#pedro pascal fandom

[palioom]

not home

summary: joel comes home and finds you asleep.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; established relationship; somnophilia; dirty talk; fingering; unprotected p in v; creampie; finger sucking; lowkey praise kink; no proofreading/beta lmao

IMPORTANT as tlou is made by a Zionist, as well as part 2 being based on the oppression of Palestine by Israel, I urge you to educate yourself in the light of the genocide happening in Palestine, specifically Gaza, right now. I cannot in good conscience post for Joel without bringing awareness to the horrific things that have been going on for 7 months.

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It was late when Joel came back.

Not home, just back. Home had been lost long ago, so long that he barely remembered it sometimes.

Funny how one could live in a place for so long and then it just faded away. He could remember some of the layout, but he swore that something was off about the way the living room looked in his mind.

No, this was just a shoddy apartment in the Boston QZ, with shitty hallways,creaking floorboards, paint peeling off the walls. Air howling through the tiny cracks, it was always cold somehow, but in summer too hot.

The door squeaked when he opened it and he really wanted to slam it shut behind him. Stupid thing would probably fly off the hinges if he did.

Try getting a door in the QZ.

He had more luck making one himself.

So he didn’t, opting to close it quietly instead, locking it behind him.

What a shitty fucking night this has been. Trying to smuggle shit out of the zone and then almost getting mauled by a bunch of clickers, adrenaline was still pumping through him along with anger.

Seething because he had lost a good amount of pills, some other good shit he could have traded for marks or cigarettes with the FEDRA officers.

Joel wanted to scream, throwing his backpack down onto the kitchen chair, then walking over to the cabinets. But he didn’t, instead pouring himself some of the shitty bourbon that they kept stashed away.

Sometimes he still wondered how she had managed to get this, looking over at her, peacefully sleeping in their bed.

If that’s what one could call it, a mattress propped up on some bricks, worn out pillows and ratty sheets.

Turned away from him on her stomach, the thin fabric of the blanket loosely draped over her legs, her ass only covered by her underwear.

Sometimes he wondered how she could sleep in so little, while he was always ready to go, ready to leave if anything happened.

Not that he minded, the sight was enough to make his dick twitch in his jeans, just watching her sleeping form, breathing in and out.

He knocked back another gulp, hissing at the weak sting.

Yeah, it was pretty shitty compared to the real thing, or whatever he remembered from it, but she had found a good bottle nonetheless.

The really good ones were hard to come by these days.

Just like people.

Fuck, she looked pretty like this, sprawled out over the whole bed because he wasn’t there, and he couldn’t even see her face.

Soft in her sleep, so rare in a world where softness did not survive for long.

Trying to be tough when awake, fooling everyone but him.

Joel knew her too well, some things he had never wanted to know, things about her past.

Things that made sense and intrigued him in a way, sometimes meaningless shit, like what shows she used to watch, what she had for dinner most days.

But it distracted him, as much as it annoyed him sometimes, it gave him a break from this fucked up world where all was about survival and nothing about just living.

So pretty.

Her body gave him a break as well, settling down the glass and the bottle, footsteps heavy as he walked over to their bed, knowing she wouldn’t wake up.

Could sleep through a damn tornado if she wanted to.

He took his boots off, the only thing she made him take off when he came to bed, insisting she would make him sleep on the sofa otherwise.

Anything but that, his back hurting just at the thought of that shitty, worn out thing.

Crawling into bed, he pressed himself close to her, chest against her back, heavy on top of her smaller frame.

Joel’s lips found her exposed shoulder, only wearing a ratty tank top, too hot in this little apartment. It was the only thing that kept her from sleeping most days, that unbearable heat.

His calloused fingers travelled over her arm, half under her pillow, then back up and over her side. Sliding between her body and the mattress, grabbing her breast, his hips grinding into her ass.

She sighed in her sleep, brows furrowing together for a moment, mumbling something.

Fuck, he needed her. Knew she wouldn’t mind, this was far from the first time where he came home all tense and tried to let go a little while buried inside of her.

“Fucking pretty, darlin’.” He whispered against her shoulder, his hand continuing down, finding the meat of her ass and kneading it, making her shift just a little.

She looked so sweet like this, her sleepy sounds adorable.

“Gonna see if you’re wet for me, baby.” He said, fingers pushing her underwear to the side and delving between her folds, finding her wet but not wet enough.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, gonna get you nice and ready for me.”

He moved back from her just long enough to pull down her underwear, throwing it somewhere behind him. Then, he was flush against her, his fingers coming up to her lips.

Pushing into her mouth, past her teeth, she took him in, actually sucking on them for a moment, making him groan.

He moved them in and out of her mouth, pressing down onto her tongue, massaging it.

“‘Atta girl, get them nice and wet, what a good girl.” He whispered, kissing her shoulder as he watched, his dick twitching and rock hard in his jeans as he rutted against her ass. “Doin’ so well.”

Joel didn’t know if she could hear him, but sometimes he was sure that she got wetter from how he talked even when she was fast asleep.

When they were wet enough, he pulled them from her mouth, leaving her lips slightly parted before he moved down, finding her clit.

Her hips jerked up into his dick when he touched her, rubbing a few lazy circles into it, spreading the wetness there before her found her entrance, carefully easing the two fingers inside.

A breathy sigh left her, brows furrowed again as she clenched around him, already pressing in and out of her at a steady pace, feeling more wetness coat him.

“Just like that, squeeze them nice and tight, gotta get you ready for me, sweetheart.”

Curling them, he pressed against the spongy spot inside of her, hearing the softest moan spill over her lips, stirring just a little.

Pumping in and out, scissoring his thick fingers to stretch her open, he soon pulled out again, getting desperate and just needing her around him.

He sucked his fingers clean before rolling away from her, opening his belt as quietly as he could, then the button and zipper of his jeans. Pushing them down just far enough to take his aching cock out, grunting when he was back on her, the tip of him pressed against her entrance.

Hand finding her leg, he angled her just a little differently, making it easier for him to push into her, groaning softly against her shoulder.

Feeling her tight, wet pussy pull him in deeper, all the way until he bottomed out, broad hand over her hip.

She opened her eyes now, just a little, trying to make sense of what was happening, sleep gripping her tight.

“Joel?” Voice hoarse, cracking as he stilled.

“Shh, sweetheart, go back to sleep.” He said, leaning over to kiss her cheek, watching her close her eyes again. “I’ll take care of you.”

She mumbled something, gone again, only whimpering quietly when he pulled back and sank into her again.

His hand found her breast again, squeezing and groping as he began to pound into her, slow at first, but gradually picking up speed as he lost his patience. Her sweet sounds fuelling him, whining more as he kept pinching and rolling her hard nipple, her hips weakly pushing back into him.

“Pretty girl, always giving me your little pussy. Always so good to me.” He rambled, biting her neck softly. “So good for me, fuck, sweetheart.”

So close, her body so warm and soft, her pussy squelching around him.

Sometimes he wondered if the neighbours could hear it through the open window. Her soft mewls, her sweet, wet pussy as he pounded into it.

They could definitely hear when he fucked her deep into the mattress, hear her scream his name until her voice broke.

He hoped they did, letting everyone know she was his, asleep or not.

Joel could feel her squeeze around him, his hand moving from her breast to her clit, pressing into it with rough movements.

Pushing her over, a sharp gasp and the way her walls pulsed around him, coating his cock with her slick letting him know. Eyes opening again, whining and screwing them shut at the sudden assault of pleasure, mind hazy and too damn tired.

“Sleep, baby. It’s alright.” He shushed her again, groaning, forehead against her shoulder. “Go back to sleep.”

“Joel-”

That did him in, the way she whined his name, needy and sleepy, emptying himself inside of her with a deep groan.

“Shit, darlin’. Always so good.”

Joel watched her face, drifting in and out of consciousness, sleep tugging at her and pulling her under.

“‘Atta girl, baby.” He kissed her cheek, wrapping his arm around her waist.

Not pulling out of her, he manoeuvred them on their sides, her back flush against his chest, his nose buried in her hair.

Just catching his breath and feeling her.

She could make any night better, her soft body letting him forget momentarily about just how badly that trip had gone.

But he was just glad to be home.

Not home.

But the closest thing he had to it now, in bed with her.

Buried inside her.

[penvisions]

dev is....shocked

okay, so i never thought i'd find myself in this situation. but well, here we are. someone was kind enough to bring it to my attention:

a (newer?) user who goes by @kiwiispunk has basically copy and pasted {garnish} and posted it as her own.

she's changed it from joel to frankie, but the premise and scenes are identical. i tried to approach her about it but she was rather defensive and rude. even going so far as to turn the tables onto me being the one who copied her. here are a few screenshots i took of the interaction:

i took a look at the fic she's passing off as hers called chiffonade. and yeah, it's identical to the original writing i gruelled over for days and weeks to get just right. i reported her but i'm not sure what else to do, honestly.

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

991 i hav emerjenci

Wow, what an absolute dumpster fire, right? *gestures broadly* ↓Below the cut↓ are some specific things as a reader/mutual/friend/etc you can do that will make things a little better.

You come across someone posting/using someone else's work without express permission to do so:

INFORM THE ORIGINAL CREATOR/POSTER (OP) DIRECTLY ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ Let OP know BEFORE you attempt to engage with the person on their behalf. ✧ OP will probably want to lay eyes on the situation, and, if the person stealing their work is tipped off, they might proactively block OP and/or remove posts before they can be verified as stolen. ✧ Do not harass the person who stole the work. It might be coming from a place of wanting to stick up for OP, but it ultimately doesn't help the situation.

OP is experiencing a hate brigade, nasty anons, or trolling over their fic:

PRIORITIZE ACTIONS AND BEHAVIORS THAT KEEP THE FOCUS ON SUPPORT FOR OP ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ Reblog the fic in question with a glowing recommendation or just leave a comment under it expressing your appreciation for it. Both actions will boost the work in question as well as show direct support for OP. ✧ Reach out privately through DMs if you have that sort of relationship, or send a supportive message through asks. Keep it simple and short as they are probably overwhelmed with the shitstorm at certain points. ✧ Speaking up with a supportive comment or post for OP isn't necessarily a bad thing, but arguing back and forth with the trolls/hate brigade/etc. - even if you are doing it with intention to support OP - only fuels the fire, and some of them are doing it for the attention anyway.

OP seems down / isn't motivated to write / is expressing considerations of leaving fic writing altogether because of the current climate on this hellsite:

GIVE THEM THE SPACE OR TIME THEY NEED, BUT ALSO LET THEM KNOW THAT THEY ARE VALUED ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ For the love of god please don't bombard them with asks about when xyz is going to be posted. This is a hobby for them, and they have jobs, families, and other life responsibilities that come first. Many would love nothing more than to sit and write all day, but that just isn't the reality for 99% of fic writers. ✧ Show their older works love, too. Many fic writers take the time to curate an organized masterlist of their works, and many have been writing for a while. There is a trove of wonderful content that can be read or re-read while you patiently wait for your fave to update. ✧ If you're waiting for an update on a specific fic, go back through the older chapters/updates and leave a comment saying you love it so much that you're coming back to visit older chapters while you wait to see what happens next in the story. I guarantee it will give them a boost of motivation for that story in particular. ✧ REBLOG AND COMMENT. Yes, do both of those things. I want you open up a fic you love and scroll down to the bottom where you can see likes, comments, and reblogs. I want you to look at the disparity between likes and comments/reblogs. Clicking a heart button is pretty much zero effort, and it comes across as such to many writers. It's not how Tumblr operates. This is a REBLOG site. That is how things make their way around. That is how posts get engagement. That is how other people can discover the fic writers you enjoy. Look, I even made a meme to show you what it feels like when after hours and hours of writing and editing you finally post a fic and then somebody only hearts it:

Even a simple "I loved this so much and can't wait to read more!" does wonders. A quick reblog that mentions your favorite part in the story is like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow for writers.

You come across people trashing a writer you like:

CONSIDER IF IT'S HELPFUL OR NOT TO ADDRESS IT ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ People are allowed to have negative/differing opinions about things. If they are expressing their dislike, even in a nasty way, they are allowed to do so. ✧ If it is a genuinely harmful/disparaging conversation, look to see what sort of traction the conversation has. Sometimes it's better to just let something die down before it can even take off. Examples of genuinely harmful/disparaging conversation include but aren't limited to: accusing OP of something egregious without any evidence to support it, framing rumors/gossip they've seen about OP as factual, deeming them criminally or morally corrupt based off a personal opinion they have of OP/their works. ✧ Remember that while serious concerns (like the above point) might be good to share with OP, not every instance of negativity or hate needs to be brought to their attention. If it's just some random jerk on a different platform talking about how much OP's writing is amateur hour, you should probably just leave it be. OP is a person at the end of the day, and sometimes things can be more hurtful than helpful for them to see.

OP isn't acting / responding in a way that you like:

REMIND YOURSELF THAT THEY ARE JUST ANOTHER PERSON IN THE FANDOM AND ARE NOT AN INFLUENCER ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ OP isn't in this fandom to be put on a pedestal (of course there are always exceptions, but I'm not talking about those people) and treated like an influencer. ✧ OP creates works in the fandom because that is how they choose to engage with the fandom. It is one of many ways that people can come together in a community and celebrate an actor/movie/series/etc. ✧ OP is not a content farm. They are writing and sharing because they genuinely enjoy it. They are not being compensated. They are not being endorsed by anybody or any company. They are a normal person trying to take part in a fandom they enjoy. ✧ OP is not obligated to address or comment on a situation, an interaction, discourse, etc. They are not an influencer and aren't equivalent to the parasocial relationships that influencers (aka people who make a living off the internet) have with their followers. OP is not required to "use their platform" for something. It's not a platform. It is OP's personal account where they engage and post in fandom. That is why it exists. OP is not some mega entity that has to speak on something because you demand or expect it.

OP blocked me:

THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ Listen, I know it can be hurtful/confusing if you are blocked, especially if it is a writer you really like. I guarantee you that it was not done out of spite and for no reason. ✧ Take a look at the circles you run in, the posts you like, the sort of comments you leave, etc. Many writers are quick to block these days because the climate of this hellsite is very charged and exhausting. If OP sees your username cropping up again and again in fandom drama or you liked a discourse post with a shitty take or your chummy mutual is going off the rails with some bullshit, you might just get caught up in the Block Party. ✧ Don't go through another channel/account to ask why you've been blocked. No, you aren't entitled to a reason. OP is allowed to protect their mental health and peace, and they don't owe anyone an explanation of why and how they choose to curate their experience on this hellsite. ✧ If you believe you were blocked by mistake (which, again, is very unlikely), just take the L, homie. I know that's not what you want to hear, but that's just how it is.

If you took the time to read this, share it, or just in general intend to apply it to your interactions, ✨thank you✨!

Here is a Pedro gif tax for your time and attention. 💜

[tightjeansjavi]

Whether the accounts that are stealing and plagiarizing fics from MULTIPLE writers in the community are doing it to be trolls, gain clout, and whatever the fuck else they have on their agenda, it is deeply disturbing and disappointing to see.

Preemptively block and report @kiwiispunk & @pedroslakersshirt (if more accounts are found to be plagiarizing and stealing fics, I will update this post accordingly.)

[insomniamamma]

**sprays weirdo recurring plagiarist accounts with Raid**

Copy and paste does not a writer make. Go take a nice walk in the woods. Let the sun shine on you. Get some much needed vitamin D and reexamine your life choices.

[callmelittlebuttercup]

Peace Offerings Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Series Summary: Joel makes a bad impression on the reader when he cuts in front of her at the radio station in the QZ. Abe, a father figure to her and an informant of Joel’s, informs her that the two have something in common: A brother in Wyoming. Joel reluctantly follows Abe’s wishes when he asks him to take the reader along to help find her brother too. As the journey goes on, she finds that despite his best efforts to make her think so, Joel isn’t a complete asshole, and maybe even a little… attractive?

Series Warnings: Slow burn, Age gap (reader is 34, Joel is 56), 18+ Minors DNI, Sexual Themes, Violence, Injuries (depictions of blood, bruising, broken bones), Cursing, Grumpy!Joel, Minimal depictions of reader's appearance (hair color/length.)

~~~~~~~~~

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

[firsttarotreader]

Fire Meet Gasoline thirsting post. 🔥🔥🔥

How about that rib cage kiss, huh? 🥵 That one is in the alternative version of the music video, if you’re wondering. 🥵

[chiriwritesstuff]

constellations; from the vault

the first of the many short drabbles i wrote while deep in my writer's block.

pairing: lucien flores x f!reader

rating: E (18+, MDNI)

word count: 831

warnings: allusions to rough sex, reader talks about the bruises from rough sex, infidelity, reader and Lucien just can't quit one another, this is rough but so am I, not beta read at all

a/n: here is a drabble I wrote around the time ::that:: video came out, I knew I wanted to write something but eventually abandoned it. this is really rough, probably doesn't make any sense but I hope you like it anyway? I have a few more of these drabbles with other Pedro boys so if you would like me to release them, let me know!

"Where are you going?"

As you ask, you catch a glimpse of his dismissive scoff in your peripheral vision. He retrieves his crumpled slacks from the floor, sliding them on without bothering with his boxers. Flopping onto the nearby lounge chair, he buries his head in his hands, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the nearby table.

His spend is still leaking out of you.

Balancing the cigarette between his lips, he mutters, "Why does it matter where I'm going, huh? Didn't you say this was the last time?"

"Well, you certainly didn't fuck me like it was the last time," you bite back, staring up at the ceiling. "Not unless you didn't mean to force me to say that I would never leave you."

He looks up at you, his expression a mixture of frustration and resignation. For a moment, silence hangs heavy in the air, punctuated only by the soft click of the lighter as he ignites his cigarette.

Finally, he exhales a plume of smoke, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of vulnerability. "I don't know, okay? I wish I did, but I don't."

You watch him through a haze of conflicting emotions, each flicker of the cigarette casting shadows across his face. Memories flood your mind, unbidden and unwelcome, of all the times he's shattered your heart with his constant infidelity. It's a cruel dance you've performed too many times, the steps familiar yet no less agonizing with each repetition.

"Why do you do this to me, Lucien?" The words spill from your lips, heavy with the weight of all the pain and betrayal you've endured. "Haven't I given you enough? Am I not enough for you? What else more do you want from me?"

Your voice trembles with a mixture of anger, hurt, and desperation, each word punctuated by the ache in your heart. You've poured everything into this relationship, sacrificing pieces of yourself along the way, only to be met with deception and disappointment time and time again.

Lucien's gaze flickers with a shadow of remorse, his own pain reflected in the depths of his eyes. "I don't know," he whispers, his voice strained with emotion. "I wish I had the answers, but I'm just as lost as you are. I'm a fucking monster."

You think back to the countless promises made in the aftermath, the hollow apologies that echoed in the silence of your shared space. Each time, you swore it would be the last, that you'd finally find the strength to break free from the cycle of pain and betrayal.

"They don't know me as you do, baby," he groans into your ears as he fucks you from behind, his hands harsh against your hips, clutching your skin so tightly you swear that he'll leave a mark.  

His mark. Branded across the expanse of your skin, like a constellation of stars that eventually fade, only to appear again and again and again, each time more painful than the last.

But here you are again, caught in the gravitational pull of his presence, unable to tear yourself away despite the scars etched deep within your soul. It's a masochistic pattern, one you know all too well, yet you find yourself powerless to resist its allure.

As he takes another drag from his cigarette, you're reminded of the fragility of your resolve, the delicate balance between love and self-preservation hanging in the balance. The truth is, you're tired – tired of the heartache, tired of the uncertainty, tired of clinging to a love that feels more like a curse than a blessing.

His words hang heavy in the air, a confession wrapped in a shroud of resignation. "I can't quit you," he murmurs, his voice tinged with a vulnerability you've rarely seen. "I know that I'm fucked up. But I can't quit you."

"If you don't love me, then why do you even bother with me?" The question hangs from your lips, edged with frustration and a hint of resignation. "Surely those other women are much more appealing to you."

Lucien's gaze softens, his expression betraying a hint of regret as he reaches out to touch your trembling hand. "It's not about them," he murmurs, "It's about you. You're the one who sees through the façade, who knows me better than anyone else ever could."

His words offer a fleeting sense of reassurance, a glimmer of hope amidst the storm of uncertainty raging within you. But deep down, you know that words alone are not enough to mend the fractures in your relationship, to bridge the chasm that divides your hearts.

But as his gaze meets yours, a silent plea hidden beneath the smoke and shadows, you realize that some part of you still yearns for redemption, for the possibility of a love that transcends the pain. And so, with a heavy heart and a weary soul, you resign yourself to the dance once more, knowing full well the risks that lie ahead.

[papitopascal]

Todays my birthday 😬 I kinda hate my birthday but also i get a little sad when my family forgets about it and they did again, my sister just had a baby a few days ago so they are kinda focused on that and its not like this doesnt happen all the time i should be used to it and im not a kid and im also very independent but anyways heres some of my favorite Pedro pics!!!

[exquisiteserotonin]

Precious Possessions 10: Every Rule

Pairing: Dave York X F! Reader (Original Female Character)

Rating: E is for Explicit - 18+ only 🔞MDNI🔞

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Word count: 7401

Summary: Firefly takes some time for clarity and understanding about everything and everyone, including the role she plays in Dave's life and the one he plays in hers.

Warning: This chapter is incredibly PLOT heavy...and while it absolutely 100% includes Dave, is very focused on reader and her feelings for and about him. Angst. Religious symbolism. Angst. Violence. Angst. PiV sex - wrap it up lovahs, riding, mild restraints, creampie. Angst. Once again please DNI if you are not 18 and over. Also not beta'd, so all errors are my own. Please be kind.

A/N: Thanks to all my babes who encourage me to continue writing even though it can be fucking hard and so personal especially when you put your heart and soul into each character. Also, if you are familiar with the Equalizer trilogy then you will know and understand some of this.

@youandmeand5bucks @pink-whiskey-woman @redhotkitchen @arcanefox207 @legendary-pink-dot @sparklefarts38 @morallyinept @secretelephanttattoo

Taglist: @nerdieforpedro @sheepdogchick3 @casa-boiardi @missladym1981 @untamedheart81 @drewharrisonwriter @guelyury

“Lying on top of you is one thing, but getting close to you is another. I feel close to you, one with you, you’re mine whether it is acknowledged or not.”—Henry Miller 

In the morning you awoke with a start, reaching for an alarm clock that didn’t sound, for a body that wasn’t there. Morning light whispered through the paper-thin curtains, shining on the bare stone wall. Working together with the gentle breeze from outside, a slow sense of calm began to hold you. Seabirds and salt air surrounded you as you opened a window—a wooden shutter with three slats crooked, broken, and beautiful, the only barrier to a rectangle shaped hole in the stone.

Slow and easy, sometimes boring—those were your mornings since you had arrived. You stumbled through the first few days like an infant taking its first steps. No electronics, no real connection to the outside world, relying on shuffling through pages of a pocket-sized English to Italian dictionary to navigate your way through the occasional brief conversations you had with the Altamonte locals as you gathered your bearings.  

The constant overthinking presented an obstacle to overcome. By your eighth day there, the simplicity of life wouldn’t allow it. Neighbors shouted morning greetings through open and bright green shutters as you dressed. A t-shirt, white and crisp, a pair of well-loved jeans, and a black leather jacket finished with a pair of white sneakers. A uniform or sorts, you thought, as you descended the stairs from your apartment. A passerby could have been a mirror image of you just by clothing alone. Was this what people meant by “dressing like a local”?

At a nearby café, your ability to blend in was tested as you found your place in a sea of color neutrality, sitting at the lone empty table near the front door. A youthful and friendly server who looked to be no older than 17 approached you, her raven curls atop her head bounced when she stopped. Not a line tempered her smooth, dark olive skin as she flipped open her notepad with a smile. 

“Cosa desidera Lei?” 

“Un caffe per fevore,” you replied, with the young server nodding in acknowledgement at your order. 

From your purse you grabbed a journal of worn, brown leather. Its corners curled upward from opening and closing it frequentlly The pages lay ruffled and beaten with the gift of constant use. Your fingers also grasped a pen lost in the depths of your bag that met you like an old friend that had come to save you in your time of need. The ink flowed from your pen to the paper as you wrote about the salt air, the distant cawing of seagulls skimming the shore, and the mist of calm that seemed to settle over every corner of the town.

You turned your head to look through the clean windows into the cafe to observe the locals—individuals, couples, families. The images of them gleamed like reflections on a stream. In the window, you imagined Dave next to you—a mirage, a specter haunting and present no matter how hard you tried to push it away. In the back of your head, you asked yourself: Do I really want to? 

“Buongiorno!” a voice rich and deep in time and timber reached out to you. 

A newly familiar face greeted you. His hands, like his voice, showed evidence of assuredness through lines of time and wisdom that were beginning to settle on the backs of his hands. The smile lines on his face were set dark and deep into his face, indisputable evidence of living. 

“Buongiorno, Dottore!” you exclaimed, standing up to take his hands and give him a kiss on each cheek. 

“Everyday, at the same time, I see you here,” the rich melody of his voice and the kind smile he gave you managed to whisk away the chill that coursed through your blood, if only for a moment. 

“Well, the calm is a nice…change,” you mused and paused for a moment, contemplating if you really believed your own words.

Enzo settled down in the chair next to you, the smile beneath his mustache was warm and fatherly.  As he sat next to you, the young server returned carrying two small cups of coffee for both you and Enzo. You observed closely as Aminita, as Enzo lovingly called her, greeted him with greater familiarity than you had combined with an even greater respect. He spoke to her with the kindness of a doting grandfather. Bits and pieces of their melodic words met your ears, the depths of your brain manipulating them until you worked out their meaning in English. 

“So, what have you seen since you have been here?” Enzo inquired as he settled into a chair next to you. 

“Oh, it’s only been a few days, but,” you sighed with a dramatic pause, “just having the ocean right here has been more than enough.” 

Enzo smiled back at you and his eyes glimmered with excitement and wonder. It was the kind of gleam that you had only seen among young children and the old. Pressing his hands together he stood up and waved at you in a gesture for you to finish your coffee. You sipped as quickly as you could, your coffee just on the right side of warm---the cozy kind of warmth that wrapped you in an invisible hug on a cold day. 

“Andiamo,” he urged you as you swallowed the last of it. “Come on, I’ll show you the real Altomonte.” 

“Ok, ok!” you replied, conceding to him. 

Uncomfortably, you chugged the last bit of coffee with an audible hiss before you stood up. You took quick steps over the cobblestone streets as you followed Enzo. His gait was quick and determined for a 60-year-old. A smile curled at the corners of your lips as you watched him skip ahead of you with more excitement than a tour guide being paid to show you the village.  

He walked you through one of the many archways of the town, this one longer than others. The path was just wide enough to allow for the regular flow of movement brought to life by the villagers. What greeted you through the arch was more life than you had expected, not dark and dank as you had presumed. Nestled along the stone walls were market vendors selling homemade wears of rosaries, crucifixes made of wood from olive trees, and hand-embroidered scarves delicately adorned with intricate, swirling designs. You could feel your mouth drop open in awe as you caressed your fingers along a deep blue scarf with two white lilies embroidered at each corner. You were certain that the elderly woman who made this was grossly underestimating the time and talent it took her  to fashion such a unique and beautiful item. A small, rectangular piece of paper lay on top of the scarf and written in ballpoint pen was the price of a mere 50 euros. 

“Beautiful, yes?” Enzo remarked with a smile. 

His eyebrows were raised as he looked back at you. Reaching into your purse you pulled out your beige, leather pocketbook to procure a one hundred euro note. It called to you, that foreign feeling that you so rarely experienced of reaching for something that you just knew you had to have. It had only happened once before.

Your hand trembled slightly as you handed the woman the euro note, a sign of the thoughts of Dave that took hold of you. As the woman took it, the wrinkles around her smoothed from her wide-open eyes. The look of shock overcame her as she examined the note. She waved at you, her tone an odd mixture of gratitude and scolding that could come only from a strong Italian woman. 

“Ti prego di prenderlo,” you insisted in as humble a tone as you could. “E magnifica.” 

You watched in earnest as Enzo spoke to the woman, conceding to her and talking her down until she stared back at you with a satisfied glimmer in her eye while handing you the scarf. Immediately, you tied it loosely around your shoulders while following Enzo’s lead ahead of you. As you sauntered through the cobble stoned streets, Enzo pointed out the fish market. The owner, Angelo, waved at you alongside his wife and son as they proudly arranged fresh fish on piles of ice—waiting for villagers to snatch them up for their evening meal.

The sunlight greeted you on the other end of the archway, where ancient stone walls guarded each side and where Enzo stood at the foot of a steep set of stairs. He turned around to you and gestured towards the steps with excitement surging through his fingertips. 

“Have you gone up to visit the church?“

Your gaze followed Enzo’s upward to a church set into the mountains, that stood proud with its pristine ivory in color that was brighter against the lush, green foliage of the mountainside. A hint of premature frustration crept beneath your skin as you mentally took in the slope of the stairs. You were in good shape, you had to be. Yet your legs automatically ached with a phantom pain that you knew would come from traversing the steep climb to the church. 

Enzo gestured for you to come over, picking up one foot after another over narrow and steep stairs. The waves of the Mediterranean crashed over the walls guarding the village. The fresh salt air traveled with the breeze until it began to dance in your hair. 

“Climb these steps every day and you’ll be young the rest of your life,” he teased, “That is my doctor’s order for you.”

Something between a laugh and a gasp escaped you before he gestured for you to catch up. When you finally did, your eyes settled on the weathered rock as the air caressed your hair and your lungs filled with deep, cooling breath that led to a wistful sigh. 

“Come on, old man!” You took the chance to take a break from your jog to rib your dark-haired companion as he fought to catch his breath standing amidst a steep, but beautiful set of stairs.

You rocked your hips back and forth as you kept your feet bouncing from side-to-side in a stationary jog. He looked up at you, gathering his hands at his hips as sweat began to gather at the center of his charcoal-colored t-shirt, clinging to his lean, but broad-shouldered form. Not one speck of amusement found itself on his face as he glared at you. The steadiness of his stare caused you to slow your jog to merely stepping your feet beneath you. When a smile finally slid over the surface of his pouty lips, his eyes bore into you, heavy, dark, and tempting --- the look of the devil you always wanted to know. 

“I’ll be generous,” you recalled him saying, his words dripping like the sweetest nectar from the most forbidden flower, “and give you a head start.” 

“Just like you to assume I need one,” you challenged as you stood above him, placing your hands on your hips. 

He readied himself a few steps below you, a determined glint in his brown eyes that sent a chill scurrying up and down your spine. Simultaneously, it sent a warm, throbbing sensation at your center as he looked you up and down. He doubled down on his threat, setting himself in a starting stance to race up the stairs. You followed suit, turning your back away from him, trying to keep your focus ahead of you. His very presence behind you already threatened to consume you and though he was steps below you, you swore you could feel the heat of his exhales rippling on the back of your neck.

And with no warning, he spoke, “Run.” 

The memory of you leaping up the stairs traveled through your feet as you slowly made your way up the steep stairs leading to the church. It was silly really—the present was just a moving dichotomy of your memory. 

You didn’t dare look behind you. Doing so would have meant certain defeat. An feeling of nervousness mixed with intrigue filled you as you ran, ran, ran as fast as you could. The sense of him gaining on you heightened through every pore. Your feet pounded on the steps and your arms swung tightly with each quick stride. Quick breaths rattled from your lips as you focused your eyes to the top of the majestic stairs. Cockiness lined your lips into a premature victory smile, when you suddenly felt a pair of hands grab at your hips, forcing you to slow down to a rhythm that matched his body. You felt the heat of his warm fingers wrapped around your elbow as he pulled you into a dark, concealed alley. Breathing even harder than when you were running, Dave pressed you against the wall, his hips rolling against yours. 

His face was so close that you could smell the clean, yet intoxicating sweat that collected upon his skin that had been made golden with Sicilian sun. Each breath he drew was quick and in time with yours. A quick gasp escaped you as you felt his warm hand lower to skim the waist of your leggings, his thick fingers. A shiver circulated through your body as he toyed with the elastic band. 

“When are you going to learn, Firefly?” he growled into your ear, his lips brushing at your neck and earlobe. “I’m always going to catch you.”

***

“Bella! Bella!” 

Enzo’s voice sounded through the cloud of your memory. Without even really being cognizant of it, you had made it to the top of the ancient stairs. The breeze blew stronger at this height, whipping your hair across your face. As you brushed your waves back, your eyes beheld how the wind danced on the rich, blue water and how it made ripples that shimmered with the golden sun. 

“You see, all this makes Altamonte,” he gestured to the church, the statues, and the paintings of the woman. 

You stared at the wonder and pride in his eyes. Somehow, you knew he meant more than just this place. If he could, he would just stretch his arms from here to the ocean. From his voice that trembled with pride and from the gleam that shined in his eyes, you knew. Only an act of God could wash it away. 

“Come in child,” he said, as he gestured you over to the door of the church. 

“Oh no, I’m not religious,” you said as your shoulders shrunk from the discomfort of the words. 

You didn’t need proselytizing. 

“You think she cares?” Enzo asked, already halfway through the threshold of the church. “But you choose.”

Humoring him, you stepped inside. An unexpected shiver oscillated, tapped, and pricked over your body. Goosebumps arose beneath your sweater. The cold that lived in the walls easily could have trapped you, threatening to take away whatever life you felt beneath your skin. Instead, it invigorated you as they made union with the warm colors of the sun that painted the walls of church like they were her own, personal canvas. You peeked through the windows that let that light in. Each had a perfect view of the village. The beauty had you holding your breath as you marveled at how the stone buildings gathered together and overlooked the bluest water you’d ever seen. 

When you finally let yourself breathe again, you found a seat next to Enzo. He knelt in reverence, his eyes closed and hands clasped together. The flicker of several candles set the room aglow, his flame burning brightly among the many. 

You, on the other hand, sat with quiet patience. It was more like a museum to you. Your eyes settled over the statues and paintings that adorned the church. So much adoration for a woman filled in a church that was ostensibly governed by men. 

Maybe they had it wrong, you thought. Maybe the church was meant to be built upon the shoulders of a matriarch who chose her path of raising a leader, instead of a girl who was bestowed the gift of raising a savior. The way these thoughts meandered through your mind was nearly enough to make you laugh. Sometimes you shouldn’t be left to your own thoughts. 

Enzo settled back into pew in the empty space next to you. A deep sigh escaped him as he turned his head to you. His eyes softened in concern. A slight discomfort pressed onto your shoulders as you navigated your response to the kindness. 

“People always come and rest here, some pray, some meditate until they find an answer,” Enzo said, his voice imbued with the notes of great wisdom. “Even me.” 

You nodded in acknowledgement, waiting for him to continue. 

“And you, too, correct?” He asked. 

He didn’t even entertain you with the space or time to answer, not that you had one to give him. Not one that was truthful by any means. Instead, you nodded and waited for whatever wisdom he was ready to give you.  

“I don’t judge,” he stated with a look so deep with thought and an undercurrent of pain that you knew his words were true, “Nothing good comes from it.” 

He sighed again. The weight of whatever memory he was holding was heavy on his shoulders. The tired lines around his eyes seemed to grow in real time, a remnant of the pain that remained.            

“I’m not trying to…ehm…intrude in your personal business,” he paused to find the words, “but are you really here for rest, to find peace, as you say? Or…are you running from something?” 

And there it was: the truth. It had never left. In that moment you could have felt anger, maybe something bordering on hatred for someone cornering the truth out of you. But you didn’t, not this time. You met the doctor’s gaze with the same hesitancy of a child who was hiding something from a parent. Without words, he knew the answer but bore no judgment against you. Instead, he patted you reassuringly on the hand as you took in the warmth of the flickering flames at the altar. 

The sky was a bolder blue against the midday sun as you took your sojourn back to the main square. It seemed impossible that you’d spent as much time in the church as you had. Enzo held onto your arm lightly as you climbed down the steep stairs. A steady stream of pedestrians began to fill the cobblestone streets as you ambled through corridors from which you came. As you walked through the town, the warm and smiling faces of the locals continued to greet you even as Enzo departed from you to continue with his day. 

The remainder of your day moved in an ethereal mixture of fast and slow. From the time you made it back into town you were able to stroll along the seashore, allowing yourself to bathe in the wind as you dug your toes in the sand to buying bread from the local bakery and enjoying it with a cup of tea you watched the sky melt into shades of coral, purple, and then blue as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. 

As a deeper blue settled in the sky, the evening sounds of Altamonte whispered in a different way than the sounds of the morning. The vibrations were buzzed with an energy that was somehow  enlivening but calming at the same time. It should have called you to join everyone. Instead, you let the sounds energize through the open window of your apartment. And you waited as the locals left the restaurants, drunkenly and lovingly alive. The whispers of the night called you as they always had, as they always would. While the citizens of Altamonte were beginning to turn in for the night, you dressed yourself and immersed yourself in the comfort of the late night. 

You approached a restaurant a few blocks from your apartment. A low, heavy feeling struck you in your stomach. Something pulled at your shoulders, tight and aggressive until it pressed and pulled at the skin of your throat. The invisible intensity threatened you with an unsettling and ominous aggression. You tensed into defensive mode as you moved closer and closer to the scene. Loud clatters of silverware and the dragging of chairs against the cobblestone streets set you into a stance that you only ever needed when a job with Dave and the team called for it. 

You dashed with light steps across the cobblestone to gain a better vantage point of the situation. Despite yourself, you heard Dave’s voice in your head as though he was walking you through a training exercise. 

“Your brain is your best asset. Read, know, and breathe the situation and you have the upper hand.” 

You slinked closer as your eyes focused on the situation before you. The threat: two men. His frame was wiry. He couldn’t have been more than 5’9” you surmised. His dark, wavy hair was slicked back, and the ends curled just past his ears. What he lacked in stature he made up for with menace. His stare was wide and manic as he loitered among the tables strutting forward towards a beautiful, young waitress who’d been cleaning the tables outside. The thin man’s counterpart was noticeably taller and more physically imposing. He stood with an unwavering posture, his wide shoulders. He had a closely cropped haircut, and a brow that dipped down into a deep frown that seemed permanently affixed to his face. 

Fear darkened the face of a young woman’s face as the thin man continued to advance on her, trapping her among tables and  into a corner. The owner, her father, stood in the doorway, his feet ready to stomp forward and rescue his daughter. A few strands of her hair fell over her face as she gestured to him to stay inside the restaurant. Two heavy and threatening hands belonging to the burly crony pushed her father back impeding any heroic action he might attempt. The thumping of your heartbeat was fast and loud in the silence of the night, fast enough and loud enough for you to take a deep breath with the hopes of calming it.

“Collateral damage is always messy and always a liability. Blend in: the less remarkable you are, the less of a target you become.”

With Dave’s instruction resonating in your head, you closed in on the restaurant picking up your pace to a light jog. The thin goon continued to advance upon the young woman as her father struggled against the tall man’s hold, keeping their attention from you. It was as though panic traversed through her body the closer you came. The fear that seemed to hide behind her eyes thumped toward you, pumping you with adrenaline and readiness. He held her hostage with a lascivious scowl as he pushed a strand of hair from her face. His hands grabbed the back of her neck, each finger white with violence as he dragged her forward, her skin already red with pain beneath his vice grip. Both men, so arrogant against the struggle of their captives, paid you no attention. 

“Let them underestimate you, then you can always find a way to get the upper hand.” 

All at once a scream from the waitress, yells, and grunts from her father as he struggled, rose in the air as you lunged towards the thin man forcing his grip from the young woman. Adrenaline pumped through every one of your veins as you pulled his thumb backwards and shoved him back with concentrated strength as you simultaneously pulled the gun that he so arrogantly placed in the waistline of his pants. Losing his footing, he stumbled backwards to the ground. You stood protectively in front of the girl as his brutish sidekick attempted to lunge toward you. 

The man raised his eyebrows for a moment and lifted the corner of his lips into a disgusting smirk. He was big and monstrous. You analyzed how each movement was stifled by how grotesquely bulbous his muscles were. Your foot was already hooked to the leg of one of the metal chairs closest to you. In the second he lunged in your directions, you lifted and ejected the chair at his solar plexus. With an additional, forceful stomp of your foot to his chest that knocked him to the ground. 

In the time it had taken you to knock them to the ground, the waitress and her father had escaped inside, and the sound of a police horn approached quickly. You looked down on the two men and brushed a few wayward strands of hair from your face. Adrenaline rushed from your veins to the tips of your fingers. 

The two men stood up, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles of their expensive Italian suits. The thin man glared at you with his hand placed protectively at his chest. It burned still from the pain you inflicted upon him. 

“I think that’s your signal to leave,” you stated with a voice as steadfast as your stance. You kept your hands tightly on his firearm.

With one more snarl, the men disappeared into the night. The motor of their car rumbled off, growing quieter the further they drove into the night. It was silent and more of Dave’s words surrounded you. 

“Never call attention to yourself, but if you have no choice, you need a plan to leave fast.”

The young waitress and her family looked at you, their eyes gleaming with grateful tears. The only thing you felt you could give was a nod. Receiving gratitude, handshakes, and hugs weren’t anything you were prepared or willing to receive. You just weren’t built for it. 

You rushed away using shadows and looking over your shoulder anytime you found yourself in the light. When you arrived back at your apartment, you set your already neatly folded clothes inside your suitcase. It was another trick Dave had taught you. 

Cellphone. Passport. Wallet. Keys. 

With all of them accounted for, it was time to go. You stared at the gun that you had taken from the thin man. You tried to sift through your options of discarding the weapon, when slow, quiet knocks tapped at your door. In an instant you were pressing your back to the wall, sliding along as you made your way towards the door with the thug’s weapon in your hand. It wasn’t in your itinerary to take care of two gangsters on your vacation. 

One, two, three deep breaths.

The knocks became quicker and more urgent. You listened closely for any noises that would alert you to the kind of weapons they had. Just as you reached to open the door you heard a familiar voice through the door.  

“Child, it’s me: the dottore!” 

You wanted to let out a huge sigh of relief, but your heightened vigilance had settled over your neck and shoulders holding you in a position that disallowed it. 

“Enzo,” you finally called out after much deliberation, “are you alone?”

With immediacy, he replied, “Yes!” 

His voice was as steady and confident as a surgeon who was moments away from performing life-saving surgery. You analyzed it, homing in on its lack of fluctuations, listening for any indication that someone else might be standing next to him waiting for you. You drew one more breath and opened the door. Seeing Enzo standing on the other side alone allowed you to let go of the breath you held in your chest. He rushed past you, closing the door behind him. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked through gritted teeth. 

“I heard what happened.” 

“How did you--,” you began to ask. 

“I know everything in this town,” he stated plainly, as he looked you directly in the eyes. “Where is the weapon?” 

You felt your brow immediately furrow at his request. This was the kind of situation Dave urged you not to find yourself in. Trusting people, feeling for people, even giving a little bit of yourself to anyone would be a folly in your line of work. One that would certainly get you killed. 

“No, not happening Enzo,” you insisted as you shook your head. “I cannot get you involved.”

“I think it’s too late for that.” 

You stared back at him, feeling a pressure of disbelief and gratitude as he held his hand towards you with a dish rag that he had pulled from a kitchen drawer. You pressed your lips tightly together and a painful sting of tears began to form at the corners of your eyes. Enzo reached his hand out to you again. 

“Are you a good person or a bad person?” 

An unfamiliar feeling of confusion, guilt, and sadness came over you. One that had you re-evaluating nearly everything. 

You replied to Enzo tearfully, “I don’t know.”

He stepped forward and offered you his fatherly stare. The one you felt was so undeserved. 

“Only a good person would say that.”

It was at that moment, you wondered, maybe, if Dave had it all wrong. 

You looked back at Enzo with a look that you hoped conveyed your gratitude. There were no words that existed that held enough magnitude to describe it. You grabbed your things quickly, looking at him once more before you walked out the door. He gave your arm a reassuring squeeze and you pulled him in for a hug. You held him tight, your hands nearly squeezing to the point where neither of you could breathe, shaking as you let him go. 

“Non dimenticare mai chi sei, cocca,” he said followed by a kiss to your forehead that instantly made you feel like you were truly cared for.

And with one last look, you disappeared into the night. The cool air met you and the sound of ocean waves ascended to your ears. Each smell and sound engulfing you and holding you in what you wished was a long goodbye. The bittersweetness of your tears met the corner of your lips. Yet somehow, each event, each choice, and each movement you made reminded you that all of this was just as it was supposed to be. 

***************************

The last 24 hours blasted by you like a bullet train. Everything around you moved in a blur while your body somehow moved at a pace slower than everything around you. You moved through each moment with an exhausted automaticity: getting off the plane, getting a taxi , and finding your way home. 

With caution still at its peak, you entered your home. You checked every room and every closet two times until you felt certain that no one had followed you from Italy. You held your phone in your hand staring at the black screen, contemplating if you should even turn it back on. With a long sigh you pushed the buttons at the side of your phone, setting it quickly aside on your nightstand before running to the bathroom to avoid any notification like they were a plague. 

You stepped into your spacious shower, jumping a little as cold water met your skin before gradually raining on your body with much needed warmth. You stepped out of the shower, drying off before wrapping yourself with your towel. You shook your hair with your fingers until your wet waves rested at your shoulder. A notification appeared on your phone connected to your security system.

Filling your lungs with a deep and steady breath you walked towards your kitchen to pour yourself a drink of water. Standing in silence, leaning against your kitchen counter, stood Dave. His eyes stayed only on you with his hands crossed over his chest. He was wearing his best poker face: no anger, no fear, no hate…but for a moment you spotted it: an inkling of relief, a hint of regret, a glint of—? No you wouldn’t let yourself welcome the thought.

You brushed past him, pouring yourself some water. You looked up at him, no words leaving either of your lips. The water was cold, refreshing, and awakening on your lips. As you walked past him back to your you could practically feel him seething. Coming at you like heat waves but bouncing off you as you kept your cool. 

Staring back at him from the end of the hallway just outside your bedroom you called to him.

“Are you coming to bed or not?”

You swore you heard a sigh of exasperation escape him as he crept towards you with his hands on his hips — the way he always did when he was particularly frustrated. Satisfied by his inescapable allure towards you, you turned away from him, confident in the knowledge that he would follow you. 

“I’ve got to hand it to you,” Dave spoke as he perused your hair, your eyes, your face, your skin, “I’m impressed you were able to be off the grid for as long as you did.”

“I don’t think that matters much now,” you declare looking up at him as he moved towards you. “I’m back.”

Dave took his hands to caress your face, his grip against your skin pressed with the perfect amount of firmness. A faint shine of gratitude emanated from his eyes. He would never say it, but you could see it. You could feel it from the touch of his hands and by the warmth emanating from his body—he missed you. 

It was enough. You pulled one hand from your face bringing it down to where your towel wrapped around your body in a tight tuck. With firm guidance you made him pull the towel off your body letting it tumble to the floor. His eyes darkened and he shook his head with a smirk near disbelief as he admired your body. 

“Fuck, you’re fucking beautiful as ever.” He groaned as he grabbed at the front of his pants. 

Nearly a month without him, not one text or phone call…by your own design. Forgetting him wasn’t the answer. Understanding yourself in your entirety always led back to the same conclusion: you were his. 

Not able to wait a moment more, you grabbed him by his dark sweatshirt pulling it over his head and tossing it away. You didn’t think you’d taken a pair of pants off a man faster in your life. His breaths came heavy and fast as you pulled him towards you, admiring his naked body as he did yours. 

And then you kissed him.

After so long without him, the fire that sparked from touching him burned hotter than ever. You pulled his body to yours so tightly that your breasts pressed onto his chest, feeling each desperate breath that rose and fell over him. Somehow your arms found their way around his broad shoulders while he wrapped his around you, his hands grabbing your ass massaging up your back, until his fingers are threading themselves in your hair. 

Your kisses were an exploration of renewal, of remembrance of how each other tasted while also, somehow, feeling brand new. His tongue had never been so needy before. The gruff moans that released from his mouth were so different and more unbidden than you’d remembered. And his cock, his lovely, thick, uncut cock, was so hard against your lower belly. The tip already cried for you with precum. 

With one swift movement you spun around and shoved him to the bed. His eyes widened with devilish excitement as he spread his limbs across the expanse of your bed. His cock stood at attention for you, ready to comply with your every demand. 

You crawled towards him, like a black cat slinking in the dark. The smell of him was so musky, salty, and clean as you lowered your face and then your mouth to the tip of his manhood. Holding the warmth of him again felt like a gift as he throbbed in your hands. The taste was even better as you took in the precum onto your lips and then your tongue, each taste bud lighting you up with desire. 

He moaned, his hand hitting your pillow with a thump as your mouth and tongue continued to worship him. 

“Oh shit, fuck!” He growled as he gripped your sheets. 

Not even close to satisfied you lifted your face from your handiwork, tucking your hair behind your ear. You glided forward over his body, giving him another kiss before straddling him, only letting him feel the outer lips of your wet cunt. He reached his hips upward for you.

“Tsk, ah ah ah,” you crooned, teasing him with another grind of your hips, “not til you beg for it.” 

“Fuck, Firefly, fuck—!” 

You moved your hips again. 

Dave couldn’t stop the moans that came from his beautiful lips. So beautiful, you traced your thumb over them. 

“Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

You grew wetter with each teasing press of your hips. 

An unintelligible and wanton groan came from him. 

You tugged him by the hair, his eyes staying on yours and his brows angled downward in a combination of anger, frustration, and desire unique to him. 

“Tell me, daddy.”

“Fuck, s—so fucking sexy,” he groaned. “Fuck I’ve missed this, your fucking body, my pussy.”

It was all you needed to hear.

You lifted your hips and braced your hand on his chest before you slowly began to sink over his cock. You bit your lower lip as you felt each thick inch of him enter you until he was so deep you could go no further. Pressing your hands onto his soft belly you began to move. Just that nearly sent him over the edge. 

“Fuck, Firefly, how are you even better than I remember?“ Dave praised, as he gripped your thighs with his hands. 

You rolled your hips slowly against his, adjusting to his thick size in your tight pussy. A shuddering breath left your quivering lips. With each bounce and roll of yourself on his massive member turned your breaths into loud and melodic moans. Not wanting to lose yourself just yet, you pressed your lips tighter together the more rhythmic your pace became. His cock throbbed within you, feeling impossible deeper with each move you made. 

“Ah, my god!” You whined, unable to keep silent as Dave suddenly thrust his hips upwards to match your moves. “God, your cock is so good.”

Dave could only muster a gruff moan before interlacing his fingers between yours. You could feel his breath becoming more erratic with each move of your tight cunt over his cock. His hands began to squeeze yours tighter and tighter as your pussy squeezed him.

With a quick forward movement of your hips, his hard member popped out from inside you. 

“Ahh, fuck!” He moaned as he gritted his teeth in frustration at the loss of your wet center around him. 

You climbed off Dave and reached over to your nightstand, pulling a rope from the drawer. You straddled his waist while fashioning a strong knot around his wrists, tying him to your bed frame. He looked up at you, hazy and hungry to feel his cock sheathed in the tightest walls of your pussy. A smirk unfurled itself on his lips as you rocked yourself along his shaft, anointing him with your nectar. 

“How does it make you feel,” Dave spoke, the sound coming from the deepest part of his throat, “thinking you have some kind of control?” 

The words stopped your gyrations and brought your face an inch from his. You could feel your breath circling his lips, close enough that you could see them quiver. With a strong squeeze of your right hand to his face you licked from his chin to just above his lips before kissing him. Your tongue parted his lips with a firm swipe, leading his tongue into a dance he had no choice but to follow. The way your bed frame rattled as you looked down upon him told you more than any words from him could say. 

“So you’re telling me this,” you squeezed and rubbed his cock with the tightest fist you could make around him, “is the gift I get after being gone for so long?”

You slinked your hips back down, teasing his cock with your opening. With the most sultry intent, you stoked his primal want for you, not settling onto him right away. The way he continued to fight against the taut rope around his wrists sent chills that emanated from your center.  He’d never say it, but you certainly knew everything he fought against confessing.  

Generosity began to sneak over you and you allowed him to fill you as you lowered onto him, inch by throbbing inch. And as though your life, your everything, depended on it, you took him for a ride. Consuming, savoring, and indulging in every delicious, warm, and pulsing inch. You brought him to the edge of ecstasy only to bring him back. Your bodies devolved into a beautiful mess of sweat and desire.

Until it was time. Neither of you could hold back. You clutched the headboard as your hips bounced vigorously on his cock. You looked into his eyes and he into yours until you both came with a hot, violent shaking of your body and an uncontrollable thrust from his hips up to yours. Together you filled the walls of your bedroom with a duet of rapturous groans and sobs of euphoria. 

Still holding him inside you, you graciously removed the bindings from his wrist. With urgency, he circled his hands around your waist until they gave your ass one more squeeze. The warmth of his hands traveled up your back and worked through more of your waves before they pulled you in for a kiss. Simultaneously hot and chilly aftershocks of your orgasm trembled through your body before you lifted yourself off him. 

“Goddamn,” he sighed, his voice cracking as you collapsed on top of him.

Minutes passed like hours as you breathed in time with one another. In the silence, you listened closely to each other's sounds. The unexpected feeling of his hand beginning to your hair startled you. He stopped for a moment surprised by your reaction, slowing the movement of his hand, wrapping his arm around you to caress your shoulder with an embrace. He slowed the racing of your heart with more slow breaths and a barely audible hush from his lips. You could feel the intentional slow rise and fall of his chest against your back, your eyes growing heavy until both of you fell into the arms of a deep sleep. 

Late into the night, you stirred with one arm tucked close to you and the other draped lightly over Dave’s. The hum of your ceiling fan drummed peacefully in your ears as your eyes fluttered lightly looking at his form lying next to you. You almost surrendered yourself back to sleep when a sudden thrashing motion shook you awake. 

You propped yourself up and saw Dave tossing next to you, sweat beading at his forehead. His voice started with quiet mumbles, groans, and bellows that shook with anger and fear. You reached over to him, gently caressing his forehead. 

“Dave…Dave?” You started gently. 

He continued to writhe as his brow furrowed and wrinkled his forehead. 

“S--, no, S-- Sa---,” he called out, still trapped in his nightmare. 

“Dave, it’s me!” You said more firmly wrapping his face with your hands. “I’m here. I’m here.” 

He awoke, startled as he looked at you with wild eyes. He pressed his lips to yours, wetting your mouth with a soft warm touch of his tongue, before turning your back to his chest and wrapping you in his arms. He thread his fingers between yours, kissing your shoulders. He murmured words you were almost certain he was unaware of before drifting back to sleep.  A demand? A request? A plea?

“Stay,” his voice breathed through the silence as he gripped you tighter against his warm body, “just stay.”

[strawhbrrries]

Starin' Problem.

pairing: dbf!no outbreak!joel miller x afab!reader

summary: a red dress and a glass of whiskey is all it took for Joel to lose every ounce of self control he once had.

warnings: porn no plot, female pronouns, age gap (both consenting adults), unprotected p in v, fingering, creampie, slight creep joel, daddy kink, breeding kink...,mean joel, dirty talk, praise!!!, no use of y/n or descriptions of reader, not proofread

word count: 1.3k words

recommended listening: granite by sleep token

authors note: i'm pretty sure I had planned for this to take place at reader's parent's wedding but i never specified so it's just some fancy event they planned lmfao, enjoy <333

“Quit starin’.” Your father whispered into Joel’s ear, following his eyes to you, his daughter, across the room. “Let's not have a problem tonight.”

“I ain’t.” Joel grunted, taking a sip of the whiskey in his hand as he continued to watch you. “We won’t have any problems.”  

He’d spent most of the night trying to decide if you’d worn any underwear under the dress, with a slit that ended right under your hip he was convinced you weren’t but then you’d turn a specific way and he swore he could make out a line. The low neckline left nothing to the imagination and only added to the torture you were putting Joel through at the hands of fashion, he never knew he could be so turned on by someone your age but here he was with a rock hard cock, staring like a creep.

“Whoever that guy with your dad is has been staring at you all night.” One of the girls you’d been standing with spoke, a hint of jealousy in her voice. 

You turned your head around, making eye contact with Joel, and looking him up and down. You couldn’t deny the attraction you had for him, and the dark red suit your father had picked out to match the same red of the dresses your mom had picked out wasn’t helping at all. He looked you up and down before making eye contact with you again, taking another sip of his whiskey, and twirling a finger around. 

“Joel? He’s probably on a secret mission to keep an eye on me.” You joked, acting like you had stepped on your dress as an excuse to spin around without anyone suspecting anything. 

“He can keep an eye on me.” A different girl responded, giggling as they continued to joke about him.

He could’ve orgasmed right then and there as you spun around, the two of you hadn’t spoken all night and yet here you were entertaining him. His glass of whiskey was almost empty, if he played his cards right maybe he’d be able to get you alone, away from the annoying girls you’d been around all night. 

You watched him glance at his glass before heading off to what you assumed was the kitchen, he hadn’t made any signal for you to follow but this was your moment. 

“What would my dear father think if he knew his best friend was eyeing up his daughter?” You whispered, coming up behind Joel and dragging your nails down his back. 

“Does his dear daughter care?” Joel whispered back, setting his glass down and turning around to face you. “Seemed like you quite enjoyed it.”

He trailed a finger over the neckline of your dress, hooking it under the fabric and exposing one of your breasts. A low groan escaped his throat, accompanied by him fixing his suit pants. His fingers found your nipple, rolling and tugging it slightly. 

“Seems to me you’re enjoying it a whole bunch.” He chuckled, using his other hand to tilt your chin up, leaning down so your lips were inches apart.

“Fuck, Joel-” 

He smashed his lips against yours, swallowing every whimper escaping your lips, pulling the other side of your dress down to expose both breasts. Your hands made quick work of unbuttoning his suit jacket, pulling it off of him and throwing it on the floor, before moving to his dress shirt. 

“Naughty girl, lettin’ some old man touch you in a kitchen at your parent’s party.” He spoke against your lips, shoving your dress down to your hips and taking a step back to admire you. “God you’re fuckin’ pretty.” 

“Joel, please.” You whined, grabbing at the last few buttons left on his shirt desperately as if it was going to get them unbuttoned faster.

“I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already beggin’. Fuckin’ whore.” He chuckled, helping you unbutton his shirt and tossing it to the side with his jacket. “Need some dick, huh?” 

You shook your head, shoving the rest of the dress over your hips and onto the floor, grabbing his head and smashing your lips back together. His fingers danced their way down your skin, memorizing every bump and curve in the chance that he wouldn’t get to do this again, making their way under your thighs and lifting you onto the counter behind him. 

He trailed a finger up and down your folds, gathering your wetness and bringing it to his mouth, groaning at the taste. The sensation of his finger slowly pushing in and out was so overwhelming, you were practically floating on cloud nine and there was nothing you’d change about it.

“Tell me how bad you want it.” Joel rasped, lips pressed up against your ear, removing the rest of his clothing. “Tell daddy how bad you need it.”

“Daddy, please…fuck- need it so bad.” Your words were barely audible, desperate and whiny.

The feeling of his cock pushing inside of you had you throwing your head back, hand slapped over your mouth to muffle any and all noise he’d pull out of you. He pulled back out slowly, watching your pussy grip his cock as he pushed back in. Forbidden sex had never felt so good, he’d find any and every reason to visit you after tonight if he could experience this again. His beard scratched against your neck as he bent over, pulling your body closer to him, sucking and biting at the skin he could reach. 

“God, I could make you a fuckin’ mom.” Joel groaned, leaning his head further into the crook of your neck. “Look so fuckin’ pretty, full of my babies.”

“Daddy-”

“That’s right, say my name, baby.” He switched the arm that was bearing your weight and brought the newly freed hand to your hair, tugging it back enough so he could see your face. 

His hips pistoned in and out, cock reaching places you didn’t even know it could, but if you told him that he’d make a joke about you not sleeping with a real man like him. He placed wet kisses down your neck and all the way down to your nipples, sucking on them in turns. 

“Joel, please, I’m so close..” You cried, eyes filled to the brim with tears that threatened to spill at any moment.

“That’s too damn bad, because that’s not my name.” He chuckled, evilly, wiping away the tears that had slid down your cheeks. “Try again, I know you can do it, baby.”

“Daddy, daddy please.” 

“Good girl.” 

He brought his thumb down to your clit, drawing figure eights in time with his thrusts, coaxing your orgasm right out of you. You slumped into him as it hit you, body shaking as it made its way through you. He continued to thrust into you, chasing his own white, hot high. Your small whimpers as you came back to the world was enough to send Joel over the edge, painting your insides a nice milky white. His own body slumping into yours as he recovered from the pleasure. 

“Did such a good job, darlin’.” He praised, smoothing your hair down as you continued your way out of cloud nine. “Did so good for me.”

You gave him a weak smile, smoothing the hairs that were stuck to his sweaty forehead back to their spot. He sat you back down on the counter and filled his glass up with water before handing it to you, the aftertaste of whiskey was enough to perk you right up. 

Joel helped you back into your dress, fixing your hair to cover the hickeys that were soon to appear, sliding your underwear back up but making sure to push his cum back inside of you before sliding them all the way up.

“C’mon, we got speeches to make.”

[tightjeansjavi]

With everything going on with people being assholes, plagiarizing, and then gaslighting those they plagiarized from?? Absolutely appalling behavior.

Just wanted to kindly remind everyone that I give NO ONE the permission to repost or claim my fics as their own.

Writers work their fucking asses off on their fics and it often takes weeks, sometimes months and years to write something! Plagiarizing isn’t cool, it never will be. And if this were an academic setting? Y’all would be getting in so much DEEP trouble.

I don’t care if you’re new to the community or been here longer than I have, do not steal another writers hard fucking work.

-Gi

[flightlessangelwings]

Being inclusive with your reader insert fic is a kindness. It tells people of color (poc) that you are considering someone who does not look like you in your fic. It shows love and dedication to our craft. It tells poc that they belong here too and they can see themselves in your story.

Poc aren’t look for activism in fic, we know fandom isn’t that serious, but we should be able to have that same level of escapism when we turn to fic and fandom. We belong here too. This space is for everyone, not just one group of people.

Just to give a few examples of how simple it can be: say “skin warmed” instead of blushed, say “cradled your head” instead of running fingers through hair, say “angles yourself to kiss” instead of standing on tiptoes, use italics to indicate Spanish to take out a throwaway line of “you didn’t understand Spanish” things like that. Small changes that do not impact the fic at all but make a world of difference in inclusivity!

And for anything you can’t/don’t want to change, simply add warning in the beginning. Things like hair descriptors, anything reader might wear, some backstory for reader (especially involving family or where the story is set), readers job, things like that. A lot of times just having that heads up before the fic makes a world of difference!

And one example of kindness we as writers always worked to change: until recently (just a couple years ago) it wasn’t common to label the gender of the reader. But those who aren’t female asked writers to label it so they know which to read and which to avoid, and now it’s common to label the gender/pronouns of the reader. So it is possible! It just takes effort! And I’m a writer myself so I know it can be done!

We can pretend to be a bartender or a bounty hunter or an actress or anything else. But we shouldn’t have to imagine we’re a white one.

[softiedingo]

neck + chest appreciation post ✨️

[callmelittlebuttercup]

Peace Offerings Pt.5

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Series Summary: Joel makes a bad impression on the reader when he cuts in front of her at the radio station in the QZ. Abe, a father figure to her and an informant of Joel’s, informs her that the two have something in common: A brother in Wyoming. Joel reluctantly follows Abe’s wishes when he asks him to take the reader along to help find her brother too. As the journey goes on, she finds that despite his best efforts to make her think so, Joel isn’t a complete asshole, and maybe even a little… attractive?

Series Warnings: Slow burn, 18+ Minors DNI, Age gap (Reader is 34, Joel is 56.) Sexual Themes, Violence, Injuries (depictions of blood, bruising, broken bones), Cursing, Grumpy!Joel, Minimal depictions of reader's appearance (hair color/length.)

Chapter Warnings: Canon typical suicide, suicidal ideation, claustrophobia, symptoms of a panic attack

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

Part Five

 My eyes shot open and the hair on my neck raised at the sound of glass crunching. I stayed still and eyed the figures approaching us. With the dull light coming in from the windows, I could just barely make out the figures of a taller man, and a small child. The figures got closer and closer, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I sat up and gripped my knife in my hand before calling out, “Don’t fucking move.” The man froze and put his hand up against the kid’s chest. My eyes shot to Joel. I was surprised to see that he hadn’t been woken up, then I realized he’d turned over onto his other side. 

          The two pulled guns out of their pockets. The taller boy was aiming at me and the small one was aiming at Joel. “Shit.” I whispered. “Your man dangerous?” The tall one asked, his voice shaking with anxiety. I looked at Joel. “Harmless.” I said, as I looked up to the young man. “I don’t fucking believe you.” He shook the gun in my face and I flinched, “Fuck. Wake him up and we can talk.” I shook my head, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Look, we have a little food and some clothing in our packs. That’s all. You can take it and get out of here unharmed. Best option in my opinion.” The man looked to the little boy, and moved his one hand, making out symbols. Sign language. He looked back at me, “We don’t want your things. We want to help you.” 

        I didn’t know what to do. His offer for help was confusing to me. How did he know we were in trouble? If anything it seemed like he needed help, especially having a little boy to take care of. There’s no telling how Joel would react to me accepting their help without his approval. Plus I was already teetering onto his bad side. 

         The man’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts, “C’mon lady!” I put my hands up and stood up very slowly. “He’s hard of hearing, can I get closer to him?” I asked. He nodded quickly and shifted his eyes to the sleeping figure. I cautiously walked over to him, and stood above him a safe distance away. “Joel.” I said. Nothing. “Joel!” I raised my voice and he shot up, first looking at me and then whipping his head around to comprehend the situation. “Eyes on me. You don’t have to worry about what to say. We don’t want to hurt you.” The young man demanded, “We wanna help you.” Joel’s eyes were wild, but he answered calmly, “Okay.” The boy shifted on his feet, “Um okay… so if I lower my gun, we didn’t hurt you. So you don’t hurt us. That’s how this works right?” Joel responded in the same tone, “That’s right.” Panic filled the boy’s voice, “That’s a wierd fuckin’ tone man..” I swallowed, “That’s just the way he sounds. He has an asshole voice. Joel, tell him he’s okay.” I breathed. Joel paused for a moment, keeping his intimidating stare planted on the man before saying in the same tone, “Everything is great.” I sighed angrily and reprimanded him for once, “Joel!” The man, still holding the gun to me shouted, “Fuck! Okay… listen, I’m gonna trust you.” And signed something to the little boy across from him. There was an exchange between them, and then he continued, “But if either of you guys try anything….. yeah?” I nodded, and he gestured to Joel who gave a small nod before asking, “Can I sit up?” The man nodded, “Yeah. Slow.” Joel raised his back off of the makeshift cot, and questioned again, “Who are you?” The man shifted on his feet again, still not lowering his gun. “My name is Henry. That’s my brother Sam. I’m the most wanted man in Kansas City.” Joel’s face dropped and so did my stomach, “Although right now, my guess is you’re running a close second.” 

          Once the negotiations simmered down, I offered the boys some food from my pack while ignoring the look Joel gave me. We sat around the lantern and ate quietly. “Where’d you get these?” Henry asked, referring to the sandwiches we’d split up and scarfed down. I waited for Joel to speak, but received nothing. “From a friend of his.” I answered. There was another moment of glum silence before Joel wrapped up the rest of his sandwich and leaned over to offer it to the little boy. My heart fluttered at the gesture. Maybe this would be okay. “He says thank you. I’m guessing you don’t have much so this means a lot.” Henry said after the boy signed something to him. 

          Now that there wasn’t a gun to my head, I told the boys my name and watched Henry sign it to Sam. We all looked at Joel who was absentmindedly chewing. I slapped his knee with the back of my hand and he jumped, his eyes shifting between me and the boys. “I’m Joel. Look, you ate. we didn’t kill each other. Let’s call this a win-win and move on.” I rolled my eyes and watched as Henry wrung his hands together. “Well, I’m betting… that y’all came up here to get a view of the city and plan a way out.” 

Daylight came, shining through the ginormous windows of the conference room we’d moved to so Joel and Henry could draw out a plan. I sat with Sam and got to know him a little more by exchanging his little drawing pad he had wrapped around his neck back and forth. My heart melted from the kid’s sweet smile every time he wrote something and showed it to me, then waited for my response. As I interacted with Sam, I still tried to keep my ear in the two men’s conversation. I couldn’t make out much except for “tunnels” and “rats” which didn’t sound like much fun. 

After a few more moments of giggling and talking to Sam, there was a light tap on my shoulder. I instinctively jumped and turned to see who it was. Joel was standing behind me with his arms crossed. He nodded his head towards the hallway before saying, “Come with me.” I wrote “Be right back!” on Sam’s notepad and handed it to him with a warm smile before standing up and following Joel into the hallway. He stopped a few feet away from the door, making sure we wouldn’t be heard. I stood there with my arms folded over my chest and shot him an expectant look. He cleared his throat before speaking, “The kid claims he knows his way through the tunnels under the city. Promises he can get us out with little to no risks.” I made a pfffft sound and repeated, “Little to no risks?” He nodded, and crossed his arms, “I know. Sounds like a load of bullshit. But he insists.” I stared at the floor, mulling through my thoughts. The sound of tunnels in a world like today’s did not sound enticing in the least bit. The thought actually made me feel lightheaded. “Do we have any other choice?” I asked. “I can’t think of a better plan.” he shrugged. 

We packed up our things and began our journey. We snuck through a few buildings before coming to the entrance of the tunnels. Henry opened the door and started in, but I paused. My feet felt like they were glued to the ground and my legs had turned to static. I heard Joel say my name, but I just stared into the door and down the long, dark tunnel. A hand on my shoulder jolted me back to reality, and I turned to Joel. “You okay?” Joel whispered. I nodded and pried my feet off the floor to walk through the large metal door. 

The tunnel was cold and had a strange, unsettling smell. Our footsteps and the sound of something I desperately hoped was water dripping echoed. I held my flashlight tight as I followed Henry through every twist and turn. Our group had been arranged into a very specific line. Henry first, Sam, me, and then Joel. My anxiety about being trapped in a tunnel was slightly relieved with the knowledge that he was behind me, but the place still started to feel suffocating after being down there long enough. I tried to steady my breathing, and dug my nails into my palms to stay alert. I must have slowed down my pace because I felt Joel’s hand pushing lightly into my back. “Come on, we’re almost there.” He whispered. His words grounded me, and I was able to keep myself together the rest of the way. 

We emerged from the tunnels long after nightfall, and began to walk down a suburban street that was littered with abandoned cars. We stayed quiet and moved swiftly down the street, being sure to keep our bodies low enough to not be seen over the cars. Just as I thought we were making it through with ease, a bullet whizzed past my head. I threw myself to the ground and rolled to press my back up against a car. Joel was next to me, but Henry and Same had split over to another car across the way. I looked at Joel, his eyes were wide as he peaked over the hood to get a glimpse of where the bullets were coming from. He knelt back down to face me. “They’re coming from that house up there. I’m going to go try and take him out. You get Sam and Henry as far away from here as possible and I’ll find you.” He said as he grabbed his gun out of his backpack. My chest tightened at the thought of him leaving us, “Joel…” I said, fear tightening my throat. He looked up from his gun and saw my fear-stricken form. He leaned in and placed his hands on my arms, “Do you trust me?” His brown eyes searched my face for an answer. I closed my eyes, took a hefty breath, and nodded. He nodded and squeezed my arms before standing and sprinting off to sneak to the house. 

After taking another deep breath, I stayed low to the ground and scrambled to meet Sam and Henry behind the car they were squatting behind. Henry looked confused, “Where’s Joel?” I pulled my gun out of my bag while answering, “He’s going to try to take out the sniper in the house. I’ll lead us out of here and he’ll meet us.” He nodded and took Sam’s hand. We scrambled from car to car, moving slowly, but still making progress. We took a longer pause behind a yellow car to catch our breaths when all of a sudden we heard the sound of an engine roaring down the street. Henry and I stared in horror at the giant tank motoring towards us. I shielded my eyes from the light as the vehicle approached. “We gotta move.” I yelled before sprinting through a line of cars. Sam and Henry were on my heels, but we were forced to drop down behind another car when the trucks barreled through the cars and  a line of bullets sprayed down from the house. They weren’t aiming for us anymore which told me Joel had made it.

 I didn’t have time to celebrate as a group of men with guns surrounded the three of us. I raised my hands above my head, and the boys did the same. “Henry!” A woman called out. I could only assume it was Kathleen. She appeared in front of the tank, her petite frame and soft features were even less intimidating than her voice was. “Remember me?” She asked condescendingly as she approached. I looked at Henry, trying to get a sense of their relationship, and from his panicked face, I concluded it was not good. “Please. I’ll surrender if you promise to leave them alone.” Henry breathed. Kathleen shrugged and trained her gun onto the little boy. What she said next made my skin crawl, “Well kids die, Henry. They die all the time. You think the world revolves around him? That he’s worth everything? Well this is what happens when you fuck with fate.”  Her gaze traveled towards me, and I froze as her eyes met mine. “And you. I have someone who’s been wanting to see you.” She turned to the side to let a man walk in front of her. My chest tightened as I realized who it was. The man from the attack in the city stood there with his lip curled into a sickening grin. I shot back a menacing stare as I prepared myself to fight him yet again. “Do whatever you want to her. But him, he’s mine.” the woman demanded.The man nodded and began to walk towards me but stopped short as a huge rumbling sound filled the air. The group of people turned around and I strained my neck to catch a glimpse. 

Horror numbed my body as I watched the ground crumble underneath the weight of the tank, causing a horde of clickers to come flooding out. Seeing opportunity, I grabbed Sam’s hand and began to sprint towards the house. Joel was attempting to shoot any infected that got close to us, but there were too many. We made it a few feet before the horde caught up to us and we were forced to hide under a car. I pulled in panicked breaths as I thought of our next move. Suddenly, Henry began to scream as he was pulled out. I grabbed onto his hand and tried to play tug of war with the clicker over him, but it was too strong, and pulled me out with him. I jumped to my feet and slammed my knife into the infected’s head. Henry shook its limp hands off of his leg. “You okay?” I asked him, scanning over for any bites or scratches. He shook his head and pulled his brother from under the truck. There was a lull in the waves of infected as they became preoccupied with destroying Kathleen’s people. 

The boys and I were nearing the house when the woman called Henry’s name again. She was standing on the hill, just feet away from us, pointing her gun towards Henry. “It’s over Henry. Surrender now.” She called over the chaos ensuing around us. I saw her hand tighten around her gun. I was ready to push Henry out of the way, but was pleasantly surprised to see an infected little girl launch her small body onto Kathleen. I pushed Henry and yelled, “Go!” We sprinted to the side of the house, finally escaping the hell scape of the street. I began to do what I promised Joel, and ushered the boys further into the woods, but a familiar voice caused me to stop. It was Joel. 

Relief washed over me as he came into view. His eyebrows were furrowed in concern. Sam threw his small body towards him and wrapped his arms around Joel’s waist. He looked at the boy, a pained expression on his face, but then reluctantly patted him on the back with one hand. I let a small smile spread across my face at the fondness Sam had developed for Joel in such a short time. I found myself having the urge to hug him too, but I quickly pushed that thought from my mind as Joel pushed ahead of us and began to lead us into the woods. 

We came across a motel for the night which Joel and Henry cleared before letting Sam and I in. Henry was in the other room, tucking Sam into bed, and I sat in the living room on the couch next to Joel. I’d decided to change the bandage on my hand since I had a moment. I’d been too preoccupied to take proper care of it the past few days. “So who was up there?” I asked absentmindedly. “Some old guy. I tried to negotiate, but you know how that goes.” He said solemnly. I nodded, “Now you get why I like to take action.” I teased lightheartedly. He shook his head, the side of his lip twitching. I looked at him. He was exhausted. His eyes  trained on the floor, and his dark hair ruffled atop his head. I studied the patchy beard that inhabited his strong jawline. I’d never noticed the small amount of gray sprinkled into it, showing his wisdom. I quickly shifted my eyes off of him when I noticed myself leaning towards his figure. What was I doing? This man wanted nothing to do with me, and here I was admiring his features. I sucked in a breath and stood up. His eyes followed me as I did so. “I’m going to get some sleep.” I mumbled while avoiding eye contact. “G’night.” He grunted. I nodded and walked over to the bed across the room, stretching my aching back before I laid down onto the soft, dusty mattress. 

         The next morning, Henry, Joel, and I sat in the main room of the motel, silently mulling last night’s situation around in our heads. We had tended to our wounds from the fights as we waited for Sam to wake up. “Alright, we said we’d let the kid sleep as long as he wanted but it’s been long enough.” Joel said impatiently. I looked at Henry who was elevating his leg. He’d twisted his ankle when he was running from the hoard. I stood up, “Ok if I get him?” Henry nodded. I turned and walked towards the door, opening it slowly. Sam was sitting up on the bed, staring vacantly out the window. “Oh, you’re up! Good morning silly goose.” I cooed. He turned towards me and immediately bared his teeth. My stomach dropped. He then jumped up and lunged towards me. I stumbled backwards as his body made impact with mine, and my panicked screams filled the air has I pushed to keep his mouth as far away from me as possible. Joel and Henry jumped up, Joel immediately pointing a gun at Sam, but Henry threatened him. “Then you better fuckin’ do something.” I heard Joel say. Sam continued to attempt to bite me but I kept pushing and kicking as panicked tears streamed down my face, “Sam please!” I begged. I knew he was gone, that he’d been taken over by the cordyceps, but some delusional part of me thought he might’ve been playing and would just snap out of it at any moment. “HENRY.” Joel screamed, and a shot rang out. Sam’s body flew off of mine from the impact of the bullet. I laid there, shaking, unwilling to look at the now lifeless child, and turned my head towards the two men. Henry still held the gun and had a vacant look in his eyes. He first pointed it at Joel, then me while repeating “What did I do?” He continued to aim the gun at me and I shakily raised my hands above my head. “Henry, get the gun off of her.” Joel pleaded in a calming voice, “Just put the gun down, you’ll be okay.” Henry stared for just a moment before turning the gun to his own head. “HENRY, NO!” Joel and I’s voices filled the air before the gun went off one last time. 

           I sat huddled on the floor with my arms wrapped around my knees, my eyes flitting between the two bodies. Joel stood with his chest heaving, eyes doing the same as mine. No matter how hard I tried to keep the sobs from escaping my throat, the grief was too powerful. I pressed my hand against my mouth as they came in between desperate heaves. Joel hesitated, but then came to kneel beside me. His hand hovered above my back, and then I felt the warmth of it press against me. I looked up at him, he held that same look of pity in his eyes. 

           I barely knew the man, but I knew that I trusted him. He ensured my safety an uncountable amount of times already. As I sat there on the floor in between the two, sweet, brave, and now dead boys, I needed a shoulder to cry on. Joel was there, though it was stiff and unmoving, it was warm and let me know I wasn’t alone. I sat up off of him and sniffled, “How did we not know he was infected? We should’ve checked.” His hand didn’t leave my back as he remained next to me, “Wouldn’t have changed his fate.” Joel grunted, “N’ Henry would’ve killed himself some other time.” I looked at him through teary eyes, “Why would he do that? In front of us?” I sobbed. Joel pressed his lips together and shifted his eyes to the floor, “Death is less painful than living after losing someone you love.” 

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

Author's note:

Thank you for reading!! I'm sorry you had to endure the Henry and Sam heartbreak again :(

Previous Part | Masterlist

[firsttarotreader]

So, @ilovejavierpena made a beautiful color corrected video of this scene and they lovingly allowed me to make the gifs. Enjoy! 😉