the paintings.

“Where is lady autumn?”

Nissa smiled lovingly “at the day court, she left the day you came.”

“She went to Helion?” You gaped at her.

“Yes Eris told her that he didn’t mind, that he wants her to be happy so she left” Nissa looked at you again “close your mouth child you’ll catch a fly”

You scowled at her and left with a huff ignoring her soft giggles.

This time you didn’t peek into the throne room, you just marched into your bedroom lost deep in thought. Eris’ scent was still on you, making your thighs clench and your heart skip a beat.

Just when you thought he couldn’t get any hotter, Nissa proved you wrong.

With a groan you fell on the bed and pressed your face against the pillow.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 🍁 🍂 ☁️˙✧˖°

Eris was sitting on his throne watching as his advisors bickered with each other about taxes and how they could make more money. They didn’t say that clearly, but Eris could tell this was all they cared about. He caught your scent as you passed the throne room and his breath hitched. His mind going back to the moment he had you bent over the counter, he noticed how you bit back a moan and how your waist arched lifting your ass further for him. He had met strong females before, but they never crossed the line that would make them brats. You on the other hand were way past that line and his body ached to tame you. His cock hardened at the thought, and he huffed interrupting his advisors, the older males stared at him in question.

“The taxes are fine, we don’t need that much money anyway and my people won’t be able to survive another raise. Meeting’s over” he announced and got up, fixing his crown to make a statement and leaving the room.

As he was walking towards his room, he heard a door opening and then a snort. He turned around and his eyes narrowed as he spotted you.

“Nice crown my lord” you mocked and started walking the other way. To be honest you didn’t know why you mocked him, he looked extremely hot with that crown on his head.

In a blink his strong hand gripped your elbow, and he turned you around pressing your body against him.

“I would believe your mockery if you weren’t drooling” he smirked and leaned closer, his nose almost touching yours.

“You wish” you challenged him with a matching smirk.

He grabbed your jaw and squeezed your cheeks.

“Do I need to fuck the brat out of you?” He growled. Your whole body wanted you to scream yes and fall on your knees for him but the wicked side of you took over and you gripped his neck squeezing lightly.

“You couldn’t even if you tried” your words muffled by his grip on your jaw.

His eyes flashed with dominance and a wicked smile appeared on his face, he moved his free hand and grabbed your wrist removing your hand from his neck and pinning it above your head. Ropes of fire kept your hand in place, and he grabbed your other hand too, giving it the same fate. He kicked your legs open and placed himself between, his strong body pressed against you and his bulge grinding on your thigh.

“I’m going to ruin you little fox” he purred and started biting and sucking the soft skin on your neck.

You let out a soft moan, and clenched your eyes shut.

Eris picked a dagger from his belt and cut the bottom of your dress in one swift move, he pushed the sides behind you gaining access to your needy heat. You were clenching onto nothing, and whines left your lips.

“Stop whining little brat, do you think that you deserve to be touched?” he growled and knelt in front of you, his fire keeping you in place as he grabbed your legs and placed them on his shoulders. He darted his tongue over your swollen clit.

“Please Eris, I’ll be good” you cried out.

He removed his face from your heat and lifted his eyebrow.

“How did you call me?” he asked, and you gulped. You fucked up and you knew it.

“I’m sorry my lord” your voice barely above a whisper and filled with need. You usually wouldn’t act like that, but his dominance made you want to be a good girl for him, and the predatory glint he had in his eyes promised you a good time.

He latched on your clit again, adding pressure with his teeth and making your whole body tremble, his tongue moved between your folds and started fucking you.

You were a moaning mess, the sloppy sounds of his mouth on your cunt and the cold touch of his crown on your thigh only added to your pleasure.

“Please my lord” you cried out not sure what you were pleading him for. You ground your hips on his face and he let out a growl, his strong hands moving to your hips to keep you steady. The growl sent the perfect amount of vibrations to your nerves and you felt your release approaching.

“You wanna cum on my face little fox?” he hummed.

“Yes yes oh please yes” you screamed and the moment your pleasure reached its peak he stopped. The ghost of his touch still there as he watched your eyes filling with tears. His wicked grin was back.

“I’m going to ruin you” he purred as he got up and grabbed your thighs, wrapping them around his waist. He untied the laces of his pants and took himself out giving a few slow pumps before lining up to your entrance.

Your mouth watered at the sight of him, he was huge and leaking.

“Red means stop” he informed you and slammed his hips on yours. You felt like he was cutting you in half and you let out a scream.

“That’s it, keep screaming for me” he breathed and began snapping his hips at a punishing pace. The hall was filled with your cries and the sound of skin slapping. Your cries could be heard everywhere in the palace and especially in the throne room where his advisors were gathering their stuff. The sounds made them furrow their eyebrows and exit the room to see what was happening.

One of the males gasped at the sight of you making Eris whip his heard in their direction never stopping his thrusts. They started walking to the other side where the gates were. Eris lifted his pointer finger at them.

“No. Stay and watch as I punish the little brat” he growled, and the males froze. They gaped at the two of you.

The whole scene if front of you made your blood boil in pleasure.

“I’m gonna cum my lord” you moaned.

“Hold it” he gritted his teeth and began thrusting harder and deeper.

One rope of fire moved in the top of your dress and slithered around your nipple while another one toyed with your clit. You were seeing stars, your screams were even louder. Making two of the advisors moan as they palmed themselves.

“Leave. Now” Eris snarled, possessiveness taking over.

“Mine” he growled in your ear making the bond snap and that was your undoing.

“Let me cum my lord please” you begged. “Cum” he ordered, and your body trembled.

“Oh Eris” you cried and arched your back, your head pushing against the wall as the pleasure took over, you felt like you were floating.

His thrusts flattered and small grunts left his throat.

He snapped his hips once, twice and then buried himself deep inside you, warm ropes of cum painting your walls as his cock throbbed.

“Fuck” he growled and pressed his forehead on your shoulder.

You were breathing heavily. Exhaustion taking over and you closed your eyes to calm down.

“I’m not done with you my sweet little mate, this was for my own pleasure that’s why you enjoyed it. Now I’m going to fucking punish you.” He growled and carried you to his room.

“Oh boy” you sighed.

Third time writing smut. What do you think?

[hyewka]

STRICTLY PLATONIC [teaser] | choi beomgyu

SUMMARY. fucking your best friend was supposed to be a one time thing in the hopes of relinquishing feelings for your ex, but a one time turned into a weekly and cuddles after sex are way too intimate for your liking. but beomgyu insists that he’d never catch feelings for you, that he’s experienced in these types of arrangements. he still saw you as his best friend! it was totally only platonic for you too… right?

GENRE. smut, fluff, angst, college au, a hyewka fic with plot and structure.. sort of

TEASER WARNINGS. nothing explicit just some marking lol

AUTHOR NOTE. the dream fwb fic ive been wanting to write for ages so thank you to the ask i recently replied to as it was the main motivator for this 😭 this is going to be a long one so we're going the traditional route with a teaser, im opening a tag list so if you wish to be added send an ask or comment!

You’ve never seen Choi Beomgyu in a different light. That’s what you liked about him, that everything was so… constant. Your life could crash and burn but hey, Beomgyu was still Beomgyu— your friendship was a variable in your life that stayed undeniably the exact same.

You know, until you allowed him to fuck your brains out.

Even the sole fact that you have given the thought of Beomgyu being a ‘sex symbol’ has you quivering out of sheer horror— Beomgyu… has never been a sex symbol. Sure, he fucked around, and has a reputation and yeah sure, he was crazy hot when he isn’t showing signs of extreme sleep deprivation …but you’ve just never seen him in that light.

And to have let it simmer in your thoughts for longer than a second, makes you just a tinge hesitant in letting the silly goof pull you into the dancing crowd. You whine, “I’m tired Beomgyu! My heels are killing me.”

He either doesn’t hear over the blasting music or isn’t going to give it up because he pulls you in anyway, crashing your head right into his chest and you let out an instinctual ouch at the hard surface. Your eyes are wide looking up at him, sputtering out an unbelievable sentence. “Have you—have you been working out?”

His grin widens, holding up your arm to guide at feeling out his biceps. “Every now and then.” He doesn’t mind the minute it takes you to actually feel every muscle through his shirt, in fact he’s relishing in your sudden pique of interest in his body.

Whether he’s flexing them or not doesn’t show in his face—he looks completely relaxed and you finally admit—Beomgyu is getting toned.

“Why? You hate working out.” You could barely muffle those words with the way he had you engulfed in his arms, leaning his head in your neck, swaying side to side as if the song blasting was off of Taylor Swift’s Lover and not a Lil Wayne remix.

And he hasn’t even gotten a drop of alcohol yet.

But it’s true, Beomgyu hated the gym. Like, even more than you did. Which is a testament in and of itself.

He pulls away from the crook of your neck, a pout on his lips. “Didn’t you say your type was muscular men? At Halloween weekend?”

Halloween weekend was a year ago, the first frat party you managed to get into with the help of Beomgyu’s friend, Jake. You barely remember anything from it. Other than the occasional retells of the nights by Yunjin’s words, which are always a different version of the same story... so a not very credible source. “I mean, I guess they are. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know, just saying. Jaehyun was suuper muscly.” Okay, the random mention of your ex…maybe he had some drop of alcohol.

“Are you drunk?”

“You took too long to come back, lost at beer pong.”

“How many shots?” you interrogate.

“Two.” At your suspecting glare, he continues on, “Four…five…like, at most seven.”

Your eyes bulge out, huffing out a scoff. You guys always got wasted together! Noticing the furrow of your brows he holds you tighter whining, “I know I know, sorry, I tried telling Heeseung but he’s a savage cruel man, I was practically force fed that cup.”

You don’t doubt that he attempted to persuade Heeseung but you do doubt the force feeding, it only takes a couple nudges before getting Beomgyu to drink. “I’m just slightly tipsy, not drunk yet anyway. I pledged to never ever get trashed without you. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

You slap away the hand he puts up over his chest, incredulously, losing your control over the fits of giggles when he takes your flying hand in his, taking advantage by intertwining your fingers together. “What are you doing?” your cheeks probably hurt from all the smiling, you don’t know, you think your nerves are numb.

“Can’t a guy hold his twin flame, platonic best friend’s hand?”

Skinship was not an unfamiliar with Beomgyu—he was always a naturally clingy guy. You figured when the first ever official lunch hangout you’ve had with the boy and a few of your other friends, had included a lot of random footsie.

You didn’t even know him that well in high school. Who plays footsie with an acquaintance? Choi Beomgyu, that’s who. Yet even after some reluctance that day, you end up letting him have his childish, sort of endearing fun.

Though this was all but childish, the innocently mischievous twinkle of a scrawny teenage boy had been long gone, instead replaced by the most attractive man’s hungry, lust filled gaze. “Who told you to look so sexy today?”

The theme was Angel & Devil—to match with Beomgyu, you insisted on giving him the angel outfit, and you the costume of a devil. Matching was always the fun part of these parties. “Only today?” you drawl, making an exaggerated sultry trail with your finger on his chest.

“God, shut up, you know you’re always hot,” You don’t expect the seriousness of his tone, especially when you were just teasing, but he snakes his hand around your waist, pushing you further into his body, your tits suffocatingly pressed against his chest.

You do not expect the slight squeeze to your ass, your eyes shooting particularly wide, blood rushing up to trickle your cheeks. “But I like it when you’re a little devil, makes you so sexy and alluring.”

His face buried into your neck again, this time not missing the chance of taking a deep inhale. Beomgyu could stay like this forever, filling his lungs with you, and only you. “Still can’t believe I had my hands off you for so long little devil.” Your eyes flutter shut, taking quick breaths as he moves his soft lips to your neck, wet kisses with a slip of teeth nibbling just slightly to tease, planning on coloring you with all the pretty purple hues.

And you’re sure he was well on his way until you sober up at the abrupt change in the DJ’s track.

“Beomgyu, not—not now, we’re in public.” And surrounded by tons of people that you’re either friends with or know. That broke one of the most important pillars of your agreement—to keep the fuck buddies ‘thing’ a secret.

You don’t expect the speed of his instant pull away when processing your words, blinking his pretty lashes and the tipsiness away—his doe eyes are too much of a weakness, the little furrow of his brows something you desperately want to kiss and smoothen out. “Oh. Oh yeah. Sorry.” he scratches the back of his neck, genuinely apologetic.

And eats away at you. You know Beomgyu well—he hates keeping things secret, he’s the type of person to flaunt relationships all over his feed in that lovesick puppy way that most women could only dream of having—but you weren’t dating. And that was the boundary set.

You didn’t ask him to pull away completely though, but here you were, awkwardly as distanced as you could be in the middle of a rager with sweaty college students rubbing their bodies against each other. As gross as that was, you zero’d in on something less of a given: the fact that you’ve never felt this way with Beomgyu. Ever. It was like you were starring in the most awkward coming of age indie movie, y’know, without the crazy scenery and cinematography.

And more often than not, you find that these occurance of realisations, become more and more frequent. You feel things you’ve never felt a certain way with Beomgyu. Which only brought you to realize something else; Beomgyu was now a changing variable in your life and you’re not entirely sure how to handle that.

[animereaderinsertwriter]

to fuck a god

tags/warnings: smut, ares x nymph!reader, erwin smith x reader, ancient greece au for a hot minute

a/n: this fic is a gift for the lovely, wonderful @bluebellhairpin whom i adore (and is responsible for my schmexy icon!!!!)

There is shouting in the distance.

Your nose wrinkles, your eyes tighten. Darkness, warm and weighted, presses against you, smothering wakefulness. Peace lulls you back to slumber.

Moments later, there is a scream—  you hear it past the darkness, past the weight. It is the lonely, abandoned cry of a wounded soldier. Your heart lurches, your eyes flutter.

Still you sleep. It has been too long since last you had rest.

It is a crash that finally wakes you. Pain blossoms in your abdomen as a bridge collapses, a crushing pressure that forces air from your lungs. You rise, hot, raging, vengeful; your waters churn, boiling wine-dark with the blood of mortal men. Battle has come to your riverbank, unbidden and unwanted. 

The men do not— cannot— see your body as you emerge from foaming rapids, but that does not lessen the doom they face by the outstretching of your hand. This is your river. The silt and sand beneath their feet, the water in their noses and lungs belong to you; they will not savage it without price

They pay with their lives by the dozen. You extract it from them mercilessly, plunging them beneath the water's surface. As your rapids rage, one man reaches, lunging to gouge another with his spear; even in your wrath, you mark the act as strange. What manner of beast is man that even in the throes of his own death, he seeks to cause another's? You find it too foolish to fathom.

 “For Athens!” cries one man just before you fill his lungs with water. “For the noble House of—”

He does not finish. You smother his battle cry with watery death. Athens could burn for all you cared, along with every noble house and home along the way. You cared little for irreverent man; would that the gods would send you power enough to flood them all.

 “Such fury from one so small. Would that I could inspire like rage in even fifty men.”

The voice, though gruff and deep, was quiet, bemused. In your distraction, you allow a man to escape your clutches and crawl back to shore, gagging and sputtering as he went. Furious, you turn and find the true object of your ire lounging beneath the shade of a fig tree, a scroll in hand. Once, it might have amused you to find the god of war reading, of all things— but you were accustomed now to his all-too-frequent visits, and the oddity had worn off its charm.

“Restless vagabond,” you spit, feet slapping as you walked from your place in the water to the shore next to his tree. “Go back to Sparta, Ares—you're not wanted here.”

So saying, you fold your arms, waiting for a response. When the god doesn’t deign to reply, you flick water from the tips of your fingers in his direction. Shiny droplets land in his dark hair, glistening like dew; a single shimmer of water races down the thick bridge of his nose, then dives off the blunt tip of it to land on his scroll.

“Woman.” 

The word is spoken lowly— a warning— but has no real bite. Your words, however, are far from toothless, heedless of how great and terrible is the power that he wields.

“I am no mere woman— no more than you are mere man.”

Dark-bright eyes look up at you, their russet brown edging on red as they sparkle with mischief. As his gaze follows the curves and plains of your body, Ares smiles— the very definition of crude and lascivious.

“You are a woman in all the ways that count.”

That, you supposed, was true enough.

“Why have you come?”

He nods towards the chaos of your river.

“The men brought me.”

“As if mortal man makes his own war.” Your face contorts into a scowl. “I ask again: Why have you come? Why come you to savage my banks, pollute my waters with foul man-blood and stinking mortal shit?”

“I told you the truth, pretty one.” Ares rolled his scroll gently. It crackled under his huge hands, but did not bend. “The men wage war, and whithersoever they wage, there I must be also.”

“Pretty one,” you grumble, angry at how well the compliment pleased you. “Better wrathful one, or vengeful one.”

“Those too, if it pleases you.”

He stands, brushing grass from his toga. The clothing in question, made of crimson fabric, falls just shy of halfway down his bulging, golden thigh, revealing softly curving muscle. The hulking mass of him throws a shadow long enough to cast doubt and fear into your very bones, even more so as he approaches you— but then he is close, so very close, and murmuring sweetly just for you to hear.

“Come, my Lady Wrath, my Darling Vengeance— does my presence really disturb you so greatly?”

You can smell the battle on him. His scent is metallic, like blood, and salty like sweat— and yet there is also the clean scent of the field, the spice of victory wine, and the smoke of burning bodies. Ares is and always has been a study in opposites, both animal magnetism and soft, reasonable attraction.

"Yes," you admit, striving for exasperation and hitting nearer to tremulous want. "You do disturb me." 

A large, warm hand grips your hip. You suddenly become aware of the bareness of your skin, the cool damp of you against the warm heat of him. The contact brings a flush to your cheeks. Your body responds as his hand flexes, squeezing; you can't help but search his gaze, wondering, as ever, what he's thinking. 

"I love that you're naked," he says, at once soft and sharp. "Your form pleases me, lady nymph. Your kind are never shy, but you are the only river-sprite I know that dares brave land baring all."

He touches you further, that large, rough hand sliding up the curve of your waist. He spreads his warmth from your hip to your ribcage to your neck, gently exploring. The touch is electric, yet strangely innocent. He is a god admiring Creation. Admiring you.

As before, you allow it— and how could you not? 

Who were you to say no to the attention and affection of a god?

"The men are dying in my waters," you say as his fingertips trace your jaw. "I'll fall ill, Ares."

"You shall not. I shall send another of my kin to cleanse you, as I did before."

You have nothing to say in return. As if sensing this, he kisses you, busying your mouth with the more pressing business of his want. Both of his hands are on you now, one on your neck, one at the swell of your ass; as he pulls you close, you can feel the hot, hard length of him against you, protected only by the thin fabric of his toga. The sensation is heady, and you pride yourself on keeping your feet through the ordeal. 

"Will you let me have you once more?" he asks against your lips. "What say you, my nymph of rage?"

You consider for a moment. Always, he gives you the choice. You know he needn't— he is stronger, more powerful, and could and had easily taken what he wanted before. It makes you wonder if giving you the choice, allowing you to choose him, is a way for him to conquer you. In the end, it doesn't matter. There was only ever one answer. 

"Yes." Your breath comes quick as a calloused thumb brushes over your nipple. "Yes, Lord Ares. I will have you." 

In the end, there is no shame. Even Aphrodite herself had been unable to say no to the wiles of the war god. As conqueror, it was not in his nature to be refused. 

Having gained your assent, Ares does not waste precious time. Instead, he kisses up your neck, to your ear, taking the lobe of it between his teeth and scraping gently. The act sends goosebumps racing down your flesh, and you shiver. Ares kisses lower, down to the hollow of your throat and the plain of your chest, his hands wandering to hardened, sensitive nipple and gently curving breast. He touches you, explores you, holds you like you are precious, and your body opens to him.

"Spread your legs," he says against your neck. "I want to taste you."

So saying, he lowers himself to his knees, bringing himself of a height with your sex. Filthy and impossible, he noses at the apex of your thighs, nudges your legs apart with his hands; it is everything you can do to remain standing as he begins a great and terrible onslaught against your dignity. It is so much. It is not enough. Your hands move to his hair, pulling the soft strands as a long, thick finger finds your entrance, and he groans as he finds that his finger slips easily inside. Still, he does not budge from his task until you're trembling, quaking above him as your orgasm nears— and even then, it is only to look up at you with glistening mouth and fuck-me eyes and say,

"Kneel."

You can do nothing but obey. You kneel before Ares, and he kisses you, letting you taste your own pleasure from his mouth. It's filthy and perverse and everything you've ever wanted as he lowers you gently to the earth, wrapping your legs around his wide hips. You look up at him, awestruck. In this moment, he is soft, beautiful. He is nothing like you would have imagined War to be. 

Ares takes a moment to toss aside his clothing. His sex is even larger than you remember it— or, perhaps his form alters according to his godly will, and he is striving to impress. In any case, your sexes are now aligned— his tip to the very opening of your body— and all that remains is one push before he is fully seated. 

Despite all, you find yourself anxious for that push. 

"Do it," you urge, smothering that feeling. "Fuck me, Ares."

You can tell it pleases him to hear his name from your mouth. Even so, he does not acquiesce immediately, which both frustrates and endears him to you. 

"I'll go slowly," he says. "It is no small thing to fuck a god. I thought you'd have learned that by now."

You have no reply— not when his cockhead is pushing slowly into you, making way for the rest of his large, heavy cock. It is nearly a religious experience, being filled by him. You cry out as he's finally seated deeply within you, and all at once you can no longer tell where you end and he begins. 

"Yes," you tell him as he withdraws to begin another slow thrust. "Yes, yes, yes."

The word becomes a song as he picks up the pace. It is a song of moans and cries and deepest feeling— he kisses you as you keen, and the hot, hard length of him slows to an agonizing pace.

"Are you alright?" he asks, as though you are breakable. "Should I slow down?"

It infuriates you. 

With all your power, you shove at his chest. At first, be doesn't seem to understand, taken aback by your newfound aggression— but eventually, when you use the force of your hips to indicate your desire, he goes easily backwards, landing with a gentle thump on his back so that you can straddle his hips, impaling yourself on his length. Hands braced on the warm softness of his chest, you begin to grind, pushing him ever deeper into you until both of your breaths come heavy and your time is near. 

"You were made to be abed with War," Ares tells you, smiling madly up as you move above him. "Indomitable, you are, and ruthless— I have no doubt that a thousand lives could not separate us."

You barely hear him.

"Lovely creature. I would make you my queen, if I could." His voice pitches upward in a moan of pleasure as you use his body. "I would make you heir to my kingdom of ash and broken bone, would burn worlds for you."

Cogent thought is lost to pleasure, but you feel the meaning of his words. It pushes you closer, so close, so close—

"Come, pretty one," he says, "Awake, destroyer of man. I will catch you if you fall, in this life or the next."

You jerk awake. 

A warm hand rests on your shoulder. You turn, groggy with sleep, and find a pair of shining blue eyes peering into your own. Erwin Smith—your husband and commander— has never looked more handsome than now, with chest bare above pajama pants that fall a little too short at his ankle. 

"Are you alright, love?" he asks you, tender, gentle. "A nightmare?"

The wetness between your legs indicates otherwise. You guide his large, calloused hand there, wordlessly allowing him to feel your answer, and he smiles. 

"In that case, I'm sorry for waking you." He presses a kiss to your temple, a finger pressing into your folds. "You don't get enough downtime as it is."

You hum in agreement and run your hands along the solid, curving lines of his biceps. 

"You could always order me on bed rest, commander," you tease as he shifts, placing himself exactly as Ares had in your dream— between your thighs, your legs wrapped around his hips. 

"If I did that, nothing would ever get done."

"No? Am I that big of a help, then, that the Scouts couldn't function without me?"

"No," Erwin grinned, mischievous, "It's because if I put you on bed rest, I'd never leave your bed."

You smile, then gasp as he presses against you, cock straining against the thin fabric of his pajamas. The feeling is startlingly familiar, and all at once, Ares' words come back to you. 

"You were made to be abed with War. Indomitable, you are, and ruthless— I have no doubt that a thousand lives could not separate us."

You wonder if the dream was entirely that. It felt so raw, so real— and, though Erwin and the Ares of your dream shared little physical similarity, you suspected that they were made of the same parts. Only the paint was different. Ares was bronze and dark where Erwin was pale and blond, but in their hearts— in their dark, violent hearts, capable of more and deeper love than a mortal could imagine— they were the same. They were men made of war, bathed in the blood of innocents.

And they both wanted you. 

"Lay back," you tell your husband, pushing at the soft muscle of his chest. "I want to ride you."

Erwin grins. 

"I thought you'd never ask."

[crepesuzette2023]

I know this is a broad question, but if you had to pick, what is the most angsty Mclennon fic you’ve read so far ? You have some amazing recommendations and I’m looking to hurt my own feelings lol

Hi st-john!

Thank you for the ask! This made me think about some of my angsty forever-faves in general, sorted from subtle to savage. (Under the cut.)

If you want to skip straight (do we use this word around here?!) to the fics I personally find the most angsty: they're at the bottom of this post. I also included some dark/angsty stories here, but I didn't want to repeat any recommendations.

Your ask helped me understand what it is I find the most angst-filled in mclennon, so thank you for that. I was surprised to see so many canon-adjacent stories on my list, and I think it shows that, to me, the most potent angst doesn't come from outside threat but from their minds, as evidenced by events that actually happened. The two of them being scared of (and turned on by) the big fat x they mark on their shared psychosexual map is one of the most attractive aspects of mclennon for me—followed by the two of them taking x for granted, and being permanently damaged once they realize they lost it forever. I also like stories that show their mutual resentment, even as they're into each other (sometimes literally). Anyway, under the cut are some of my favorite angsty fics in three handy categories:

1.) Carry That Weight/Love is Strange: Their relationship is deep and doomed and addictive. These stories are all set during the Beatle-years. I'M GONNA HAUNT YOU (sexysadie): 1968. John and Paul talk about women, but really, they talk about each other. A brief story about longing in the absence of hope. WALKING CLOSE AT HAND (harmonising): John and Paul as pair of broken mirrors, haunted by death in all things. Their love as beautiful magic-turned-curse. LET ME ROLL IT (@downtothe-lastdrop): The 1968 NYC Apple Launch Divorcemoon from Paul's POV. Lively and detailed, and drenched in what it must feel like to drown in unspoken words. I THINK OF THINGS WE DID (J_deandra_j): 1965. John and Paul fuck in Austria during the filming of Help! There is something intangibly upsetting about this story: anger and frustration; lust and sex with little room for softness—but it's so good and real and raw while it lasts. This one is impossible to forget! John POV. HOW YOU WERE DIVERTED (candle_beck): Paul handles John. This is about sex as one of the things that is "just them"—an urgent and rough emergency intervention. 2.) Tributes to the Canonical Breakup. To me, the break-up is an angst-filled nightmare. Not to mention the looming day of John's murder. I love stories that explore the break-up and its aftermath with compassion. And, as painful as it is, I especially love stories that make me feel that the love was there, always (even though it wasn't enough). THROW THE WINE (@savageandwise). This one is such a classic I imagine everyone must have read it, but I can't not mention it. It was one of the first fics I read—arrow through me, and such. The more painful it gets, the more it slows down. That takes courage. YOU'RE A DREAM LOVER (@dailyhowl). John and Paul share dreams and love each other in their dreams—gloriously so—but in the end, the dream is over. The most brutal aspect of this one is seeing Paul in the end, alone. I STILL MISS SOMEONE & CLOSE THE DOOR LIGHTLY WHEN YOU GO (RosalindBeatrice). Paul and John become lovers in the 70's, but their encounters are few and far between—and in the end, darkness falls. But there's also the mercy of honesty, tears, and, yes: sex. Beautifully melancholy story about the vast distance between bright stars. ONE NIGHT IN BANGKOK (@backbenttulips). Apologies to the writer in case my "angsty" reading of this one misses the mark! Above all, this is a hot hot hot story about John and Paul hooking up in Bangkok and fucking every which way, remembering the past and seizing the present. But it's also a story about a relationship that no longer exists: their musical partnership. They destroyed the one place where their love had a home. Now, faraway hotel rooms will have to do—and there are no goodbyes or plans for a next time. (I must repeat how hot this is though.)

3.) "A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day."—Except it's exactly this day. Deep pain and sadness: the break-up is final; no one was saved. [Writers mentioned here: this is meant as a compliment. All of these stories are so good. It's not for nothing that I was never able to forget some lines from these stories, even though I read them very early on.]

HEAR ME, MY LOVER by @savageandwise. (Unfinished, but feels finished.) At the time the Beatles break up, Paul attempts to kill himself. He lives, but much else is destroyed. No one is wrong or right—their love and fracturing cut all possible ways. I read this as a literal translation of what the loss of the band (and John) meant for Paul, for a while.

FOUR LAST SONGS by @celebratorypenguin. This AU (four parts) explores what would have happened to the Beatles if John hadn't been the one to die first. Sentences from this one still live in my brain. The story is both sweeping and deep, and covers the POV of all four Beatles. Its truly an alternate history of the band, and it's very sad. But so, so beautiful, too.

Bonus Materials: John and Paul never became John&Paul. Everyone comes at this differently, but to me, the idea of them meeting, and falling in love, and turning away from it, is as angst-filled as the worst of the the break-up. That's why I think these two are among the best, most courageous, but also most angst-filled, of all mclennon fics: ALL THE BOYS ARE SINGING LOVE SONGS. (@dailyhowl): Paul settles down with Dot and they start a family. He and John meet again, and the spark is still there, but after a night together, the fear of starting over is greater. This magnificently written story fucked me up, and I've yet to pick up the courage to read it a second time. To quote the writer: this is a story about "the angst of living in the prison of society-approved masculinity." Yes. "Happy ending seekers need not apply." That is fair. As a happy ending seeker, I comfort my tender shipper's heart with the exhilarating fact that the real John and Paul did, in fact, become lovers become famous with the Beatles and formed a close musical partnership. THERE ARE ALWAYS FLOWERS (tarenas). This is a story I mentioned in my overall favorites post, and it's not, strictly speaking, all angst (to quote the writer: "this is about being sad and middle-aged, but it's also about being so happy and middle-aged!") It's not even J/P: it's mostly Paul/George, and their relationship is beautiful and real. Still, as a reader I was aching for the other life that could have been, and that is woven through the events of this story with incredible artistry: the Beatles, which everyone misses without knowing why. The great love between John and Paul that ended when John chose someone else. This is the magic of RPF: reality is the shadow event included for free. (Unfinished, with have all four n on-Beatles POV's. So far: George and Ringo.)

[theetherealbloom]

NO COMPLAINTS | JOEL MILLER

No Complaints | J.Miller One Shot

Summary: In the peaceful town of Jackson, life seems stable. Ellie has found some sense of belonging, but for you, life remains a constant struggle due to the trauma you carry. You've faced loss, isolation, and danger, and you're not sure where you fit in. That's when you cross paths with Joel Miller, a man with a haunted past and a heart hidden beneath a tough exterior.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: Age-Gap (Late 20s - Early 30s) Angst, Hurt-to-Comfort, soft!joel, suicide ideation, Almost SA (dw nothing gets that far), Assault, Abuse, Blood, Injury, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Panic Attack, Slavery, Ellie and Joel had talked through their problems and everything is ok so no golf =D

A/N: This fic by @familyvideostevie titled “the meaning of it all” inspired me to write again after a long-ass writing slump. Literally, go read all of her fics cause they're just THAT good. Tbh, I’m not sure if this was even good to post since I’ve been out of practice. This one is a little darker than my usual writing, idk how it happened… it just does… so remember the trigger warning ya’ll!

Song: No Complaints by Noah Kahan

MAIN MASTERLIST

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

You always thought that you’d find peace in never being awake long enough to feel anything. You lay there staring at the red marks on the hillside and the sharp grooves in the bark of the trees, and you couldn't help but wonder how you got to be in this desolate spot. Your feet, which were now exposed and rough, bore witness to a difficult journey.

All you knew is that one moment, you were fighting for your life from a group of raiders a few miles North, and you ended up where you lay. Had it been minutes? Hours? You weren’t sure as your vision was blurry and hazy, only saw the bleak white winter sky, you could hear crows cawing in the distance as you were freezing, and the snowflakes were on your lashes as you lay there in the snow.

Memories were a blur, time a mysterious riddle. One second, you had been immersed in a life-and-death conflict with savage captors who had enslaved you many kilometers to the South. In the next, you were in this desolate, snow-covered setting, with no clear explanation for how you had arrived. You saw the world through hazy glasses, your eyesight clouded, and all you could see was the stark winter sky, pure and cruel. As you lay there, a lonely soul in the middle of the cold wilderness, the eerie cries of far-off crows provided a haunting tune to your frost-chilled daydream. Each snowflake rested sweetly upon your eyelids.

A ghostly mist danced in front of your eyes with each breath, a whispered reminder of life's fragileness. You tried to relish these fading moments with every exhausted breath out. You felt tired and under pressure from having survived for a long time. You had endured the storm for a long amount of time, seeing pathetically as those you loved died, leaving a thick veil of grief, guilt, and unremitting agony in their wake.

You ached for relief, an end to the never-ending agony that had become your daily existence. During those last seconds, as your eyes closed like a curtain shutting on a world of hopelessness, you heard the muted voices of a group of strangers and the distant sound of galloping horses. A lone figure towered above you, their voice a beacon crying for assistance, while the warmth of your own tears blended with the chill on your cheeks. 

“Please… make it stop,” you gasped, the words escaping your trembling lips like fragile whispers, hanging heavy in the frigid air. "I just want it… to stop." And with that, at that very fragile moment, you gave yourself up to the gentle embrace of the gathering darkness.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

How you awoke unfolded gradually, like the faintest of whispers. First, a parched throat and chapped lips stirred you, and then the sensation of the plush pillow cradling your head, the yielding mattress beneath, and a soft blanket cocooning your form.

Your eyelashes fluttered as you hesitantly blinked awake, and an immediate panic surged within you, constricting your chest. The world around you was unfamiliar, and a gnawing uncertainty clawed at your psyche. Was this a new iteration of hell on Earth?

A relentless drumming, your heartbeat, echoed in your ears, and your vision swirled with chaos as you scanned the alien surroundings. You used your forearms to hoist yourself from the bed, your chest rising and falling with the rapid pace of your breath.

Then, the door swung open, revealing a man in a pristine white doctor's coat, clutching a clipboard. "Oh, you're awake," he began, but your question cut through his words like a knife.

"Where am I?" you demanded, urgency coloring your voice.

"You're safe," he assured, though the reassurance felt as hollow as an echo.

Driven by an instinct you couldn't fathom, you sprang from the bed, the IV drip yanked free from your left hand, a sharp sting preceding the rush of cool air against your skin. Barefoot and resolute, you pushed past the doctor, racing down the dimly lit hallway, your footsteps echoing in the empty, sterile corridors.

With a beating heart, you reach the end of the dimly illuminated corridor and see two enormous doors. With bated breath, you lunged forward, pushing them open and preparing yourself for whatever horrors could be behind them. You expected to be in another harsh and terrible location where the only things that remained consistent were torture and cruelty.

To your astonishment, you found yourself in a simple, wintry town. People of all ages populated the snow-covered streets. Elderly residents chatted quietly on porches, and children giggled and played, their rosy cheeks contrasting with the chilly air. The adults turned in surprise at your unexpected arrival, their faces mirroring a mix of curiosity and concern.

From behind, the approaching doctor and nurses shouted, their voices filled with alarm. In the midst of your confusion and disarray, a strong pair of arms encircled you, causing your instincts to scream in fear. 

"Let go of me!" you cried out, struggling in the grip that held you captive.

A soft, heavy southern accent whispered gently in your ear, "You're okay... you're safe here. Ain't no one here gonna hurt you, darlin'."

Your fear intensified as you flailed and cried inside the confining hold. But you didn't notice the abrupt, stinging prick on your neck because you were too caught up in the chaotic mayhem. The environment around you became blurry and black in a couple of minutes.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The patrol had begun like any other routine, just another day in the relentless grind of survival. The plan was straightforward: coming across a few Clickers and eliminating them like they were just annoyances to be removed. What he had not expected, though, was to stumble across a lady who was on the verge of dying of hypothermia. 

“Please… make it stop,” you begged in a voice so soft and fragile, "I just want it… to stop."

Joel couldn't ignore the desperation in your pleas. He'd been there before, when the world had crumbled into chaos, and he'd lost his daughter. Back then, he saw no point in carrying on, until he'd met Ellie and endured the hardships alongside her. He found her, protected her, and now, he cared for her as if she were his own.

Joel stood there, just across the street from the clinic, his weary eyes and gruff exterior a testament to the countless trials he'd faced. Those brave enough to ask for the details of what had transpired a few days earlier, who he had discovered, were met with curt, direct responses, followed by an icy, hard stare. 

He'd assumed that Maria, Tommy, or whoever had been entrusted with integrating newcomers into Jackson would take care of you. So, for the past few days, he went about his life as best he could—patrolling, teaching Ellie how to play the guitar, constructing new homes, and restoring old ones.

But as he made his way to assist Tommy with yet another task, he saw you in the middle of the street, awake and in a state of panic, clad in your medical gown. His chest constricted with a sudden, unexplainable urgency, and without a second thought, he was sprinting towards you, clutching you against his chest in an attempt to ground you.

Now, you were back in the small room of the clinic, asleep due to the sedative they had administered. Joel sat in a chair beside your bed, patiently awaiting your awakening. He couldn't quite comprehend why he felt drawn to be by your side, to ensure your well-being. He closed his eyes, pressing both palms to his face, contemplating the reason he felt so adamant about your recovery.

Maybe it was the way he had glimpsed the hopelessness in your eyes, a reflection of his own prior misery. The way you had pled, already having given up on yourself, touched a chord within him. He understood that sensation all too well. Despite the plethora of sins he had committed, perhaps aiding you was a chance for atonement, a way to make amends for everything he’s done.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

You stirred from your slumber, feeling the haze of grogginess envelop you as your weary eyes fought to open. Gradually, your vision sharpened, and you found yourself in a familiar place. This time, you weren't alone.

Across from your bed, a figure sat in a chair. His countenance was rugged, marked by the passage of time, a salt-and-pepper beard framing a face etched with the stories of his life. His presence exuded a rugged handsomeness, even as he raised a quizzical eyebrow in your direction.

In a deep baritone, his voice resonated through the room as he uttered the words, "You're awake."

You shifted uneasily on the bed and looked at him with wide, unsure eyes, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. His piercing look was enigmatic; you didn't know how to respond, so you decided to be quiet, entangled in a fog of uncertainty.

With a soft hum, he introduced himself, "The name is Joel… Joel Miller. What's your name, ma'am?" His voice carried an air of gruff kindness that gently nudged you to respond, yet you found it hard to meet his gaze. Your eyes darted everywhere but his, and you said your name in a shy whisper, leaving it hanging there like a delicate secret.

Joel's voice wavered as he began, "I'm... I'm not exactly supposed to be here, but I—" 

Your brows furrowed, and your eyes squinted with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion as you interrupted, "Then, why are you here?"

His words stumbled and faltered. "I... I don't—"

Frustrated with the lack of a clear answer, you turned your gaze away from him, your attention drawn to the frosted glass window on your left. Joel fell silent, respecting your need for space.

After a brief pause, you nodded toward the outside, your voice soft, inquisitive. "Is it real?" Joel waited for you to elaborate, and you continued, "There are kids playing in the street, no FEDRA, elderly being taken care of... it all seems so..."

"Normal," Joel finished your thought, and you snapped your head back to him, watching him nod in agreement. "Yeah, I couldn't quite believe it myself, to be honest," he admitted, clearing his throat. "Jackson is a safe place, a good community. They've got real food here."

A weary, exasperated chuckle escaped your lips as you felt a lump form in your throat, and your eyes grew watery. You hugged yourself tightly, seeking comfort in your embrace as you confessed, "I... I don't know what to do."

"We'll figure it out, darlin'," Joel reassured you, his words infused with a tenderness that pierced through his rugged exterior. It was a kindness you hadn't expected, a gentle ember igniting a glimmer of hope within you. Maybe, you began to believe, that life wasn't supposed to be a never-ending punishment after all.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Solidarity was something you thought was long gone ever since the beginning of the apocalypse, where the Infected had taken what they wanted, and the remaining people who survived will always be at war with each other rather than fighting the common enemy.

It took more than a few tries, but eventually, you got the hang of things, thanks to Maria and Tommy, and especially Joel and Ellie. Bits and pieces intertwined with time got you to understand them better and sometimes made you feel less alone. Your mind sometimes wonders how Joel and Ellie met, when Joel practically adopted Ellie as his own, or how they got to Jackson.

You’ve got a house that you have made your own, a bed, and a kitchen. You help give back to the community in ways that you can. You helped in the greenhouse, and the stables, and when you were finally ready, you went out patrolling with the group when you were up for rotation.

Initially, you kept to yourself, often skipping breakfast, lost in a peculiar silence that enveloped you like a shroud. It was a protective cocoon, a way to conceal yourself as if you were an isolated island adrift in a sea of people. The presence of others had always unnerved you, a lingering fear that refused to release its grip.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Taking charge of the stables for the month had its perks, especially when it came to tending to the horses—an undertaking that ranked high among your favorite chores. While two other residents were technically assigned to work with you, the majority of your time was spent in the solitary company of the majestic creatures.

In the quiet embrace of the early morning, just before the crucial handover to the patrolling team, you busied yourself ensuring the horses were well-fed and prepared. Running your fingers through Scout's mane, one of the older stallions, you continued the rhythmic task of brushing his coat, a tranquil hum escaping your lips.

"S'cuse me," a voice interrupted, and you jolted at the familiar sound. Turning your head, you found Joel, surprisingly up and about at this early hour. Mouth slightly agape, you greeted him breathlessly, "Joel, hi."

"Up early for patrol today... so... was wonderin' if you needed any help," Joel's gravelly voice broke through the quiet serenity of the stables.

You tilted your head, a subtle quirk of curiosity. The unexpected shyness emanating from Joel piqued your interest. Scanning him up and down, you suppressed a smile before nodding, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fluttering in your chest. "Um, sure... Could you feed the rest of the horses over there?"

He nodded in acknowledgment before moving with seasoned ease to attend to the horses, his hands moving confidently as he handled the feed and navigated the familiar routine of caring for the animals. As he worked alongside you in the quietude of the stables, the bond between caretaker and horses, and perhaps something more, unfolded in the soft morning light.

"How are you settlin' in in town, darlin'?" Joel inquired, his voice dipped in a gentle southern charm that sent a delightful shiver down your spine. The term of endearment he used left you feeling a sweet warmth spreading throughout your body.

You shrugged, a subtle smile playing on your lips. "Jackson is good, quiet, and peaceful. Never thought a place like this could still exist after... everything."

Joel's gaze lingered on you, and he couldn't help but note, "Well, it's got its charm. People here look out for each other. You included darlin'." His words held a quiet sincerity, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

Your eyes shifted around, a flutter of nerves settling in before gathering enough courage to meet Joel's gaze. You licked your lip nervously, and the words tumbled out, "Joel, I... I never apologized when I... um... first arrived here in Jackson. I'm sorry."

Joel looked at you, seeing the vulnerability in your eyes, and a softness overcame him. He offered you a sympathetic smile, "Nothin' to apologize for."

"You must have thought I was crazy," you lamely laughed, and Joel shook his head, his voice gentle, "No, not at all, just someone who's hurtin'."

You stared at him wide-eyed, feeling a phantom fear of tragedy as if he could see through you, still aware of any negative tendencies you may have. It evoked a sense of helplessness and vulnerability.

Then, a flicker of something in his gaze—a fire, a subtle intensity that caused warmth to spread across your face. An unspoken connection kindled in the quiet space between you, creating an inexplicable but undeniable bond.

Unable to hold his gaze, you looked away, clearing your throat, and tried to hide your smile as you continued to brush out Scout's mane. Joel smirked, watching you duck your head, proud of the way he made you react with just his gaze. The unspoken words hung in the air, a sweet tension that hinted at something more than apologies and simple conversations.

“So… what’s today’s patrol route?” You asked, trying to move the conversation, Joel walked over to you and finished feeding the horses, he stood in front of you and sighed, “Should be a quick one, makin’ sure there aren’t any infected or raiders nearby.”

Time flew by in the hypnotic flow of discussion with Joel before you realized it. His patrol partner eventually arrived, signaling the end of your stolen moments together. As you handed over the reins to Joel, a subtle thrill coursed through you when your hand brushed against his. A soft smile graced your lips, and you whispered, "Stay safe out there, Cowboy."

In response, Joel's steely exterior softened, and a rare, small smile played on his lips. He nodded, meeting your gaze with a warmth that transcended the casual camaraderie. "I will, darlin'," he affirmed, the endearment lingering in the air like a promise.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The kitchen at Jackson bustled with activity, and you were focused on the mundane task of chopping carrots for the evening's stew. Gemma, a fellow resident assisting you, had stepped outside to discuss some news with an acquaintance. The day seemed ordinary, a haze of familiar routines in the post-apocalyptic town.

But then, it happened. A deafening crash of the door bursting open shattered the tranquility, causing you to jolt in fear. Instantly, you were transported back in time, your mind torn from the kitchen and thrust into a nightmare you thought you'd escaped.

In an instant, you weren't in Jackson anymore. Instead, you found yourself in that dreadful place, that sinister basement that still haunted your darkest memories. It was as if the chains that once bound your ankles were clinking and dragging across the worn wooden floor again, just as they had back then. The echoes of your fellow captives' whimpers and cries resonated in your ears, the cacophony of despair down the hall of that wretched basement.

The room seemed to whirl around you, and a frantic panic welled up inside, a chilling flood of memories surging through your mind like an unstoppable tide. It was as if the past, a nightmare you believed you had left behind, had come crashing back into your reality. 

Your throat constricted, and tears welled in your eyes, blurring the faces of the people and the clatter of the fallen knife in the kitchen. You couldn't bear it any longer. You couldn't pretend that everything was okay. You couldn't ignore the haunting echoes of the past any longer.

Without a second thought, you dashed past the bewildered onlookers in the kitchen, their voices fading into a distant, indistinct hum. Your pounding footsteps carried you through the dining hall and out into the crisp, autumn air.

Outside, you continued to run, propelled by an inexplicable urge to escape. The scene before you spun as you sprinted past, driven by an overwhelming need to distance yourself from the nightmarish memories that had clawed their way back to the surface.

Reaching the stables, you sought refuge by pressing your trembling hand against the cool, aged wood of the railing. It was a familiar anchor in this moment of turmoil, offering some semblance of support as your chest heaved, each breath drawn in ragged gasps. Your other hand clung to your racing heart as if to prevent it from leaping out of your chest.

Overwhelmed by emotions too powerful to contain, you eventually collapsed to your knees on the straw-strewn ground of the stables. There, amid the scents of hay, horses, and leather, you allowed yourself to succumb to the tidal wave of anguish. It was a cathartic release, an outpouring of pent-up pain, as you wept for the horrors of the past and for the insidious trauma that still gripped your very soul. The weight of the past was crushing, and a foreboding sense of its unending presence gnawed at you.

Amid the silent stables, in the hushed serenity of the autumn afternoon, your sorrow reverberated through the air. The horses nearby snorted and shifted, sensing your distress. Through your blurry vision, you made out the form of your own horse, Spirit, a palomino, whinnying and restlessly pawing the ground. Even he could perceive your distress.

With a heavy heart, you surrendered to the overwhelming emotions, curling into yourself. You buried your head in your arms, seeking refuge from the maelstrom within.

Time was elusive in that moment of vulnerability, and you couldn't gauge how long you remained in that cocoon of pain. It was the gentle touch of someone's hand on your shoulder that finally roused you from your anguish. Startled, you jolted and flinched backward, your tear-soaked eyes locking onto the familiar figure before you. 

It was Joel. He knelt on the stable floor, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. His hands were lifted in a gesture of surrender, a silent assurance that he meant no harm. His voice, as gruff and comforting as ever, reached out to you with reassurance, "Hey, sweetheart, it's just me. Nothin's gonna hurt'cha."

You felt yourself wrapping your arms around Joel in a vulnerable moment as if motivated by an unsaid desire for comfort rather than condemnation. He hesitated for an instant, but then he threw his powerful arms around you and held you close to his chest. Tears poured easily into his flannel, his hold's warmth providing a haven from the cold.

His hand moved with a soothing rhythm on the small of your back, a gesture meant to calm the storm raging within you. In that quiet corner of the stables, amidst hay and the comforting scent of horses, you let out the pain that had long been buried.

Word had traveled through the residents about the outburst you experienced, reaching Maria's ears. Concern etched on her face, she went to check on you, only to discover your broken state in Joel's embrace on the stable floor. A shared look between Maria and Joel conveyed an understanding, a mutual acknowledgment of the solace he provided. Without a word, Maria nodded in appreciation before quietly walking away, leaving you in the tender care of Joel's comforting arms.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Funny how it all fades away, the chaos of the world and the turmoil within, the very moment you surrender to Joel's arms. It's as if the universe aligns with the comforting embrace, reshaping the way it spins. You find yourself rearranged, your mind shifting, holding on a little tighter in the safety of your old age.

Your past, a fragile tapestry of pain, remains untold, hidden away from prying eyes. No one had ever asked, and the memories were not something you carried with pride.

Before you knew it, tears had given way to exhaustion, and you had surrendered to the solace Joel provided, falling into a peaceful slumber in his arms. Joel, unable to disturb your tranquil rest, gathered the strength to lift you with a gentle grace. Carrying you across the farmhouse they called home, he navigated the familiar halls with the kind of care one reserves for something precious.

In his bedroom, he gently laid you down on the bed, tucking you in with a blanket. You slept soundly, undisturbed by the world outside. Closing the door with a soft click, Joel rested his head against the wood, his tired eyes reflecting the weight of concern.

A voice sliced through the quiet, shattering Joel's contemplation. "Watcha hidin' in there?" Ellie's words caught him off guard, and he jumped, a whispered curse escaping him, "Fuck! Christ, kid, you almost gave me a damn heart attack."

Ellie leaned against the doorframe, her eyes studying Joel's worn expression. "Who's in there?" she asked, her curiosity tinged with concern.

Joel sighed, running a hand through his grizzled hair as he said your name, "She needed someone, kid. Don't worry, she's asleep now." He could see the questions forming in Ellie's eyes, and he continued, "She didn't need to be alone, not tonight."

Ellie's gaze softened, her understanding silently conveyed. "Need any help?" she offered, the bond between them speaking volumes in the unspoken connection.

Joel shook his head. "Nah, I got it covered. Get some rest, Ellie."

As Ellie retreated to her space in the garage, Joel turned back to the closed door, a silent vigil for the fragile peace within.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

As you deeply inhaled, the scent of soft cotton sheets enveloped you, and the plush mattress cradled your form. A gentle breeze wafted through the open window, causing the curtains to sway gracefully. Blinking your eyes open, your eyebrows knit in confusion as the unfamiliar room unfolded before you, a stark contrast to the one you had meticulously crafted as your own.

As you pushed yourself up, the blanket slipped off, revealing a scene that painted a portrait of the person who occupied this space. A guitar stood propped up next to a box of records, hinting at the melodies that might have filled the room. A clock, perched on the wall above a small bookshelf adorned with a multitude of books, ticked away the moments. The window, adorned with a closet nearby, allowed soft daylight to spill into the room, casting a warm glow on the carefully curated details that made this space unique.

Exiting the bedroom, you quietly padded towards the kitchen, drawn by the inviting aroma of breakfast and a faint hum in the air. As you entered, Joel came into view, focused on the morning task of preparing a meal. You said his name, but he tilted his head to the side, as if catching a subtle sound in the stillness. Eventually, he turned around, and a small smile graced his face, revealing the hint of a dimple.

"Oh, you're awake. Good mornin', darlin'. How'd ya sleep?" Joel greeted, his eyes warm and the kitchen bathed in the aroma of breakfast. The worn, well-loved kitchen table held evidence of countless meals, the scent of brewing coffee enveloping the space, and a charming clutter of ingredients spoke of a morning routine crafted by familiarity and care.

“I… I’m–”

“Before you start to apologize for shit that you can’t control, don’t,” Joel interjected, a wry smile on his lips.

Deciding it was too early for arguments, you settled for a small nod, and Joel mirrored it with an agreeing one, “Alright, good.”

You began, “Uh, then I should… uh, see myself out then um–”

Joel shook his head, “Not with an empty stomach, you’re not.”

“But I–”

“Let me take care of you, please?” Joel's request carried a certain weight, and you found it hard to resist. Politely nodding, you ventured, “Is there anything I could help with?”

Joel shook his head, “Just have a seat over there by the dining table.” You complied, the chair scraping against the floor before you settled, observing Joel expertly preparing a spread of plates.

The front door opened, and Ellie walked in with a bright smile upon spotting you. "Hey! You’re still here and Joel hasn’t scared you off yet?”

You began to reply, but Joel scolded Ellie, placing down plates and glasses on the table, "Ellie!"

With a sheepish smile, you told her, "Quite the opposite actually."

Ellie shot Joel a cheeky look as she stuffed her face with food, “Wow! Look at you, when did you become such a social butterfly?” Joel sighed, shaking his head, while you shared a chuckle with Ellie, finding yourself welcomed into the heartwarming banter of their unconventional family.

You three had a nice supper together in quiet companionship. Ellie finally got up from her chair and announced that she was going to hang out at Dina's apartment. Never one to pass up a chance, she gave Joel a playful glance and puckered her lips into a kissy face at him while you were busy with the dishwashing.

By the time Joel was done drying the dishes with a towel and setting them on the drying rack, you picked at the loose skin on the edges of your fingernails, nervously waiting for Joel to ask the question you knew was coming.

“Let’s go sit out at the porch and enjoy the good weather, watcha’ say darlin’?” Joel asks and you bring yourself to look at him and you just nod as you follow him outside. He opens the door for you and gestures to the seat that you take, Joel moves the table around and moves his chair closer to yours.

You inhale deeply, finding solace in the delicate dance of silence and the caress of a spring breeze that leaves goosebumps in its wake.

“Have ya talked to anybody?” Joel's voice breaks the quiet, and you turn your head to meet his gaze, a mixture of curiosity and kindness in his eyes.

“What?” you respond, caught off guard by the sudden question.

“Y’know, made some friends around town?” Joel elaborates gently.

“Are you asking if I have friends?” Your quizzical tone hangs in the air, and Joel huffs, “Well, you ain’t answerin’ the question, honey.”

A sigh escapes you as you weigh the words in your mind. Finally, you admit, “I like being alone.”

“Must be why you’re talkin’ to me so much,” Joel remarks with a smirk.

You meet his gaze, the warm sun highlighting the depths of his brown eyes as he looks at you. Shaking your head, you say, “That’s why I knew you were different. Because, for the first time ever, I wanted someone else’s company more than my own.” The vulnerability in your words hangs between you, suspended in the soft glow of the sun.

Joel's weathered hand envelops yours, a gesture that carries the weight of shared pain. "I’ve had 'em, the um, panic attacks," he admits, his voice a low murmur that echoes the haunting specter of those moments. "Feels like all the air in your lungs is gone, and you begin to feel like you’re drownin’.”

“I see her sometimes,” Joel continues distantly, his gaze lost in the depths of memory. You wait, the air thick with unspoken sorrow. “Sarah, my daughter. I lost her on outbreak day. She was only twelve.”

Your eyes well up, and you squeeze his hand in silent solidarity. "I'm sorry, Joel."

Joel shifts his gaze to his broken watch, a relic that marks the day and time when his world shattered when he cradled Sarah in his arms as she bled out.

“I got Ellie now, and she’s…” Joel trails off, the weight of his feelings for Ellie impossible to articulate fully. She's his everything, the reason to press on in a world that often feels desolate.

“I know,” you say, nodding in understanding.

“Talkin’ about it helps, y’know. Learned the hard way, almost lost her.”

Tears stream down your cheeks as the raw vulnerability in Joel's words resonates with your own pain. “I don’t want to just survive anymore,” you gasp, the ache in your chest palpable. “It hurts, Joel.”

“What happened out there, darlin’?” Joel asks, his voice breaking.

With a sob, you reply, “Nothing good. Nothin’ good, Joel.”

Then, the floodgates open, and you begin to tell an account laced with patches of short-lived joy and a frantic search for any opportunity at a better life. You spoke about the day of the breakout, the terror of seeing your parents die, and the passing of your siblings. You were taken prisoner by deranged and vicious raiders who took you to a basement filled with the deafening screams of violence.

You consider yourself lucky, spared the physical torment, yet the anticipation of it looms, a shadow of dread. "They should've just killed me then and there," you choke out, laying bare the scars that time can't erase.

A surge of anger courses through Joel's veins, an incandescent rage that echoes through his chest, resonating in the very marrow of his bones. The simmering heat in his head intensifies, a visceral response to the mere thought of anyone causing you harm. Every protective instinct in him flares up, urging him to mount a horse and embark on a ruthless pursuit, to track down those who dared lay a hand on you and unleash a torrent of violence upon them.

Yet, a rational part of Joel prevails. He recognizes the urgency of your need, the necessity for his presence here and now. Despite the molten anger that simmers beneath his skin, he restrains the impulse to act immediately. For your sake, he remains seated, the muscles in his jaw tensing as he clenches his teeth, locking away the fiery wrath that threatens to consume him. It's a fierce battle within, between the protective warrior ready for vengeance and the caring soul determined to offer solace. In this moment, he chooses the latter, for you.

The weight of your dreams presses upon you, vivid and haunting, every detail etched into your consciousness. "I've been remembering my dreams, more vivid than they've ever been, every detail and little thing. Every time I think about going back there to save the others I just… I can’t,” you admit, the guilt seeping through every fiber of your being. Joel kneels in front of you, a pillar of support, placing his hand on your knee.

“Let’s go inside, sweetheart,” Joel suggests, his voice a gentle anchor. You nod, allowing him to guide you back inside. Both of you settle on the couch, and Joel scoops you into his arms, a comforting embrace that shields you from the harshness of your own thoughts.

Sniffling, you pour out your heart, “I know I should have gone back for them, but I saw the opportunity, took it, and fought. I fought hard, and then I ran.”

Joel hums, a soothing melody that allows your tears to flow freely. “I thought… I was okay with the idea of dying, right there, in the snow, and then–”

“I found you,” Joel interjects, his voice a soft murmur.

You look up at him, eyes filled with uncertainty. “You found me?”

Joel's voice drops to a low register, his gaze steady on yours. “I found you during the patrol, freezin’ to death. Thought I didn’t make it in time.” The admission lingers in the air, a symbol of the frailty of beating the odds and the silent connection that kept you from falling apart.

You both stay quiet as you try to calm yourself down while Joel holds you, unable to form any response to the revelation that Joel saved you. You know you’re supposed to be grateful, but at the same time, you don’t feel that way. So you settle closer to him and Joel squeezes you a little tighter as if he knows what you are thinking, and there is no judgment, just pure empathy and understanding.

Eventually, you settle down and softly say, “I don’t know what to do,” Joel rubs a soothing hand up and down your back, “We’ll figure it out, darlin’.”

Then for the first time in years, that's when you could finally breathe.

 •───────•°•❀•°•───────•

As the seasons wove their tapestry of change, so did the fabric of your life, threading moments of lightness and warmth. Having shared the weight of your past with Joel, he became a steadfast presence, an anchor in the shifting tides of your existence. Ellie, too, became a companion in the shared journey of growth.

On a particular day, amidst the vibrant greenery of the greenhouse, you found yourself potting plants and tending to the garden alongside Ellie and another resident named Tris. The air was filled with the earthy scent of soil and the symphony of laughter as you engaged in the simple joy of gardening.

Joel, clad in his worn yet beloved flannel, entered the greenhouse, his eyes inadvertently catching the scene of camaraderie and playfulness. He watched, a subtle smile gracing his lips, as you and Ellie exchanged sweet banter, a dance of words that resonated with laughter.

Ellie couldn't resist a playful pun, and you responded with a burst of laughter, the sound harmonizing with the rustle of leaves and the hum of nature. The moment encapsulated the genuine connection, the shared language of laughter, that had blossomed between you and Ellie.

There had never been a label given to the unwritten relationship between Joel and you. It was a wordless understanding, manifested in the tender attention he paid you and the evenings you spent finding comfort in the round of his arms. There was a promise in the air as he held you tight, "I'll keep you safe, sweetheart." The words were genuine and reverberated through the unexplored areas of your connection, a song of love and safety that didn't require any further explanation.

 •───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The morning proceeded as usual, and the break of dawn illuminated Jackson's sanctuary with a hopeful glow. There was a small party of new arrivals, an expected but unusual sight, and the customary welcoming committee was called upon to assist them in becoming adjusted to the way of life in the community.

You and a few others started the annual task of welcoming the newcomers into the communal room that serves several purposes. A mixture of wonder and expectation pervaded the air as the newcomers experienced Jackson's regularity and warmth—a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the post-apocalyptic world.

You did your duty without thinking as the new faces moved into the shared dining room, where a shared meal was waiting. But at the doorway, something stopped you cold, a pause that went against the normal flow of the greeting.

And then, you saw him.

Recognition struck like a bolt, the back of his head triggering a flood of memories—the cadence of his voice, the grimy shirt clinging to his frame, the dirt-encrusted hands that bore the stains of a past you had fought hard to escape. Time seemed to fracture as you stood there, immobilized, your mouth agape and dry, eyes widened in sheer terror.

You could feel the weight in the pit of your stomach, a concrete representation of the eerie memories of abuse and torment. This could not be real. He was not allowed to be here, breaking into the safe sanctuary you had taken refuge in. Previously perceived as a haven of security, the shared area now seemed to evoke images of suppressed anxieties and bad dreams.

His eyes lock onto yours, and a malevolent grin creeps across his face, revealing a set of teeth that seem to glisten with wicked intent. The sight sends shivers down your spine, and an overwhelming sense of nausea threatens to consume you. In that moment, Maria's reassuring grip on your shoulder serves as a lifeline amidst the storm of dread that surges within you.

Her voice cuts through the dissonance in your mind, “You okay? You look unwell,”, her concern accentuated by the chaos unfolding around you. Yet, it's her inquiry that acts as the catalyst for your unraveling. A surge of panic propels you out of the scene, your movements fueled by a desperate need to escape the looming threat.

The world blurs around you as you sprint through the town, a disorienting juxtaposition of familiar faces and judgmental gazes. The echoes of a haunting déjà vu accompany your frantic run, amplifying the weight of your terror. Tears stream down your face, and your breaths come in ragged gasps as your throat constricts, a relentless grip tightening around your airways.

Staggering, you struggle to maintain composure, but the relentless onslaught of fear takes its toll. The corners of your vision blur, and in a secluded moment, away from the prying eyes of the community, your body rebels. The gut-wrenching sensation overwhelms you, and you bend over, retching as the trauma resurfaces in both memory and physical reaction. The ground beneath you bears witness to the aftermath of a confrontation with the haunting specter of your past.

As you slide down the cold, unforgiving wall, a shiver courses through your body, amplifying the stark reality of the present moment. The cool surface offers little solace as you fold into yourself, desperately clutching your knees as if they could shield you from the impending storm.

The air around you thickens with a stifling heaviness, a cruel reminder of the past that refuses to release its grip. Curling into a defensive ball, you hug yourself tight, as though this simple act could ward off the encroaching darkness threatening to consume you.

With your head buried in your arms, the world outside the fortress of your limbs becomes a distant, distorted canvas. The minutes unravel, each tick of the clock echoing the pulsating rush of blood in your ears. The simplicity of the moment clashes with the complexity of the emotions swirling within.

Seventeen again, caught in the clutches of an awful, horrible place that has become an indelible scar etched into the tapestry of your existence. The pain is not merely a memory but a living, breathing entity, clawing its way back into your present, rendering the passage of time meaningless.

The walls around you seem to close in, their echoes carrying the weight of your history. It's a stark reminder that the past, no matter how desperately you've tried to escape it, remains an unwelcome companion, haunting the recesses of your soul.

You feel the air thicken as he draws near, his presence casting an ominous shadow that seems to devour the feeble rays of sunlight. A cold shiver races down your spine, a chilling prelude to the encroaching darkness. His footsteps echo like ominous drumbeats, each one resonating with an unsettling promise.

"You thought you could escape, huh?" The words slither from his lips like venom, his voice a malevolent symphony that pierces through the ambient sounds of the surroundings. His gaze, filled with a malevolent gleam, locks onto yours, trapping you in a macabre dance.

Despite your mind screaming at your limbs to flee, a paralyzing fear roots you to the spot. The weight of your past sins, haunting and relentless, manifests in the figure before you. His form, etched with the scars of your shared history, now looms with a menacing intent.

"Did you really think you could hide here? With these people?" His tone drips with disdain as he gestures to the community around you. The tendrils of his threat extend beyond mere words, reaching into the very fabric of your newfound sanctuary.

Your breath catches as his words morph into a menacing promise. "I can take it all away, you know. Everything you've found here." His gaze shifts to the people you've come to love, their laughter and camaraderie now tainted by the looming specter of his return.

Nathan. A name, almost lost to the recesses of memory, surfaces in your mind – a cruel reminder of the scars he etched upon your soul. In this ominous confrontation, the echoes of your past reverberate with the sinister intention of reclaiming what he believes belongs to him.

Nathan's grip tightened around your arm, and you let out a scream, thrashing wildly to break free. As your nails clawed at his face, Nathan spat out a curse, "You fuckin’ bitch, I’ll kill you!"

In desperation, you tried to stand, but he grabbed your ankle, dragging you mercilessly across the floor. Your knee aimed at his face was thwarted, and his hands closed around your throat. The air in your lungs dwindled, and you kicked and screamed in a futile attempt to escape.

Feeling the switchblade in your pocket, you willed yourself to grab it. Flipping it open, you cried out as you stabbed him in the neck. Joel stormed towards you, anger etched across his face, but before he could intervene, you pulled out the switchblade, attacking Nathan with a frenzy of stabs.

"Stay the hell away from me!" you cried, each word punctuated by a vicious thrust of the blade. Tears streamed down your face as you unleashed your rage on the man who haunted your nightmares.

Joel, realizing the danger, moved swiftly. He pulled you away from the blood-soaked scene, shushing you and grabbing your wrist. The switchblade fell from your grip, staining the grass, and Joel held you close, shielding you from the aftermath of the violent confrontation.

Amidst the chaos, Joel's voice cut through, reassuring and protective. "Easy, sweetheart, easy. You're safe now." The echoes of your cries mingled with the distant sounds of Maria, Tommy, and others dealing with Nathan.

Maria's gaze shifted towards you, concern etched across her features. She turned to Joel and gave a decisive order, "Go and make sure she’s okay." Joel's response was a firm nod, an acknowledgment of his responsibility.

There was a hint of irritation in Joel's eyes as he escorted you home with an arm around your waist. It was an aging-related displeasure with himself for not being fast enough. But he was driven by desire to take care of making sure you were safe, and he brought you home with a strong sense of protectiveness. The atmosphere was tight, with echoes of Maria's instruction that spoke of the need to protect you from the horror that had recently occurred.

 •───────•°•❀•°•───────•

In the quiet confines of the bathroom, Joel tenderly cleans the cuts and blood on your skin. The sterile scent of antiseptic hangs in the air as he carefully tends to your wounds. His touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the harsh memories that still lingered.

Joel glances at you while he works, capturing your attention. Through the difficulties you've undergone together, you've built a mutual understanding and a silent bond. The air changes, as trust and frailty meld together at that one instant.

Joel stops and meets your eyes for a brief period. There is a tangible tension between you that none of you can deny. The air seems heated. He places the first aid kit aside and reaches for your face with his hands.

Without a word, Joel leans in, closing the gap between you. The touch of his lips against yours is a gentle reassurance, a promise that you're not alone. In that tender kiss, there's a quiet acknowledgment of the strength you've found in each other.

As the kiss lingers, the weight of the past starts to lift. It's a moment of solace, a testament to resilience and the possibility of healing. Joel pulls away slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

And in the quiet bathroom, amid the wounds of the past, you find a newfound feeling of hope, grounded in the connection established through endurance and the compassion of Joel's care. Joel smiles softly and says, "You deserve to be happy, darlin'. Let me take care of you."

As Joel continues to care for your wounds, a sense of calm settles within the small confines of the bathroom. The sting of antiseptic is a tangible reminder of the present, but you find solace in the fact that Joel is here, offering comfort and care.

He finishes cleaning the last cut, his hands lingering for a moment before he retreats. There's an unspoken understanding between you, a silent agreement that this moment marks a turning point. The ghosts of the past may linger, but the present holds a promise of healing.

Joel's gruff voice breaks the quiet, "You're a tough one, you know that?" A hint of a smile plays on his lips, a rare sight that warms your heart. You manage a small smile in return, grateful for the unexpected bond that has grown between you.

Leaning back against the bathroom counter, Joel lets out a sigh. "You've been through hell, and here you are, facing it head-on. I've seen folks crumble under less. You're stronger than you think."

The atmosphere shifts as Joel's gaze meets yours again. There's a question lingering in the air, one that goes beyond words. You realize that this moment is a crossroads, a chance to choose your path forward.

"You're not alone in this," Joel reassures, his eyes reflecting a depth of understanding that transcends the scars of the past. "Whatever you need, I'm here."

In that moment, you feel a surge of courage, a newfound strength that emanates from within. The pain of the past begins to lose its grip as you accept Joel's support. The familiarity of the bathroom transforms into a sanctuary, a symbol of resilience and the possibility of rebuilding.

As you rise from the seat, Joel watches you with a quiet intensity. You get closer as the uncovered pull between you becomes stronger. This is a turning point in your life when you realize that you are now in control of the two worlds you have battled to survive and are determined to rebuild.

Joel's weathered hands find yours, a comforting embrace that symbolizes the connection you've forged. The tension that once lingered now gives way to a shared understanding, a silent agreement to face the future together.

In the hushed bathroom, among the fragments of the past, you lean in, closing the distance between you and Joel. The kiss that follows is a testament to resilience, an affirmation of the strength found in vulnerability. It forms a bridge between the hope of the next day and the scars of yesterday as it becomes deeper. 

Joel pulls away, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or hesitation. Instead, he finds a glimmer of determination, a spark that signals a new beginning. With a whispered promise, he says, "We'll face whatever comes our way, together."

With Joel right there beside you, you walk into that tiny, quiet room, ready to tackle whatever the world throws your way. Strangely enough, the weight of the world feels lighter with him around. No complaints from you—just a sense of readiness for whatever comes next.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

End Notes:

tbh, I blacked out while writing this--- so UH if there are any inconsistencies let me know! :>

[morallyinept]

A list of all my favourite JOEL MILLER Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.

PART 2

Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤

⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.

Jealousy - @naughtyneganjdm

Little Black Dress - @hellishjoel Bartender!Joel

All Things Go - @fhatbhabie PlusSizeLatina!Reader

Rock Me To Sleep - @randofantfic

A Savage Place Series - @gasolinerainbowpuddles Dom x Sub Dynamic

No Strings Attached - @dustydaddyyy

Bad Blood Series - @jrrmint Raider!Joel

The Insemination - @megangovier20 Doc!Joel

Somebody To Heal, Somebody to Hold - @bearsbeetsbeskar Dispensary!Joel

Joyride - @strang3lov3

Silk & Sweat Series - @hexidous

Joel Miller: Attorney At Law - @chloeangelic ShadyLawyer!Joel

Joel Miller Masterlist - @chloeangelic More Joel to enjoy!

One More Day Series - @cevans-is-classic

Cowboy Like Me Series - @macfrog DBF!Joel

Code Red Series DBF!Joel, Call Your Bluff & Joel Masterlist - @chaotic-mystery

Imbibe Series - @sin-djarin Mixologist!Joel

The Voicemail - @elvinaa

All You Wanna Do & The Wound Won't Close - @atticrissfinch Dark!Joel

The Wrong Way Series - @romana-after-dark Dark Raider!Joel Featuring Dark Raider!Tommy

Crimson Red Paint On My Lips, Me & The Devil & Marked Me Like A Bloodstain - @pr0ximamidnight Dark MeanSmuggler!Joel

You Can't Trust Anyone These Days - @walkintotheriveranddisappear Dark!Joel Featuring Tess & Raider Group

With Pleasured Hands, Can't Nobody Love You Featuring Tommy Miller & Only Teasing - @magpiepills

I'm The One To Beat - @missredherring Slasher!Joel

Keeping Warm & Can't Take It - @randofantfic

Fate, After All Series - @mandoisapunk

Starving Faithful - @tulipsbymybed Priest!Joel

Joel Miller Masterlist - @ozarkthedog

Close Your Eyes, Pay The Price For Your Paradise - @ozarkthedog Dark!Joel

Sweet Peach Series - @elvinaa BFD!Cowboy Joel

But I'm A Creep - @elvinaa PervyNeighbour!Joel

Confession - @elvinaa Priest!Joel

Dom Pérignon - @jrrmint DBF!Joel

Yes, Father Series - @chloeangelic Priest!Joel

Dirty Cage - @sin-djarin

A Little Discipline - @walkintotheriveranddisappear DarkStepdad!Joel

Closer Series & Pretty Little Wife Series - @beardedjoel

Jet & Ghost - @macfrog

Love's Gonna Get You Killed - @pascalisbaby

Sins Of My Father Series - @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin DBF!Joel

Short Days, Long Nights Series - @frannyzooey

Smut Celebration: Joel & Smut Celebration Joel 2 - @thetriumphantpanda

The Red - @prettykoolkat PlusSize!Reader

Grown Woman - @chloeangelic DBF!Joel

For I Have Sinned - @xanqels DarkCorruptedPriest!Joel

Blackmail - @milla-frenchy Featuring Javier Peña

Dancing With The Devil - @jenispunk DBF!Joel

Blush - @softlyspector

[pearlsinmyhair]

🎸✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮ hobie brown ✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮🎸

“taking a crap on the establishment, i salute you”

now playing - anarchy in the uk, sex pistols

0:00 ●─────────────── 3:30

⇆ㅤㅤㅤ ◁ㅤㅤ❚❚ㅤㅤ▷ ♡

✰ small fics

⋆ mirror pic - you ask hobie to hold your chest like a bra for a picture, but he’s easily distracted when it comes to you. nsfw. fem!reader.

⋆ his angel - hobie calls you his angel, though not in the traditional sense. slight nsfw. fem!reader.

⋆ mark me up, baby - hobie asks that you give him some lipstick marks before he goes on stage, but things quickly escalate. nsfw. fem!reader.

⋆ no labels. - hobie doesn’t believe in labels. well, except when it comes to one thing. slight nsfw. fem!reader.

⋆ come home to me. - hobie will always come back home, no matter how hard it gets. slight nsfw. fem!reader.

✭ multi-part

⋆ lovely:

part i - hobie drops by and walks in on his gn!so singing, and he decides to join them.

part ii - hobie gets you to sing with his band at a gig.

✯ drabbles

nothing here yet.

🕸⋆⭒˚｡🕷️⋆miguel o’hara⋆🕷️⭒˚｡⋆ 🕸

“i’ve given up too much to stop now.”

now playing - givin’ up, 21 savage, 2 chainz, don toliver

0:00 ●─────────────── 3:53

⇆ㅤㅤㅤ ◁ㅤㅤ❚❚ㅤㅤ▷ ♡

✦ small fics

nothing here yet!

⟡ multi-part

⋆ the price of the name - platonic!miguel x fem!reader. reader has had a hard life, and now she’s an orphan. but someone just as lonely comes into her life to take her under his wing.

- pt i: fate

- pt ii: star girl

-pt iii: i’m not her

✶ drabbles

dedication - miguel works for longer than he should, but he makes it up to you. nsfw, fem!reader.

[graciereadshannigram]

okay hannigram folks, i've read Paragon (ahhhhhhhhhhhh!) and i just finished Mark Me Not A Savage (ahhhhhh!!!!!!) and now i feel deeply empty.

any fic recs would be deeply deeply appreciated!! im really not choosy when it comes to tropes, i just want to find more long fics with accurate characterization, please and thank u!

[theobjectofyourire]

Dohaeriros - A Daemond Drabble

CONTENT WARNINGS: dubcon/noncon (but could be read as just really rough consensual sex tbh) I can't tell if the dove is dead, but it's definitely injured, dom!Aemond, sub!Daemon, dacryphilia, mention of blood and bruising (non-sexual), smut smut smut

word count - just over 300 words

a/n : I am so deep in the writing trenches, working on fics for aemond x reader , daemon x aemond, aemond x helaena, the list goes ever on but I had to pause everything to write this quick little requested drabble because I'm obsessed with the idea of dominance reversal in this pairing. unedited. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do

******

In desperation, it comes.

Ignorant of all instinct, the word slips from his mouth as little more than a whimpering, a weeping, and not the first offered by this, the late hour of ghosts. His old dragon had claimed himself incapable of such sweet, sorrowing sounds, such striking submission, but even through his near unfathomable, aching whines, their mother tongue is not so easily mistaken for another.

Still stained by shed scarlet, the young Prince Regent wraps a slender, savage hand around his uncle’s throat, humming at the quickened pulse beneath his fingers.

“You seem made for me, Uncle,” he purrs, teeth scraping the shell of his ear. “Every inch of you, so perfectly molded.” Lazily do his lips stray, marking a path to the soft, fluttering spot of his neck.

There is not an ounce of mercy in his bite.

He comes away with blood.

“Say it again.”

The rogue prince shudders, all but keens as his nephew delivers a sudden, brutal thrust into his already agonized heat. His bruised cheek is met with the fleeting warmth of a single tear, uncertain of its place before it is ripped from him ruthlessly with a sharp lick of Aemond’s tongue.

Never had he known such use.

The word threatens to once again tumble from his traitorous lips with a wretched, nighly prayerful moan that frightens him to his very core. The young dragon growls, rutting into him with further violence, piercing him deeper with indignation and indulgence in equal measure.

“Dohaeriros,” he snarls, and gods, it makes him weak. “Say. It. Again.”

Daemon mewls at the command, a truly pitiful attempt of refusal remedied all too soon by the squeezing of his throbbing, anguishing cock. His nephew’s grip is invulnerable, beyond pleasure or pain or any word of the Common Tongue.

“Āeksio,” Daemon sobs, more wounded beast than man, but Aemond hears him all the same.

“Yes, little slave,” he leers, his fingers tightening. “I am your master.”

******

[ppeonppeonhan]

My 2022 Spotify BL Dramas Wrapped Report: Best Scenes

BEST ONE-SIDED LOVE STORY: My Only 12%

Eiw displayed an incredible amount of self control considering his bff Cake had no understanding of the concept of personal space.

BEST RESISTANCE TO ROMANCE: Semantic Error

Jae Young is SUCH a tease. I absolutely loved how he gave Sang Woo a trial experience of what it would be like to date him, and then immediately cut it off. So savage.

BEST FLIRTATION: The Eclipse

Speaking of teases, Akk was going through it in this series. It took a WHILE for our boy Aye to win him over but he was a persistent king, and you had to respect his game.

BEST SLOW BURN: The Eclipse

This series also wins for the payoff of waiting for Akk to FINALLY initiate a kiss. And he doesn't just initiate, he does a callback to a series of kisses that Aye requested in the past. *chef's kiss*

BEST DECLARATION OF LOVE: KinnPorsche

Say what you will about the toxicity of how Vegas and Pete started their relationship. We were all holding our breaths after Vegas got shot, praying there was another scene. And boy did they deliver. Not only was he alive, Pete was at his side, ready to risk it all.

BEST ROMANTIC KISS: Bad Buddy

The world motherf*cking stopped. The gif Gods gaveth for weeks. Tearful, passionate, and briefly tragic -- it was everything.

BEST SEXY KISS: Rommates of Poongduck 304

I know it is wild of me -- in the era of KinnPorsche and Love in the Air -- to give this honor to a tame Korean BL that barely anyone saw, but THAT’S why it was so sexy. By the time you were done with those other shows, you were practically desensitized to kissing. This was unexpected, and left you wanting more. It could launch a 1,000 fan fics.

BEST EROTIC SCENE: KinnPorsche

I mean...need I say more. This series was such a raw and playful depiction of queer sex. It never tried too hard to be sexy. It felt like you were peeking in on private moments between a real couple who enjoyed exhibitionism.

BEST CHAOTIC SEX SCENE: Love in the Air

KinnPorsche def had an entire montage of chaotic lovemaking, but nothing will top baby-gay Rain domming his daddy Payu.

BEST BREAKUP: Love Mechanics

#JusticeforVee -- this man had more patience than any man I've ever seen in my life. And Mark knew how to tear out a man's heart with his words. Cut so deep he even hurt himself.

BEST PLOT TWISTS: Not Me

Love a twin plot. Love a crime plot. Love a thriller. And Gun was out here working overtime to serve us plot twists, double crosses, and misdirection. He deserves all the awards.

[frownyalfred]

Could…could we get a link to “one of the most graphic hannigram fics ever” please?? 👉👈

Warnings for…..basically everything you can think of, anon. It’s cannibalism, omegaverse, soulmates, etc etc dialed up to the max.

There’s a scene where someone…well, I won’t spoil it for you. But it made me raise my eyebrows, I’ll tell ya that.

[kimageddon]

This is an archive of my one shots, prompt challenges and requests. If you are looking for my two main series, A Prince of Dathomir or Sins of the Father, please check out my pinned post or my AO3 account.

Fanfiction for characters in the Star Wars Universe

Tech

Reader Edition - The Wedding | The Reception | The Honeymoon

OC edition - The Wedding | The Reception | The Honeymoon

Crosshair

Shoot Me Down

Couldn't Resist (NSFW)

Boba Fett

Impatient (NSFW)

The Witch's Familiar (possible series, Fantasy AU)

Masterlist - Coming Soon

Introductory Blurb

Comedic Series for the Star Wars characters and Universe - a cantina where all characters coalesce OOC, no timeline specifics

The Pants Challenge

Drinks

Prompt List - | - NSFW Prompt List - | - Who I write for

Ideas sent in via asks from the prompt list (CLOSED)

Clone Trooper Jesse

29: "I'm going to give you five seconds to take that back"

Cad Bane

34. “That’s it! I’m killing them all.” / “Wait, but what about the plan?” / “Forget the plan! These idiots keep getting on my nerves. They have no one to blame but themselves.”

31. "Good, I meant it to hurt."

ARC Trooper Fives

8. “I think I have found the cure for happiness.” / “What’s that?” / “Falling in love.”

Commander Wolffe

4. “But you…. You went drink for drink with Wolffe. How are you not hungover?” & 20. “You're so tiny compared to me.”

9. "“Have you lost your damn mind?!” / “Yes, but in all fairness, I was left alone.”

Clone Medic Kix

16. “You can’t die. Please don’t die.”

Clone Trooper Hardcase

1. "That was my favourite blaster.”

Commando Captain Gregor

23. “Don’t cry. We’ll find each other again.”

Sergeant Hunter

46. "Kiss me like you mean it."

Coruscant Guard Commander Fox

12. “Aaand just like that I have lost all the fucks I had to give.”

Lord Savage Opress

7. “I love you! No time to explain – gotta go.” / “Wait… WHAT?!” & 40. “I want to take you to all the beautiful places, sunsets over oceans and listen to the rain. I want to dance with you, make you smile and laugh… but– I also want to kiss you so hard it leaves marks on your body, I want to watch you writhe beneath me and scream my name until you can’t say anything else.”

Requests from DMs of Ko-Fi

Maul and Savage - They discuss the dichotomy of siblings

Comfort with Darth Maul - Maul x Reader

Captain Rex - On shoreleave he decides to visit the barbers

If you wish to be tagged in my fic posts or my art posts, join my tag list here.

[sonsofichor]

The Mark of Wolves - Red Rising fic

Synopsis

All my people sing of are memories. And so I will remember this death. It will burden me as it does not burden my fellow students—I must not let that change. I must not become like them. I’ll remember that every sin, every death, every sacrifice, is for freedom.

But Darrow forgets. He forgets everything. Red, Gold, the mines, the Sons of Ares, his mission, his family, his purpose, his dreams, his past. Eo. So what does Darrow become?

Drabble I: Darrow

He tells me his name is Cassius. Cassius au Bellona.

“Cassius,” I repeat, hoping that at least the taste of his name would bring me some familiarity. It doesn’t.

“Do you remember me?”

I study him—his golden curls, his shining eyes, the cleft in his chin. He’s a boy on the cusp of adulthood, a young man of infinite beauty. He’s not someone you can easily forget. And yet, the sight of him sparks nothing. “Should I?”

He flinches. I didn’t mean to hurt him. You shouldn’t hurt young, beautiful things. He waves away my hesitant apology and calls me Darrow. Darrow au Andromedus. It leaves me indifferent.

I sit cross-legged with my back against the wall. Cassius mirrors my position across from me, and next to him is a slight long-haired boy who’s kept silent until now. He leans forward. “I’m Roque au Fabii,” he says and when that, too, gets nothing from my side, he asks, “What about your family? Your parents? Your home?”

I frown in concentration.

Cassius perks up. “You’re from Yorkton. Your mother’s name was Lexus, I believe.”

I shrug.

"And your father... Your father's name, I mean..." Trailing off, he turns to Roque for help, but all Roque does is shake his head. It’s clear none here knows me all that well.

Roque sighs, “It seems you’ve lost your memories.”

I feel lost.

I woke up surrounded by forgotten faces and with no idea who I am or who I’m supposed to be. Questions tumble through my brain, the next one louder than the one before.

They try to explain the situation succinctly.

It’s our third day at the Institute on Mars,

So, I’m trapped in the savage wilderness, where society has been reduced to young Golds giving in to their primal instincts, and I don't even know what Gold is supposed to mean.

“I do wonder sometimes,” Roque begins after Cassius has recovered, “as to the purpose of all this. How can this be the most efficient method of testing our merit, of making us into beings who can rule the Society?”

“And do you ever come to a conclusion?” Cassius asks.

“They have us here because this valley was humanity before Gold ruled. Fractured. Disunited even in our very own tribe. They want us to go through the process that our forefathers went through. Step by step, this game will evolve to teach us new lessons. Hierarchies within the game will develop. We’ll have Reds, Golds, Coppers.”

“Pinks?” Cassius asks hopefully.

“I … don’t know about Pinks,” Roque says. The idea of a Gold being a Pink offends him. I don’t know enough to form an opinion. “But … the rest is simple. This is a microcosm of the Solar System.”

Roque notices my blank look. “Darrow… do you know what the Society is? The colors?”

I shake my head. “What’s a Pink?”

Roque snorts.

Cassius buries his face in his hands.

…

Roque is finishing his summary of  the Red class when he’s interrupted by two pairs of voices and pounding feet. The girls have returned.

“Has he woken up?” is the first question the shorter girl asks as she steps through the doorway.

The lean, long-limbed girl that follows closely behind her, whistles. “Wow, that looks gorydamn nasty!”

She means the wound on the side of my head—a horizontal, freshly stitched and swollen scar. Nine stitches. Cassius is in the middle of cleaning it with salt water.

I stare at them, suddenly conscious of the fact that I’m wearing nothing but my underwear under the light blanket. Cassius said they’d washed them and hung them to dry in the sun outside.

"What?" asks the lean girl.

"What?" I say.

"What?" she repeats.

Cassius lifts his eyes to heaven. "Great ancestors, spare me."

"He doesn't remember you, Quinn. Or anyone, for that matter." Roque clears his throat. “We believe he suffers from amnesia.”

“Believe?” Cassius gives a harsh laugh. “He doesn’t recall his mother from Jove. It’s a fact, my goodman.”

Quinn gapes. "Nothing?"

"Not a gorydamn truth," Cassius says. I admire how his hands stay steady and gentle despite his heated tone. "We just had to explain to him what the Society is."

Quinn gapes some more.

The short-haired girl brings me a cup of water. “Little sips,” she advises, smiling kindly. She introduces herself as Lea.

“We were deciding who was right to lead us. The discussion quickly devolved into . Titus waited until we had our backs turned.” He nearly growls. “The coward.”

“What happened exactly,” I ask him, “Cassius?” But he remains tight-lipped, the anger obvious in the way he works his jaw. He finishes putting the bandages in place, squeezes the back of my neck and leaves the room. 

We stare after him.

“Did I do something?”

Lea shakes her head. “You should eat your berries, Darrow. You need the energy.” 

After some hesitation, I fall upon them. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.

Quinn takes over. “We were leaving. Titus grabbed the standard and attacked. Caught you—” she points at my temple, the wet spot underneath the bandages, “Right there.”

“I saw it all happen. Titus was aiming for Cassius,” sweet-featured Lea adds, “You saved him, Darrow. You pushed him out of the way, left yourself open. That’s how Titus got you.” She shivers. “Your blood splattered all over us. It was everywhere. We thought you’d died.”

“It was chaos,” Quinn agrees, her gaze faraway. “We fought like hell. Cassius threw himself at Titus with a roar. I grabbed a chair and started swinging at anyone who came close. Got Vixu-something in the chest. He was down for the count after that. Lea did the maddest thing. She hit and bit Titus’s hand until he dropped the banner.” She laughs when Lea blushes. “By then, you’d recovered enough for us to retreat. Roque knew a shortcut through the empty stables. Cassius’d left Titus’s face a gory mess and we covered our retreat.”

“I can’t believe I forgot the standard,” Lea groans, hiding her face in her hands. 

“At least you remembered to grab us some grub instead. I carried that chair out of the gorydamn castle!”

They devolve into giggles.

Roque finishes quietly. “You passed out after a mile. Cassius carried you the rest of the way here. You were unconscious for twenty-seven hours. The rest is history.”

It’s strange how that sentence is true, especially for me. My history boils down to the past hours spent in their company. Anything before that is an empty void.

Cassius walks back in and throws a pile of damp black and gold fatigues on my lap. He seems in an even worse mood than before, although none of his ire is directed at us. “Darrow, get ready, my goodman. Proctor Mars wants a word with you.”