#distracted by a dime | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedgito · 1 year

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summary | a story of how things began, where they ended up, and where they might go. a collection of patrols over the course of several months is forcing you closer to joel than you ever imagined, tense circumstances leading to hasty decisions and one bad choice after the next. [17k+]

pairing | joel miller x fem!reader

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no explicit use of y/n, set post s1 (but not specifically stated), lots of characters from the game (but not significant if you're unaware) grumpy!joel, friends (?) with benefits, sex under stress as a means for distraction (consensual), graphic depicition of an attack of raiders (it's brief, easy to skim over), a litany of sexual escapades (oral, unprotected, ect) semi-public sex (no one's around), orgasm denial, repressed emotions

author’s note | um, yeah. i had this idea back in february and had an outline that finally came to fruition over the past month. this was a serious labor of love and purely self-indulgence. if you make it through the entire thing, thank you! if this has typos please ignore. i proofread this like 4 times and i will cry

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Patrolling with Joel was always something. Miserable when Joel was having a bad day, mildly enjoyable on the days where he managed to have enough coffee that morning when you weren't on the rotation for the shitty patrols that took hours to trek through in this weather, the snow halfway up your shins nearly everywhere.

It’s been a few months now and Joel is still who you favor going with over anyone else—he’s thoughtful, methodical, always watching over his shoulder for danger. And Joel does warm up to you eventually, but the reluctance in his eyes is always there. He’s seasoned in the art of surviving, avoiding connection when at all possible. He doesn’t talk to you for the first month out of simple answers or orders, helping you get accustomed to a route you haven’t run before, but small talk? It’s nonexistent.

Maybe that was for the best.

Because the first time you find yourself pinned under his gaze, fingers clenched around your wrists in warning, the unseemly thoughts invade your brain.

He doesn’t sleep often during patrols, either. So, it’s a little intimidating when you find him curled up on top of his sleeping bag when he swore he was taking a quick break, resting the ache in his back that quickly melted into a deep slumber. You can’t dare to wake him up so soon after, seeing how peaceful he looked when he slept, almost at ease but still carrying that deep scowl, permanently on his features. It was a part of him.

Tommy and Jesse had arrived to rotate and relieve you guys back to Jackson, something that wasn’t out of the norm, but you find yourself battling with leaning over him, shaking him awake and disturbing his slumber. And on a dime, the moment your hand connects with his shoulder, Joel is awake—very awake and subduing you with little resistance, your leg forced hastily between his own, eyes dark and pensive from where he held himself above you.

“Joel, Joel—it’s just me,” You spit out in a panic, “Tommy and Jesse, they’re outside.”

You’re not sure what breaks his stupor, be it the panic in your voice or the terrified look on your face, he relents quickly, apologizing half-heartedly under his breath.

You release a tight breath when he finally lets go, rising up slowly as he does, grabbing your pack without a word, as does he, watching as he rolled up his sleeping bag, something you’ve seen him do a million times before, but he feels you watching him, almost hesitant to speak now.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks lowly, the thickness of sleep in his voice.

“No, um—“ You shake your head, rubbing the skin of your wrist absently, “I guess I should’ve been more careful, but you fell asleep and I figured you needed it.”

He looks even more apologetic, more so for his actions but for also leaving you up alone, not that it really mattered to you. It was an easy patrol spot in the watchtower— it never caused trouble, so falling asleep was the least of your worries.

You shrug when his eyes glance over your slightly hunched frame, shivering from the cold but an arm clutching around your middle. It’s defensive, a subconscious movement that Joel doesn’t even think you realize you’re doing.

He shouldn’t feel shitty about it, but he does. Still, he won’t admit that out loud.

“Next time I’ll keep six feet and poke you with a stick,” You joke, “kinda like waking a bear.”

You smile when Joel huffs reluctantly, a subtle motion of his chest as he chuckles. It’s faint, but you see the involuntary quirk at the corner of his mouth as he shoved his sleeping bag into his pack and rose to his feet.

“Hey, you’ve still got decent reflexes,” You shrug, passing him by with the soft scuffle of your feet, shoulders rubbing against each other awkwardly as you turn toward him over your left shoulder, his body too close for his own comfort, “for an old guy.”

He scoffs at the implication, though any maliciousness in his expression is void, “Old?”

He knows it’s the truth, he just hates the implication. He’s weaker, but not any less that man he was than that he is now. He watches your face scrunch up in amusement, a soft laugh slipping past your lips.

“Joel, I’m fucking with you,” You tell him, the tense in his brow relaxing slightly, “it’s gonna be a long ride back, isn’t it?”

“Ah, don’t know—think you can handle travelin’ with the old guy for a few hours?”

Joel doesn’t divert to humor often, but when he does, it’s a sweet sight, that rough exterior cracking under your gaze more often.

“Please,” You puff your lips out in a quick huff, yanking your back over your shoulder, “I can handle you just fine.”

Once you got to know him, it was actually quite easy.

Joel nods his chin forward silently, ignoring your teasing for the time being, a long ride ahead of you and not nearly enough patience on his end to deal with your antics.

And you try to ignore how intensely his touch lingered on your skin, rubbing the tender spot on your wrist during the long ride back to Jackson.

Joel keeps his distance behind you, but he sees it—the subtle look over your shoulder every now and then, your eyes lingering with him when he forces eye contact.

It’s only the start of what was to come, something neither of you were prepared for.

The rotation is adequately simple over the first few months, keeping the pairings fair by filtering them out evenly—Ellie is fun to be around, a lot more relaxed and less jaded by everything. She keeps things light, always bringing along her comics for extra entertainment or spending her time drawing you or whatever she could find, something to keep her busy when things get boring. And she talks, freely, to you—something Joel never did. Besides, Ellie kept up to date on the town drama, so in turn, so did you.

And Tommy is, well, Tommy. He’s efficient, likes to do his rounds, sign the patrol sheet, scope the area, then spend the rest of the night or day relaxing away when things aren't going awry. He talks about before—his job, how people lived in Austin, the summer cookouts in the neighborhoods that you were never privy to. Tommy’s nice, you’ve always liked him. It was Joel who proved to be the difficult one, something Tommy would wholeheartedly agree with.

Eventually you find yourself paired up with Joel more often than you’re used to, now Ellie would stick to patrols with Dina when she could, occasionally Jesse. She always complains when she has to ride with Joel, something about:

“We live together, but we’re not attached at the fuckin’ hip.”

Joel doesn’t complain, his hesitancy toward letting Ellie take more responsibility waning by the day when he realizes how well she holds her own.

You take the patrol further west, a lodge that he and Tommy cleared out some months prior when you were still new—you’ve only ran into infected there once, end of the summer, but Joel cleared them out no problem.

It seemed like an easy patrol. It was. Joel even seems a little more cheerful than usual, making comments to some of the information you were relaying to him that Ellie told you, some pointless gossip to fill the lull.

“It’s why I mind my business,” Joel speaks over the soft trollop as you ride alongside him, “nothin’ good comes from stickin’ your nose where you shouldn’t,” his head turns, eyes glancing over your frame briefly, shrugging his shoulders in an effort to loosen them, “it only breeds more problems.”

“I’m just the messenger,” You shrug, “I keep to myself—you know that.”

He does. He finds the shyness endearing in a way, a contrast from how exuberant Ellie could be when he spent patrols with her. It’s why things worked so well with you—you respected his space, he respected yours.

“Remind me to check that guitar place for those strings Ellie’s been buggin’ about,” Joel tells you, “I’ll hit it before we leave.”

“She’s improved a lot,” You compliment, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “props to her teacher, I suppose.”

Joel shakes his head, emitting a bit of fondness every time he talks about Ellie, “That kid is determined. I don’t think she would’ve needed my help either way.”

“You know,” Your tone bleeds something teasing, putting Joel on edge as he tilts his head your way, looking expectantly, “she said you’re a pretty good singer.”

Joel opens his mouth for a beat before snapping it shut, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to sing,” You promise, “but—I don’t know, just didn’t pin you as the type.”

“I’ve got a type about me?” Joel seems dully interested, a soft smirk on his face as he yields the reins to a stop, leading you to follow suit as you both guide the horses to the makeshift stable tucked away on the side of the building, gathering your things before you make your way inside.

You leave Joel in a curious silence until you’re able to relax, closing the doors behind you with a heavy shove once Joel has done his quick walk-through, the fireplace setting unlit in the middle of the room looking all too appealing right now.

“Look, I’ll just keep askin’,” Joel says, clapping his hands together deftly to grab your attention, throwing the lighter stuffed into your coat pocket at his waiting hands, cupped as he catches it with ease, setting up a fire that crackles to life instantly, “first I’m an old man, now you’re judgin’ me, doesn’t really seem fair now does it?”

It’s the most he’s talked to you before, suddenly invested in getting an answer out of you. It’s playful, his intention, and you can’t help but find it a little enjoyable to watch him squirm. You take a seat around the circular fire pit, feet propped up against the brick surrounding it, hands laying flat over you stomach, jacket unzipped but still snug on your body.

“You’re a big grump all the time,” You tell him honestly, his face morphing into something indecipherable, “—Ellie’s words, not mine.”

You hold a finger up, pointing in his direction.

“But, she’s not wrong.” It earns a subtle shrug, Joel’s arms stalling over the back of the couch that wrapped around the fire pit, a few feet away from you still. “I’m just saying, most of the people in town who enjoy that stuff—you know, music and all that. They’re loud about it, a little showboaty if you ask me.”

“What? I’m not loud enough for you?”

He was loud when he needed to be. Directive and strong, aggressive to anyone who may cause him harm or anyone he cares about—you’ve seen it a few times, but never on the side of it being just you and him. Part of you is thankful for that, but you can’t help the wanted to feel that type of fierce protection aimed toward you.

You snort softly, “Forget it, Joel. It’s a nice surprise, I bet you have a great voice.” It’s free of any teasing or ill-intent of riling him up. A true compliment, one that cracks Joel’s surface, just barely.

Joel hits you softly in the chest with a bag of jerky a while later, chewing on a piece quietly as he rests, neck hung against the back of the couch, eyes closed. The heat creeps in slowly, forcing you to strip down a few layers—jacket first, then your sweater, down to just your jeans and shirt, wiggling your feet out of your snow boots in hopes that they’ll dry by the fire quicker.

And truthfully, your bored out of your mind. It was hard to stay dormant like this, holed up in a place for an extended period of time with nothing to do but entertain yourself—and because Joel was about as entertaining as watching wet paint dry, you took the initiative into your own hands.

“Have you ever played pool?” Your voice slices through the thick silence, one of Joel’s eyes peeking open curiously, head still reclined back. “I’ve been dying to try this out since Tommy found those balls a few months ago.”

“It’s been years,” He mumbles lowly, tapping his fingers against the back of his right palm, “—what about you?”

“Not a chance, Joel,” You reply, voice oozing with a flippant vagrancy, “I was fifteen when the outbreak happened, I’ve never even stepped foot into a bar, let alone some place like this.”

Even now, twenty years into a world that had crumbled to the ground, the lodge still held up nice.

Normally you would expect Joel to make up some excuse, roll over on his side or lay down and pretend he was asleep or keep watch by the door, his demeanor never faltering for more than a second, clipped answers to your question. But, that was Joel wasn’t here now.

He’s warmed up to you, partially—but you could tell there was still a long way to go. He still keeps his distance, less of a chance to bump into your or accidentally brush shoulders. It makes you feel forlorn, like maybe you had scared him by how you reacted, eyes wide and terrified underneath him.

Truthfully, Joel doesn’t want to scare you again. He couldn’t handle it. Not with how reluctantly fond he’s grown of you, something he kept close to his chest and didn’t dare tell a soul. He’s got his own justifications for it.

“We can play a game,” Joel suggests, “it’ll kill some time, I guess.”

Joel didn’t need to know how easy it would be for you to play him under the table, having spent most of your time around the guys at the bar who like to hustle bets for pool. They never stood a chance. And Joel never frequented The Tipsy Bison outside of parties thrown for the community as a group (and that was still rare), always dragged along by Ellie or Tommy. They were insufferable to attend.

You could share the sentiment.

“Any bets?” You tease, stripping the pool cues off the wall and handing it to him as he approaches, strip down to a similar state as well, tanned skinned under a navy blue shirt, wearing the jeans he seemed to never take off and boots that were barely holding on.

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Joel decides, “I’ve got nothin’ in mind anyways.”

“God, you’re no fun,” You pout, pulling an eye roll from Joel, his eyes flicking toward the ground briefly as he reconsidered, “come on—anything.”

“Jesus—uh, I don’t know,” He chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully, “huh, how about the loser just owes the other a favor?”

You blow a raspberry with your tongue, “Lame,” You tease further, but his quick switch to defeat has his arm slumping at his side forcing you to reassess, “—fine, fine. A favor is fair, I’m running low on those anyways.”

It’s a small hint at your competitive nature, something Joel is clueless to pick up on, guiding you through the basics of the game with ease—you listen intently despite how badly you were going to destroy him, the stakes surprisingly high.

A favor. For anything.

The small crack of a smile on Joel’s face is enough of a reward as he watches you attempt to break the set, barely tapping the center as it rolls back slowly, your face scrunching up in annoyance.

“Oh, fuck you,” You scoff playfully, “you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Joel shakes his head in a blatant attempt at lying, heaving his cue up to show you his stance, “Keep your dominant hand on the end and your other near the type, you’ve just gotta guide it through with some force.”

You feign innocence, switching the cue to your dominant side, though still looking visibly uncomfortable and rigid.

Joel thinks it over in his hand, rehashing his decision making a million times over until he’s resting the pool cue aside and joining your side, hesitant as he brings his hands to your elbows from behind, keeping a careful distance.

“Keep your arm a little further back,” He pulls at your dominant arm, thick fingers wrapping around your bicep, his body leaned forward slightly to adjust the other when he can’t reach, spreading your fingers to wrap around the other end, tucking your thumb under the cue gently at wrapping your index over the top, “it’s almost like you’re holding a pencil, if that helps. Sort of.”

You nod slightly, his touch lingering lightly as he leaned over you, pointing toward the center of the table, “Just use that hand as a guide, don’t grip it too tight and let the cue follow through. Here, try it.”

He crowds you in slowly, aiding you in the force of your cue as he guides it back and through with a sharpness, hitting the ball dead center and the rest of them scattering as a result.

“Just like that.” He praises, a softness to him that wasn’t there before when speaks over your shoulder. You roll your shoulders insignificantly, nodding at his response.

He notes how unbothered you are this way, in this situation compared to the latter, his touch guiding and soft compared to rough, suffocating, the force he only used in situations where his opponent wasn’t going to make it out alive.

Joel parts without so much as a word, shifting into his typical stance, favoring his right leg as it bends slightly, using the cue for support as he leaned into it. “Got it?”

You nod silently, feeling warm all over, too warm. It’s your own fault, really—not a soul to blame but yourself. To be fair, you didn’t think Joel would bother to take the bait. But he did, almost too eagerly. It was enough to mentally knock you on your ass, leaving you to play the rest of the game with a cloudy mind filled with how warm his touch felt against your bare skin, craving a touch you haven’t felt in months. It’s pathetic, but you can’t help it.

Joel sinks the last ball with finality, slapping his hand against the felt table in triumph, a surprising show of emotion for someone so sullen as him. He was full of surprises you were quickly finding out.

“M’sorry, darlin’.” He tells you, sounding authentically apologetic, “I don’t expect you to owe me any favors.”

“Screw that,” You shake your head stubbornly, annoyed at how easily you let him get the better of you, “one more.”

“I’m not sure if that’s—“

“One. More.” You tell him adamantly, reracking the balls without an answer, nodding pointedly toward the table, “Pick a pocket.”

Joel’s eyebrow furrowed in confusion, “You want to play one-pocket? How the hell do you even know about—I thought you said you’ve never played.”

“Joel, pick a damn pocket.”

You don’t choke this time, letting him take the first hit, watch the ball sink, and the next one he misses.

You don’t miss, one turn after the other passing him up as you sink them in succession.

He stares at you with wide eyes, nose flared like he’s going to laugh, mouth spread into a subtle smile, his teeth peeking through.

“You’re a fuckin’ pool shark, aren’t you?” Joel questions, tossing the pool cue aside. “That was goddamn impressive, I’ll give you that.”

“How do you think I score the steak sandwiches for our routes over the tuna and cheese?” You ask redundantly, “I’ve played Tommy under the table enough times that he won’t even play for fun anymore.”

“Well,” Joel shrugs, “guess we both owe each other favors, don’t we?”

You could care less about the favors now, battling with the conflicting feelings as you stared at the man ahead of you, seeming like a completely different person to you now. He's acting nothing like the sulky man you walk by every day in Jackson.

“Shit—one more,” Joel insists, “no holdin’ back on each other. No bets, just braggin’ rights.”

Joel never hears the end of it that night, falling asleep to the faint giggle of victory.

Another few weeks later and things are even more different.

You spot Joel from a mile away, tucked against the corner of the bar with wistful eyes downturned toward his drink, the ice in the glass swashing alongside the dark whiskey. The squeal of a couple kids and their scattering feet as they ram into you and pull your attention away, guiding them away to safety and out of the crowd with a gentle hand, a pair of apologetic parents waiting off to the side.

He must’ve seen the interaction halfway through, smirking with amusement as you approach, though still eerily silent.

Your friendship since the pool game has blossomed slowly, he jokes with you more often, shares his food when he hears your stomach growl, no matter how much you refuse. He even talks about his hobbies, things he enjoys, and it feels like he’s less of an enigma now. Real, tangible, someone you can make a connection with.

He still keeps his distance, mostly—the pool game was a fluke, a split second decision he hadn’t thought through and fully regretted after the fact. He’s gone from tackling you to the ground in fear to feeling you up for a good shot and that just doesn’t sit right with him, but he never apologizes. He can’t find it in him to embarrass himself further, figuring that by getting his ass kicked at pool was already punishment enough.

But, it doesn’t help that he always finds himself in situations that end up with him closer than he intended—he can’t tell if you’re being intentional about it anymore, but tonight, it’s all you.

“Damn, who dragged you out of the house?” You ask, a huff of a laugh muffled by the glass that tips to his lips, your fingers drumming silently against the bar as you asked for a beer, smiling at a familiar face. “Wait, let me guess—Ellie?”

Joel shakes his head honestly.

“Shit—Tommy?”

“No.”

“Maria forced Tommy to force you to show up?” Joel actually has a laugh at that, the idea not that far-fetched, but it’s another wrong answer.

“Joel Miller—“ Your finger wags in his face, landing on the center of his chest as you sip from your own drink with your opposite hand, “did you actually wander out of your house on your own free will?”

Guilty as charged. Joel would never make decisions like this, but he knew you would be there—and goddamnit, he couldn’t help it. He’s dressed incredibly suave too, a clean, slick dress shirt that works well on him, a nice change from his usual thick coats and plaid button ups.

“Hey, brother,” Tommy claps a hand down on Joel’s shoulder warmly, flashing you his trademark grin, teeth and all, “ma’am.”

You grimace at the word, “God, Tommy—you gotta stop calling me that.”

“Sorry, habit.” He chuckles before glancing over at Joel briefly, eyes connecting with yours in question, “So, what are we thinkin’—hell finally freeze over?”

“Seems that way.”

You play along, teasing Joel with no reluctance, enjoying the pinched look on his face as he downs the whiskey.

“Well, sorry Joel, but I came to steal her away for a dance,” He informs Joel, jabbing his thumb in your direction, “it is tradition, after all.”

Joel didn’t know that, of course. How could he?

Tommy always takes a minute or two to dance with you, one of his favorite songs being played by the band of townspeople—Maria doesn’t enjoy dancing as much either, spending most of her time mingling and helping out where it was needed, it’s an easy compromise.

It’s an upbeat song, something country that you can’t be bothered to memorize the words of, but it’s all big twists and twirls, dancing with little precision and more for pure enjoyment than anything else.

Joel tries not to stare, he does. But, it’s nearly impossible. It starts at your face, lingering as he savored that huge smile plastered across it, arm flying above your head as Tommy spun you, squealing in joy. Eventually it travels elsewhere, lower and lower, until Joel can’t help but keep his gaze stuck on the curve of your jeans, the way the denim cups your ass perfectly.

And it feels wrong, almost demeaning, but you don’t seem to have a care in the world, turning on your heels and to Joel suddenly, who’s already straightened up by then and shoving his glass away, poised to make his excuse to leave until you’re bounding toward him, hand outstretched as Tommy watches from the side, hands settled on his hips. He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

“Come on, Joel.” You try to persuade, using a grabby motion with your hands as you approach him closer, bordering on shoving yourself between the bar top and his legs, “Just one dance.”

“Darlin’ I don’t—“ His refusal is imminent, obvious in your eyes. But, you’ve got a trick up your sleeve that he’d never hear the end of if he denied you.

“My favor,” You play your cards, “I’m cashing’ in.”

You cock your head to the side, awaiting his answer with a pointed look, satisfied smile creeping onto your face as he sighs, letting you take his hand in reluctance as you pull him to your feet.

Joel’s at least thankful the tempo of the song is slower, but that leads to a minacious closeness he wasn’t prepared for, your delicate set of fingers resting over his shoulder, the other slack in his hand. He settles one against your waist, touching cautiously light and his other hand enveloping your own.

“This is a waste of a favor, you know.” Joel comments off-handedly, his eyes dragging toward the floor as he swayed to the gentleness of the music, dancing with an ease that still stuck with him, even after all these years.

“I don’t think so,” You shrug, “I get a dance, you’re no longer in debt to me, seems like a win win.”

Joel shakes his head with a fondness, eyes flicking up toward you briefly as he bows his head, his grip tightening ever so slightly as he seems to relax, realizing that the only eyes on him were you now, Tommy having gone off to search for Maria.

“All these other guys and you want to dance with the old man,” Joel starts, “how’d you come to that decision?”

“You’re never letting that go,” You roll your eyes half-heartedly, pulling him in closer on a whim, trading your current position for one where your arms rest of his shoulders, fingers interlocking behind his neck loosely, his own hands adjusting against your hip more casually, fingers dancing over the sliver of bare skin from where your shirt had started to rise, “can I tell you a secret, Joel?”

“It’s not a secret if you tell me,” He counters slyly, “besides, I’m terrible at keeping ‘em.”

And blame it on the lingering remnants of his second whiskey, but you can feel his fingers drag against your skin, finding home under the fabric of your shirt, his expression never changing—but it feels like a test, like he’s waiting for you to have a reaction. There’s not a word traded during the subtle interaction, ignoring his actions as you spoke.

“I’d choose you over any of those guys,” You say, a rawness that bleeds truth, Joel doesn’t have to second guess you, he sees it, “and Seth is way older than you and a prick, give yourself some fuckin’ credit, Joel.”

Joel settles quietly, shaking his head at your soft outburst. It shouldn’t surprise him, your shared devotion having grown over the past few weeks, small moments that made Joel second guess everything he’s taught himself to be.

Distant, hard, cold. But with you, it just wasn’t possible anymore. At least, not lately.

“And,” You sing, wiggling excitedly under his grip, “I may have saved your ass for patrol tomorrow.”

Joel looks at you expectantly, pulling you in closer when a quick pass of two rowdy kids has you stumbling forward.

You laugh at the sudden change in motion, hands slapping against his chest to keep you steady. He doesn’t try and move you away, which is surprising. But, you don’t try to move either, enjoying the slow guide of your chest against his as you sway to the music.

“Tommy’s takin’ coverage with Eugene,” You tell him, “I know how much you hate patrolling with him.”

Joel huffs out a laugh, “I don’t hate him, he’s just—“

“Talkative? A little too cheery for you?” You ask, leaning your head back an inch to examine his face fully, “Damn, I guess I’m not much of an improvement, either.”

“Now, I didn’t say that.” Joel responds defensively, though his face is still relaxed.

“Then?” You tease.

“Let me ask you,” Joel switches things around, “You’d rather patrol with Tommy over me?”

You shrug before thinking about it for a moment, actually thinking—and no, you wouldn’t. “No, guess not.”

“Why?” He questions, putting you on the spot.

“You’re prettier to look at,” You say with a nonchalance, “and Tommy really likes to reminisce, like…a lot.”

Joel snorts a quiet laugh at that.

“So, you see my issue with Eugene then.” Joel brings the conversation to a head, watching as a smirk appears on your face, realizing his mistake in real time.

“Hold on— that’s why you enjoy our patrols so much?” You turn your head into your shoulder to hide your laugh, quickly gathering yourself to tease him further, “Because, I’m prettier to look at and I keep my mouth shut?”

Joel shakes his head in amusement, ignoring your question. “You do realize where we’re going tomorrow, don’t you?”

“Of course, we’re stationed out at the dam.” You respond casually, “It’s not that bad, Joel.”

It’s the one place you and Joel haven’t had the opportunity to patrol together, always paired up with someone else—it’s a cramped spot, loud, and uncomfortably cold at this time of year no matter how many fires you set. Plus, it’s a lot of leg work to check the dam, making sure it’s still in good working condition. It’s what powered Jackson, without it, you wouldn’t be dancing with Joel right now, let alone even allowed the luxury of having a weekend to unwind and enjoy the party.

Joel looks hesitant.

“What?” You pry, “Don’t like the idea of being stuck in a tiny room with me for that long, one bed, nowhere to sulk off into a corner?”

If anyone else had approached him like this, it would’ve ended in a broken jaw—his own internalized anger getting the best of him. But, it’s you. And he knows you’re right.

You squeeze in closer, leaving barely any room between you now that the center of the hall was filled with other dancing bodies, shifting Joel’s hands down over your ass, the tips of his fingers adjusting over the curve and leaving little to imagination as he can feel every ridge and curve of your body, his solid chest against your own.

Your heart clenches at the idea that he might pull away, something akin to a bad sting and finally give up on his attempt at being sociable—he doesn’t move an inch.

Doesn’t say a word.

In fact, his gaze is even more intense now than it was before, edged with a look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before.

“I’ll sulk wherever I feel like it.” Joel retorts, falling into his usual scowl. “It’s probably about time we turn in for the night, don’t you think?”

You blink slowly, gaze never faltering. There’s a darkness behind his eyes, something still undiscovered. You nod blanky, but secretly acquiesce what he’s about to say.

“Long day tomorrow,” You agree, the shift in the air evident to the both of you, an innocent attempt at pulling some enjoyment out of Joel devolving into something dangerous and uncharted, “I’ll see you bright and early, yeah?”

“I’ll walk you back,” Joel insists, “maybe my sulkin’ will scare those boys who’ve been eyeing you all night.”

“I can handle myself, Joel.” He knows it—doesn’t make his offer any less tempting, though. He was a protector, you liked being protected. It was a devious offer that would find you in trouble soon, but you relent, accepting his help. He doesn’t make the first move, leaving you to take that step.

Joel doesn’t realize how badly he’s craved to touch you until he was, the second he laid his hands on you it was over for him—and he hates himself for letting you in, letting you wear him down. Joel’s close behind as you turn, navigating your way through the crowd quietly.

“Never said you couldn’t, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

There’s a hammering in your chest that doesn’t calm the entire way back toward your house, a small street near the edge of the town, a few houses away from the one he shared with Ellie.

You clear your throat awkwardly, a thickness there that crept up on you, watching as Joel shoved his hands into his front pockets, leaning on his better leg, always favoring the left.

“I can ask Tommy to switch things back if you’re really bothered,” You remind him gently, wondering if that was why he seemed so bothered now, his face brooding and flat, “I won’t get my feelings hurt, I promise.”

But inside Joel’s head, his mind is filtering through a thousand bad decisions to make, every one of them involving you.

“No,” He tells you surely, “You’re doing me a favor—shit, so I guess that means you don’t owe me anymore, actually.”

You shrug slightly, “Keep it, this one’s free.”

Joel has an inclination that you wouldn’t do that for just anyone, watching your face morph into a tired smile.

“Careful,” He teases, “you’re goin’ soft on me.”

You snort softly, ignoring the still burning tingle that lingered on your skin long after Joel’s touch disappeared. It was the same ache you felt the first time he touched you, tackled you to the ground and kept you pinned under his grip. He hasn’t gotten much better, still jerking awake in most situations, but you’ve learned to keep your distance.

“Sorry,” You slip your hands into your back pockets, your thick jumper pulling tight over your chest, “didn’t realize that was a bad thing.”

Joel shakes his head slightly, still lingering on your doorstep despite himself. Old Joel would hightail it home, old Joel wouldn’t have even offered to walk you back to begin with—but, here he was.

“I should turn in.” You tell him, his subtle nod in response.

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea.” Joel agrees, “long day ahead of us.”

The clipped responses are feeding a tension you don’t realize until you’re both still standing there, unmoving, swaying with the gentle breeze and somehow feeling warm all over while still surrounded by the bitter cold.

And there’s a quick flash that invades your mind, even while stone cold sober, that has you twitching under his gaze. He sees it, clocks it with his eyes.

There’s no indication that he’s attempting to get a reaction out of you, just lingering in wait, waiting for you.

You never make a move to open your door or walk inside and that’s what he’s waiting for, to see you home safe. It’s the whole reason he walked you back, wasn’t it?

Joel says your name quietly, a beckon to bring your attention back to the surface, drowning in your own thoughts but your gaze never faltering, stuck on him.

“Somethin’ on your mind?” He asks.

It’s a question that has too many answers. And it’s a test too, wondering if you’ll slip up and speak on what you’re trying so hard to hold back.

Too much—is what you should say.

You—is what you want to say.

But instead, you act. That itching feeling overflowing and forcing you to make haste decisions, tired of hearing his voice in the back of your mind, how easily it drove you crazy. The endearing twang that echoed in your head all day long, even when he was miles away.

And you find that Joel is almost expecting it, his hand cupping your face gently, warming the skin as you press in to kiss him cautiously, top lip slotting over his bottom and relaxing, your opposite hand mirroring his own.

It feels too tender, like suddenly Joel is just as breakable as you—it’s terrifying. You pull away suddenly, coming to your senses, wide eyes staring him down. He looks calm.

You hate it.

It feels embarrassing.

He expected it, or at least anticipated it. You can see it on his face.

“Goodnight.” He tells you tenderly, sounding upset with himself but avoiding the choice to make things weird and you’re forever grateful.

You release a soft breath, nodding absently.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

You turn on your heels and enter your house, finally. Maybe it wasn’t too late to change Tommy’s mind.

It was.

Joel was already waiting by the gates by the time you arrived, food and supplies secured in your bag for the road, two rifles slung securely over his shoulders as he held the reins to the horses, both of them neighing impatiently.

“All good?” Joel asks, avoiding the obvious air of unspoken instances surrounding you two.

You nod confidently, taking the reins away silently.

“All set,” You assure him, guiding your foot through the saddle and mounting the horse, settling yourself as he followed suit, “you?”

Joel echoes your response.

You sigh internally, a deep annoyance settling into your bones. Annoyed with yourself, annoyed with Joel. Just annoyed, wholly and plainly.

Joel didn’t need to admit that he hadn’t gotten any sleep the night prior—he already had enough trouble sleeping on a normal night, but you in his head? That didn’t help.

And it flooded into the morning, still, Joel watching your body sway and rock slowly from the motion of the horse, head tucked away slightly to counter the breeze that prickled your cheeks.

When you finally make it to the dam he breaks the silence, slipping the reins from your hand and nodding toward the front entrance, “I’ll tie ‘em up if you want to settle and sign us in, you can get a fire going?”

He’s asking, not telling. You nod, hopping down carefully and unhooking your bag from the saddle.

“I’ll scream if I need help.” It’s a joke in poor taste.

Joel doesn’t take it too lightly, scowling in response.

“Sorry,” You apologize lamely, “bad joke.”

“Be careful,” Joel stresses, face softening, “keep your gun out until you’ve done a once over of the place.”

It feels like fate is fucking with you, most days. Dangling your life in front of its prey and savoring the outcome, because even with your gun poised carefully at your hip, knife tucked into the strap at your thigh, it doesn’t prepare you for what’s waiting on the other side of that door.

There’s a split second where you think you can talk things down, buy you some time so Joel could get here and settle their nerves, but they’re already on high alert, as are you, and there’s no time to think.

Plus, they don’t seem to be keen on listening.

“Grab her,” The burly man says, blunt weapon held tight in his grip as he goes for your arm, the other man forcing you to the ground with a harsh gasp escaping your chest as your back hits the concrete floor, “just gut her—fuckin’ do it.”

Your brain shuts off, realizing that your strength isn’t nearly matched with theirs, your shrill scream cutting through the commotion.

“Joel!” You tell, hoping he’ll hear, dodging the hand that comes your way to muffle your yells, barking out an even more broken, “Jooooel!”

Your gun is long gone, tossed away in a corner with your hand pinned under someone’s knees, eyes squeezed shut as you struggle for the knife around your thigh blindly. They didn’t have the wits or common sense to strip you properly before they were attacking you, the younger one hesitating at the other’s words.

“I thought you said we were just tyin’ her up.” He responds, sounding panicked.

You grab the knife successfully and pierce it through the young one’s gut with a sickening squish, a garbled groan ripping from his throat—and a rush of a shadow overhead as Joel wrested the other down, coming in from the door on the opposite side of the room, fists connecting with the attackers face with a sickening crunch.

The rage overtakes quickly, adrenaline flooding your body as you shove the man away, pulling the knife out to sink back in once, twice, until the blood fills his mouth and spills over, lifeless eyes staring back.

Your chest heaves with a breath, adjusted your clothes from where they had been pushed aside in the tackle, tossing your knife aside and putting enough distance between your body and the one who’s your killed, watching as Joel sunk the tip of his own knife through the throat of the larger man, draining the life from him in an instant.

Joel has a ferocity in his eyes when they land on you, tossing his knife to the side momentarily as he rises, towering over the body beneath him. He can't be angry with you—he can't.

“Grab your gun,” He tells you, ignoring how easily the rage would have overtaken his body in most situations, buring it away for the moment when he sees how badly you’re shaken up (it wasn't fear, not even close—more like rage), moving around rigidly to grab your gun off the floor, “knife too—then sit down.”

“But the—the bodies, Joel,” Joel can hear the uncertainty in your voice, shaking his head insistently, “we’ve gotta go back—tell Tommy, let them know.”

Joel shakes out his muscles, adjusting his thick leather jacket around his frame and steps over the dead body, moving to stand in front of you, touching you for the first time since last night. It’s not soft or gentle, more leading in an effort to get your attention and pull you out of your gaze, his fingers cupping your jaw, chin falling in the curve where his thumb and pointer finger connect.

You wonder how many times he's done this before—how he'd come to learn to calm people down through his intense eye contact and grounding voice. He could mask his emotions for the sake of others, even when they were threatening to boil over.

“I’ve got it, I’ll take care of this—” His eyes never left yours, eyebrows raising in question as he awaited your acknowledgment, a small nod coming from you, “go wash the blood off and come straight back, okay?”

You nod again, deftly, eyes empty and void of emotion.

“Hey,” Joel calls out, pulling your attention back, “I need you with me—you with me?”

“Yeah—yes,” You mumble weakly, ignoring how tenderly his thumb rubbed the junction of your jaw at the admittance, something you’re sure he wasn’t even aware he was doing, “I’m with you.”

“Go.” He instructs, releasing his hold on you.

His face morphs into resentment as you leave.

He should've stuck by your side. But, then he thinks back to the joke you made in passing and it fuels the anger more.

Joel’s taken care of the bodies by the time you returned, shrugging off his own jacket as he yanked the door closed, barricading it closed with the vacant table stuff in the corner of the room, letting his own paranoia get the better of him. It wasn’t a crime to be too safe, not anymore.

“If they’ve got a group they’ll come here looking for ‘em,” Joel tells you, “but somethin’ tells me we won’t have to worry about that.”

“So, no fire then?”

Joel shakes his head, nodding toward the few camping lateens left haphazardly on a desk, “We’ll use those tonight, better to be safe.”

He would have to explain this to Tommy when he saw him, put the town back on high alert for a while and go to sleep every night worrying that someone was going to snatch his family away again—snatch Ellie away, snatch you away. It was another problem, another stressor, but none of that was new to him.

“I’m gonna do a walkthrough,” He tells you, cocking his gun loudly, a little unnecessarily in your opinion, but his anger is still there, radiating off of him, “keep your gun out and shoot at anything you see that isn’t me.”

He doesn’t want you letting your guard down, which is why his apprehension to relax is valid. You nod quietly, sinking in on yourself as you take a seat on the old, torn up couch.

He’s gone for an hour or two, the sun nearly nonexistent outside now, lamps scattered around the room and bathing you in a low light, gun still clutched in your hand on your lap, safety off.

Joel knocks on the door shortly after, startling you to near death. You hated being jumpy like this, nothing to calm your nerves. You’d always prided yourself for being able to handle yourself in situations like that and you couldn’t explain why you froze—but deep down, you knew.

It was Joel. Worry for him when he wasn’t there, what threat might be awaiting him if they could get the jump so easily on you. You stumble to your feet and pull the door open, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the mattress in Joel’s grip.

“Tommy must’ve moved it last time—he doesn’t like sleepin’ when he’s on watch down here.”

You open the door wider, letting him inside and taking the opposite end to help with the weight, settling the mattress up against the edge of the couch and shifting the folded blankets down onto the surface, crouching down onto your knees with a soft sigh as you spread out the blankets.

You don’t realize Joel is watching you until you chance a glance up his way, wondering if this was the moment he’d let you have and berate you until he was blue in the face.

You’ve witnessed it once, with Jesse. He’d nearly risked Ellie’s life on a patrol that should’ve been easy—he still seems a little jumpy in Joel’s presence, rightfully so.

“Look at me,” Joel beckons, adding your name in a demand to grab your attention, “you with me?”

And it breaks you, what little patience you have left in your body.

“Yes, Joel. I am right fucking here.” You snip back at him, throwing the blankets down and standing to full height. You’re tired of his act, hidden behind his pathetic excuse of a kind guise, wanting him to say what he really felt. When he looked at you earlier, hovering over that man’s body, all you could see was contempt. He was upset with you—upset that you allowed yourself to be in danger, ignoring his lectures time and time again, that you weren’t mindful of your surroundings, upset with himself that he wasn’t there from the beginning.

Joel looks offended, like maybe you wounded his ego or something similar, his hand held up defensively.

“You’re the one over there shakin’ like a leaf,” Joel accuses, “I told you to keep your damn gun out, told you to be careful—don’t you try and take that anger out on me.”

“Jesus, Joel,” You cry out in desperation, “careful? Two against one and you’re telling me I wasn’t careful? Fuck you.”

You toss your gun and knife sheath aside for good measure, stripping out of your coat and extra winter layers, his hardened gaze stuck on you.

“I’ll take first watch.” You tell him flatly, reaching for the lantern on the table beside the door that led to the rest of the plant, a maze of halls and room. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

Joel knows that if he lets you leave, there is no repairing what little relationship you had—it would return to a tolerance rather than anything else. His hand wraps around your closed fist, forcing the latent back down as he moves to stand in front of you, head tilted your way.

“I’m sorry,” He apologizes, though it feels unsympathetic coming from him, and he’s blaming it on his tone, “okay?”

“It doesn’t matter, Joel.” You tell him adamantly. “You said it, it’s done. I’ll let Tommy know you don’t think I can handle myself anymore and you can keep running patrols without me. That’s what you want, right?”

Joel scoffs.

Say no, please say no.

“What are you getting at?” Joel challenges.

“The first time I make a mistake—one that almost kills me and all you can think to do is shift the blame on me? That somehow I’m responsible for not handling it myself?”

He shifts slightly, jaw clenching as he moves his outstretched hand to rest against the doorframe, blocking you from the exit.

“You never let me go alone,” You remind him, “why all the sudden today?”

Joel doesn’t answer. He knows why. He trusted you, trusted that you could handle it. Joel knows you’re not the one to blame, but he can’t battle with his internal guilt of putting you in that position, letting it come out in bursts of wrath.

You lean in slightly, his eyes mindful of your body language, shoving a finger into his chest roughly.

“Why isn’t it your fault, huh?” You ask, baiting a reaction out of him before you can’t stand the look on his face, mouth shut tight as he his eyes trace your movements, the soft brown irises now an encroaching darkness.

You scoff, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” It’s a snide comment that has you feeling a surge of confidence that you’ve finally rendered him speechless. “Don’t act like you haven’t been bothered being around me all day—if the kiss bothered you that much you should’ve just told Tommy to switch out. Now, move.”

Joel doesn’t budge.

Now your patience is wearing then, reaching to shove his forearm out of the way, but he’s as solid as steel and doesn’t take too lightly to your touch, gripping your wrist and pulling it back in a harsh grip, one that has your face grimacing in pain.

“Say that again.” Joel demands, his voice shaking you to your core, the sickeningly dark turn it’s taken.

You double down, “Move, Joel.” You say through clenched teeth, yanking your arm back to no avail.

You hadn’t realized how wound up you both were until now, the shared frustration and pique boiling over the edge.

You yank away again, forcing a quick change of position as Joel retaliates, shoving you against the table by the door, your legs buckling from the force of it as he towers over you.

“I apologized,” He glared at you through hooded eyes, chin tilting down slightly, “it’s your turn.”

You scoff softly, never making a move to push him away, his legs crowding between yours as they spread involuntarily, the only thing keeping you upright being the grip he had on your arm, leaving you hanging by a thread. If he let go, you’d surely collapse.

“Why don’t you tell me why you really switched patrols?” Joel suggests, tilting his head in interest. “Don’t lie to me—I’ll know.”

There was a side of you that couldn’t stand being around him, his proximity driving you crazy. But, there’s a bigger part that yearned to be around him, by his side—it was never like this at first, but you found yourself unable to escape him lately.

You want to blame him for letting you in, letting his guard down—but you can’t. It wasn’t just his fault. It wasn’t just yours.

You craved each other. Plain and simple.

“You tell me,” You counter, “I’m not the one keeping you from leaving.”

It snaps Joel—that feeling he’s been burying away all day. He’s nearly insatiable over it.

He trades his grip on your wrist for your face, too quick to counter before he’s gripping your chin again like earlier, but under completely different pretenses, your mouth lolling open at the force and pulling a soft grunt from your lips, eyes narrow in defiance.

“You are so goddamn stubborn,” He complains, eyes scanning over your face slowly, “—and you know exactly what you’re doing.”

You laugh bitterly, a choked gasp.

He's never touched you like this, but intensity is all too familiar.

His grip was tight, your mind flashing back to the first time he held you, though involuntarily. There was intention now, meaning—and you needed him to give in to it.

You blink once, slow, eyes staying shut for a moment longer than needed. There’s a soft sigh that leaves your nose, ghosts over Joel’s outstretched palm. When you open your eyes, there’s little left of the Joel you’ve become accustomed to.

“We’ve got all night, Joel.” His nostrils flare in warning, “Go on—do it.”

He won’t. Joel wouldn’t let himself. You’re waiting for the moment he lets you go, shuffles away and tucks himself into a corner for the rest of the night. But, it never comes.

Instead he’s surging forward, tilting your chin up roughly and forcing his lips against your own, nothing like the delicate kiss shared the night prior. There’s no gradual increase, no soft sighs and hesitant touches. He doesn’t want that and neither do you.

You open your mouth in an airy gasp of breath and Joel jumps on the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips, into your mouth, pressing against your own until you finally, finally return his touch. He feels the heat, the weight of your hand where it rests against the seam of his jeans, fingers resting over his belt and your knuckles pressing into the firmness of his stomach, his breathing steady despite his eagerness to ravish you. He greedily pulls your bottom lip between his own, sucking lewdly until his teeth drag against the skin, pulling back with untamed eyes.

You narrow your eyes with intrigue, mouth quipping up into a smirk at his final break of self control, allowing himself what he wanted. There was no turning back now.

He grips your hands, yanking you upright and forcing you to turn until your hip bones are hitting the blunt edge of the table, his movements haste but pointed, his palms rubbing over the soft curve of your hips, pressing underneath the material of your shirt and squeezing the skin.

“Joel—“ You sing softly, your tone mocking.

“Keep quiet,” He warns, pulling you back suddenly and against his front, the heaviness of his cock pressing into your backside, strained through his jeans and craving a selfish need for release—it’s been too long for him and he’s bursting at the seams, “don’t wanna hear your smartass remarks.”

And you can hear the restraint in his voice, drowning in his thoughts—he wanted to ravish and pull you apart, not thinking about how he would put you back together and make you whole again. You shift back against him, a greedy rut of your ass against the stiff denim and he’s grunting under the weight of it.

“Get ‘em down,” He instructs, yanking at your jeans briefly before his touch is gone, hands working swiftly at his own.

The rustle of his belt is deafening, metal clanging against something solid, the quick shuffle of his zipper and the shifting off fabric. You rise without hesitation, unbuttoning your jeans and wiggling them far enough down your hips until they hit your knees, underwear following roughly as Joel shoved them down impatiently, bunching your shirt higher up your back as he rubs his fingers over your cunt sleazily.

He’s waiting a beat, eyes examining you from behind and looking for any sign that you didn’t want this—it never comes. In fact, the subtle push back into his fingers is enough, two thick digits sinking inside slowly.

You gasp ruggedly, feeling the immediate difference in fullness to your own, the touch of someone else that you haven’t felt in so long. Joel is desperate, but so are you.

You turn your face to the side, cheek pressed against the hard surface, fingers gripping either side of the table and you let yourself melt into his touch, his fingers working you over steadily, his other hand squeezing at the soft globes of your ass, following the insistent and impatient wiggle of your hips as you seek more friction, more fullness until Joel can’t stand it anymore, palm coming down in a rough slap to your backside to still you, a warning.

“You treat all the ladies like this?”

He should’ve known you wouldn’t give yourself over this easy, his stifled chuckle coming from behind, low and dark, until he’s quickly switching back to menacing, his fingers increasing with speed and intensity, dragging a third finger along your center and pressing it in smoothly, forcing a lewd moan from your lips as you grip the edges of the table harder, willing to strain your neck for a look his way, a glimpse at his face to see how this was affecting him. You could only imagine, his groans stifled behind heavy puffs of air forced through his nose when you forced yourself back against his cock, inadvertently rubbing yourself against the length of his shaft.

“Fine, keep acting like you hate me.”

The loss of fingers is sudden, fingers fisting into your hair with a sudden fierceness as he pulls you upright, your hands grasping for purchase. He tilts your head back, allowing you the smallest glimpse of his face as he looks forward, talking to you but never allowing you the eye contact you desperately craved.

“You’re playing a dangerous game here, sweetheart.”

You shake your head in disbelief, lifting your hand up to wind into his own overgrown hair, curling wildly. You pull taut, reveling in the grunt that slips past his lips.

“You don’t scare me, Joel.”

He never could. You’ve seen all sides of him, the good and the bad—there was nowhere left for him to hide.

But, he should, he thinks. You should be terrified.

“I don’t remember sayin’ I wanted to hear your voice,” Joel reprimands, “can’t fuckin’ listen today, can you?”

He turns his head toward you slightly, catching the playful glint in your eyes, the type that was asking to be pushed. Begging for it.

“Depends,” You smile, releasing the rough grip on his hair to slide between your bodies, cupping his cock from where he’s tucked it over his briefs, also pushed haphazardly down his hips, “are you going to fuck me, Joel?”

His name shouldn’t sound like that, falling from your lips in such a circumstance, but it drags a rabidness out of him he’s never felt before.

“Say it again.” Joel demands—and you already know.

“Joel,” Your voice is sultry, dangerous, adding a squeeze of your hand to his length, thumb rubbing over the head of his cock, smoothing the slick of precum over the slit, “you started this, too afraid to finish it?”

Joel smirks at that, a smug expression crossing his face as releases the grip on your hair, shoving your hand away and gripping himself at the base, removing his fingers from inside you and replacing them with a slow press of his cock, watching your expression fall lax, mouth hung open in a silent release of pleasure.

“You underestimate me,” He shakes his head in amusement, his own brow furrowing at your snug hold on him, walls clenching around him involuntarily, “Now, why don’t we teach you a lesson?”

You nod numbly, gasping loudly at the sudden change in pace, body shifting to lean forward and Joel’s hands slotting against your body, one secured firmly on your hip, the other guiding you back with a steady pressure against your shoulder, immediately blanking your mind, whatever rude quip you had poised was failing you.

“So — goddamn — stubborn,” He echoes from earlier, punctuating each word with a snap of his hips, no restraint, divulging in the pleasure both of you have been seeking for a while, “don’t fuckin’ listen, always testin’ me.”

You release a soft cry, reaching an arm behind you to squeeze at his side, tightening with every sharp thrust, the head of his cock nudging something deep inside of you, the feeling coiling in your gut despite yourself. It’s a dull ache, mewling desperately when he forgoes his hold on your hip to keep your arm stuck, thick fingers wrapping around your wrist to hold you steady, eyes shifting to watch you sink onto him with an unrestrained eagerness.

“Nothin’ to say now?” Joel pesters you, thumb rubbing the tender spot at the base of your neck, the start of your spine between your shoulder blades—your silence lingers, at least in words, your pathetic noises keeping you busy.

He feels like he’s finally got the upper hand with you, he just never realized this was what it would take.

“Fuck—fuck, Joel.” You say through a stuttered sigh.

Joel grimaces from behind you, that longing feeling of release creeping on him, too long without it and he feels pathetic for it, but you—the sounds, the view.

Oh, the view. It’s your neediness for it that sucks him in, how eager your cunt is to take hold, the wet squelch growing louder, your slick soaking the base of his cock.

“Why’d you kiss me, huh?” Joel questions firmly, trying to draw the truth out in the heat of the moment, your movements growing desperate as you orgasm creeped in, blunt nails digging into his skin. He hissed, pulling you in tight, trading the hand on your shoulder for a squeeze to your chest, palm the mound of your breast through your shirt—still enough contact to drive you insane.

“Wanted to—wanted to see how you would react.” You admit, but there was also that selfish need. You kissed him because you wanted to—and you knew he did too.

Joel huffs in response, not fully believing you.

“Try again,” Joel assesses the way your body tenses when his hand shifts down, pressing over his fingers over your clit and driving you over the edge in an instant, your body arching into his touch as you come, a broken moan falling from your lips, “why?”

“Doesn’t matter—you kissed me back,” You argue tiredly, “You wanted it just as much as I did. Clearly.”

And in a way, it’s all the confession he needs.

Joel growls lowly, pulling out abruptly to grip himself, squeezing himself at the head to delay his orgasm until it fades, face scrunching up tightly in anguish.

“What—what are you doing?”

Joel is already tucking himself back into his pants by the time you turn around, his expression stiff and avoiding your gaze.

There it was again, the avoidance.

You don’t know why it bothers you so much, but it does.

“I’ll take the first watch,” He says, shuffling backwards slightly, “get dressed.”

You stare back blanky, at a loss for words.

“Did you hear me?” He asks bluntly, brow now permanently furrowed in frustration.

“But—you didn’t—“

The silence lingers, your head tilting in question. Your expression softens suddenly, pulling weakly at your jeans to secure them back over your hips.

“Get some sleep, we’ll head out early tomorrow.”

You still had to send a bigger team to scout the place thoroughly, a distant memory now.

You’re so fucking confused. A few minutes prior he was lost in the moment, though still wound up and tense—but it was the biggest break in demeanor he’s ever given you, the most he’s allowed himself to touch you, be close to you.

Joel didn’t want to admit it, but he didn’t deserve it. He was trying to convince himself it was a mistake, that this was a fluke.

He clears his throat awkwardly, hesitating for a brief moment as his hand hovers over the doorknob before he’s leaving you alone. Again.

Joel handles himself later that night, long after you’ve gone asleep, a permanent frown on your face when he peeks his head in before he’s traveling down the hall to a separate room, cupping himself in his palm eagerly, groaning out your name as he comes.

Somehow, it makes him feel even worse.

The week that follows is tumultuous.

Tommy swears you and Joel off of patrol for a while, tells you that as soon as he has you two alone, gathering the full story of the attack, but somehow—Joel always weasels his way out.

He’s gone most of the daylight, leaving you to fill your days around Jackson, helping wherever it was needed. And when it wasn’t, you were stuck inside your home, watching the snow melt from the ground, only to be covered with a new blanket of it the next day.

Joel always comes home late, heavy feet scuffling down the sidewalk after dark and entering his house, Ellie having already turned in for the night. His bedroom light comes on a few minutes later and it never shuts off, his shadow crossing the window every now and then.

He can’t sleep, but neither can you.

At first you blamed it on the bodies—but none of that was new to you. You’ve killed before, animals, infected, raiders, even a few bystanders in a situation long ago, nothing they’ve done to end up the way they did.

You followed a bad group for too long, but eventually you found Jackson—things were different here. Joel’s told you about the horrible things he’s done to survive, assures you it wasn’t anything you could blame yourself for.

This world made people rabid. It made people afraid.

There were people, much like Joel, that used to terrify you. But this Joel, he was lost and worn down, weathered by the world and by age. He’s afraid to let himself indulge, enjoy—you saw it that night, his hesitancy to look at you afterwards.

And that ache that lingered for a few days, it made you realize that you were missing something you couldn’t have. It was clear on Joel’s face that he’d made a mistake. With you.

Joel looks bitter the week that follows, you having convinced Tommy to let you back out, assuring him that nothing was wrong. He’s hesitant, rightfully so, but you’re too convincing.

You even offer to run patrol with him, or Jesse—literally anyone but Joel, who seemed obviously disgruntled by your presence that morning.

Tommy clocks it immediately, swiping a finger between you both, “You know what—I’m sending you two out together.” It’s dreadful. “Take the lodge again,” and Tommy waits for everyone to part ways, except for Joel and you, before he’s eyeing you both down, “work out whatever argument you both have going—or you’re both coming off patrols until I feel like putting you back on.”

Joel grumbles at that, adjusting the thick gloves over his hand and shaking his head with a look down. Tommy seems slightly apologetic when you lock eyes, but it’s necessary. You were too scared to admit it to yourself, but it’s exactly what you needed.

You can’t be bothered to stay still, wandering around the lodge aimlessly, picking up some scattered trash, sifting through the small library that had accumulated over time, worn and slightly rained over books, the pages stiff and discolored.

Joel’s cheeks are still tinged pink from his last watch, arms crossed over his stomach as he glares at the small fire burning in the fire pit, crackling softly in the silence.

He’s being insistently stubborn, somehow managing to avoid any exchange of words in the past eight hours, not giving you his usual orders, whether delivered in a clipped tone or a kind one—it’s just nothing.

And considering how talkative he was last time you ran patrol with him, you found it to be bullshit.

You grab a random book, large and bulky and make your way toward him—he sees you coming but he ignores it, the book hitting solid against his chest as you force it there, making a snide comment to rattle him.

“To entertain yourself, since you’re so miserable,” Your eyes drag over his face, his eyes lilting up your way, the fire melting them into a warm, honey brown, “and you won’t even have to worry about finishing.”

He grabs your wrist suddenly, thinking that he might pull you toward him, but he tosses it away, throwing the book to the side too. You sigh through your nose, frustrated.

“What’s it gonna take, Joel?”

There’s an ire of defeat in your voice, a willingness to do just about anything to put this to rest.

“Do I need to leave Jackson, is that it?”

That gets his attention, his gaze narrowing fiercely.

“Don’t say that shit,” He bites, “you got a death wish or something?”

“Well, you clearly don’t want me around, so who cares?”

Joel bites at the inside of his cheek—he didn’t agree with that.

“Give me something, Joel. Anything.” You plead, hand accidentally brushing his thigh as you fall into the spot beside him, imitating the closeness he craved but couldn’t bring himself to ask for, not again.

He tenses under your touch, fist curling at his side, noticing how you pointedly keep your grip there.

“Sweetheart.” It’s a warning.

But, it’s the biggest sign he’s given you. There was still a fondness there, lingering behind wall after wall that he’s built up.

He doesn’t move your hand either, your fingers dragging up the inside of his thigh, along the seam and stopping where his jeans creased at his groin, palm settling over the curve of his thigh.

“So, do we work things out or not?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper, talking like you might scare him away.

And, yeah—Joel wasn’t big on hashing things out, confessing his thoughts or emotions and conveying them into words, that was never a surprise to you. But, you needed equal ground.

You weren’t looking for a confession or some dramatic change in pace with your relationship—whatever you could classify it as. A partnership, maybe?

You need something mutually beneficial, something that was give and take on both ends.

You squeeze at the junction of his thigh, taut muscle giving way as Joel shows little signs of being affected. His eyes follow though, acutely aware of your intention.

This was you returning the favor.

This was you cornering him, like he had you—if he didn’t want it he would’ve pushed you away ages ago, but he does want it. He needs it.

His jaw flexes under the weight of your grip, watching you move slowly to sink to the ground, thankful that this floor wasn’t nearly as dirty as most places. Joel shifts slightly to accommodate you, thighs spreading open to box you in, hands coming to rest down at his side, flat against the cushion.

You push at his coat lightly, forcing it away from his chest until he gets the idea, stripping himself the rest of the way, his unbuttoned flannel falling open.

You work quietly, eyes flicking up toward him occasionally to check in, make sure he was still with you. He’s mesmerized now, despite himself. Locked in.

He doesn’t stop your hands when they reach for the zipper of his jeans, unbuttoning and loosening them in one fluid motion, tugging at his jeans until, again, he catches on, forcing them down just enough.

It’s surprising how in tune he is with you despite how hard he tried to keep his distance, hoping that one big mistake would fade away—but frankly, it hadn’t left either of your minds since then.

“Touch yourself.” You command softly, an amused aspect to your voice.

Joel balks slightly, his bewilderment something to enjoy.

“What?” You ask innocently, “Is that too personal? Sorry–I should’ve considered that when I let you fuck me over a table.”

His nostrils flare in annoyance, but he listens. Thank god. He slips his fingers under the band of his underwear, palming himself lightly under the fabric, leaving you to lean back onto your heels, enjoying the lazy show he put on for you.

He had nothing to be ashamed of.

His fingers roll against the taut skin of his sack, drifting upwards over his shaft until he finally has the courage to shift his underwear to sit snug under his balls, watching your eyes drift from his cock to his face. Joel’s mouth parted briefly, rubbing his thumb over the head, glistening with a sheen of precum, your hands itching to touch him.

He knows it will lead to nothing but bad outcomes, but he’s indulging in it. Allowing it.

“Come here,” He’s using his free hand to beckon you forward, leaving his palm extending for you to lean into, resting your chin there gently, “open your mouth.”

You obliges, sweetening the deal by sticking your tongue out, earning a gruff laugh in response, softening your gaze on him. There were plenty of other ways to resolve things, but this was so much easier.

He slides the head over your tongue in a deft slap, slipping it past your lips slowly before he’s pulling back and repeating the process again, watching as you eagerly follow his movements until you’re bordering on impatience.

“Don’t think you have the upper hand here, sweetheart.” Joel says, eyebrow quirking up in amusement at your annoyed expression. “You want it?”

You tilt your head at him, eyes narrowing. “You want me to beg for it?”

Joel chuckles at the thought, shaking his head. “I didn’t pin you as the type.”

Cheeky Joel was something to admire, rolling your eyes and shoving his hands away, allowing yourself to take over fully and leaving him with nothing to do but watch, rolling your tongue around the head and through the slit, mouth enveloping the heady taste of him.

Joel was always good at keeping his composure, even now–but you were looking to break him down, nothing but a mumbling, begging mess of himself, even for a brief moment.

You take him in slowly, soft and parted lips pressing down the length of him, the heavy weight of his cock pressing against your tongue, cheeks, until he’s nudging the back of your throat and you swallow out of reflex.

His knuckles flex, turning white as he curls them inwards and digs into the cheap cushion, the stitching protesting under his grip.

There he is.

You make a small noise, a soft bubble of laughter out of pure enjoyment, pulling back with a showy drag of your tongue up his shaft until you’re sinking down again, burying your nose in the short, trimmed thatch of hair at the base of his cock, ignoring that telltale feeling to let up, breathing deep through your nose.

“Goddamnit,” He curses, the hand not gripping the cushion rising slightly before slamming back down in a fist, the material taking most of the blow, “you gotta ease up on me.”

He doesn’t add the please, but you can see it’s implied.

You smile sweetly when you pull away, a thin line of spit connecting your lips to the wet head of his cock, stroking him languidly to keep busy, running your thumb along the thick vein that traced along the underside.

“Don’t think so,” It’s sickening, tone laced in sugar and daring him—for what, you weren’t sure, “—more?”

Joel nods quickly, widening his stance as he sunk further into the couch, your hands bracing against his stomach as he filtered his fingers through your hair, framing it away from your face as you continued, driving him to near insanity with how easily you would take him down over and over again, stopping to tease your tongue over the head of his cock, realizing just how sensitive that part of him was.

He grunts on a particular rough pass, yanking your hair back and allowing a centimeter of reprice as your lips barely brush the aching tip, “You can stop, sweetheart. It’s alright.”

It feels like a punishment, not allowing himself to seek that relief—he sees it as a barrier, that by not allowing it, things won’t ever reach a point of no return. Not that this wasn’t already dangerous enough—it’s a ridiculous rule, but Joel follows it. He’d give you as much pleasure as you asked and then some, if that’s what you wanted.

And it clicks in your head slowly, his cock pulsing dully in your hands, begging for it.

No. He wasn’t doing that again.

“No,” You echo your thoughts, “Give me your hand.”

“Darlin’—“

“Joel, shut up.” You demand, gripping his open palm and replacing it with your own, “I want you to come in my mouth.”

Joel looks conflicted, eyebrow pinching in a mix of pleasure and regret, his mind blanking the moment you press a gentle kiss to the head, pressing your tongue flat again and moving his hand in tandem until he starts to give in, his breaths becoming shorter, more strangled.

“That’s it,” You mumble a praise through his haziness—he doesn’t know how to take it, the feeling so foreign to him, “take control, Joel.”

His eyes fall shut briefly, forcing focused breaths through his nose as his free hand grips your face, keeping you still as he strokes himself roughly, that last string of self control breaking under your gaze when he tilts his head down to look at you, soft gaze staring back at him and he’s coming over your tongue and into your mouth with a warm rush, the taste of him overwhelming your senses as he squeezes up to the tip, milking every last bit of himself into your mouth before he’s pulling away and gently guiding your mouth closed.

“Shit—“ He groans quietly, cupping himself tenderly as he pulls away, watching you swallow and tracing a trace of him at the corner of your lip back into your mouth with your thumb, staring him down intently, “you’re fuckin’ greedy, you know that?”

You shrug proudly, rising to your feet slowly, the ache from sitting crouched so long singing a protest from your joints.

“Add it to the list,” You snark at him, taking a casual seat beside him as he tucks himself away, your hands working carefully to roll up your jacket and tuck it under your head as you recline, laying down on your side, “right?”

Joel scoots away to accommodate you, looking perplexed at how quickly you’ve changed your demeanor, yawning until your eyes squeeze shut.

“Stop staring and get some sleep, Joel.” You gripe, reaching blindly to ball his coat up and toss it at his chest, “Problem solved, we’re even now.”

Joel puffs through his lips, ignoring that lingering feeling as you very quickly forced the distance between him and you—a payback to his own previous actions. It hurts, stings, and now he realizes what that meant and why that frown never left your face before, not even on the ride home or long thereafter.

He’s fucked.

To say things escalate is an understatement.

The two of you never actually talk, avoiding all aspects of emotional vulnerability in turn for your usual interactions—small conversations, jokes, driving each other up the wall with the constant close proximity due to your assigned jobs. But, now there’s more.

There's the Joel that wants and takes, stops holding back his desires and gives you just about every possible orgasm from then on. This Joel is insatiable if he allows himself to be. He’s downright filthy and terrifying when it mattered and he found that the more you seemed to give yourself over, the easier it was for him to stop worrying so much.

And he seems lighter nowadays, happier—though, it was still Joel. There was only so much to enjoy, his smiles few and far between. However, that smirk, laced in a smugness he carried with himself when he was alone with you—it had become a regular sight to see and something you craved when you’d finally get him alone.

It never starts off slow. Joel’s always itching by the time rotation leads you his way. You two keep it close to your chest like a secret–saving times like this strictly for patrols.

Joel doesn’t even wait sometimes, cornering you the moment the horses are tied up, bags set aside, crowding up behind you as he wrangles your jeans down, along with his, and presses himself inside you with a deep grunt, pressing you up against whatever hard surface was near–it didn’t matter, the ferocity of his thrusts clouding your mind.

It’s punishment for how well you tease him on the rides there, thighs spread wide over the saddle and always riding just a few inches ahead, leaning forward enough that you can stick out your ass, Joel’s eyes drawing toward you immediately.

It was easy.

“You like messin’ with me, don’t you?” He chastises, palming at the inside of your thigh in desperation, pulling you wider and wider for him until it aches and you have nothing to do but take it. “Fuckin’ with my head?”

You laugh breathily, head thrown back against his shoulder as you moan wantonly, thick fingers bearing down on your throat, keeping you tight against him. “It’s not my fault–fault you can’t control it.” You reply innocently, stumbling over your words when his fingers press against your core.

And it’s often like this. Fast, hurried, no care or soft, caressing touches involved. It’s simpler that way.

But, eventually, Joel breaks down–little by little.

A week or two passes by and Joel seems desperate.

“What did I just say?” He seethed, voice laced with annoyance, “Keep your eyes open.”

He’s right there, his hand, his fingers, buried deep inside your cunt. Joel’s on edge again, having ordered you to strip down naked while he remained completely clothed, the cold air prickling your skin like this, the lingering days of Winter coming to a close. It’s dark here, wet and mucky, the only barrier between you and the floor is an old blanket that Joel had stowed away in his saddle. He spent the last two weeks dealing with a copious amount of shit–killing more infected than they’re used to, dealing with mundane problems around Jackson that shouldn’t be his problems, but in being Tommy’s brother, he took a piece of the burden off of him.

You gasp sharply, feeling the force of Joel’s grip as he orders your eyes open, an impossible feat in the moment with how easily he’s able to bring you near the edge with just his fingers–something he found out fairly quickly.

“Joel–Joel, please,” You beg–it’s new for you, something you don’t do often, “let me–fuck–”

“Hmm, sweetheart?” Joel questions, igniting a fire in your belly that won’t go out. He likes you this way, clawing at him, nearly on the brink of tears over how bad you need him. “Spit it out.”

You’re hastily shoving him away, brow pinched in determination as you shove him down, working desperately at his buckle, his pants, working them down with little care or finesse, gripping the length of him and sinking down in one quick movement.

It punches a moan out of Joel’s chest that you’re not used to, his head slamming pack against his bag, the makeshift pillow he’s got stuffed behind his head as he grips your hips tight, eyes locked on the center where you’re both connected, grunting with the hurried bounce of your hips, losing what little patience you had left as you chase your orgasm, shoving his shirt up his chest to feel him–all soft, tanned skin under your fingertips as you brace yourself against him, using the surface for leverage.

He can’t stand to watch you this way, tits jostling with every hurried thrust, blunt nails clawing at his abdomen, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, again. He likes you facing away because he can hide his own inflections, how well you drive him wild–you’ve never cared, especially not now.

Joel grunts raggedly, forcing out a hoarse whisper, “You’re fuckin’ killing me here.”

A soft laugh bubbles in your chest, head lolling forward and eyes opening to look at him.

“Mmm, eyes on me, Joel.” You beckon, his slow gaze trailing upwards, nodding in response to his wrecked state, hair sticking up wildly, teeth grazing his bottom lip gently. “God–it feels so good, doesn’t it?

Joel nods absently, his hands slipping from your hips to cup your ass, squeezing the flesh in his hands, aware of how your touch burns a trail up toward his face, coaxing his bottom lip to freedom, grazing your thumb over the soft tissue, soothing the ache.

You ignore how easily he takes the pad of it over his tongue and lets you press the digit beyond his lips, how willing he’s being to let you take what you want.

He pulls out before he comes, spilling into his hand to contain the mess, leaving you enraptured with his expression as his face pulls up in anguish, the same expression he has when he’s bothered or annoyed but edged with something more, his breath catching.

He rolls you back over soon after, replacing his hand with his mouth, hot tongue lapping into your folds and tasting, savoring, the mix of you two tangled together and he devours until you come, hand yanking hard at his hair.

April comes quickly—it means longer patrols, more problems out in the field with the infected less dormant, and Jackson coming alive more often at night, everyone enjoying the weather after a bitter winter.

You find yourself at Tommy’s doorstep one night.

Maria had been planning this dinner for a few weeks, something special for Tommy’s birthday, and somehow you got roped into going.

It was Ellie.

Joel was the least bit surprised when you showed up at the front door that night, dressed up nicer than he’s had the privilege to witness. You’re smiling, a flowy dress cutting off mid-thigh, forgoing the usual sweater with the air warming up, leaving your shoulders bare.

Joel nods in greeting when Ellie peeks around his shoulder, beaming at the sight out of you.

“Thank god,” She groans, “Those two are insufferable together,” Tommy and Joel, “—they’ve been arm wrestling each other in the backyard for the last hour.”

Your eyebrows raise, looking over at Joel. He’s got the hint of a smile on his face, looking down at Ellie before he’s shoving her away with a palm to the crown of her head, his arm flexing under the fitted cotton shirt he wore, muscle on full display.

It’s easy to forget how strong Joel is under all those layers, but it’s even more apparent now with how often you find him stripped down underneath you, behind you, watching him become more and more comfortable around you as the weeks pass, finally giving in to whatever it was that you two were indulging in.

It was mostly sex—a means for release and often a cure for boredom and neither of you minded it much, but there was something lingering in the shadows.

You were good at ignoring it, apparently so was Joel.

He leads you to the backyard with a silence you’ve become accustomed to, and spends most of the dinner laughing at Ellie’s terrible and poorly timed jokes. It’s such a sight, seeing how effortlessly Ellie can break that man down, and you realize just how deeply he cared for her, even if she wasn’t his daughter.

He glances at you frequently, a silent check-in.

You were fine—a little tired, maybe?

You excuse yourself to the bathroom with a flick of your hair behind your ear and a whine in protest from your chair as it scrapes the floor, leaving the rest of the party in the backyard while you traverse inside.

It isn’t long before there’s a knock behind the closed door and that unsettling creak, only to be met face to face with Joel. He looks relaxed, placated, his face falling into a natural smirk.

And based on the drink in his hand, slightly inebriated.

“Lost?” You tease, fixing yourself idly in the mirror, watching as Joel crossed the threshold and nudged the door close behind him. “Joel–”

“Don’t worry, darlin’.” Joel soothes, “Tommy thinks I’m using the one upstairs, everyone’s outside.”

You don’t need him to explain to know what he’s implying. But, for him to want you here–now? That was different. You hate how it made your heart skip, realizing how willing he was to risk this bond of secrecy because he just couldn’t get you out of his head.

His glass slides against the countertop, the soft scuff of his boots grazing the floor as he moves in behind you, causing you to pull away slightly as he raises a hand, brushing your strap down your shoulder and mouthing the skin there, “You’re drunk.” You muse, earning a subtle shake of his head.

“Not at all,” Joel denies, “can’t be in a good mood?”

You sigh at his touch, opposite hand grazing under your dress and over the skin of your stomach, pinky finger grazing the hem of your underwear.

“When are you ever?”

Joel ignores your snark, “Don’t act like you don’t want it, sweetheart.”

He can feel the heat radiating off your body, the wetness that coats his finger as he dips it under the fabric and down the center of your cunt, “Joel,” You stress, “there’s people outside, we can’t.”

“Don’t worry about that,” He says softly, “Ellie’s gone home, Tommy and Maria are busy with a neighbor–if you want me to stop, tell me. You don’t need to make excuses.”

Your silence is all the answer he needs.

“Been needin’ this all day,” He admits, cupping your mound roughly, shifting to press the hard line of his chest against your back, pulling you taut, his idle fingers playing with the soft material of your dress, “This is cute–it’s a nice dress.”

You roll your eyes, though fondly. He can’t see it, face buried into your neck as he mouths along the skin, slipping the straps of your dress down until your tits spring free, nipples pebbling under the cool air.

“Are we talking or fucking?” You ask impatiently, pointedly rubbing your ass back against his body, earning a dark chuckle in response.

“I never said anything about fucking,” Joel points out smugly, “but since you’re askin.”

It’s the impatiences that brings you to take matters into your own hands, sliding your dress up high enough that Joel can yank your underwear down, undoing his pants with one hand and freeing himself hastily, sliding into you roughly, forcing a strained gasp from your throat.

Joel shushes you, covering your mouth with his hand.

“Careful, these walls ain’t soundproof.” He warns, his forceful thrusts plunging you forward, eyes dragging toward the mirror image of you and him, a sight to see as he smirks from behind, admiring you openly. “Look at you.”

He grin’s devilishly, your senses overwhelmed, showing through your eyes as you squeezed them shut, only to be forced back open by Joel’s coaxing voice.

He clicks his tongue in warning, breath hot against your ear. “Open those eyes, sweetheart. Need you to see how good you’re takin’ my cock,” You whine into his hand, his brutal thrust driving you further into the countertop, ignoring the pain that spreads, overtaken by the insatiable need to come, “and how pretty you look when you come.”

Pretty. He’s never used that word before. It sends a flutter through your chest, down to your core.

It’s more intense this way, the subtle pull in Joel’s face when he drives deeper, his own orgasm on the horizon. His teeth grit hard, small peaks of it as he bares his lips back in a growl, squeezing at the soft planes of your body that he could reach, driving you over the edge with little warning, not that you needed the help.

Seeing him this way was enough. God, was it enough.

“Fuck, fuck—“ He curses a symphony, holding himself back as he gripped at the base of his shaft and you jump at the opportunity, turning to him in a haze and sinking to your knees despite the cold floor beneath you, urging him with a silent plea as you open your mouth to him, nodding subtly.

That’s all it takes for him, a few quick strokes of his cock and he’s spilling into your mouth, head hung back at how intensely it hits him, the skin of his neck straining over the muscle, his mouth open in a soundless grunt.

Luckily, Joel is the one that takes care of the goodbyes. You wouldn’t be able to face Tommy or Maria after such an instance, adjusting yourself back to a semi-presentable state in the bathroom, with some of Joel’s help as he sets your dress back over your shoulders.

It shouldn’t feel endearing, not in this context. But, it does.

“Wait for me out front,” He tells you, buckling his pants, eyes connecting with yours briefly, squinting curiously, he reaches a hand forward and wiping a mix of spit and what you can only assume is his come, away from your mouth and onto his jeans, “—you had a little…”

You both laugh at the unspoken, rubbing a tired hand over your face as you nod, shoving him away playfully.

Things are vastly different when you’re facing him on your doorstep now, his lingering presence a hint at what he didn’t have the courage to ask.

“Stay for a while?” You suggest softly, nodding toward your front door.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” Joel agrees.

You never realize how much Joel likes to talk about music until he’s finally found himself relaxed, your body reclined into his open, outstretched legs as he adjusts himself sideways. It doesn’t feel intimate, no—but it feels different. Joel rests a hand over your shoulder, massaging the tight muscle with a steady grip. His voice is nice, soothing.

You fall asleep like this, but Joel is already gone by morning.

By June, things are confusing. Good, but…confusing.

Joel and you have a routine by now—off days were usually spent at your house, occasionally Joel’s (but rarely) and only when Ellie wasn’t around, the days that were spent patrolling were fairly normal, aside from the insistent touching you both allowed yourself now, always leading to something neither of you could be bothered to stop.

Joel’s vocal about things now—what he likes, what he wants, but he’s also holding back. You can see it when things get a little too intense, hands grabbing at clothes, pulling each other in with a rabidness that neither of you could calm.

He doesn’t kiss you, not really. He likes to nip and bite and leave bruises where only he can see them, but he won’t allow his eyes to linger on your face for too long, your lips, too afraid things might be misconstrued.

Not that it mattered, Joel was already fucked beyond repair. He’s only ever felt this intensely once, before—his relationship with Sarah’s mom was a fling that turned into something more, but ultimately fizzled, crashed and burned. It gave him Sarah, but he never understood what heartbreak was until then, young and naive and wanting to make things work.

Clearly, they never did.

He feels that with you, though he’s smarter now. He can be cold and distant when he feels that pull in his chest, push away just enough that you won’t pry. But, you’re smart—you’re stubborn, so goddamn stubborn.

And he knows eventually, things are going to implode.

He just didn’t expect it to happen like this.

You were starting to hate the lodge, finding yourself lingering to the connecting shops down the road—a guitar store that Joel and Tommy picked through often, a small coffee shop further down the way that didn’t have much left for picking, but it helped when you felt cooped up, a nice change of scenery.

But even then, the lodge wasn't a luxury to patrol anymore. Summer is practically unbearable most days there, the building always too warm, too stuffy.

Joel had other ideas this time around, stripping you down slowly by the couch nestled against the large window that overlooked the rest of the small town surrounding it.

It was quiet here.

Joel presses you into the soft velvet cushion, his own body stripped bare, a combat to the heat, he says.

You didn’t mind. In fact, it was everything you wanted.

He’s never allowed such contact, all of you against him, the slow push of his hips inside of you has you gasping softly, fingers gripping his biceps. His place is slow, dreadful, and you both are already sweating, skin sticky and damp.

Joel doesn’t seem to mind.

He seems needier today, more willing to let the sounds slip from his mouth, his hands more curious, pulling your knee tight around his hip and gripping at the knee, head tilting up as he huffed through his nose, tense jaw, teeth clenched. He’s looking off distantly, not at you or your body, or anywhere in your vicinity really, but the torture on his face is all the same. He couldn’t hide it.

You moan softly, mumbling soft praises under your breath when he fucks into you hard enough it has you clawing at his chest, gripping tight at his shoulder, seeking whatever skin you could touch.

Eventually, your touch lingers near his face, palm spreading over his warm cheek, thumb running along the strong hook of his nose, forcing his attention down toward you. Your fingertips graze his lips gently, other hand mirror the action as you caress his face, his eyes closing under your touch.

The arm holding him upright nearly gives you, barely catching himself as his chest is pressed in tight against yours, changing the angle immensely.

That couldn't have been you’re doing—not a chance. But, you’re curious. You guide his face to your chest, his mouth sliding lazily against the skin as he pumps into you steadily. You meet his rough grunts with whispered praises, his breath becoming more frantic as time goes on until he’s finally chancing a look your way, eyes soft and pleading. He looks lost. You frown slightly, guiding his face toward yours and ghosting your own lips against his, never quite indulging, keeping the praises going with a soft whisper.

“God, you always fuck me so good,” You say in a breathy whisper against his lips, “so good, Joel.”

Joel squeezes you tighter, a sign of his impending orgasm. “Right there,” You sigh, “fuck—you feel that? Need this all the time, everyday.”

This. Him.

“Sweetheart—“ He warns, grunting into your open mouth, knees buckling as you slide your tongue against his teeth, grazing his top lip.

“Don’t—don't,” You panic, eyes connecting with him suddenly, “wanna feel you, all of you.”

It was something Joel could reflect on later, consider the consequences, because now was not that time—not with you looking at him so earnestly, pleading with him.

He slips a calculated hand between your joined bodies and has you both hanging over the edge in seconds, gasping into each other’s mouth in desperation as Joel does something completely selfish and unlike him.

He kisses you, no qualms or hesitation. It’s messy and wet but it’s him—his mouth soothes the ache as your orgasm overwhelms your body, his own chest rattling at the force, moaning pathetically against your mouth as he comes in hot, warm pulses inside of you, cunt clenching around him tight, like a glove.

Joel soon slumps against your body, all energy drained from him, your hands weaving through his hair gently, caressing the soft spot behind his ear.

He doesn’t complain, letting you hold him until his cock softens, pulling out of you with a disgruntled noise before he’s resting on the cushion beside you, back pressed tight against one side to make room for the both of you, tilting himself sideways and letting his fingers drift over your naked frame, indulging in every part of you.

“Should we talk about this?” You ask curiously, voice softened under his gaze, his fist pressed to his cheek.

There it was.

Joel looks down briefly, his touch stalling over the spot between your breasts, right over your heart.

“I’m not even sure what this is,” Joel admits, the most honest he’s ever been with anyone, “just that—I enjoy it.”

He's being honest, he's letting you in. Your heart soars.

Joel was tired of fighting it. He'd be ignorant to think you didn't see it just then or even before.

“I would classify it as fucking,” You joke lightly, “but that—that didn’t feel like fucking to me.”

Joel shakes his head, “No—it didn’t.” He agrees, grabbing for the blanket draped over the back of the couch, spreading it gently over your frame despite the heat, finger fingers grazing along the underside of your breasts, a teasing touch that has you giggling in response, his own laugh following.

It’s a beautiful sound.

“Or we don’t have to figure it out at all,” You suggest, realizing that trying to force something out of Joel was not the way to go, it never had been—he’d come to whatever conclusion he felt on his own, “that’s okay, too.”

“We can save it for another day,” Joel promises, his fingers tracing up toward your jaw, his palm resting to cup your cheek, a tender gesture that’s all new, “right now, I just wanna quiet that pretty little mouth of yours.”

He sees your eyes light up with intrigue, already tilting toward him eagerly.

“You want that?” He teases, earning an eager nod in response before he’s closing his mouth over yours again, kissing with a leisureliness he didn’t have before, “Answer me, sweetheart?”

“I’ll take whatever you give me, Joel.”

And it terrified Joel, because he’d give you anything.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

#joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfic #my writing

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iaeriy · 4 months

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Smut!!! Sub!pedri x dom!reader ??? Like Pedri just bring a bit insecure so the reader assure him that there's no one else in her life other than him? Please and thank you

prove it to me • pedri x reader

summary; as what anon requested! 🧁

word count; 2.6k!

warnings; spanish translated sentences obv, smut, unprotected sex,oral receiving;m!, dom!reader, cowgirl style & lastly, dirty talking.

a/n; NOT PROOFREAD its 10:48 pm i just started writing this the 4th of thursday and its.. now january 13th. YIKES. anywhoo..i needed to clear up some space so i deliver this pedri fic, ps. stop requesting fics, i mean it when my requests are closed 😒. anywhoo! enjoy!🎀

you were currently washing dishes since you decided to take a day off by yourself, you were just scrubbing the plate with the soap and the sponge letting the water run down the sink.. the house was quiet..very quiet the water echoed just a bit, you were so distracted and busy with the dishes you didn’t hear a single footstep around you. you felt pedris hands wrap around your waist, his hands caressing your tummy..a pink little cloud brushing your cheeks. you giggled before turning the water off leaning into his touch, “..te puedo ayudar hermoso..”(can i help you cutie..) you said as he chuckled kissing your temple softly. “mmm..no creo..” (mmm, no i don’t think so..) he said, you giggled before he carried you. you screamed before holding onto him. you were a giggling mess..a loud giggling mess.

“bájame!” (put me down!) you said giggling still before he shook his head before placing you down on the couch, he hovered over your tiny figure as you bursted out giggling yet again. “si me quieres?” (do you love me?) he said looking into your eyes, you cupped his cheek your thumb slightly caressing his cheek. “mhm..i love you a lot..” you said, his eyes narrowing down to you. “be serious with me y/n..” you looked at him, your eyes slightly widening. “i-i’m being honest..you’re the best boyfriend i could ever have..i love you will all my heart..i love every little thing about you..” you said as he tilted his head.

“promise?”

“i pinkie promise pedro..” you said as he smiled, you gave him a small smile before sitting up. “what’s wrong tho? nunca dices cosas así..” you said as he looked away, you huffed holding his hand. “pedro..dime o me voy pal cuarto..” you said before he looked at you, his eyes grew darker, you sensed he was upset..but why? you tilted your head, before placing his hand on your thigh as your hand was placed ontop playing with his fingers hoping he’ll slowly feel better. “tell me..” you murmured before he played with your finger in return, “pensando..” (thinking..) he said, you looked at him. “pensando de que bebè?” (thinking about what baby?” you said wondering so many thoughts. “de que no me quieres..ay un monton de chicos que probablemente son mejor que yo..” (about that you dont love me and theres a lot of guys who are probably better than me..) he said as you gulped, why would he be thinking this? just why?

“pedro..eso no es verdad.. ay chicos que son pendejos y tontos y no saben que hacer. yo te amo..eres perfecto,leal, lindo, cariñoso, solidario y mucho más.” (pedro that’s not true.. theres guys that are bitches and dumb, and they dont know what to do. i love you, you’re perfect, loyal, handsome, caring, supportive and much more..) you said before he tried to speak again, “pero-“ he said before you cut him off, kissing him deeply. he kissed back holding your waist, you slowly crawled on him before he laid his back against the sofa, you were on your fours above him kissing him deeply. “..just listen to me already..” you said in between before holding his cheek, kissing him yet again, he kissed back holding onto your waist his cheeks softly tinting pink at the way of your dominance arousing him.

you bit down on his lip as the action made him groan into your lips, you slipped your tongue inside playing with his tongue, a soft little giggle escaping your mouth before you felt his erection poking you..his tongue playing with yours before you smacked his hand. he winced before you french kissed him before he kissed back, his hand caressing your asscheek as you moaned in his mouth before pulling back, “let’s go. not here.” you said sitting up before he stood up as you got up, holding his finger like a little kid to the bedroom.

the second you got into the room you pulled him in by his shirt, you looked at him giggling before you pushed him on the bed, he looked at you before you pulled down your panties, a string of your wetness also coming down with your panties before kicking them off..you walked over to him as you hovered over him, “shall we see after this if i love you a lot?” you said giggling before booping his nose with your finger as he rolled his eyes, “gonna prove it to me?” he said crossing his arms behind his head against the pillows, eyes narrowing you down watching you pull his joggers down. “indeed i am, just for you.” you said before licking the erection that was clothed in his boxers, a wet patch building up before he looked down at you watching you become so brave.

you got up on the bed before sitting down on your knees as you pulled his boxers down, his cock springing out as it laid against his lower tummy. yout bit your lip, softly chewing on the skin stopping yourself from drooling..your hands grabbing his thick throbbing shaft before you began to stroke him with your small hand, he groaned at your touch already, his length slowly rising up against your palms as a small giggle ran out your lips. “so cute..” you murmured before spitting down, coating his cock with all your saliva stroking him slowly still. he was shocked. and amused at your actions, he never knew there was that particular side of you..until now. you hummed while pumping him before you heard a whiny sound scratch his throat, “what’s wrong baby?” you said tilting your head, your eyes growing darker with lust, staring at him. “n-nothing..p-put your..fuuck..put y-your mouth..around m-me..” he said, earning another giggle from you before smiling at him, you moved your mouth nearly an inch close to his cock before your lips wrapped around the blushing tip, he grunted feeling your mouth as you sucked around the top, just the top.

he moved one of his arms away from his head, his hand cupping your jaw. this earning a small whimper from your muffled mouth as pedri moaned feeling the vibration of your whimper. your tongue slowly doing the work by swirling your tongue in circles, sucking and slobbering around him, yet swallowing some of the pre-cum slowly oozing out of his tip that was spread in your tongue. he was amazed, felt in heaven. you continued your sinful movements before you looked up at him, shooting him a wink before officially burrying your mouth down nearly half his shaft, another moan leaving his lips as you bobbled your head slowly, sucking noises heard from across and echoing the room. your head burrying down his cock as his hands slowly formed a ponytail, he watched you suck down his length..your hand stroking him just a bit quickly before matching the pace to your head bobbing down his cock.

he groaned loudly at your pace, his hand slightly gripping the sheets, your eyes slowly watering at the burning sensation down your throat, not being as used to his cock. he twitched in your mouth before you giggled around him, he sat up before bending down to smack your ass, his cock hitting the back of your throat so deeply. you held your gag in around him bobbing your head faster and sloppily, saliva prickling down your chin and on the sides of your lips, “so good at sucking my cock..filthy girl..” he said spanking your ass, moaning in eager around him, your head pushing down deeper..your nose brushing against his trimmed pubic bone, he groaned loudly holding onto your head. “k-keep going..” he moaned out, your tongue swirling around his base.

you kept your eyes up at him, tears starting to form just from how deep he was burried in your throat before you pulled back up for air, you moved your mouth away coughing up the saliva before spitting down at him yet again..head making its way down to his cock before bobbing your head quickly again. he moaned again holding onto your hair, “fuck, fuck, fuck.” he said. your hand slowly fondling with his balls, another moan slipping out before spit began prickling down to his cock.

he gripped onto your head, pushing you down deeply. you whimpered around him, letting out a small loud gag he continued moaning at your mouth, your tongue doing its magic work causing him on edge. “p-pretty girl..s..s-so good..” he moaned out again, your hand stroking him quickly matcbing the pace of your bobbing.

his cock began twitching in your mouth, you looked up at him with your hollowed cheeks, his eyes narrowing down at you watching you take his length up and down..over and over.“o-oh fuuuckkkk..” he said, as your mouth made its way to the head, you sucked around the tip of his cock, he was twitching yet again in your mouth. your tongue starting to swirl around him in swift movements, he groaned loudly as his cum shot into your mouth and down your throat, you stroked him as he was relieving himself from his orgasm. small amounts of cum stroking into your mouth before you pulled your mouth away, a wet white string being pulled from your lips.

you sticked your tongue out, showing him his warm seed in your mouth before swallowing it down your throat.

you crawled over ontop of him, both of your knees straddling him down. “still semi-hard baby? how cute..” you said before stroking him again, an over sensitivity hitting him..a small whimper leaving his mouth before his length stood up, just like how you wanted it. you sunk yourself down, the tip of his cock slowly going inside of you..stretching you out slowly and delicously. a soft moan coning out of you before further on covering his cock in your wet creamy coating, your eyes rolling to the back of your head feeling him in your walls. you placed your hands on his chest before grinding your hips back and forth, “pepi..you’re cock feels so warm..” you moaned out as he slightly turned red from your moans, you leaned in closely to him.

leaning closely to him your hips were moving lazily and slowly around him, you leaned closely to his ear. moaning and whimpering softly into his ear, he was enjoying this..even after he led himself to this particular moment, you continued grinding your hips as he moaned feeling your warmth around his cock, you burried your head finding a type of rhythm to go along with him, your hips moving back and forth. you looked over at pedri who was slightly moaning & groaning at the feeling of your walls. you kissed his neck, softly pecking and biting on his skin, “holy shit..i can feel y-you..” he said before you sat back up, still moving around him. “reallyyy..like wheree..” you spoke teasingly, causing him to slightly moan before you giggled softly, you began increasing your hip movement.

a loud moan slightly slipping out of your mouth, your hands slowly backing farther away, holding onto his knee. he groaned watching your pussy take his cock in and out quickly, you continued before leaning your head back. a slow bounce happening, you began bouncing on him crying out a moan. you never honestly thought you would be hopping, you placed your hands back on his chest, your ass bouncing against his thighs. the bed creaks against the wall with the way of your bum bouncing against his bare thighs, “..everywhere..” he moaned out after he was moaning uncontrollably not being unable to answer your question. your thighs slowly burning at the sensation, your breathing heavy and smal pants coming out of your mouth. you looked down at him, watching his expressions everytime, you continued to hop everytime, your skin slapping against his thighs, your body already feeling hot as sweat began to form on you and on a bottom pedri..

“still thinkingg..or thinking about how deep you’re currently in me..”

you said giggling, pedri was distracted. he was enjoying the moment he led himself to, you tugged on your shirt before pulling it up to where your boobs were almost out, you pulled it over your head, knees and feet.. straddling and burried against pedris thighs. you took your top off throwing it across the room, his hands doing grabby hands as you giggled. “you’re gonna have to..fuck!..beg!” you said his free hand squeezing your ass, before you began bouncing quicker on him.

your eyes slightly rolling back, he sat up as the angle made you cry out loudly. his tip hitting your g-spot, stars forming in your vision. “t..touch me..” you said whining before he squished your boob, you leaned your head back holding onto his hand that was currently groping your boob. your hand slowly wrapping around his neck, “tell me. is there another guy now? or do i have to not let u cum?” you said tilting your head as your hair flicked to the side, “n-no..please!” he said, a giggle coming out of you, “..not the answer am looking for cariño..” you said, he winced feeling his cock twitch in you, your hips still bouncing on him, now twerking down on him. “i’m going to cum..” he said as your fingertip pressed down on his throat, “not until you give me my answer.” you said looking down at him, his eyes were heavy, his cheeks were pink, his lips plumped, his breathing was crazy and lastly.. his hair sticking against his sweaty forehead.

your other hand on his chest for leverage as you pushed yourself up, your hips moving mercilessly. “fuck y/n! keep going!” he said as you were moaning uncontrollably underneath. moan after moan coming out of you. he looked up at you that was currently distracted at your orgasm, he slightly thrusted his hips into you. a scream slipping out of your mouth, you wrapped your arms around his neck, your hips still moving with his thrusts. “y-you’re mine. the only b-boy in my life.” you whispered in his ear, the pleasure making your body warm. “mine. do you u-understand m-me?” you said scratching his back, feeling his tip hit your g spot again. “yes y/n!” he said before you felt yourself near the edge.

“o-oh my g-god! fuck!” you screamed before he shot his cum deep inside your pussy, as you came down from your high with a loud moan. pedri burrying his face into your boobs, you were breathing heavily holding onto the back of his head. “h-hey..” you said before he looked up at you, “feel better?” you said as he nodded his head, you giggled kissing his lips before he kissed back.

you stayed ontop of him letting his cum milk up your walls, before you cooled down from the sex, you slowly got off his lap laying down next to him and under the covers you went, his hand caressed your cheek as you smiled. “thank you..no sabia que ibas hacer estó..” (thank you..i didn’t know you were going to do this..) he said as you giggled, “well..magic.” you said before he kissed your cheek.

“so can we do it again?” he said as you looked at him, this boy never gets tired.

#football imagine #football x reader #football smut #football one shots #pedri imagine #pedri x reader #pedri smut #pedri one shots

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armoricaroyalty · 3 months

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Film Grammar for Simmers

What is film grammar?

"Film grammar" refers the unstated "rules" of editing used in movies and TV. Different types of shots have different associations and are used by editors to convey different types of information to the audience. Many of these principles were first described in the early 20th century by Soviet directors, but they're used consistently across genre, medium, and even language: Bollywood musicals, English period dramas, Korean horror movies, and American action blockbusters all use many of the same techniques.

Because these rules are so universal, virtually everyone has some internalized understanding of them. Even if they can’t name the different types of shots or explain how editors use images to construct meaning, the average person can tell when the “rules” are being broken. If you’ve ever thought a movie or episode of TV was confusing without being able to say why, there’s a good chance that there was something off with the editing.

Learning and applying the basics of film grammar can give your story a slicker and more-polished feel, without having to download shaders or spend hours in photoshop. It also has the bonus of enhancing readability by allowing your audience to use their knowledge of film and TV to understand what's happening in your story. You can use it to call attention to significant plot details and avoid introducing confusion through unclear visual language.

Best of all, it doesn't cost a dime.

The basics: types of shots

Shots are the basic building block of film. In Sims storytelling, a single shot is analogous to a single screenshot. In film, different types of shots are distinguished by the position of the camera relative to the subject. There are three big categories of shots, with some variation: long shots (LS), medium shots (MS), and close-ups (CU). This diagram, created by Daniel Chandler and hosted on visual-memory.co.uk illustrates the difference:

Source: The 'Grammar' of Television and Film, Daniel Chandler, visual-memory.co.uk. Link.

In film, scenes typically progress through the different types of shots in sequence: long shot, medium shot, close-up. When a new scene begins and the characters arrive in a new location, we typically begin with a wide establishing shot of the building’s exterior to show the audience where the scene will be taking place. Next comes a long shot of an interior space, which tells the where the characters are positioned relative to one another. The next shot is a medium shot of the characters conversing, and then finally, a close-up as the conversation reaches its emotional or informational climax. Insert shots are used judiciously throughout to establish themes or offer visual exposition.

Here's another visual guide to the different types of shots, illustrated with stills from Disney animated films.

This guide is almost 2,000 words long! To save your dash, I've put the meat of it under the cut.

Long shot and extreme long shots

A long shot (sometimes also called a wide shot) is one where the entire subject (usually a building, person, or group of people) is visible within the frame. The camera is positioned far away from the subject, prioritizing the details of the background over the details of the subject.

One of the most common uses of long shots and extreme long shots are establishing shots. An establishing shot is the first shot in a scene, and it sets the tone for the scene and is intended to give the viewer the information they’ll need to follow the scene: where a scene is taking place, who is in the scene, and where they are positioned in relation to one another. Without an establishing shot, a scene can feel ungrounded or “floaty.” Readers will have a harder time understanding what’s happening in the scene because on some level, they’ll be trying to puzzle out the answers to the who and where questions, distracting them from the most important questions: what is happening and why?

(I actually like to start my scenes with two establishing shots: an environmental shot focusing on the scenery, and then a second shot that establishes the characters and their position within the space.)

Long shots and extreme long shots have other uses, as well. Because the subject is small relative to their surroundings, they have an impersonal effect which can be used for comedy or tragedy.

In Fargo (1996) uses an extreme long shot to visually illustrate the main character’s sense of defeat after failing to secure funding for a business deal.The shot begins with a car in an empty parking lot, and then we see the protagonist make his way up from the bottom of the frame. He is alone in the shot, he is small, and the camera is positioned above him, looking down from a god-like perspective. All of these factors work together to convey his emotional state: he’s small, he’s alone, and in this moment, we are literally looking down on him. This shot effectively conveys how powerless he feels without any dialogue or even showing his face.

The same impersonal effect can also be used for comic purposes. If a character says something stupid or fails to impress other characters, cutting directly from a close-up to a long shot has a visual effect akin to chirping crickets. In this instance, a long shot serves as a visual “wait, what?” and invites the audience to laugh at the character rather than with them.

Medium Shots

Medium shots are “neutral” in filmmaking. Long shots and close-ups convey special meaning in their choice to focus on either the subject or the background, but a medium shot is balanced, giving equal focus to the character and their surroundings. In a medium shot, the character takes up 50% of the frame. They’re typically depicted from the waist-up and the audience can see both their face and hands, allowing the audience to see the character's facial expression and read their body-language, both important for interpreting meaning.

In most movies and TV shows, medium shots are the bread and butter of dialogue-heavy scenes, with close-ups, long shots, and inserts used for punctuation and emphasis. If you’re closely following the conventions of filmmaking, most of your dialogue scenes will be medium shots following the convention of shot-reverse shot:

youtube

To keep long conversations from feeling too visually monotonous, consider staging the scene as a walk-and-talk. Having two characters move through a space can add a lot of dynamism and visual interest to a scene that might otherwise feel boring or stiff.

Close Ups

Close-ups are close shots of a character’s face. The camera is positioned relatively near to the subject, showing just their head and shoulders. In a close-up, we don’t see any details of the background or the expressions of other characters.

In film, close-ups are used for emphasis. If a character is experiencing a strong emotion or delivering an important line of dialogue, a close-up underscores the importance of the moment by inviting the audience to focus only on the character and their emotion.

Close-ups don’t necessarily need to focus on the speaker. If the important thing about a line of dialogue is another character’s reaction to it, a close-up of the reaction is more effective than a close-up of the delivery.

One of the most iconic shots in Parasite (2019) is of the protagonist driving his employer around while she sits in the backseat, speaking on the phone. Even though she’s the one speaking, the details of her conversation matter less than the protagonist’s reaction to it. While she chatters obliviously in the background, we focus on the protagonist’s disgruntled, resentful response to her thoughtless words and behavior.

In my opinion, Simblr really overuses close-ups in dialogue. A lot of conversation scenes are framed entirely in close-ups, which has the same effect of highlighting an entire page in a textbook. The reader can’t actually tell what information is important, because the visuals are screaming that everything is important. Overusing close-ups also cuts the viewer off from the character’s body language and prevents them from learning anything about the character via their surroundings.

For example, a scene set in someone’s bedroom is a great opportunity for some subtle characterization—is it tidy or messy? what kind of decor have they chosen? do they have a gaming computer, a guitar, an overflowing bookshelf?—but if the author chooses to use only close-ups, we lose out on a chance to get to know the character via indirect means.

Inserts

An insert shot is when a shot of something other than a character’s face is inserted into a scene. Often, inserts are close-ups of a character’s hands or an object in the background. Insert shots can also be used to show us what a character is looking at or focusing on.

In rom-com The Prince & Me (2004) (see? I don’t just watch crime dramas…) the male lead is in an important meeting. We see him pick up a pen, look down at the papers in front of him, and apparently begin taking notes, but then we cut to an insert shot of his information packet. He’s doodling pictures of sports cars and is entirely disengaged from the conversation. Every other shot in the scene is an establishing shot or a medium shot or a close-up of someone speaking, but this insert gives us insight into the lead’s state of mind: he doesn’t want to be there and he isn’t paying attention.

Insert shots are, in my opinion, also used ineffectively on Simblr. A good insert gives us extra insight into what a character is thinking or focusing on, but a poorly-used insert feels…unfocused. A good insert might focus on pill bottles on a character’s desk to suggest a chemical dependency, on a family picture to suggest duty and loyalty, on a clock to suggest a time constraint, on a pile of dirty laundry or unanswered letters to suggest a character is struggling to keep up with their responsibilities. An ineffective insert shot might focus on the flowers in the background because they’re pretty, on a character’s hands because it seems artsy, on the place settings on a dining table because you spent forever placing each one individually and you’ll be damned if they don’t make it into the scene. These things might be lovely and they might break up a monotonous conversation and they might represent a lot of time and effort, but if they don’t contribute any meaning to a scene, consider cutting or repurposing them.

I want to emphasize: insert shots aren’t bad, but they should be carefully chosen to ensure they’re enhancing the meaning of the scene. Haphazard insert shots are distracting and can interfere with your reader’s ability to understand what is happening and why.

Putting it all together

One of the most basic principles of film theory is the Kuleshov effect, the idea that meaning in film comes from the interaction of two shots in sequence, and not from any single shot by itself. In the prototypical example, cutting from a close-up of a person’s neutral expression to a bowl of soup, children playing, or soldiers in a field suggests hunger, worry, or fear, respectively.

youtube

The Kuleshov effect is the essence of visual storytelling in a medium like Simblr. You can elevate your storytelling by thinking not only about each individual shot, but about the way they’ll interact and flow into one another.

Mastering the basics of film grammar is a great (free!) way to take your storytelling to the next level. To learn more, you can find tons of guides and explainers about film grammar for free online, and your local library doubtless has books that explain the same principles and offers additional analysis.

Happy simming!

#armorica tips #armorica ooc #i finally got off my ass to finish this guide which i started back in August right before I got extremely sick and ended up in the hospital #anyway....hope you enjoyed this post which was a veiled excuse for me to complain about how people overuse close-ups and inserts #and i can't tell what's happening in their stories ;fdsklsjadf;laksdf #Youtube

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yes-i-am-happyaspie · 1 year

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Oh hey! Look! I didn't for get about my Second Chances AU!

Friends by happyaspie

Part 4 of Second Chances Series

No Archive Warnings Apply || Rated T || 1/2 Chapters || Michelle Jones & Peter Parker & Ned Leeds, Angst With a Happy Ending

Summary:

While Peter is off having a good time with his friends, Tony and Steve leave for a last-minute mission. They leave Peter messages to let him know they'll be home by morning. Except they're not. And when FRIDAY proves to be completely unhelpful, he starts to panic. It's a good thing he has such wonderful friends.

[This story is part of a series and may be easier to understand if you've read part 1]

[Except Below the Cut]

... “The more you know,” Ned flippantly replied. Immediately after, his eyes went wide and he began clumsily tapping on his screen. “Oh, shit. Did you know about this?”

“Know about what, Loser?” MJ asked as she strolled over to join them by the wall.

Ned rapidly waved his hand and shushed her, all the while never taking his eyes off of his screen. “I'm serious!” he hissed, then shoved his phone in front of Peter’s face. “Peter- look at this breaking news.”

The title of the article alone was enough to send a wash of anxiety rippling beneath Peter’s skin. ‘Avengers Join the Fight Against a Terrorist Group Operating Under the Guise of International Investment Company, The Targo Cooperation’ He didn’t venture to read any further, before hurriedly yanking his phone out of his pocket. He’d missed five texts.

“Shit,” he whispered, fumbling as he tried opening up the messages. He started to drop his phone at one point. But caught it with more dexterity than any human should have been able to possess. Thanks to the massive crowds of people swarming in and out of the building, no one seemed to notice.

At the top of his notifications list were three back-to-back texts from Steve. The first one read, ‘I know you’re not looking at your phone right now, but Dad and I have been called on a last-minute mission,’ followed by, ‘It shouldn’t take long. Grab some dinner on the way home. We’ll be back by tomorrow morning.’ The last one was much simpler but held the most meaning. All it said was, ’Love you, Champ.’

Peter read those messages over at least half a dozen times before clicking on Tony’s contact. There were only two messages from him. ‘Hey, Bud. Since Papa and I are out, I’m going to ask you to stay in tonight, okay?’ the initial message said. And just like Steve, the final one was less informative and more sentimental. ‘I love you, Kiddo. Stay safe. We’ll see you soon.’

Again, Peter read and reread the messages while his heart dropped down into his stomach. Since being adopted by the Stark-Rogers, both Tony and Steve had frequently gone out to take care of some kind of Avengers related business. But never together and never for something so critical. He really wasn’t sure what to do with the information he’d been given. Part of him wanted to know why they hadn't come to get him. He was Spider-Man. He could help. He could have gone on the mission too. “Shit,” repeated, that time with more vigor. It was a lot to wrap his brain around at once.

“What is it?” he heard MJ ask. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her jerking Ned’s phone in his hand. When he finally lowered his phone in favor of looking at his friends, he could see them both regarding him with concern.

“They didn’t tell you they were going?” MJ asked. Her tone and features were hard to read. She sounded worried, but her jaw was set as though she were outraged and trying to hold back.

“It was last minute. They texted me while we were in the movie,” Peter automatically defended. He swallowed with difficulty and glanced back down at his phone. “I just got the messages.”

“What did they say?” MJ asked while Ned looked on with interest.

Peter blinked a few times. His head still felt vaguely light and fuzzy with shock. “That I should get dinner on the way home and that they’ll be back in the morning.” ...

[Read More on AO3]

#happyaspie writing #distracted by a dime #seconds chances #superfam #fos #friends of spiderman #peter parker #ned leeds #michelle jones #stony #irondad and spiderson

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karshown · 4 months

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[ papamin ] I wish that woman wouldn't stress me the way she does. // f!reader x kento. //

Oh the way Nanami kento would spend every penny, every dime left in his deep pockets just to see your eyes flicker with joy.

You were the only woman

that he allowed close.

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

YOU and your husband were out shopping, Kenji or as you called him, Ji-ji accompanied as he sucked his chubby thumb as if his life depended on it. Few people shot you and Kento various glances, some even went to the extreme by raising their eyebrows.

It was a shock to see him, with a woman like you. To your friends you two were a perfect match, you were classy but kento was beyond that, elegant but even beyond elegant. Maybe it was the fact that you a brown skinned woman with shape, walked alongside a man with lightly tanned skin and on top of that, he had a perfectly tall muscular figure.

You two were wearing completely different clothes at that, you decided to go simple today, as you threw on a tight, long black dress, with long sleeves to add on, it had a pretty perfect fit on you. Nanami naturally didn't settle for whatever 'normal' was to you, he always had to go out of his way with every outfit, he did it without realizing. He wore a black suit that matched your dress, and his usual watch, almost as if he had a major event to attend to but in all honesty he didn't.

You loved how he never settled for the normal things.

You scoffed, Kento shot you a glance as he barely paid any attention to anyone besides you & Ji-ji. His grip around your smaller hand tightened, as he snuck his fingers between yours, you held Ji-ji on your hip. One colorful shop caught your eye, as you and Nanami came to a stop right in front of it.

“This one?” Nanami observed the bright rainbow colors, especially the ones that stood out, the ones that reminded him of you which encouraged him to follow through with your idea. Before stepping in, you handed Ji-ji to Nanami for the time being just so you didn't get too distracted, Ji-ji was in a dying need of new clothes (he already had over 50+ sets but thats not the point.)

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

YOU found 10 new sets only minutes after stepping into the shop, everything was well put together so it was simple to find everything needed. Until you overheard the light laugh of a young woman, still around your age though, but that wasn't what bothered youーit was your husbands voice, too.

"Wheres his mother? or are you not married."

"Actually I-"

"Its fine, its not a shocker that you aren't married, thats how some women are nowadays, sadly." the worker whos name tag read 'Stepphie,' plastered a clearly fake pout on her face, as she put more clothes out onto the racks.

"Baby, whats going on?" you showcased your anger & jealousy in different ways, and just to be petty you had to rub it in her face, you lightly brushed your lips on Nanamis cheek, as he snaked his hand around your curvy waist.

"This is my lady, Y/N, also known asーmy beautiful wife."

You shot the woman an evil glance, as she stood there dumbfounded.

"If you allowed him to finish his sentence earlier, then you would know that hon." You lightly tapped her shoulder as she flushed pink to red, naturally embarrassed.

"M'sorry." she quickly turned away, finding other racks that needed a restock to easily distract herself.

Moments later, you three checked out.

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

"You couldn't tell she was flirting with you?"

"Honestly, no."

That didn't really surprise you, since it took you a good year to get Nanami to realize you grew fond of him, for 12 full months he didn't catch a single hint until the new years party, which even then it took one of your friends to accidentally blurt out the fact that you had a kiddie crush on Kento.

You placed the last bag down, aligning it with every other bag in the truck just because you're a slight perfectionist.

"I'll take your word for it, next time im not letting it slide."

"There wont be a next time, mylady."

"Thats even better," You shut the trunk closed as it clicked, Ji-ji was already in his car-seat & buckled in which left you with nothing else to do except getting home. You turned around to lightly kiss Nanami as his moisturized hand rested aside your lower back once more, deepening the kiss that was originally supposed to be light & short, which turned into long and passionate.

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

pt #2 ,, summary ー

y/n mysteriously finds herself getting sick, in to which nanami takes care of her, trying to slowly aid her back to being her normal healthy self.

--------------> read here !! -- half of what i planned for new years special 📰 '

// now as always, reblogs, notes, etc are always appreciated ,, //

#jjk x reader #jjk #jjk nanami #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #shopping #wife

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imastrangeone98 · 9 months

Text

Enough

(A/N: yes to blade, yes to everything about him 🩵)

WARNING: extremely ooc!blade cuz stoic men are hard to write, fem!reader, smut smut, minors get the hell out of here or I'll smack u to Heaven and back; more plot than there should be tbh; also y/n lowkey being the stellaron hunters' favorite member XD

Being alone with Blade in the hideout is not how you wanted to spend your day, yet here you are.

Agonizing over the lack of Kafka and Silver Wolf (your two greatest- and only- friends in the Stellaron Hunters) helps distract you as you sweep the floor of the Hunters' newly occupied hideout.

It also helps keep your mind off your unexpected companion... the man you've been trying to avoid for the past few weeks.

It's not that you didn't like him- quite the opposite, in fact. Your feelings for the broody swordsman were... complicated. Of course he was visibly attractive, as well as emotionally volatile; you'd be blind to not notice it.

But you grew to enjoy seeing his reactions to the smallest of things- from his disgust at the tomatoes in his sandwich, to the smallest curl of his lip at the sight of a whetstone for his sword, to the faintest glimpse of peace in his eyes when he watches the sunset.

You grew to love him. How could you not fall for the sensitive soul who secretly fed the stray kittens near the base, who joined Silver Wolf on the couch to watch her play games, who quietly thanked you every time you patched up the wounds his healing factor could not, even though it was your job?

Your heart blooms when you're near him. But you know better than to think he feels the same way.

Kafka had told you of his reasons for joining the Hunters: a thirst for revenge against all who wronged him, and the undying desire for eternal sleep. His path of vengeance meant no room for any unnecessary things, you included.

You will never be a part of Blade's world.

So you keep your feelings under lock and key, choosing to ignore the fluttering of your heart whenever he helps you with the dishes, when he silently joins you on your trips to the market for groceries, even when he hands you a small souvenir from whatever planet his mission was in.

"Bladie certainly likes to give you special treatment," Kafka had teased you once as she helped blow dry your hair. "Any more of his flirting, and I might just have to fight him for attention~"

"Oh please, be serious, Kaf." You rolled your eyes at the thought. "Blade would never be interested in romance, especially with a dime-a-dozen medic like me. Besides, have you seen the way he looks at that bracer?"

"Well, if he doesn't want you, I don't mind picking up the slack~"

You smacked her for that. But even though she hadn't used her Spirit Whisper on you that day, her words stayed in your mind long after the conversation was over.

Her voice echoed in the back of your mind after that night, when you had encountered him broken and lost in the middle of the night, aching from pains you could not understand. You had taken him in your arms, unable to watch him suffer, and sung him to slumber, watching as his eyes slowly drifted closed as he relaxed in your hold.

Putting him to bed was no easy task, but it was when you were about to pull away that your problem truly began.

"Stay," Blade whispered, soft and drowsy- a sound you didn't think him capable of. It left you speechless, even as he pawed at you to pull you closer to him. "Stay here tonight."

The warning to stay away should have rung in your mind. But when he gazed at you with wide, almost desperate eyes, you could not say no. And so you stayed that night, his head resting on your chest, falling asleep to the sound of your racing heartbeat.

You shouldn't have. Because now you're stuck in this situation, trapped in a corner, with the man haunting your thoughts hovering above you, a dangerous gleam in his eye that sends a shiver down your spine.

"C- can I help you?" you squeak out, a bead of sweat on your forehead. "I'll get started on dinner pretty soon-"

"You are very difficult to get a hold of." Blade cuts you off, leaning closer to you, nose brushing against yours. "Now you have nowhere to go... and no one to hide you."

You gulp. Aeons, you wish Kafka and Silver Wolf were here right now.

"You've been avoiding me. Why?"

Your cheeks feel hot at his question. Is he really that daft? (No, he isn't. He just likes seeing you flustered; but you don't have to know that just yet.)

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you splutter. He stares at you, exasperated. "I'm treating you just as I always do!"

"...You're terrible at lying." He sighs and finally leans away from you; you hadn't realized you were holding your breath. But you're still not off the hook, because he slides a finger under your chin and tilts your head to maintain your gaze on him. "Since you're not willing to be honest, I will. You disappearing in the morning wasn't particularly... enjoyable for me. And here I thought we were getting close."

Blade lightly scratches your chin, and aeons, if your face wasn't hot before, it's burning now.

"If you didn't like me, you could have just said so. I thought-" He stops himself, but his wide eyes speak the words he cannot vocalize.

Your heart threatens to burst. You have tell yourself it's not real. There's no way this is real. Blade does not like you. Blade is not capable of love. He desires only revenge against the many who wronged him, against the one who holds the other half of his bracer, the key to his heart.

Blade does not love you. He loves only what you briefly gave him because he lacked so much of it in his mysterious past that he instinctively reached out to the first person who gave him scraps of what he deserved.

And that knowledge breaks your heart.

"...You don't know what you're saying," you say stiffly, your grip on the broom tightening. "You must be confused. When Kafka returns, I'll ask her to use her Spirit-"

"Stop," he growls, pressing against you once more. He's so heavy he nearly squeezes the air from your lungs. "I don't know what you're thinking, but that's enough."

Aeons, you're insufferable. Yet he can't stay mad at you, not when your expressions are so cute. He gently cradles your face, fingers lightly tracing your cheeks, the corners of your eyes, your soft lips.

He wants to kiss you. He wants to know if you taste as sweet as you look. If your voice is just as sweet singing his name as you sing your songs that soothe his soul, his mara, better than any of your healing balms or even Kafka's Spirit Whisper.

"Why won't you let me in, you stubborn woman?" Blade whispers, eyeing your confusion, your hurt that he doesn't understand. "What pains you so, that you won't even look at me?"

You grit your teeth. How can you tell him that what pains you is the very thing that brings his immortal life meaning? That you're just trying to make his life easier by not interfering with his plans with your own, temporary issues?

But nothing comes out except a half-hearted, "Nothing you need to concern yourself with."

"Bullshit," he hisses. "Everything you do concerns me. Your existence concerns me."

Your hands squeeze into fists. "And why's that? Am I that much of an inconvenience to you?!"

His lips curl into a pained smile. "Like you wouldn't imagine. You make me think of things that I don't need..." He glances down at his feet for a brief, long second, then looks back at you. His eyes are aglow with something you can't describe. "That I don't deserve to think of."

For as much as you want to harden your heart, Blade's words make your attempts meaningless. It's so full of fear and longing that you want to reach out and touch him, hold him close to your heart and never let him go.

You swallow, somehow feeling more nervous than before at what you're about to ask. But you want to know. You need to know, for your poor heart. "...And what is it that you think you don't deserve?"

His gaze softens. Blade leans down once more, and you feel his breath on your lips. He smells nice, you think hazily. Suddenly, you feel overwhelmed, too hyper aware of everything- his scent, the gentle brush of his fingers on your chin, the flecks of gold in his eyes.

"You," he whispers, and softly presses his lips to yours.

He's warm against you. His arms are strong as they wrap around you, pulling you into his firm chest. Before you're fully swept into the storm that is Blade, a funny thought flits through your mind: for a man with such a sharp name, he feels so warm in your arms.

He groans against your mouth, hands moving to your cheeks, coaxing your lips open to slide his tongue inside, feeling every part of you. You're so soft, so sweet, so perfect- he swears that you must have been crafted by the aeons themselves to fit his taste, to his hold. He has to fight against every cell in his body to not rip your clothes off and take you against the filthy walls. As badly as he wants to taste you properly, he needs to move this elsewhere. You deserve better than the cold corner he trapped you in. (And if Kafka shows up early, he doesn't want her to witness the filthy things he wants to do to you. But the marks he'll leave... That's fair game.)

When he finally pulls away, you're left breathless, chest heaving, and your lips tingle with the heat of his own. Blade nuzzles against your neck, and leaves kisses down your throat.

"Come on," he whispers against your skin, and tugs at your sleeve. "Stay with me tonight."

It feels too good to be true. You should be more suspicious. Blade does not love. Blade does not care for love. He does not love you.

He doesn't...

But he smiles at you- a soft, innocent smile that tugs at the corners of his eyes- and you fall into him, helpless.

When he offers you his hand, you don't hesitate to take it.

Maybe you're too hypnotized by him, but time melts into one hazy fog of memories. He's gentle- leading you to his room, lying you down on his bed, peeling off your clothes, piece by piece, until you're left bare and wanting. He stares at you hungrily, but he makes no move to devour you just yet.

He's slow, too. Watching him remove his garments- untying his belts and vest, sliding off his glove, unwrapping his bandages- it was torture. You huff, displeased, and reach out to him to lend a hand, but he lightly smacks it away, a playful smirk on his face.

"Patience," he teases, "and I'll give you what you want... and more."

To drive his words home, he moves even slower. By the time he's kicked off his shoes and pants, you've given up on being patient and paw at his boxers, much to his amusement. His cock finally springs free, and you gulp- it's big. Thick at the base, you wonder how it'll fit you. But you can't resist the temptation to lean forward and lick the tip. He groans above you, hands resting on the back of your head to push you further against his groin.

You're so cute. He watches you, hearts in his eyes, slurping away at his cock, clumsy hands rubbing at the parts you can't fit. You reek of inexperience, but it's okay. He has more than enough time to teach you, and he'll enjoy every second of it.

But for now, he lets himself relax and enjoy the warmth of your throat. The urge to cum rises its head, but he pushes it back. Not yet. Not until he feels you properly. (But he can't deny the mental image of his seed dripping from your mouth is incredibly arousing.)

It's when you begin to choke on his length that Blade pulls himself out of his pleasure-induced stupor, and he pulls you off of him to lay down on his bed. He follows you, resting on one arm above your head while his other hand trails down your neck, to your breasts (sparing a few seconds to fondle and squeeze each one), down your belly to your thighs, lightly tapping your wet mound.

"I'm gonna stretch you out now," he says, making sure you're paying attention to him. "Or it'll hurt when I go in."

It hits you: he's done this before. The bracer flashes in your mind. For a brief moment, you think to pull away and return to your room alone, to lick at the wounds to your sensitive pride.

But you hear him call to you, soft kisses being pressed onto your cheeks, and you are pulled away from the storm into his solid embrace.

"You're thinking again," he sighs, and he moves to kiss the corner of your mouth. "Whatever it is, think of it tomorrow. Just let me in; look at me."

Blade rubs his cheek against yours, giving you a reassuring look, then you feel his fingers, long and calloused, brush against your sensitive hole. You gasp at the unfamiliar feeling and squirm, but he keeps you firm, kissing you deeply to distract you from the way they slowly press inside you.

Your walls are tight. Blade wants so badly to pull his fingers out and devour you from the source, slurp up every last drop of your essence. But he grasps hold on the last few strings of his unraveling patience, not giving in to his desires just yet. He needs to do this, lest you cry in pain when he finally pushes inside you. So he finds solace in your softness, in the rhythmic squeezing of your silky cunt, carefully stretching you out.

A tear slips out of your eyes at the painful pleasure, and he kisses it away. "There we go. You're ready," he murmurs, pulling his fingers out, your whines at the emptiness music to his ears. He brings them to his mouth, sucking off your juices and moaning at the taste.

"Don't... don't do that," you whimper beneath him. You stare at him so innocently, he wants to ruin you. "It's yucky..."

"It's you," he corrects you, and he adjusts himself so he's between your legs. He smooths his hands down your thighs and positions his cock right at your entrance. When the tip catches onto your hole, you both sigh in pleasure. "Nothing about you is 'yucky.'"

With that, he finally- finally thrusts inside you. You yelp at the intrusion- he stretched you out, but aeons, it's still painful... and he's still not fully inside you. Whimpering, you claw at his scarred shoulders, nails raking down his back. He groans at the sting, leaning down to kiss you, unable to escape your addicting lips.

He can't move. He's trapped by the tightness of your pussy, your wet warmth distracting him from the main course. But your cries of his name pull him out of that haze, reminding him of what he needs to do.

"You're okay," he manages to heave out, cupping your cheek before pressing his chest to yours, mouth smushed against your ear. "I'm here. I'm gonna move."

You whine a weak "Blade..." but he shushes you.

"Ren."

"...What?" you ask hesitantly.

"My name. My real name. Ren."

"...Ren."

Oh, aeons. Your voice is so beautiful saying his long-forgotten name, he nearly came inside you. But he works up the strength to push his cock deeper, until his hips meet yours with a wet slap.

You wail, chanting his name- his true name- as he builds up a semi-steady rhythm. And he makes love to you, for aeons knows how long, hypnotized by your sounds, your smell, your touches on his body as you scratch at him and bite his neck, as if leaving your mark on him. (He wishes he didn't have his healing factor. He wants your scratches to last. He wants to look at them in the morning.)

You manage to cradle his face in your palm and turn him towards you. You take the time to admire him- his gorgeous red eyes, his bare chest gleaming with sweat, his long hair forming a curtain around you, narrowing your sight to him, and only him. So it's just Blade.

No... Ren.

Your heart clenches at his amorous gaze, as if showing his devotion to you, and only you. You do not know if he loves you... if he is capable of loving you. You do not know if he will come to regret this come morning. But you will embrace him, and smile at him, like you do now.

Because you love him. You cannot deny it anymore. You love Ren.

"Ren..." you call out once more.

And he answers you. "Yes." His voice is breathy, and his touch gentle, for he cups your cheek in his hand and rubs soft circles into your sensitive skin.

He may not love you, but you love him. And that is all you need. And you let your love consume you.

"Ren."

"Yes."

You say his name so much you lose count. And he responds every time, sometimes with words, sometimes with his lips. Until he grabs your thighs and folds you nearly in half, hips now slamming into yours as he buries his length inside you even deeper than you thought possible. Your eyes cross and you howl at how impossibly deep he feels, pressing buttons you never knew existed.

Blade moans, drunk on his pleasure, on your sweet, sweet pussy. He feels that unfamiliar tightness in his loins, his balls aching for release. But he needs you there with him, standing at the edge of that cliff right by his side.

"'M close," he whispers hoarsely. His hand flies to your hidden pearl, rubbing at your clit through your folds. You whine pitifully, but this time, he pays no heed. "I need you, come on, I need you-!"

The burning warmth in your gut spreads faster at his rough administrations. You squeal at how sensitive you feel, but you can't outrun it. The heat reaches to your limbs, your eyesight is hazy, and all you see, feel, smell, know is Ren.

Ren, who grasps hold of your hand, urging you to jump off with him. And aeons, he looks so beautiful doing it.

You can't help the words that slip past your mouth: "I love you."

And you jump. You plummet into the canyon, hands intertwined, and you're swept under the waves of indescribable ecstasy that makes you see galaxies. You feel warm, much like the ropes of warm seed that fill you.

Your mind is foggy, but Blade's sighs of pleasure are clear and bright. You feel him thrust inside you, once, twice, four times, before collapsing on top of you. He nuzzles into your neck, taking in lungfuls of your scent, committing it to his memory so he can never part from it.

With shaking arms, you manage to run your hands through his hair, massaging his scalp and untangling the soft strands, trying to shake your sudden nerves as you realize what you just said in the throes of your first orgasm.

I love you.

But if he noticed, then he hasn't spoken up about it. Instead, he shudders at your touch, pushing his head further into your hands, a silent urge to continue. So you do, until your eyes can no longer stay open, and your hands fall limp in his hair.

He pushes himself up and gathers you in his arms, pressing you to his chest, close to his pounding heart. And he takes the time to admire your drowsy form, so vulnerable and soft, so trusting.

"You terrify me," is all he can whisper before he joins you into slumber.

Because you make him not want to seek death. But he knows he must search for it, now more fervently than before. So that when your time inevitably comes...

...He will be able to follow you.

[...]

"It seems like you and Bladie have been rather close these days~ Have you two finally fucked and made up?"

You blush at Kafka's stupidly accurate teasing. "Don't say it like that! We just... had a talk, that's all."

Your friend eyes the hickies on your neck with amusement. "Sure... a talk with teeth~"

"Kafka-"

"When's dinner? Are you gonna make pasta?" Silver Wolf pops up out of nowhere, eyes fixed on her game.

"Do you want pasta?" you ask her with a laugh. She can be so childish sometimes, but you love her nonetheless.

"Yeah. I like your pasta." The gamer moves to sit next to you, but her chosen spot is suddenly occupied as Blade slides in beside you. He gives you a knowing look, before sending a cocky smirk at Silver Wolf, who pouts and complains to Kafka.

You cackle at the sight before you, and slowly rest your head on his shoulder. Blade says nothing, but the way he shifts his body for your comfort and wraps an arm around you tells you everything. You close your eyes in bliss, ignoring the chatter between your two friends as Silver Wolf decides to make a spot on your lap.

Blade is warm beside you. That is enough.

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

A/N: this b*tch took all my wishes but it's ok I love him. I'll hopefully be able to save enough for Dan heng's dragon form *wink wonk* also I'm reassuring myself that no matter how bad this is, hbo's the idol is far far worse 😃

#honkai star rail #hsr blade #blade x reader #hsr smut #hsr x reader

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moonstruckme · 4 months

Note

Hi my love!! I just reread your bodyguard tasm!peter parker blurb and it was so cute 😭I loved the original premise where peters spider senses got distracted because of her!! You wrote it so beautifully.

I'd love to request a part two (If you're open to that?) where he's guarding her again and we see their relationship develop a little more??

i read your requests rules and couldn't find anything about you not writing part twos, but feel free to ignore if you'd rather not! lots of love <3 <3

Hi sweetheart, thank you thank you!!

bodyguard!(tasm)Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Peter’s staying on the ground for your sake, but he doesn’t love it.

You’re relaxed as can be, lounging on your bed while he paces your unfairly giant room from end to end. This, he thinks, is why people hate politicians. You’ve got an ensuite bathroom the size of his apartment, and on the taxpayer’s dime. He gets it now. If you and your dad were living in a shoebox like every other self-respecting New Yorker, maybe the guy wouldn’t get so many death threats.

“You don’t have to be all vigilant,” you say. “My dad’s not here. So long as I don’t get actually kidnapped or killed while you’re here, sitting down isn’t going to affect your performance evaluation.”

Peter looks at you. “I’m getting a performance evaluation?”

Your smile is lopsided and goofy. It’s humiliating how much it affects him. “No. Who would he send it to? Your employer?”

“Oh.” He feels stupid. “Good point.”

“Come here,” you laugh. “I got us coffee.”

He goes to sit on your bed, mostly because he’ll do anything you ask him to. After spending a few hours hugging you on a roof, Peter’s found that he actually likes you. You’re not snooty or spoiled like he might have expected, friendly to him even though he’s technically working for you. You seem oddly down-to-earth for someone with your upbringing, funny and smart. (Smarter than him, maybe. You turn him into a blundering idiot every time he sees you, though, so it’s hard to say.) You’re surprisingly fun to be around.

You lean over, grabbing two disposable coffee cups from your nightstand. “Do you want peppermint or caramel?”

“Which one do you want?”

“No way. You’re my guest, you get first pick.”

Peter’s here on a job, but he likes your version of the story better. The idea of you thinking of him as your guest, someone invited in whom you want to please, makes an affectionate warmth unfurl in his gut.

“You should probably have the one you want, because the other one’s going to get cold,” he says, an apology in his tone. Your brows wrinkle. “I can’t really drink through the mask…”

“Oh.” You close your eyes, expression clearing. “God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Peter’s smiling under the mask. He wonders if you can hear it in his voice. “Enjoy yours. I’ll live vicariously.”

“You couldn’t just lift it up enough to drink?”

“Uh, no. The whole secret identity thing is…kind of important to the job.”

You smile guiltily, lifting one of the cups to your lips. “Fair enough.”

You’re silent for a minute, watching him as you sip at your coffee. Once again, making it nearly impossible for Peter to do what he’s being paid to do. He should be keeping his senses alert, watching the windows, surveilling the perimeter or whatever. Not looking into your clever, narrowed eyes and thinking about how your whole room smells like you.

“Okay,” you say, still scrutinizing him like you’re trying to count the threads in his suit, “now I’m dying to know what’s under the mask.”

Peter sits very still. He’s had people—fans and foes alike—try to tear it off him before, but he doesn’t think you’re like that.

“I mean, obviously you’re tall,” you lean back on the bed, mouth pursed in contemplation, “so you’re not, like, twelve. You sound about my age…”

“I what?”

“Your voice.”

“What—” He clears his throat. Tries to sound more generationally ambiguous. “What would make you think that?”

You crack another one of those sweet, silly smiles. “Well, you’re not going to fool me now,” you say. “I’ve heard you talk. You can’t be more than thirty. Plus, when you got here, you said ‘yo’.”

Peter really needs to stop saying that. He doesn’t even know when he started.

“You’ve got stitches all over your suit…” you go on. “What neighborhood are you from again?”

“I’m not telling you that,” he laughs.

“Oh, come on.” You scooch a little on the bed, tucking one leg under you to face him more fully. Your eyes pierce his like knives. Very pretty knives. “There’s almost ten million people in New York. You really think I’m going to track you down?”

“Your dad is the mayor…”

“Stop.” You give his shoulder a playful shove. Peter’s mask feels suddenly warm. “Those surveillance rumors weren’t true, the tabloids made that up to mess with his re-election campaign.”

“Okay, okay. I’m from Queens.”

You lean back on your hands, and he can’t decide if the way you’re looking at him is analyzing or flirting. “Interesting,” you say slowly. “So you’re, like, a real man of the people. Not the Bruce Wayne type.”

“Hey,” he teases, “Bruce Wayne could’ve lived in Queens. It’s nice.”

“But Bruce Wayne wouldn’t have to sew his own suits,” you point out.

Peter tilts his head, blows a breath out the side of his mouth. You’ve got him there.

“And you’re tall, clearly pretty strong, you seem smart…” You nod, seeming to have come to a decision. “I think you’re handsome under there.”

A laugh startles out of him. He hopes it sounds casual, like it came from someone cool, whose heart isn’t galloping in his chest. Peter really shouldn’t care if you think he has the potential to be handsome under his mask. It’s not like you’ll ever find out. Still, it feels weirdly nice.

He makes his voice light and playful. “Well, it’s good to have your approval. Now we can pretend that I’m almost in your league.”

For the first time since he’s gotten here, you look genuinely caught offguard. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Peter grins. It feels good to have flustered you. He’s missed doing that. “Who else?”

You look away from him as you laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” you say, “but you’re a superhero. You’re not the one who should be worried about leagues.”

You’re cute. Peter makes a bold move, scooting an inch closer to you, into your space. He’s glad you can’t see that under the mask, his face is just as flushed as yours. “I’m not a superhero,” he says, keeping his voice light as meringue. “I’m just your friendly neighborhood Spiderman.”

You roll your eyes. “Humble, too. Points in your favor.”

A laugh rumbles through his chest. Someday, he’s gonna have to get Peter Parker in your orbit somehow. He wants to meet you—more than that, he wants you to meet him. He’s not sure how long he can wait.

He decides to let you off the hook. Slightly. He reaches across you, taking the unused cup from your nightstand. “Thanks for this,” he says. “Once you don’t need me here anymore, I’m gonna take it home and heat it back up.” He grins even though you can’t see it. “Maybe I’ll swing by and return the favor sometime.”

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fabricated-misslieness · 10 months

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: miles morales x hispanic male reader (featuring my accent)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: you're speaking spanish and he can hardly understand.

ʀᴇ𝐐: no ~ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 635 ~ established relationship

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: swearing, kissing, miles sitting on your lap

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: if i miss any tildes just know im not a man who paid attention to his tilde classes and also the difference between por que and porque and when they have tildes (dont think too hard about the wingdings)

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Was it wrong to admire him? Maybe it was, you didn't know; staring at strangers was wrong, but this was your boyfriend.

Miles had an effect on you. You couldn't quite name it, especially not when he asked. You just knew it had you staring, staring at his wide smiles or his expressive eyebrows or how he looks like when he's focused on drawing. You often stared when he wasn't looking, but when he was, when he returned your gaze, offered you an automatic smile, raised a teasing brow, you couldn't help but to kiss him.

But, for now, you were just looking, admiring. You could only imagine how dopey you looked right now. It's probably hilarious.

"E'te man me tiene loco." (This man drives me crazy.)

"What?"

You shake yourself out of your stupor, "Nothin'. Keep drawin'."

"No, no, dijistes algo." ((you) said something.)

"Ahahaa, no." You try to laugh it off, but Miles can see in the way that you tense up that he's right.

"Mira yo se que me mientes." He lifts himself off his seat, pointing a finger at you. (Look, I know you're lying to me.)

You cringe internally at the fact he didn't pronounce his r correctly but continue on. You raise your hands in feigned surrender, "No sé de que me 'tas hablando." (I don't know what you're talking to me about.)

"Me 'tas? Metas?" The confusion was visible on his face, which was frankly adorable, "Like goals?"

"No, mi amor," Miles sits himself down on your lap–so casually–and you take the opportunity to wrap your arms around him. The normality of it makes you relax again. "I mean to say, "me estas", but because of my accent, I cut out the "es"."

"So just say "me estas"." He replied, like it was that simple.

You roll your eyes, "I don't think about the way I say things all the time, you know. Just like how you forgot to roll your r's."

"I did not!" He shouts, pretending like he's offended.

"Oh, but you did."

"Ok, mira, carrro," He exaggerates it for you, "carrrrrro." (Ok, look, carrr. carrrrrr.)

"Okay, okay, now remember it."

"Whatever." He scoffs, "You've been deflecting."

"Have I?" You bring a hand up to fiddle with the unshaven hair at the back of his neck in the hope of distracting him.

"Yes." He digs his accusatory finger into your chest, turning the tables on you and your criticism of his shit Spanish. "Ey, stop trying to distract me."

You don't drop the hand but you stop playing with his hair, "Lo siento." (I'm sorry.)

"Dime lo que dijistes." (Tell me what you said.)

"Dijiste." You correct.

With a groan, he says it correctly. "Dijiste."

"Dijequemetienesloco." You say fast. It was a bit embarrassing to admit it, even with the many times that he's caught you staring.

Combined with his bad Spanish and how fast you said it, Miles did not understand a single word. "Dijek met ien lowcou." (👎︎♓︎🙰♏︎❑︎◆︎♏︎❍︎♏︎⧫︎♓︎♏︎■︎♏︎⬧︎●︎□︎♍︎□︎)

"What language are you speaking?"

"That's what you said." He laughs. "But seriously the curiosity is killing me!"

"Fine..."

He fiddles in your lap excitedly as he anticipates your words.

"Me tienes loco." (You drive me crazy.)

They were simple words but he didn't understand them. "I have you crazy? Do I drive you mad? Do you think I'm that annoying?"

Stuck in your own embarrassment, you ignore his rambling and begin your own, "I mean I actually said "Este man me tiene loco" but you know it's practically the same thing and you'd complain about me calling you man porque it's so impersonal and–" (This man drives me crazy.)

Meanwhile he's over here still trying to figure it out, until, "Wait it's "You make me crazy!". Ohhh."

You prepare yourself for teasing but are instead met with a soft little kiss.

"I drive you crazy, huh?" Miles smiles one of those smiles you always adore.

"Yes." There would be teasing later, you were sure of it, but for now you relished in kissing him. You couldn't have enough of him.

#🌸 // success!#💞 // darlings #miles x reader #miles x male reader #miles morales x male reader #miles morales x reader #spider-man x reader #spider-man x male reader #🎟 // atsv #🎫 // miles morales #🎫 // miles #🎟 // spider-verse

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ohnococo · 3 months

Text

Fight Night | CHAPTER 3 | MMA Fighter!Sukuna x Reader

“I’ve got a fight coming up, so I’ve got to stay clean for the tests over the next 6 months,” there’s a tinge of annoyance in his face, the closest to pouting you think a man like Sukuna can get, “so you’d better have fun tonight.” You don’t know what to say. You had fun every night with him, and while it had occurred to you that this was definitely not a permanent arrangement you’d thought you just wouldn’t hear from him again one day. You aren’t sure if you’d have preferred that to having an actual warning for this last hurrah, and being told about it as it’s happening. Having Sukuna’s eyes scanning your reaction during the few seconds you have to process it leaves an odd feeling in your stomach, something he’s quick to distract from as he goes back to kissing your neck, hands travelling further up your legs, pushing them apart gently. He has a last word on the matter, whispering into your ear as his palm meets your pussy and he hums happily at discovering you’d decided to forego panties. “I know I will.”

Its your last night with Sukuna, and all you can do is make the most of it.

Warnings: drinking, drug use, public sex, rough sex, vaginal sex, hand jobs, spitting, creampie, fingering, exhibitionism, sex under the influence, fem bodied reader, fuck buddy situation, overstimulation, forced orgasm

Notes: I’m really happy with this chapter, I hope you guys support and enjoy!

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

Time had passed strangely in the two months since you met Ryomen ‘The King’ Sukuna. It felt like it had flown, like you’d only just met him, but at the same time you felt like it had taken a couple of years off your life. He went hard every single time, and so did you, but at the very least you would have some stories to tell.

You’re no longer unsure like you had been the first time you arrived at the VIP section unaccompanied by Uraume. You’re expected, so you say your name and the man steps aside quickly, welcoming you warmly as if you had the same name worth brown nosing like Sukuna did. It’s weird having a taste of his power just by proximity, but it explains the loyalty of the people around him even further. You don’t let it get to your head though, always acutely aware of the way you got here, always aware of how easy it would be for someone else to get here in your place.

Right now isn’t the time for those thoughts though, nor the time for thoughts of how Sukuna never communicated in the days between telling you where to be and when, nor the time for thoughts of how that fact gave you a little pit in your stomach.

No, now was the time to make some memories on Sukuna’s dime, and on his cock.

Walking into the lounge, he’s as handsome as ever, shirt rolled up and further exposing his already unconcealable tattoos. His hair is a much more saturated shade of that peachy hue that managed to seem intimidating on him despite the otherwise pretty nature of such a colour. His thickly muscled thighs seem to be straining much harder than usual against his slacks and when you catch his eye he stretches his legs out as he lies back in his chair. Familiar faces say hello to you as you pass and you nod back in lieu of more lengthy pleasantries as the call of his lap beckons you.

He stops you in your tracks with two raised fingers before you have a chance to take your spot. He looks you up and down, appraising you for a moment through heavy lids before licking his lips and smiling. “All that, for me?”

You roll your eyes, opting to sit on the arm of his chair instead of his legs since he was starting up with you already. He won’t have it though, grabbing you by the hips and sliding you onto his lap as he locks in on your neck, kissing along the exact spots his lips had been the last time you’d seen each other the previous weekend.

“All this for a drink.” you finally reply, leaning away from his kisses and towards the table in front of his chair where your drink was awaiting, having been ordered by Uraume as soon as they spotted you speaking with the bouncer.

You lick your lips after sipping the lethal but necessary combination of Red Bull and vodka, having finally admitted to Sukuna only last week that you didn’t actually care for the taste of the Dom Perignom he’d kept on ice for your arrival at the beginning of each night out after the first. When you’d told him you’d just asked for something expensive to piss him off a little he’d had a good laugh at that.

A smile finds its way to your lips when you recall the danger in his voice when he’d told you that you didn’t want to try too hard to piss him off. ’But,’ he’d said, ’my pockets are deep when it comes to having a good time.’

The ’for a price’ part of that went unsaid. Lucky for you the price was something you were more than willing to pay.

Your reminiscing is interrupted and you nearly spill your drink as he hooks an arm around your waist, pressing your side back into him to remove any distance you’d momentarily created. He’s wasting even less time than usual, already renewing the marks on your neck with lips and tongue and teeth. You take a slow sip, tangling your other hand in his hair and tugging lightly.

He steals your lips before you have a chance to take another drink, and something on his tongue is bitter, giving you a hint at what would be helping this night along. His kiss is hot, hands squeezing at your thighs, cock already hard underneath you, and when he pulls back there’s a dangerous look in his eyes.

You don’t know what to say. You had fun every night with him, and while it had occurred to you that this was definitely not a permanent arrangement you’d thought you just wouldn’t hear from him again one day. You aren’t sure if you’d have preferred that to having an actual warning for this last hurrah, and being told about it as it’s happening. Having Sukuna’s eyes scanning your reaction during the few seconds you have to process it leaves an odd feeling in your stomach, something he’s quick to distract from as he goes back to kissing your neck, hands travelling further up your legs, pushing them apart gently.

He has a last word on the matter, whispering into your ear as his palm meets your pussy and he hums happily at discovering you’d decided to forego panties.

“I know I will.”

A stop for food is a required occurrence on these nights. You were grateful for it, honestly, but shocked the first time Sukuna had shouted the name of a place to his entourage as you filtered from one club and into smaller groups to take separate cars to your destination. You had been beginning to think he wasn’t human with the way he tanked line after line and drink after drink. But you’d always find yourself reminded that he was indeed human as you pulled up to some dive or greasy burger place at some point in the evening.

Tonight is no different, with your odd crowd settled into the hard metal outdoor seating, eating your fast food. Strangers filter in and out of the door behind you, also soaking up the copious amounts of alcohol and drugs in their stomachs during the pit stop. The night air and lack of sweaty people pushing against you doesn’t feel like too much of an oddity though, with the rhythmic reggaeton blasting from someone’s car in the parking lot reminiscent of the vibe of the club you had just been at before.

Sukuna is pounding his second cheeseburger and complaining, as he always does, that it ’isn’t even real food’.

“Yeah, is that why you look like you’re about to lick the wrapper?” You ask, playing with the straw of your Sprite. This middle-of-the-night break was never enough to sober up, just enough to make it through the rest of it. On occasion you wouldn’t even stop long enough to sit somewhere, instead watching as Sukuna ate in the back of his hired car, acting like he’d been starved for months. You figured that it probably did taste especially decadent compared to whatever diet he was forced to adopt for training.

“If you have any suggestions of where I can get a clean meal at midnight without cooking it myself, I’m all ears?” He pulls your drink from your hands, finishing half of it with a hiss as if he hadn’t been putting far worse things in his body every night you’d been with him.

“Of course you don’t cook.”

He raises his brows at you, only slightly more perturbed than amused that you were implying there were things he couldn’t do. “I don’t need to cook, that’s what Uraume is for.”

Uraume blushes at being referred to in a way that could even be slightly construed as favourable and you’re shocked to find out that they had actually been his cook all this time. Why their duties also included waiting on Sukuna hand and foot you did not know.

“If you say so…” you turn your attention to your phone, checking messages, assuring friends you were both alive and conscious, waiting for the next round to begin as you get what might be your only moment of rest from Sukuna’s very much welcome but very much relentless onslaught.

As you respond to one person, then move to respond to the next, Sukuna glances down at your screen, obviously picking out the emojis listed above the preview of his last text to you. He sneers and gestures to your screen.

“What the fuck is that?”

“This?” You wave your thumb over his messages, and he points to the name you’d given him, drawing a shrug from you. “I mean, you’re ‘The King’ or whatever.”

“And the monster thing?”

“Yeah, that’s you.”

His brows raise higher, as he tilts his head forward and gives you a look as if he were silently reprimanding you for your choice of name for him. You have to laugh, as much as he bantered with you through the night, there were occasionally moments like this that would remind you he’d gone far too long having his boots licked. Particularly if a few emojis in place of his name seemed to bother him.

Then, something changes in that look. It has your hairs standing on end and your pussy stirring.

“You want me to show you how much of a monster I can be?”

He doesn’t need you to answer that as he stands, grabbing you by the wrist to pull you up with him. He starts dragging you into the restaurant, calling over his shoulder to the group as he does, “We’re leaving in 15.”

He pulls you through the bustling restaurant, past booths packed with people in various states of inebriation, some laughing, some singing, some making out. He drags you past the counter separating the hungry crowd from the overworked employees, rushing to stuff burgers into bags as numbers were shouted out. He guides you right into the bathroom, into a stall, and has your back pressed against the now shut and locked door before you know it.

You knew you were going to get it from the way he holds you captive by your upper arms, teeth clashing with yours as you open your mouth wide to accept his kiss. He’s moving fast, almost too fast for your body to catch up. It doesn’t need to though, as he only releases you long enough to undo his belt and pants and have his cock out and ready. Then you’re back in his grasp as he hoists you up and you’re held firmly by his hands on your ass as he lines himself up. You wrap your arms around his neck, trying to rock your hips into him despite the precarious position.

The head is slipping through your wetness, gathering slick as it catches at your entrance, but slides past where he wants it nestled again. The heat of it against your tender clit only gets you wetter, groaning and enjoying that alone until his eyes are snapping up from your pussy to lock with yours.

His glare tells you all you need to know, that you won’t be cumming on that cock without him, not right now. He pins you against the stall with his body, moving one hand from your ass to line himself up properly, rocking up to his toes to fill you without a care for stretching your tight pussy far too fast. He keeps you pressed there as his hips snap against yours, putting a hand on the top of the stall to fuck you harder. Your moans are high pitched, breathy, carried by the air being squeezed from you with each harsh thrust. Sukuna has his body pressed so firmly against you that you can barely get any air in and it’s all making your head spin, heat pooling in your stomach already.

The fluorescent lights are blinding, and as you look at Sukuna with his clenched teeth, curled lip, and intense stare you wonder if he always looked quite so crazed as he fucks you. Or if it had always been hidden in the dim lighting of all the clubs and cars you’d fucked in. Every so often his lids get heavy, and his glare slips as he watches your face while you unravel completely, and you wonder if he’s close, but then he’s snapping back into that scowl.

You tighten your arms and legs around him as he brings his other hand up to grip at the stall too, hanging on as he fucks you so hard your eyes are rolling back in your head. Then, he stops. Before you have time to process anything his voice is in your ear, in your head, pulling you from the depths.

“What’s my name?”

“What?”

His hips snap hard enough against yours that you’re left gasping for air. You can’t even respond and even when he returns to his previous punishing pace you feel like you’re going to fall apart any second.

“Say my fucking name.”

“S-sukuna.” He’s fucking you so hard your voice is shaking.

“All of it.”

“Ryomen Sukuna.”

“Louder.”

You want to be worried about getting kicked out of this place, but have to just trust the crowd outside this bathroom was too loud and too rowdy for you getting your guts rearranged to be noticed. Sukuna doesn’t appreciate the hesitation though, leaning back enough to put some space between your chests, forcing you to cling to him tighter as he uses your body weight to have you bouncing into his punishing thrusts even harder.

“Louder.”

“Ryomen Sukuna!” Your volume surprises even you as you’re now able to shout and moan with abandon with his weight no longer constricting your body.

It has his cock throbbing inside of you as you hold on tight, hands clawing at his back as he fucks you till you’re tensing around him, blinding heat ripping through you as you cream on his cock. Your senses are scrambled, ears ringing, eyes screwed shut, pussy pulsing so hard you’re barely aware of Sukuna pumping you full of his cum.

His thrusts slow as he presses you back against the stall door, hands settling back onto your ass to hold you tight. He’s back to giving you those slow, languid kisses you’d come to know so well - tongue deep in your mouth, teeth bared, nose sliding across yours as he presses his everything against you. He speaks low into your mouth as you start to clench on him again, this time in discomfort, arching and pushing at him so he’ll put you down before you teeter too far into overstimulation. He doesn’t release you though, instead increasing his thrusts even as you start to squirm and whine on his cock as the feeling is so intense it almost hurts.

“You won’t forget it.”

If he expects a response to that, he won’t get it. Your attempts to push off of him only help his long deep strokes as he fucks you through that intensity and straight into another orgasm that has you clawing at his back, shoving turned to pulling him closer, whines of discomfort turned to moans of pleasure. He was right, you didn’t need to tell him that, though. Not while you were cumming again, this time on his slowly softening cock.

He’s true to his word of taking 15 minutes as he lowers you down onto your shaky legs, and holds you upright against his side on the way back out to where the rest of your night awaits.

It’s not lost on you that you’re ending the night in the same club you’d first met Sukuna in. You wonder if it’s intentional. Then, you decide not to think about it, clenching around the fingers idly thrusting into you, stirring up the last dregs of cum that hadn’t yet slipped out. Sukuna is ordering the last drinks before the bar stops serving and the man working the VIP lounge pretends not to notice how you’re slouched against Sukuna, catching your breath after another rough fuck on the very same couch you’d had your first with him on. He finishes his order as he rubs his fingers along your walls as he so often loved to do while you twitch and pant and come back into your body.

Once the server leaves, he pulls his fingers out of you, settling his sticky hand on your waist instead. He wiggles his nose, sniffling and swallowing the drip in the back of his throat. It was late now, or early, and you’d decided you were on alcohol only for the last of it since the sun would be up soon and that only meant you’d be heading home. It meant you were slowing down, of course, but you knew it was time for that anyway. You sigh and let your head lull back, resting it half on Sukuna’s shoulder and half on the back of the couch as you watch him watching the room.

It was weird that you’d gotten so used to his face tattoos. It was weird that you’d gotten so used to anything about him, actually. The size and the strength. The swollen cartilage of his ears and scarring of his brows from years of fighting. The piercings, the hair… and the surprising softness of his lips, his thick straight lashes. It has you smiling, giving yourself a little mocking laugh at how you were actually looking at this giant monster of a man and thinking he looked pretty.

He looks at you, catching your smile, and smiles back. “I’ve fought men for laughing like that.”

You roll your eyes, both annoyed and glad that he had ruined that little private moment with yourself. “Well good thing I wasn’t laughing at you then, cornball.”

He loves doing that, reminding you of who or what he is, like you don’t know. Like you haven’t experienced his strength firsthand. Not like that though. No, his touches for you were hungry, aggressive even, but always with a little hidden reminder that you had won his favour. As the server returns with shots and bottles you allow yourself to think to yourself, just for a moment, that you’d like to keep that favour.

Only for a moment though, because you knew the score. Always had. You two had these nights out, and that was it. And now that they were gone, presumably so were you. You always got that same pit in your stomach when you found yourself wondering how many other people got these wild little months in between fights with him, or if you were even the only one during all of it. You were bouncing on his cock within an hour of meeting him, and you’d done worse since, so you had to assume the worst. You had to assume he probably wouldn’t be bothered to reach out to you once he was back to fucking around after his next fight.

Despite your attempts to bury them, those same thoughts flash in your mind again, once the club is closing and Sukuna’s hand is tightening on your thigh while you settle in for the drive home. You take a breath in, then release it, letting your worries go with it. You weren’t assuming the worst, you were being realistic. And you decide that the best thing you can do for yourself right now is get off on Ryomen ‘The King’ Sukuna one last time as a proper goodbye.

It’s a big ask of your body. You were always worn out by this point of the night, but Sukuna had gone all out this time, spending a little less time dancing and drinking and railing lines and more time railing you. It had made you realise that he might have been holding back just how insatiable he was before, something that was nearly incomprehensible with the way he’d leave you wincing every time you moved for days.

Still, you push past the soreness that had settled in already, and there’s barely any time between you climbing onto his lap like a needy little thing and him working his fingers back into your familiar heat. The hum of electricity over your skin has it feeling just as good as the first time and you can’t be bothered to worry about what the driver can see, not anymore. You’re straddling him, head pressed against the roof of the car, holding onto his shoulders to keep from sliding around as the driver makes his way back to your home.

“One more for the road, then?”

It was a bit late to ask now, with you panting into his mouth, trying to keep your tired body balanced on his legs. You don’t know how you’re still taking him after everything tonight, even just his thick fingers, but you know you won’t regret it tomorrow when you can barely move. You never do.

The thrum of pain is much duller than the throbbing of your clit as you ride his fingers, and he curls them just right to have you seeing stars. You rest your tired head on his shoulder, unrestrained moans joining the sloppy squelch of his fingers fucking your sore, stretched out hole. Just as you’re moments from being completely lost in another orgasm, you feel his other hand move from your hip and hear the familiar sound of his zipper. You can barely keep your eyes open as you look down at him releasing his cock, shaking your head hurriedly without lifting it from his shoulder.

“‘m too sore…” it’s more of a pathetic sounding whine than you’d like, but he was making you feel so good even with the sting of your abused pussy and you were well past the point of faking composure with him.

It only makes his cock throb in his grasp. “Then use your hands.”

That, you can manage. Though it’s not exactly easy for you to sit up with how much your body was screaming at you to just lie down and pass out already. You’re nothing if not persistent though, as you grip his cock with one hand. Then, assessing just how small your hand looks holding it, you decide to grip it with two. You’d become very familiar with it by now. Its girth, its bulging veins, the little silver piercings running up the shaft… but it was something else seeing it in the light of the rising sun. You aren’t dwelling on that for long as Sukuna tenses and has it throbbing in your hands.

“Spit on it.”

You purse your lips, gathering your spit in the front of your mouth, but before you do he clarifies his order.

“Nice and slow.”

You follow without a second thought, letting the spit slowly drip from your mouth where it lands on the angry red tip of his cock and slides down.

“Again.”

Something about Sukuna puts you in the mood for following orders, so you do just that, opening your mouth and letting it fall directly from your tongue. He groans, pressing his thumb to your tongue, sliding it over until you have more drool falling from your mouth, down your chin, and onto his cock below as you look into his hungry eyes.

“It’s a shame you’re too scared to suck my cock.”

Too scared. Were it earlier in the night, when you weren’t so worn out you’d take that as challenge enough to shut him up about it, but at this point all you can do is tread water. Instead you close your lips around his thumb, sucking that instead. His cock throbs again in your hands, reminding you to get to work as you start stroking him, swirling your fingers over the head each time your hands can reach.

His thumb pressing down on your tongue hard enough to pull your mouth back open is all the warning you get as your moans are loud and loose as he starts finger fucking your pussy again. You struggle to keep up, arms burning as you try to work him as hard and fast as he was working you. As heat builds in your stomach it only gets harder, but you persist even as you start to rock into his touch, eyes shut and mouth still open and drooling around his thumb and down his hand.

“S-sukunaaaa…” you don’t care how you sound, lisping out his name the best you can as your pussy flutters around his fingers.

Suddenly, he pulls his fingers out of you, gripping both of your hips tightly. You don’t even think about the pain of it at this point, you’d been adorned with those bruises from the first night you’d met him. You’re more focused on the loss of contact, your orgasm slipping away even as you continue pumping his cock.

He leans up, purring into your ear, “Gonna cum soon…”

There’s a question in there but you’re too fucked up to to decipher it so he presses you further.

“Sure you don’t want it?”

You whine outright, squirming on his lap, “I’m so sore.”

“Are you going to waste it then?”

His cock is throbbing in your hands, and your pussy is throbbing even as the cold air hits it, exacerbating the sting. Still, you want his cock, you want his cum, and you want one last orgasm with him splitting you open wide, so you lean forward, head pressed uncomfortably into the roof of the car, and slide yourself onto him. You don’t need the help anymore, but his hands are still locked onto your hips, guiding you, dealing you short thrusts upwards even as you try to slowly sink down.

When he’s buried deep your stomach clenches, letting out a shaky breath as you try to collect yourself enough to do more than rock your swollen heat on top of him. It feels like it’s going to drive you crazy with the way its warmth soothes the sting even as the girth worsens it. The stopping, starting, and turning of the car you’re in doesn't help anything, forcing you to counterbalance to have any hope of riding the length you’d never quite managed to grow accustomed to.

You’re exhausted, and if you’re being honest with yourself you were ready to crash about an hour ago. Lucky for you Sukuna’s strength and stamina are seemingly entirely unaffected by the drinks, the drugs, and the hours of dancing. He’s taking over easily, thrusting up into you and your heavy limbs are almost a help at this point, keeping you in place even when the power of his thrusts threatens to have you bouncing up towards the roof of the cramped car.

Once your breath is hitching and you’re almost hiccuping with each desperate inhale, he slides one hand up your back, pulling you up by the back of your neck so he can watch you unravel. You know that’s what he wants, to watch you mindlessly taking him, completely unaware of what you looked or sounded like in your desperate climb to orgasm, so you press your head back into the roof of the car. He lays his head back against the headrest, watching you, teeth bared in a pleased smile as you stick your tongue past your wet lips - begging him for a kiss in your own way since you were far past words.

He pulls you down, and the kiss is surprisingly light, surprisingly quick, the tip of his tongue only lightly brushing yours. Then his grip tightens on both your hip and your neck as he pushes into those harsh thrusts, hips snapping, teeth clenched as he looks up at you.

“Cum on my cock.”

His words are the last push over your peak before you’re digging your hands into his shoulders, moaning his name as you cum on top of him clenching and gasping and sighing. He doesn’t leave your pussy taking too many more hard thrusts than you can handle before he’s pulling you down onto him, giving you those final deep thrusts while buried to the hilt before he’s filling you.

You relax into him, head resting on his shoulder, jumping lightly when his cock twitches inside of you. Eventually, it softens, and you look out the window behind, recognizing where you are, and sliding off of him. You don’t speak for the last few short minutes of the drive home, because you don’t know what to say at this point. It feels like you might ruin something if you do, so you enjoy the silence, slumped into Sukuna’s side as you had been many times before.

Like any other time before, you arrive, the driver helps you out, and he makes sure you get to your front door.

You turn and look out at Sukuna, just as you had the first night he took you home. His window is down, his arm resting on the door, watching you standing there in the doorway. You don’t know what to do, or how to end the night exactly. That final fuck hadn’t felt final enough, so you just wave, as silly as it feels. Sukuna smiles, and you can tell from the way that his head tilts back that he’s done that little amused chuckle you’d earned from him so many times. He raises two fingers slightly, without lifting his hand from where it was.

You thank the driver, you close your door, you lock it.

And decide that’s enough.

CHAPTER 4

#reminder minors and ageless blogs get blocked #there is more but this could be read as the last chapter and I’ll see how it goes #my writing #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #self insert #reader insert

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