natangelix

Dinosaurs - Young Mr. Ben x reader

“A DINOSAUR?!”

His voice rings out through the room at a decibel higher than some of his grandparents may be able to hear, but no one’s blaming him. How could they, when the little boy dressed in blue is turning four and just received an entire set of presents themed perfectly to what he loves most. 

Ben looks up at his mother, eagerly showing her the newest addition to his collection. “This one is a Spinosaurus,” he explains, just as he did previously with the Velociraptor and the Brachiosaurus and the Ankylosaurus before it. 

“Now we can play together!” he adds a moment later, already on his way over to where you sit on your father’s lap, eager to show his best friend the latest gift. He holds it out to you in reverence and he smiles when you take it, just before he turns back to ask if you’re allowed to go play in the sandbox out back. 

The request warms the soul of everyone in the room, perhaps you most of all, even if you don’t really know what it means yet and even if you won’t for many years to come, because right now all that matters is that he got new dinosaurs for his birthday and he wants to share them with you.

The Hypothesis - Young Reed Richards x reader

“I’m almost done, I promise.” 

You roll your eyes at your friend, who you’ve finally managed to locate in the school’s science wing, eagerly working on some kind of experiment that definitely should have adult supervision but lacks any guidance whatsoever. “You’re lucky it’s your birthday because you’re making it really hard for me not to be mad at you right now. You were supposed to meet me forty five minutes ago!” 

The teenager next to you winces, and you don’t miss the way he glances at the clock. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just…I have to…”

“Reed.” 

“Fine, fine,” he sighs. “I’ll get this cleaned up and then I’ll be ready for whatever surprise you have planned for me.” 

You smile, satisfied that you’ve won the battle against the boy that seems to make your heart flutter in your chest, the one you hope to confess your feelings to tonight, when you convince your mother to let the two of you go alone to get snacks at the drive-in. 

“Okay,” Reed says as he stops next to you a few minutes later, pulling you from your daydreams, “I’m ready.” 

There’s the urge to take his hand, but you fight it because you don’t want to be too hasty. You can’t be too eager when testing a hypothesis, especially not this time. Not when this is one experiment that feels too important to mess up.

Birthday Cards - Frankie Morales x f!reader

He’s sitting on his cot. Well, actually, he’s sitting on Santi’s because that’s the one furthest to the corner. It’s where he finds himself every mail day, when he sneaks away from the bustle of the camp to spend a few minutes with you, even if all he gets are a few words etched into a piece of paper. 

Frankie carefully opens the envelope, trying his best not to tear the edges because, after all, this is something you touched. Something you sent halfway across the world for him. 

The first thing he sees is the birthday card. A cheesy one you probably found at Walmart months ago that made you think of him. You got him one every year and he stored them in a box, just like you did with the ones he sent you. A tradition your great-grandmother had started with her husband when they’d started dating, too. 

“What’s that?” Benny asks, causing Frankie to jump as his friend slings an arm around his neck. The bed dips when Will and Santi join him seconds later, all three of them eagerly trying to get a look at what has their Catfish so invested. 

He shakes his head, trying to stuff the little card back into the envelope. “Nothing, it’s nothing.” 

Santiago pulls the paper from his fingers before he can be stopped, pulling out the card with the intent of making fun of his lovesick friend, because he knows as well as everyone else does that Frankie’s got a girl and that girl is you, but his entire attitude changes a moment later. He hands the card back, closed and carefully passed so the contents aren’t lost to the dirty floor. “Come on, let’s leave him alone.” 

The brothers protest, and Frankie tilts his head, but Pope just smiles, patting him on the shoulder as he says “Happy Birthday, Fish.” 

He opens the card for himself and there, in your loopy handwriting is the reminder he needs to keep going. I love you. And, there beside it, falling out into his hand, is a photo of you smiling, the card he’d sent you the last time held up in front of you, silly fish on the front and all. 

Presents - Javier Peña x f!reader***

The sound of the door opening and closing, accompanied by his keys as they hit the dish you’d put on the table by the door, are what bring the butterflies in your stomach to life. 

You’d been planning this for weeks, fearful that Javi’s consistent late nights at the embassy would mess with your attempt to surprise him. He had, after all, been avoiding any mention of his birthday like the plague. First it had been because he didn’t see a need to celebrate when nothing felt like it was going right, then it had been because he didn’t want you to stress over it, and finally, you’d determined, it was because he was simply fearful that the pain in his back and the ache in his knees were simply symptoms of the fact that he’s turning 40. 

“Baby?” he calls out, but you don’t answer. You let the soft illumination of the candles you’d lit in your bedroom draw him to you instead. “What are you doing in…”

The remainder of his words fall off as he takes in the sight before him, you sprawled out on the bed you share, a flimsy one-piece barely covering your body. “Happy Birthday,” you offer, but when the smile falls from his face you’re quick to stand, crossing the room and tugging him by the hands. “Oh no, none of that. Not tonight. Not when you have a present to unwrap.” 

One of his eyebrows skyrockets upward, even as the protest falls from his lips, “I told you I didn’t want anything.” 

You tug him down on the bed after you, reaching around him to grab the handcuffs you know are hanging from the back of his belt. “Well that’s too bad,” you note, already sliding one of them around your wrist, looping it through part of the headboard before you secure the remaining clasp around your opposite arm and look back up at him with a fire lit in your eyes, “because I really think you might like this one.” 

Thankful - Marcus Acacius x f!reader***

“Wake up, my love.” 

You press a tender kiss to his forehead, your arms still wrapped around him as he dozes peacefully against your breast. You hadn’t wanted to wake him when you first rose with the sun, so you hadn’t, allowing him to peacefully sleep atop you until you could no longer quell the ache you feel in his absence. 

Acacius mumbles against you, rousing when you pass your fingers through his unruly hair. He’s so peaceful like this, so far away from battle, so much like the man you married and unlike the one the rest of the world is allowed to see. “You’re another year older,” you whisper, a reminder that earns you a groan. 

“Do not remind me.” As though in protest, he tries his best to roll off of you, but you pull him back incessantly, ensuring that he stays planted where he is, with his body pressing yours into the soft sheets. He offers little resistance, instead bracing himself on forearms planted on either side of your head as he kisses you, slowly as though the two of you have all the time in the world. 

His lips follow their path along your jaw, down until he’s settled back in the crook of your neck, one hand drifting lower to ensure that you’re ready for him. You are, just as you always are, and he fills you in a singular smooth motion. It’s gentle, he’s gentle, with words of adoration whispered against your lips paired to each thrust he makes. Reminders of how thankful he is to have you, of how lucky he feels to live not just this moment but every moment with you by his side, of how all he can see for every year ahead is simply more of this. More of you, and the life you share together.

No Less Loved - Joel Miller x f!reader

He doesn’t celebrate his birthday. That’s what he’d told you the first time you realized you’d let an entire year go by, one where your birthday had been the center of his attention and his had been lost to the shadows. 

You also understand why he doesn’t, because with each year that passes he’s only reminded of what he lost that day, all those lifetimes ago, and you’re not eager to remind him. 

So you don’t. 

You treat it like it’s any other day, one where you wake in his arms and pull him back into a second kiss before you allow him to leave for his patrol. You press your lips to his cheek when you get home that night to find food already on the table. You curl into his side on the couch after dinner as you read the books you’d brought back on a recent outing, a blanket draped over both of you. 

“I know what they are, Javi,” you giggle, “I just mean, why are we getting them? They’re not on the list.”

“You and your list,” Javi chuckles fondly, “You nearly burned your hands yesterday night taking the lasagna out of the oven.  Chucho hasn’t baked in 30 years - those oven mitts of his are so old, a piece of paper has better insulation.  You should have let me do it, baby.”

“I’m trying to impress your father, Javi.”

“You don’t need to try, pretty bird.  That man would go to war for you.  All the Peña men would,” the daring DEA agent flashes his famous smile at you - not the same one you fell for long ago back in Columbia, but it’s no less devastating.  The old smile was a little tighter and it strained to reach the pain in his eyes; that smile was a weapon, a mask, elusive and fleeting.  The smile he flashes you these days is no less dangerous, but it comes more naturally and more frequent; its lines have settle easily on this man’s gorgeous face, deep and earned, softening all his features but especially the browns of those same eyes.  Both smiles can and have made you swoon on the spot; you’re grateful you have the bar of the shopping cart to lean on for support.

The two of you grin dopily at one another over your cartful of groceries, oblivious to the other shoppers in this Laredo grocery store.  You may be far from home, but the love you share is the same everywhere, unwavering and soul affirming.  Neither of you count the minutes that pass, it could be one or twenty, before you both snap back to the present, to the ambient muzak playing over the produce section.

“Okay, baby, I think we’ve covered everything on that list of yours, all that’s left is tonight’s dinner.  We got the steaks for grilling - anything else?” Javi rubs his hands together, eager to get back to the ranch and show off his skill on the barbeque.

You giggle and gesture cheekily around you, “Vegetables?”  At Javi’s nose scrunch, you crook your index finger for him to lean forward, planting a quick peck to that kissable pout of his, “If the Peña men are to go to war, they’ll need to eat more vegetables.”

Javi chases your lips, capturing them with a passionate, but still public appropriate smooch, “Okay, okay, can’t ever say no to you, pretty bird.  Peppers.  Some asparagus.  Corn?”  He’s already walking away, headed for a barrel of sweet corn when you shout after him, “Mushrooms!”

“Mushrooms!” comes the confirmation, loud and clear, accompanied by a thumbs up held high.  You hum to yourself, ogling the man’s backside as he starts digging through ears of corn – you hope he never gives up those tight jeans, no matter what the current style is.  There’s little danger of that happening; Javier Peña has never been one to try and blend in, follow trends – he’s one of a kind, this man of yours.

“You’ve sure got that man all trained up, running around fetching the groceries while you stay with the cart.”

You turn to see a pretty woman with dirty blonde hair and a pleasant look about her, she’s around Javi’s age and pushing her own very full shopping cart – unable to determine if her tone is awestruck, joking, or… something else, your reply is a little wary, “Sorry?”

“I never thought I’d see the day when Javier Peña would be seen doing run of the mill, domestic tasks here in Laredo.  Did he move back?”

You know who the woman is now, and while you’re still no closer to figuring out the intention of her comments, she’s no threat, “We’re just visiting from New York, here to spend some time with Chucho before I’m not allowed to fly anymore.”

The woman raises her eyebrows as you push off the shopping cart bar and step back, straightening so that your pregnant belly comes into view.

“Oh!”

“Hi Lorraine,” Javi is back, he’s casual in his movements as he deposits the veggies of his labour into the cart, but deliberate in wrapping a protective arm around your waist, unsure of what was said before his return, “I see you’ve met my wife?”

You introduce yourself and extend your hand towards the other woman for a friendly shake; the lack of any further polite introductions is an indication that no explanations on how everyone knows one another is needed.

“So,” Lorraine smiles brightly, “How far along are you?  Has it been a good pregnancy so far?”

“Yep!” you chirp, your warm expression relaxing your husband’s shoulders, he takes a calming breath and places a proud hand on your round belly, “Just a little over five months!”

“Well, congratulations!  I’m very happy for you both,” the blonde woman is as gracious in her felicitations as you are in accepting them.  Before she turns to go, her curiosity gets the better of her, “Do you mind if I ask, boy or girl?”

“Boy,” you answer, clearly elated.

“Another Peña ready to storm the beaches,” chuckles Javi and the two of you instinctively tilt your heads towards one another, sharing in the private joke.  Lorraine takes your impromptu tête-à-tête as her cue to leave, bidding you and your husband good luck and farewell, leaving you to inspect the produce Javi has selected for tonight's dinner.

“Did I do good?” grins Javi, all thoughts of his ex-fiancé gone as quickly as she had suddenly appeared – his attention fully on the only woman who ever occupies his thoughts.

You pretend to pick through his selections, reserving your praise, “Hmmmmm… Baby Boy Peña doesn’t want any of this sadly.”

“What?” the normally steely head of New York’s DEA field office panics, dismayed at the idea that he’s disappointed his still in utero child, “What does he want?”

“Sushi.”

“The baby wants sushi?”

“Mmmmhhmmm,” you sigh with a dreamy far-off look, “Mercury enriched sashimi.  And an Italian deli meat sandwich from that bodega around the corner back home.  With extra sauce.  And brie!  The baby wants brie, Javi.”

The man chuckles, “Me too, baby.”  You get misty-eyed (damn these hormones!) remembering that in solidarity, Javi has also given up all the foods you can’t eat for the duration of your pregnancy.  Though you had insisted there was no need, it does make you feel incredibly supported and lucky to have such devoted partner; cupping your husband’s handsome face in your hands, you whisper, “Thank you, my love.”

He kisses your eyelids lightly, then with one arm still around your waist, starts pushing the cart towards the checkout, “Thank you, pretty bird.  You’re so strong and beautiful, I owe you everything for carrying our child.  I love you.”

“I love you too, Javi.”

“Please try to remember that when I have to cook your steak medium well tonight,” sheepish, he kisses the corner of your mouth and tries not to chuckle at your frozen look of abject horror, pretending to focus entirely on loading the groceries from the cart onto the checkout conveyor belt.

“You have to eat yours medium well too.”

“What?!!”

Harry’s answer that night had been the only one to give you pause. He had been the first to actually capture your attention in a way that no one else had in the longest time, but where your first instinct had been to giggle, he had only smiled warmly. And, at the end of the night, he’d saved you from talking to Mr.600k and had ushered you to his car with orders for his driver to make sure you got home safely instead of giving you his number. 

It was three days before he called, having procured your number from Lucy, and for the first time in a long time, you’d actually answered the phone. 

But even months later, long after your lives started to feel like they might actually be melding together in a way you’ve never experienced with anyone else, you were still turning his answer over in your mind. Trying to determine if that had even been his answer or if it was just something the tequila had paired with the face of the man you found yourself quickly falling in love with. 

“Harry?” you finally ask one night, when you’re perched atop his kitchen counter watching him make the two of you dinner, “what did you mean when you said you’re a pleaser?”

He doesn’t stop tracing the wooden spoon through the food in perfect figure eight motions. “When did I say that?”

“At the event we met at. The question was what your unicorn trait is and you said that you’re a pleaser.”

This time, he stops moving, carefully resting the utensil on the spoon rest before looking at you over his shoulder, “what do you think I meant by it?”

You swing your legs back and forth a bit, relishing in the warmth of his kitchen, shrugging your shoulders when you respond. “I don’t know. I guess I just assumed that you meant that you're the kind of person that wants to make sure their partner is taken care of, because you are. You’re someone that makes people feel valuable. You make me feel that way.” 

Harry turns completely, slowly moving closer. Instinctively, you part your legs for him to slot between, his hands finding the bare skin of your thighs as he edges closer. “Good, because you are valuable,” he reminds you first, “but that actually isn’t what I meant.” 

“What did you mean then?” you inquire, although the closer he gets, the more the realization dawns on you that you definitely already know what the answer is. It’s a suspicion that is more-or-less confirmed for you when he captures your lips in a heated kiss, encouraging you to wrap your arms around his neck and scoot just a bit closer to the edge of the counter. He mirrors your movement, gripping your ass to mold your body against his as he devours you in a way only he ever has, but something spattering in the pan behind him is enough to draw your attention away. “Harry…?”

He mumbles something against your jaw, but you can’t quite make it out. You try to gain his attention again, but he’s still too invested in your pulse point, and it’s only on your third try that you finally regain his attention. “What?” he asks, looking more irritated than you’ve ever seen him, which still isn’t a lot, all things considered. 

“The food.” 

“Shit.” He jumps, quickly resettling you on the counter before he hurries back to the stove, pulling the pan from the burner and stirring its contents to prevent it from scorching. When he’s satisfied that dinner won’t be ruined, he drops the spoon back on its rest and turns to look at you once more, leaning back against the counter next to the stove. 

You assume you’re a sight to behold, based on his expression, sitting there with swollen lips and bright red cheeks that partner well with your hair that’s a bit more mussed than usual. “What?” you ask when he smiles, still standing across from you, your voice soft amidst the hum of the city seeping in through the window he’d opened earlier. 

Harry shrugs, “just thinking about how lucky I am.” 

“Are you? Lucky, that is?” you ask coyly, tilting your head as you swing your legs again. 

He nods, crossing back to the island. “Yes. And I’d like to show you just how lucky I am.” 

You look down to watch as his fingers trace up your thighs once more, his hands landing at your hips by the time your eyes flicker back up to meet his. “I asked if you are lucky, babe, not if you’d like to get lucky.”

“You misunderstand me,” he points out, stepping between your legs so he can properly haul you into his arms, your center pressing against the already obvious bulge in his sweatpants as he carries you toward the bedroom. “I’m lucky because I have the pleasure of pleasing you.” 

“Harry, the food,” you try to protest the further he carries you, but he doesn’t stop. He simply continues his track to the bedroom and to the far-too expensive sheets that you know are waiting there.

“It’ll keep.” 

“Are you…” 

“I’m sure. Now,” he pauses, carefully depositing you on the bed, “I believe you asked what I meant when I said I’m a pleaser?” There isn’t much you can do other than nod, looking up at him as he stands to his full height before you. You push up on your elbows, ready to answer, but he’s already turning off the lights, shrouding both of you in darkness before he settles on the bed at your side. “I want you to just feel, okay?” 

You nod even though he can’t see it, not with the absence of the light, but he must know anyway because you’re eased a moment later by the sensation of his lips as they descend on your neck. 

His hands are next, encasing you in his embrace as he tugs you closer, one running up to cup the weight of your breast through the shirt you'd borrowed when you’d arrived at his apartment earlier that night, the other tracing lower. You let yourself fall back against the bed in response, and he follows, trailing his mouth down through the valley of your breasts as he works at undoing the buttons along the way. 

It’s easier for every sensation to be heightened by the fact that you can’t actually see him, but it obviously doesn’t slow him down. He plays you like a finely tuned instrument, the hand that he’d moved lower already trailing through your folds. “Harry,” you whisper, arching into his hand, “please.” 

“Tell me,” he insists, “tell me what you want.” 

“I think you know,” you fire back, which results in the warmth of his laughter surrounding you. He moves in response, shifting on the bed so he’s laying back, his hands on your hips as he maneuvers you toward him. “What are you doing?” 

He doesn’t respond, not right away, because he’s too busy positioning you right where he wants you, with your knees pressed into the silk sheets on either side of his head. 

You still can’t see him, but you can feel the warmth of his breath on your center as you hesitate. “You don’t have to…” 

“No,” he responds firmly. “I don’t have to, but I sure as hell want to. And I know that you want it, too.” 

He doesn’t give you another moment to ponder his wording because he pulls you flush against his face, his tongue immediately finding a home as he laps at your center. The figure eight motions he had used to stir the food earlier are the same as the path he traces around your clit, sending your hands scrambling for the headboard as you try to ground yourself. “Fuck,” you murmur, a response that causes him to only work faster. 

You’re already nearly gone by the time his hands pull down on your thighs to press you more firmly against his face, and the motion causes you to cry out, your center clenching around nothing as you come. Helpless to do anything other than rock your hips into him, it’s only when the spasms start to subside that you realize he hasn’t yet released you. “Baby?” you whine, already overstimulated as he continues his work. 

Harry only doubles down, holding you firmly against his mouth, easing his tongue lower until he finds your entrance. There’s a part of you that wants him to stop, for him to fuck you properly, but then his nose bumps against your clit and you realize that you don’t ever want him to stop, actually. 

Somewhere in the midst of your moans, you mumble his name, over and over again, and yet you feel like you still haven’t said it enough because this is what he meant. The seemingly innocent answer he’d given the night you met hadn’t just been a reference to how he makes you feel, but was rather an indication of how he’d make you feel. How he’d make you come undone a second time, and then a third, until you’re practically begging him to fill you with the cock that’s leaking beneath the fabric of his sweatpants. 

And when he does finally allow you to ride him, you can taste him on his tongue, right before he draws another climax from your body. It leaves you breathless and limp, sated to the point of exhaustion, and as he softens inside you after, you’re unable to do anything more than collapse against his chest. 

“Do you understand what I meant now?” he asks, amusement in his tone as he rubs circles into your back. 

You nod into his neck, “yeah, I’m pretty sure that I do.” 

“And?” 

His rough, big hands on your face, that's the most comforting touch you’ve had in the last years. The light coming from the bedroom window illuminates Joel’s face in an angelic way. His deep brown eyes framed by wrinkles, that beautiful smile, his gray curls messy from sleep, and his beard.

“Good morning, most beautiful woman in the world” he kisses your forehead.

“Joel” you close your eyes again. “We’re in the apocalypse, there aren't a lot of women out there, you know?”

“But you are the most beautiful of the remaining ones” he chuckles, looking only at you.

“Okay” you sit up. “I’ll take that. Good morning to the most handsome and gentle man in the entire apocalypse.”

The way your lips meet his is delicate. Joel plays the role of a serious and angry man, but inside these walls, he is just your date. You never thought in all those five years in Jackson that Joel Miller would take you out on two dates and, on the second one, take you to bed and give you the most amazing night of your life.

Yet, here he is, sitting by your side on the bed, wearing only his sweatpants, with a breakfast tray. You can swear that the grin on your face is one of the biggest you've ever had, having no idea what you want first: another round of sex or something to eat.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, setting the tray in front of you. He made you toast and cut up some fruit.

“After last night?” you smile. “How could anyone sleep badly?”

“You’re so amazing, you know?” his hand gently places a lock of hair behind your ear.

“You bring me coffee in bed, and I’m the one who is amazing?” now you’re teasing, deciding that, in fact, you want another round. “You got me strawberries?”

With Joel’s eyes on you, you reach for one of the strawberries in the bowl, the blanket falling in the process and exposing your naked torso. Slowly, you place the fruit in your mouth, biting into it while looking straight into Joel’s eyes and smirking.

“I was thinking, maybe we could—”

Pushing the tray aside, Joel shuts you up with a kiss. You can see how much your teasing worked. He pulls the blanket down, uncovering your whole naked body. He bites his lip. Ever since yesterday, he has been sure this could be his view for the rest of his life.

“You look so good” he mutters, pleasure almost dripping from his mouth.

“Stop, Joel!” you giggle.

“Come here.”

Joel pulls your hips to the edge of the bed, spreading your legs with his shoulders. There is just a little bit left from last night on you, since you both took a shower afterward. But Joel dives into you as if he hadn’t done it five hours ago. His teeth graze your clit, making you moan.

His tongue works on you slowly and teasingly, making you gasp with every movement. Your fingers hold his hair. It moves up and down, stopping only to suck your clit. You feel his thick fingers enter you, two of them.

“Jesus, Joel!” you moan at the stretch.

The answer comes with more pressure and eagerness. Joel is hungry for you, as if he feeds on your orgasms. The oversensitivity from last night still makes every sensation feel four times more intense.

In seconds, you come with a loud cry, hoping no one is passing in front of his house right now. Although Joel wants every single resident to hear how much he worships you, how well he eats you out. His fingers continue working hard. For a moment his mouth stops, just so you can recover.

After a few seconds, he dives back in, wanting to give you another orgasm before chasing his own. You can see stars exploding behind your closed eyelids. Joel is definitely the hottest man around. And he loves making you happy and satisfied.

“Don’t stop, baby—” your voice breaks. “Right there!”

He chuckles against your sensitive skin. You feel everything vibrating, the pleasure building. His fingers pump faster now. You fall apart on his fingers and mouth, this time biting your lips so you won’t scream louder.

“Joel” you whisper now.

“What?” he smirks, cleaning his fingers and you with his tongue.

“I need you inside me now” you’re panting when Joel crawls over you to be on top.

“I need that too, gorgeous.”

Joel positions himself at your entrance, pushing in slowly. His thick length stretches you even wider, the contact burning, making you both moan into each other’s mouths. He stays buried inside you without moving for a few seconds, only staring at your face, admiring your beauty.

“Have I told you you’re the most beautiful woman?” he bites your lower lip.

“Maybe four times just this morning” you giggle.

“I can’t say it enough.”

He starts to thrust slowly, going deep. Your eyes stay locked the whole time. It’s intense, like you’ve both known each other for years. Yet, you want more, so you grind against him, wrapping your legs around his hips and urging him to go deeper.

“Fuck me harder, Joel Miller” you moan, knowing he hates the word ‘fuck.’

“You’re such a dream” he kisses you.

The thrusts start to get faster and deeper. He groans with his head buried in your chest, between your breasts. Both of you are already sweating. Adrenaline taking over your bodies. Everything pulses inside you.

“Joel, I want you to ‘have sex’ with me on all fours” you giggle at the sex part.

“Turn around then, let me fuck you” he says kind of shyly, pulling himself out of you.

“Oh God” you giggle as he flips you onto your stomach.

You get on all fours and look back, excitedly waiting for him to push himself inside you, but first Joel stops and leans down to suck your pussy. This position is so perfect for him. Allowing the greatest view. His tongue only licks you once, making you shiver, before his cock invades you, making you arch your back.

“Shit!” you whisper.

“Oh God!” Joel groans. “You feel so good.”

Joel’s hands hold your waist tightly, fingers digging into your skin. He is the one leading, pulling your body back and pushing himself forward, hitting deep every time. Your breasts bounce and you fist the sheets, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room along with your moans and groans. A delicious chaos.

“Come for me one more time, please, baby” Joel leans down, biting your shoulder, his hand finding your clit.

Pleasure builds like wildfire with each thrust and each stroke of his fingers. His groans are low, but you can feel his hot breath on your sensitive skin. Your head falls forward as your body tightens around him and you shatter, your arms giving out. Joel holds you steady with one arm.

Soon, you feel him tense and you know that means he is close too. You don’t have condoms in the apocalypse, so Joel pulls out and strokes himself for a few seconds until you feel the warmth of his release on your back. His growl is animalistic and he pants.

There is a pause for both of you to breathe before you collapse onto your stomach on the bed. Joel gets up and walks to the bathroom, taking a piece of toilet paper and wiping your back clean, kissing it afterward.

Instead of taking the tray, Joel lies down behind you and pulls you so close you are almost merging into one. His hot breath on your neck as his lips scatter kisses along your skin.

“Now, let’s have breakfast, Joel Miller?” you murmur.

“Let’s just stay here for one more minute” he bites your earlobe.

“When I saw you on the streets and on patrol” you turn your face slightly “I didn’t think you’d be so cuddly.”

“I’m full of surprises” he chuckles.

“A lot of surprises” you turn to face him, your hand on his face “I can’t believe it’s only been two dates and I’m probably already in love with you.”

“I’ve been in love with you since the day you fell off your horse and I had to pick you up off the ground” his eyes are locked on yours.

Another hum, but you can’t help but roll your eyes as you watch him turn on the burner. He’s still reading as he reaches for the box of tea and pulls out one of the bags, automatically ripping the little package open and sliding the bag into a mug. 

“Ted.” 

Finally, he tears his focus away from his phone to find you already maneuvering around the counter to take your place next to him, turning the stove off and carefully removing the teapot from the heat source. “What are you doing?” he asks defensively as you set it back on the counter next to his mug. 

You don’t answer at first, busying yourself with grabbing something out of the cabinet below the stove. “You’re so focused on your phone that you literally almost ruined my grandmother’s teapot,” you explain, standing once you have the new vessel in your hands. “If you’re gonna heat the water on the stove, you need to use a tea kettle, not a teapot.” To emphasize your point, you push the kettle into his hands. 

He looks down at the teapot sitting on the counter, then at the kettle, and then back at you before sighing, placing the kettle on the cooling stovetop before running a hand through his already messy hair, “I’m sorry, baby. I’m just…” 

“Stressed?” you finish before he can. “I noticed.” It comes out with a bit more intensity than you intend, but you don’t regret it either because when he’s stressed, you’re stressed and you know that sometimes he forgets how heavily it weighs on you. 

There’s another sigh, but then you’re in his arms, one hand on the back of your head to pull you firmly against him, his lips pressed against your temple before he rests his cheek against your crown. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately, the same way he always does, “what do you need?”

You stare at the kitchen window for a moment, eyes wide open as you feel him stroke your hair and you debate how to respond. “I need you,” you begin, the words you intend to say after dropping off as their importance seems to diminish, because that’s really all you need at the end of the day. You don’t need anything fancy, you certainly don’t need him to be mayor, but you do need him, here, with you. 

And, preferably, you need him to be less stressed than he always seems to be. 

Pulling back, you find him looking down at you with remorse. It’s authentic, too, because while he tries to prevent this from happening every time the ballots come out, he’s only human. “We could go away for a weekend,” he suggests quickly, “right after the election. Just you and me and a king size bed and…” 

“Ted.” His name comes out as more of a laugh this time, one that gets him to smile just as widely as you are before you continue. “I don’t need that. We don’t need that. We’re fine,” you emphasize, running your fingers up in an attempt to calm his curls, “I just don’t like seeing you like this.” 

“Like what?” he asks in what you know is an attempt to deflect. 

“Like this,” you note, trailing your thumb down over his cheekbone. “Like you’re always three days behind on sleep and like the world is going to end if you don’t win the election. You acting like you’re responsible for reconciling every relationship in this entire town and like you’d rather look at your phone than at me.” 

“Well that’s just not true,” he points out quickly, leaning in to kiss you in a way that lets the same playful man you married peek out from behind the curtain. 

But you’re not smiling when he pulls back, and the grin is wiped from his face just as quickly. “Can you honestly say that? Because five minutes ago you were more focused on your phone than you were on possibly burning the house down, much less me.” 

He’s quiet, staring at you. “Let me ask you again, then, because I guess I wasn’t listening the last time. What do you need?” 

Your head tilts to the side, “and my answer is gonna be the same. I need you, Ted. That’s always going to be true. I need you to breathe for a second.” 

There’s a pause and you watch as he absorbs your words this time, eyes darkening a bit as he finally allows the anxiety to show. “It’s really hard to,” he murmurs when he lets his head drop to rest on your shoulder. 

“I know it is, I know,” you soothe, wrapping yourself around him, holding him to your body. “So, let me ask you this…what can I do for you? What do you need?” 

Ted remains silent for a moment, his breath hot against your neck. “I don’t know,” he murmurs. 

You pull back, “how is it that I know what you need when you don’t?” His eyebrows raise in response, but he doesn’t question you further because his entire mind is suddenly too focused on the way your hands are trailing down his chest. “How is it that I know what will relieve some of this stress but you’re still clueless?” 

“Eric will be home any minute,” he reminds you, and for a brief second you feel him tense, well aware that he’s looking at the clock on the microwave. “Or at least he should be home any…” 

“Shhhh,” you hush him, already dropping to your knees and pushing his hips toward the counter, his back hitting the surface as you run your hands beneath the t-shirt he’s wearing, trailing them over the faint curve of his stomach. “Just let me help, okay?” 

There are no further protests as your lips follow the path of your fingertips, his hands finding a home on the edge of the island behind him when you pull at the waistband of his sweatpants, dragging them just low enough to expose him to the dry air. He’s only half hard, unsurprising considering his stress levels, but the groan that fills the kitchen when you lick a stripe along his length tells you you’re heading in the right direction. 

“You’re right,” he grinds out through clenched teeth, “this is what I need.” 

You smirk, tongue flickering out to lick at his tip, “I know.” 

In one smooth motion, you take him into your mouth, releasing him a moment later in favor of pumping his cock with your hand. It doesn’t take long for him to harden beneath your touch, and when you glance up at him, his eyes are blissfully closed. You keep your gaze locked on his face when you take him back into your mouth, watching carefully as his open again when you envelop him. 

When you hear his phone buzz on the counter, you immediately reach for his hand, catching it before he can pick it up. “Leave it,” you instruct him, guiding his fingers to your hair, and he’s helpless to do anything but follow your command as you take him deeper. But he’s not forceful, he’s not harsh. He still lets you set the pace, purely gripping at your hair to ground himself the closer he finds himself to release. 

“Where do you want to come, baby?” you ask him when you come up for a breath, barely allowing him a moment to think before you descend on his cock again, hallowing your cheeks as though you’re trying to distract him. 

There’s a grunt, his voice strained when he responds. “Can I…” he begins, only to stop short a moment later in an action that you know has nothing to do with how close he is.

“Say it, Ted. What do you need?” you ask again. “Where. Do. You. Need. To. Come?” 

“Your face.” 

The room seems to still when he makes the admission, but you can only smile, your fist working faster. You slip the tip past your lips once more, but he only allows you your control for a moment longer, his hand abandoning his grip on your hair to push you back, his own fingers closing around his length as he jerks himself off. You lean back just slightly, resting on your heels as you wait and then, with a long moan of your name, his release hits your skin.

Your eyes are closed, but you leave your mouth open as the hot ropes cover your face in the hope that some of his spend might find its way to your waiting tongue. He must hear your silent plea, though, because as his hand draws the last of his release from his cock, he taps the tip against your lips before relaxing back against the counter. 

He’s still boneless as you stand, but when you reach for a washcloth to clean yourself, he stops you, taking the scrap of fabric from your hands to wipe at your face. You stand perfectly still as he gently drags it across your skin, gathering the evidence of his climax.

“So I was right,” you goad him as he works, your own hands moving down his body to ease his softening length back into the confines of his sweatpants. 

Ted nods, looking down at you as he finishes his task, “you were right.” He’s about to say something else when his phone does its best to distract him again, lighting up with a phone call. He glances over at it, as do you, but when you look back at him, the phone has been forgotten. 

“Aren’t you going to get that?” 

“No,” he returns with assurance, washcloth still in hand as he reaches down to grab at your thighs, picking you up in one swift movement. “They can wait for tomorrow,” he continues, already carrying you toward your bedroom, “because right now I have more important work to focus on.” 

You lean in to kiss at his neck, “and what’s that?” 

“You know nothing, Acacius. Just shut up,” you barked back, frustrated with the lack of silence. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

The straw mattress under you shifted with his weight. His body radiated off a comforting heat, and you inadvertently pushed your hips back towards him. Gravitating towards the General was inevitable, just like two colliding stars were bound to meet and destroy each other. But days like these, you wished to be on a different, divergent path—one where he wouldn’t bother you.

“Oh, melculum (sweetheart), I do know,” he teased, hugging your midsection so your ass would conveniently nestle into his growing bulge. “You’re about to start bleeding, that’s why... Your pussy just senses when I’m around—she wants to be good for me, to behave for me, to please me.”

You rolled your eyes in exasperation—he was way off the mark. You still had a week of freedom before your womb took over your life.

Acacius paused rather theatrically for a couple of seconds, deeply inhaling through his aquiline nose buried in your hair. “I stand corrected. You already are.”

You laughed—a humorless, irked sound. You grabbed his broad hand, the one resting on your hip under the cover, and slapped it away, throwing him a vexed side glance over your shoulder.

“No, I’m not. Do you really think you know better than me on this?”

“I don’t think it, it simply is a fact,” he cooed, his warm breath fanning the shell of your ear. “I can smell it. Your scent changes, just subtly but still so intense. I could smell your bleeding cunt from miles away, her metallic musk calls to me.”

Your pussy ached at the suggestion. Something about Acacius being able to smell your period even before it stained your underwear was enough for your skin to bristle, for your sensitive nipples to tauten. A man like him, forged in war and bloodshed, surely could recognize the distinctive fragrance of blood.

“You’re just talking shit right now,” you insisted against your judgement, ignoring the tells of your own body.

His silence should have warned you—prepared you for his next move, at least. The General wasn’t one to hedge, and you should know better than antagonizing him. But you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t provoke him, if you didn’t fight him back on everything just to remind him that he wasn’t all-knowing. That he was just a man who could err.

His calloused hand returned to your hip, his lips trailing an invisible path from behind your ear to the delicate spot in the crook of your neck to distract you. And it worked, because when his palm cradled your naked ass cheek and slithered between your legs from behind, you didn’t see him coming.

Your breath hitched at the back of your throat, eyes widened in surprise, when his middle finger traced the outline of your hole, ghosting it before pushing all the way in, down to the knuckle. Your pussy squelched around the intrusion, a little wet sucking noise that could be attributed to getting aroused.

Marcus snickered against your skin when you sighed in relief as he pumped his thick finger in and out of your heat. It felt so good, being fingered from behind, that you couldn’t rein in the needy moan that dripped from your parted lips.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he husked out in your ear, reading your mind. “Sorry, mel, I’m just proving my point.”

Before you could complain, the General withdrew his finger, coming out of your cunt with a sinful pop. Through half-lidded eyes, you saw the deep, shiny red staining his digit when he moved his hand near your face. A trickle of period blood slowly slid down to his wrist.

“Told you,” he said with a devilish, cocky smirk when you looked at him over your shoulder, stunned. “I just know when my woman’s bleeding.”

Speechless, you watched Acacius push the bloodied finger into his mouth, sucking it clean in a matter of seconds. A guttural groan rumbled through his chest, darkened, lustful eyes staring down at you before he licked the scarlet dribble off his inner wrist.

“Fucking delicious,” Marcus grunted, but you could only focus on the red smudge on his bottom lip. “You can’t deny it now—your pussy is bleeding for me, just like I said.”

The sight ignited something primal, feral even, within you. Swallowing your pride, admitting he was right, was not on your foremind anymore. Acacius was categorically correct, the undeniable proof right there on his lips. Long forgotten was your anger, for now you could only focus on the intense palpitations between your thighs.

You hated him for unraveling your desire so easily, for making your heart race and your core tingle. For disarming you with one single finger roughly shoved up into your cunt without even asking for permission first. Society dictated you should be horrified by his actions; instead, his brute manners only excited you—your pulsing clit a reminder of the manly power he exerted so effortlessly.

Acacius mistook your silence for disbelief.

“What, you don’t believe your own eyes now?” Marcus whispered, rubbing his swollen groin onto your ass. “Let me show you again.”

Like putty on his hands, Acacius manhandled you until you were lying on your back, the top half of your body slightly propped up on the mountain of pillows. The cover you so cozily hid under flew to the feet of the bed in the blink of an eye, exposing your naked form to his hungry, golden eyes. Because despite how much you professed to be annoyed by him, you still wanted him—needed him in the most primal way.

He laid sideways beside you, arm bent at the elbow and his head resting on his palm, as if he had no rush nor worry in the world. His orbs roved over every womanly curve of yours, lingering on your soft nipples. The smoothness he found there must have upset him, because his right hand was quick to skim over one of them—not quite touching it, but close enough to feel his warmth until your nipple began reacting to his proximity. When your bud started to wrinkle, only then did Acacius drag his pad around it, then pinched it and pulled.

You moaned aloud, your back arching on its own accord for your breast to find the rough comfort he offered, your skin plagued by goosebumps. Acacius kissed your temple, a sly grin curling his lips, then harshly tugged at your perked up nipple again until you hummed, eyes fluttering shut in surrender.

“So sensitive, sweetheart,” he muttered, his thumb now soothingly stroking your nub. “Open your eyes, I want you to see that I am right and you’re wrong.”

So out of your mind you were right now, you simply obeyed. Your eyes snapped open just in time to see his broad hand unceremoniously throwing your legs apart. You couldn’t help but watch him pry your pussy lips open. From this angle, you couldn’t see any bleeding, but the General was quick to show you.

Two thick, rough fingers glided over the silk of your slit, caressing your clit while his fingertips ghosted your mouthing hole. Acacius’ hand was so big, it covered your whole pussy, and while you couldn’t quite see, you could definitely feel. His digits just eased in, a wet slide making his point obvious, and bottomed out.

You whimpered, breaths coming out in short bursts, when Marcus started fingering you, the heel of his hand stroking your bundle of nerves every time he plunged in. With every sinful squelch, your eyes rolled to the back of your head despite how hard you were trying to keep them open. But when he curled them inside to rub your pulse point, your eyes lost focus and closed.

It happened in a split second: his fingers suddenly slid out before you could complain, and then Acacius spanked your cunt, hitting your clit with the right amount of force to send thunders up your spine. Your legs collapsed, knees touching each other with Acacius’ hand trapped in between, so close to coming but not finding bliss yet.

“Told you to open your eyes,” he gritted out and his fingers dived back in when you did. “Watch how your pussy bleeds.”

You sat up slightly and craned your neck just enough to see his fingers completely covered in burgundy, the palm of his hand too. It was more abundant than before, thick and a bit coagulated—as if Acacius was coaching your pussy to menstruate exclusively for him.

“Fuck, it’s gonna be a heavy one this month,” Acacius cooed, his bared teeth scratching your cheek while your eyes were glued to the gore show taking place between your thighs. “You’re gonna bleed through everything. You’re gonna make a fucking mess of my bed, aren’t you?”

Your whines grew louder, heaving now rather maniacally, when Acacius’ pace built up, fingerfucking you so fast, the blood steadily spilled around his fingers.

“Who’s right, huh? Tell me,” Marcus bit your cheek, marking you, not giving you a chance to think when he yanked your hair back too harshly. “Say it.”

“You’re right. I—fuck. I’m bleeding,” you mewled, jaw hanging wide open, teary eyes meeting his wild ones.

Acacius didn’t think twice, catching you by surprise when he spat directly into your open mouth. Then grabbed your chin, his fingers thrusting into your bloodied entrance relentlessly.

You just gasped, swallowing his saliva.

“And you’re going to bleed even more, mel. Now come on my fingers.”

The climax you had been putting off for a few minutes had just grown bigger, heat blooming right in your core when you finally let go. Waves crashed over your body, toes curling, all your muscles tensing up until you wailed breathlessly while Acacius pumped his digits in and out of you in a frenzy.

Marcus laughed in your ear, your heartrate calming down. But he gave you no pause, softly tapping his palm onto your cunt, each slap stingier than the previous one until your nerve endings were firing again.

“Funny how fast your bratty attitude just disappears with a couple of fingers,” he kissed your temple, slick and blood gushing out onto his waiting hand.

“Oh, shut up already,” you sneered, rolling your eyes at him. “You may be right, but that only makes you even more annoying.”

The General grunted, obviously displeased with your passive-aggressive behavior. Any other man would have given up, but not him—it just spurred him on, and you knew. That was why you were trying to get on his nerves now.

He unearthed his hand from in between your legs and sat up. His brows were knitting together as he stood up from bed, completely naked from head to toe, just like the Gods brought him into this world. The Roman was a sight to see—tall, toned and brawny but with a softer tummy, his back muscles defined, his arms strong, neck thick, thighs powerful.

Your eyes irremediably followed the V line and hairy trail down his frame, and your mouth watered. His cock had swollen to its biggest size, girthy like your wrist with a plump, reddened knob topped with pearly, shiny beads. His ballsacks hung heavily underneath, feeding the bulging vein on the underside. Acacius was so hard, the leaky cockhead was kissing his navel.

He noticed how you were devouring him, greedy to have a taste of the best dick in Rome. It didn’t matter how many times you had taken him into your mouth, didn’t matter how many times you had gagged on him when Acacius deepthroated you, didn’t matter how your throat painfully stretched to house him—still, you wanted him resting heavily on your tongue, his succulent tip finding refuge in the depths of your mouth.

The General cupped his balls with one broad hand and for a second you thought he would jump onto the mattress and shove his throbbing cock down your throat, but instead he walked around the furniture to the feet of the bed.

Disappointment didn’t settle, because before you could hazard a guess of what was to come, Marcus firmly grabbed your ankles and dragged you until your ass was almost hanging off the edge of the mattress.

Your instinct kicked in before your brain caught up, so you helplessly squirmed on the sheets to release yourself from his purchase. Acacius pulled from your ankles again, holding you in place and spreading you open before sinking to his knees without breaking eye contact.

When his mouth hovered near your pussy, you stilled, propping yourself up on your elbows. His deadpan expression would, under any other circumstances, call to caution—brows furrowed, inexpressive eyes kissed by crows’ feet, thin lips fallen into a flat line and a telling tic on his jaw. Acacius looked like a man about to wage war, and you were his enemy.

You locked eyes with him, defiant with a cocked brow. Would he dare to go down on you? A little blood wouldn’t put off a battle-hardened General like him—if anything, it would make it more attractive. Acacius wasn’t one to shy away from his animalistic instincts, not even in the bedroom.

His obsession with your period had been obvious since the first day you menstruated on his bed. You’d been so apologetic about it—it wasn’t the impression you wanted to give the most decorated General of Rome, that you were careless and unable to track your cycle. Against all odds, he’d grinned like the motherfucker he was and pound into you harder.

So when he leaned in, watching you attentively, and lapped at your whole seam in one thick stripe, it didn’t startle you—in fact, you’d been waiting expectantly and as so, you mewled and fell back onto the mattress, fisting his greying curls and pushing his face into your cunt.

When the metallic tang hit his tastebuds, Acacius groaned, eyes shut and brows scrunched in concentration. Your fingers tightened on his hair when he trapped your pulsating clit between his teeth, rolling it gently.

This was where he was meant to be—head buried between your legs, getting a taste of heaven. It was a way of claiming what was his, of primitive possession, but your blood was also an intimate offering Mars and Bellona Themselves had bestowed upon him. A sign of future achievements, of success in the battlefield.

Right when Acacius worried about the next campaign knocking at his door, the Gods of War he worshipped sent you his way, fertile and bleeding. The perfect gift to quench his thirst. And by the Gods he was thirsty for blood.

Blood played a primordial role in Marcus’ life. It was shed at the mercy of his sword more often than not—a needed evil, one that wrecked and invigorated him equally. It was a reminder of what his life had come to, of how it was spilled without consent. But life had to balance itself out, and that was where you came into play.

You had surrendered willingly to him, offered him salvation to redeem his soul. The iron-like relish coating his mouth only prompted him to dig deeper, to suck in your clit, to kiss it tenderly when you writhed and locked your thighs around his neck. Acacius was under a trance—a magic spell that soothed him, calming his fixation.

He glanced up at you and could only see the two hills of your breasts, rising and sinking in your chest as you heaved. Your face was hidden from him, and it was frustrating to know he was missing how your features twisted in pleasure, how you were gaping for air, how your eyelashes dampened with every tease, how your nose wrinkled while your lips shaped the perfect ‘O.’

Acacius dipped further down, his resolution back, searching for the fountain of his own redemption. Your bleeding hole squeezed slightly when the tip of his tongue prodded at it—first gently, then insisting. He circled around it, edging you, while the bridge of his aquiline nose humped your clit with every tease.

“F-fuck,” you wailed, letting go of his hair to cup your breasts, caressing your nipples. “Do it already, you fucker.”

With a breathy grunt, his tongue plunged in, squeezing past the resistance of your opening. The salty, slightly bitter taste inundated his senses, and Acacius’ chest rumbled as his tongue parted your insides. It was creamy and warm, your blood leaking right into his waiting mouth.

“Holy fucking shit,” you rasped, cradling and squeezing your tits. “Oh, please.”

Your plea rang in his ears along with the squelching on his tongue, the symphony relaxing. Soon his right thumb was pressing tight circles on your clit, peeling back the hood to arouse you more. Acacius fucked two thick fingers of his free hand into your clenching pussy whenever his tongue slipped out.

So lost was he in you, so hypnotized by the musky scent and metallic taste of your cunt, Acacius didn’t realize you were coming until your inner thighs pressed tightly against his ears and both of your hands were grabbing handfuls of his curls. You buffed your core onto his face, rocking your hips up and down while you wailed at the top of your lungs and your walls clenched around his tongue and fingers.

Urged by your neediness, the General let you ride out the orgasm, eating you out, fingering your reddened entrance and smothering your clit until your body slackened on the messy bedsheets, becoming limp within seconds and raggedly breathing.

When he emerged from between your legs and towered at the feet of the bed, Marcus took a moment to admire you and the scene. Your skin was coated with a thin layer of sweat, your breasts swollen and perked up from your own handling, your eyes wet and shut and your mouth parted.

His hungry sight traveled down, finding the white linen under you was ruined, your trembling inner thighs were smeared in a deep shade of red and your pulsating hole was leaking crimson—a suggestive trickle kissing the inner sides of your pussy lips and pooling around your rimmed hole.

Yes, you were a godsent gift for his own enjoyment—one he wasn’t to waste.

Standing in front of you, Acacius fisted his throbbing erection, tugging himself harshly, eyes focused on the glob of coagulated blood your pussy oozed out. Called by your feminine nature, the General sank his knees to either side of you on the mattress and swiped his plump cockhead on your slit. Instinctively, you spread your legs so the back of your knees were resting on top of his thighs.

“Are you going to fuck me or not, asshole?” you hissed through gritting teeth.

Your demeanor soured with every brush on your glistening seam. If looks could kill, Acacius would be a dead man. Patience was a virtue he lacked though—teaching you a lesson was not in his playbook right now, just finding relief in the offering the Gods put in his way. Insolence shouldn’t go unpunished next time, but for now…

The General tipped forward to wrap a broad, calloused hand around your neck, squeezing your windpipe lightly. Your pupils dilated at the compression, mouth hanging open to gulp some air.

“I am, not because you tell me to,” the Roman grunted, teeth bared. “But because I’m taking what’s mine.”

With no ceremony whatsoever, Acacius impaled you in a rough thrust until his testicles slapped against your perineum. He stilled in place, rejoicing in how your pussy adapted to the stinging stretch of his girth, hugging so tight Marcus felt lightheaded. His hand didn’t falter, still hooked around your neck despite how riveting your wet warmth was.

“See? Hear that?” He proved his point by withdrawing his hips and then slamming his cock into you, the lewd cacophony of your fluids unmistakable. “You’re mine.”

Your eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy the moment he repeated the motion, burying himself down to the hilt. You cried out, and Acacius took the opportunity of your open mouth to spit in it again—only this time, you could also taste your own period, bitter and iron-like.

You inevitably swallowed when the General squeezed your throat again, a few tears of overstimulation streaming down your temples.

“Nobody else gets to fuck your pussy,” he groaned, head thrown back, when your welcoming cunt clutched around him. “The Gods put you in my path for a reason.”

Between grunts and restrained moans, the Roman rutted into you unforgivingly, building up the rhythm until the clapping of skin ricocheted in the room. He pounded into your dribbling cunt so easily, you could never deny you were exclusively made for him. Your inner walls molded to his cock deliciously well, sweetly choking him when Acacius hammered into you hard enough to bruise your cervix.

With every relentless pump into your warmth, his pace became erratic and even more so when his head tilted forward to steal a glance at the point where your bodies connected. Any other person might have been taken aback by the sight, but not Marcus. There was a bloodbath on his fresh sheets, stained red right where your cunt was leaking blood.

Crimson painted your swollen pussy lips and inner thighs, and his handprints had left a bloody trail behind wherever he’d touched you: your ankles, your calves, your knees, the front of your thighs, your hips… You were his canvas; one he could ruin over and over again.

Acacius’ gaze fixated on his drumming cock disappearing into your hole. It was mesmerizing to see how your labia stretched around him when he pushed in, how you left pinkish ivory rings on the base of his cock as you creamed, how his dick emerged from your depths completely coated with the slick of your menstruation, dragging out a clot.

His hold on your neck loosened while his other thumb drew the blood clot to your fattened clit, pressing on it messily as his tempo faltered. You whined desperately, your hands clawing at his forearms, scratching his sun-kissed skin. Your fingernails sank in his flesh, leaving red crescent moons behind.

“Fuck you, Acacius,” you yelped, eyes barely open as your heartbeat pulsed around him, biting down your bottom lip. “I hate you.”

A cocky laugh hitched at the back of his throat, a lopsided smirk curling his lips. Marcus loved it when you were mean to him in return, when you would spew hatred even though you didn’t actually mean it.

“If you hate me so much, why are you letting me ruin your bleeding pussy, huh?” He punctuated every word with a dry, deep thrust. “If you really despise me, why are you so close to coming on my cock?”

The ghost of a smile plowed through your features before your expression shifted. Acacius pistoned into you with the burning force of a thousand suns, in the hopes you wouldn’t be able to walk in the morning. That was when you started humming like a nightingale, thick blood trickling down your groin and pooling underneath.

Your brows bunched up, mouth fallen into a thin line, and you let go of his forearms to knead your breasts, pinching your sharp nipples. And then the pulsing around his shaft intensified, announcing an imminent climax. So the General tightened his hand around your neck and his thumb drew faster circles on your throbbing clit, buttering it with blood.

The orgasm had been building up in your core for so long now, it was impossible to contain it any longer. Acacius had edged you until you couldn’t take it anymore, your sensitive cunt stuffed full and your overstimulated clit on fire. He always fucked you so good, but especially when the first days of your cycle arrived. Without fail, the General would always lose his shit for a little blood, and you were more than happy to offer it to him every single month.

“Come on my cock, canicula (little bitch),” Acacius gritted out, putting pressure on your windpipe and clit. “Show me how much you hate me.”

That was the last straw. Your cunt clamped down on him while he drilled you into the mattress, your sobs of pleasure ringing in your own ears. The tight, warm coil forming in your womb finally snapped, wreaking havoc on your body, shamelessly gushing onto him. Licks of fire went up your spine and your back arched off the bed as wave after wave crashed over you. It took you a couple of minutes to come down from such a high, your tautened muscles finally disengaging.

You took in the deepest of breaths, your heartrate slowing down. That was when you realized that Acacius hadn’t spilled yet, his cock beating inside you like drums of war.

“What a fucking mess you’ve made,” he tutted at you, releasing your neck and clit.

The Roman pulled out of you without warning, leaving your entrails empty and achy with a obscene pop. Wasted as you were, you didn’t object when he climbed up your frame and almost sat on your belly, his strong knees holding most of his weight. You were still massaging your boobs and Marcus didn’t hesitate to slot his bloodied dick in the valley between them.

Knowing what he wanted, you pressed your breasts together as Acacius fucked his cock into the gap. He loved a good titfuck and after all the orgasms he’d pulled out of you, you weren’t going to deny him.

From here you could see the utter mess—his length was completely red, so was his lap and the top of his muscular thighs. You could only imagine what your cunt must have looked like. And now Marcus was tarnishing the skin between your boobs with the same shade of ruby. You didn’t care.

He leaned in enough for his palms to cover the back of yours, thumbs brushing your nipples peeking through your fingers with every stroke of his hips. The General looked at you dead in the eye, trapping you in the bark of his feral pupils—a connection you craved and that he gave you without question.

A palpitating tic on his lower jaw told you he was close, his expression fierce and wild as he wedged his cock between your tits. With a guttural growl, head canted back, Acacius finally reached the heavens on your chest—his cum shooting out of the slit, landing on your boobs, neck and much of it on your face.

“Oh fuck,” he husked out, tapping the glans on your nipples, drawing red and white circles around them. “Love your tits, corculum (sweetheart).”

You smiled up at him, completely spent. You weren’t sure you could withstand a second round, but Acacius’ cock was still stiff, even after coming. It wasn’t unusual for him—needing a second orgasm to feel satisfied, which always made you feel quite good about yourself. The greatest compliment, really.

The Roman crept up your frame a little, just enough for his bloodied mushroom head to butter his seed onto your cheeks, chin and lips. You both liked the intimacy it brought, how he whipped his cock on your face a few times before continuing to spread the slick on your skin. You just stayed still under him, letting him play with you. Then Acacius brought his cockhead to your lips, resting it there.

“Give me a kiss.”

Out of habit you did, pecking his knob chastely, remnants of semen leaking out. Taking advantage of it, he pushed in ever so slightly, briefly feeding you the plump tip, giving you a quick chance to suckle on him to calm your oral fixation—one you regrettably hadn’t had the chance to soothe yet.

“Now say thank you.”

You immediately cocked a brow, letting go of the juicy cockhead with a lecherous pop.

“Over my dead fucking body.”

Acacius raised an almighty brow and his eyes darkened, and you just knew he wasn’t going to tolerate such impertinence. That was why you replied so bluntly, to get a reaction out of him—one that would allow you to keep your mouth busy, one that would quieten your urges.

Not a word left his pressed lips; instead, the General crudely shoved his soiled dick into your mouth, pushing past your clenched teeth and breaching your uvula. Your mandible almost unhinged to accommodate his generous size, flattened tongue pressing on his underside as you reminded yourself to breathe.

Acacius didn’t stop pushing in until the unruly curls on top of his cock tickled your nose. The front of your neck visibly bulged when his whole length completely buried in the wet warmth of your mouth.

Your eyes inevitably fluttered shut when you gagged around him, tasting the essence of your womanhood and the musk of his tang. It was bitter, metallic, but also sweet and creamy. Having him filling your cavity up to the brim was overwhelming, but the taste that lingered coating your palate was even more so.

A sudden slap to your cheek made your eyes snap open, alert. Acacius’ bewildered gaze met yours, a conceited grin playing around his face.

“Say thank you,” he repeated, his gravelly tone encouraging.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, an unspoken way of saying no since your mouth was so full.

“You’re such a minx. You gotta learn some manners, sweetheart,” he cooed, gently brushing your cheek with his thumb.

The gentleness didn’t last long, because a second later, Acacius leaned forward and planted his hands on the mattress above your head. On his fours above you, his hips raised to unsheathe his veiny cock—the rough slide on your throat as he pulled back wasn’t uncomfortable but made your throat itch. When his mushroom head was about to slip out, you sealed your lips shut around him and sucked.

Luckily for you, Acacius stalled, letting you sloppily twirl your tongue around the tip and cheekily prodding at the slit while one of your hands came up to cup his loaded balls and knead them between your fingers.

“Nuh-uh,” he tsked. “You don’t get to be this sassy and have it your way too.”

And without notice, Marcus dived in, drilling your throat until bottoming out. The sudden strain stung, your eyes watering at the stretch as you tried your best to control the onset of nausea. When bile began to rise up your larynx, Acacius relented, easing out enough for you to catch your breath and swallow down the acid.

Now chasing his own climax, the Roman started to fuck your mouth without any regard for your own pleasure. This was about him finding bliss, about deepthroating you and draining his frustration right onto your tongue. General Acacius didn’t ask for permission—he just took what was rightfully his.

Soon spit, precum, slick and blood overflew on the corners of your mistreated mouth, wetting your chin and sliding down the sides as your eyes involuntarily rolled to the back of your skull. He stabbed your mouth repeatedly, slotting his throbbing cock in at the right angle to make you gag but not throw up. And as rough and careless as he was with you… you just loved it.

You liked this side of him—the brutal man who had faced numerous battles and impossible choices, the savage who let his most primal urges guide him when he needed to unwind. There were times when you enjoyed his soft side too, but today wasn’t the day for that.

His hips stuttered above you, revealing how close he was to orgasm. His grunts turned into full-blown moans, huffing and panting when his hardness drummed on your tongue. Wanting to help him get there, your hands reached for his tense testicles again, cradling them and running the thumb down the ridge in the middle, and squeezing your throat around his girth.

His thighs twitched slightly before a potent stream flooded your mouth. You had to cough around him in order to not be asphyxiated while Acacius remained buried deep inside as ropes of cum spurted out. The sweet, buttery taste of his seed inundated your senses, coating the whole of your mouth.

The second time he came was always the biggest load, one that would never go to waste: it was customary now to either ejaculate in your mouth, your pussy or your ass, and this time Acacius deemed the first option the most appropriate one.

Marcus inhaled deeply, his chiseled features finally loosening as his cock slowly softened on your tongue, until you couldn’t taste his heartbeat anymore. Only when you were sure he was finished, you gulped his warm spent down.

You blinked at him, clearing your eyes from the tears, and the General swiped them away with his thumb, cockhead still nestled between your lips.

“So, was I talking shit then?”

You lightly shook your head no, your lips still pressed around his glans. Acacius pulled back, limp cock resting between your ruined boobs, to let you speak.

“No, but…”

Acacius sulked, rolling his eyes at you, annoyed with your inability to yield. The ghost of a mischievous smile curled up your lips.

“For fuck’s sake, you never learn, do you?”

And with that, Marcus fisted the base of his softened cock and forced it into your mouth again, just two inches of it.

“I was wrong. I am going to teach you a fucking lesson.”

You clawed at his thighs, pushing him back to free your mouth from his shaft.

“You can try, Gener—”

You couldn’t finish the daring retort, because Acacius took advantage of the opening and made you swallow him whole in one thrust.

“Can’t hear you, canicula. You shouldn’t talk with a full mouth. Now work me hard again.”

“Your footing is wrong,” he says. “You’re distracted.”

“Is not!” you huff. “And I’m not distracted!”

He steps closer and places a gloved hand at your hip, the heat of him searing through the material. “Like this,” he rumbles and adjusts your body.

“Like that makes a difference,” you mutter.

He presses closer and your breath hitches. “Distracted,” he whispers at your ear.

You let out a frustrated growl and lift your knee, hoping to catch him off guard. He easily blocks it, grabbing your wrists and spinning you so your back is pressed to his chest.

“You’re just proving my point,” he hums. “Tell me what’s distracting you baby. I wanna know.”

You feel the flex of his muscles in all the places he’s not covered in Beskar, and a shiver of anticipation runs your spine.

His head dips toward your lips, and you don’t need to see his face to know what he wants.

“Well?” he asks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you answer, trying and failing to keep the breathlessness from your voice.

“Oh, I think I already do,” he says, removing a glove to deliberately slide his hand down your stomach.

Each movement is slow and controlled as he smooths his hand lower, finding you soaked and ready. You circle your hips in desperation, his fingers turning greedy and wetter with every stroke.

“Joel—”

“Stay here."

You swallowed your fear and nodded, grabbing Ellie and pulling her down. Joel stepped out, drawing their attention, firing a shot that took one of the men down, then another, and so on.

But the rest came fast. Through the cracks in the log, you watched Joel fight. He moved like a man who’d done this a thousand times before, as you already know, but even then, it was too much to bear; he didn't feel strong enough as before. One of the raiders tackled him, and suddenly, Joel was on the ground, with one of those men’s hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing hard.

“Shit,” you whispered, your heart pounding so hard you could barely hear Ellie’s panicked breathing next to you.

Joel clawed at the man’s wrists, his face turning red, veins bulging in his neck. He wasn’t going to get out of it, and you couldn’t just sit there watching the man you loved die in front of you as if it wasn't worth saving.

“Stay here,” you told Ellie, voice shaking from rage.

“Wait, what are you doing?!” she whispered.

Your body moved before your mind could argue. You were already running before Ellie could have the chance to stop you.

You tackled the man strangling Joel, knocking him off balance, but before you could finish him, another set of hands grabbed you from behind. You struggled, kicking and clawing, managing to land a sharp elbow into the man’s ribs before twisting free. The first man lunged again, but you dodged, feeling the burn of a knife slicing across your cheek. The pain barely registered as you drove your own knife into the man’s neck, then turned and plunged it into the second attacker’s chest before he could think of recovering. Warm blood splattered your hands as the man crumpled, gasping his last breath.

You stood there, panting, adrenaline rushing through your veins.

Joel coughed violently, rolling onto his side, his face pale and drenched in sweat. You dropped to your knees beside him, your hands hovering uselessly. “Joel? Hey, hey, are you okay?”

He didn’t answer right away, still gasping for air. When he finally sat up, his brown eyes locked onto yours, not with gratitude, but with pure, burning rage.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he rasped, still coughing.

You blinked, the adrenaline still rushing through you. “I-I-I had to...He was going to—”

“And you didn't listen to me!" Joel slammed his fist into the dirt, his whole body trembling with anger. He hated when you had to put yourself in danger because he hadn't been strong enough to save the day. “I told you to stay hidden! What if he’d killed you?!”

“Well, he didn’t kill me,” you stated, “I saved your life.”

“And you risked yours doing it." His voice echoed through the trees, sharp and unforgiving. You felt your chest tighten, heat rising in your throat.

“Well, thanks to that risk you are not fucking dead." you spat back.

Joel stood up, wiping the blood from his hands. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything else. The space between you felt impossibly wide.

He ran a hand over his face, stepping back like he couldn’t even look at you right now. "You put yourself in danger. You could’ve been killed. Do you even get that?"

"I get it. I just saved your ass." You shot back, the weight of the moment crashing over you. "And all you can do is yell at me?"

He exhaled sharply, his hands curling into fists before he turned away. "I won't do this with you."

"Fine," you bit out.

The air between you felt thick, suffocating. You glanced at Ellie, who stood off to the side, arms crossed as if sensing the tension.

You lifted a hand to your cheek, your fingers coming away sticky with blood. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the cut on your cheek burned, you sucked in a sharp breath. Ellie’s eyes flicked to the wound, concern flashing across her face, but she didn’t say anything. Joel still wasn’t looking at you, his back rigid as he adjusted his pack.

"We should get moving," he muttered, voice strained.

You nodded, swallowing down the ache in your throat. Without another word, the three of you fell into step, the silence stretching between you like the open wound on your cheek.

That night, you found a small clearing tucked between big trees, far enough from the road to feel safe enough to spend the night. The cold had settled deep, and you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself as you sat near the weak glow of the fire. Joel had barely spoken a word since the fight, his focus set on keeping watch, his back to you.

You weren’t hurt by his words or the outburst he had, but by the idea of him willingly dying and feeling at peace with it. How easy would it be for him to leave you behind and on your own?

You dismissed your thoughts as you dug through your pack for a rag, pressing it against the wound on your cheek. The sting made you wince, and you cursed under your breath.

A quiet shuffling caught your attention, and you looked up to see Ellie kneeling beside you, her brows furrowed.

"Here," she said, pulling a small bottle of alcohol from her pocket. "Let me help."

You hesitated for a moment, then gave her a small nod. She dampened the cloth with the liquid and reached for your face. The touch was gentle, but the sting made you hiss.

"Sorry," Ellie murmured, biting a laugh, concentrating as she cleaned the cut. "You’re lucky it’s not deeper."

You let out a small chuckle, though there wasn’t much humor in it. "Lucky isn’t exactly the word I would use to describe this day.”

Ellie huffed, finishing up before pulling a bandage from her pack. "Well, you’re not dead, so that counts for something."

You smiled faintly, glancing toward Joel. He still hadn’t turned around. You sighed, looking back at Ellie. "Thanks, Ellie."

She just shrugged, but there was warmth in her eyes. "Anytime."

As the fire crackled softly between you, you finally felt a small sense of comfort, at least from Ellie. Joel, on the other hand, was still a storm brewing on the other side of your little camp.

Joel sat a few feet away, his gaze drifting to you as he kept watch. He noticed the way you shivered, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, but still, you slept. He hesitated, jaw tightening as he debated with himself. Then, with a quiet sigh, he shrugged off his jacket and carefully draped it over your sleeping form.

You stirred slightly at the added warmth, a small, unconscious sigh escaping your lips, but you didn’t wake. Joel lingered for a moment, watching you, before settling back down next to you as if he needed to remind himself you were still here.

The fire in your camp had burned down to glowing embers, the scent of smoke mixing with the cool morning air. Joel sat near it, his hands wrapped around his thermos, sipping coffee out of it, his eyes occasionally flicking over to where you slept.

Your back was to him, your body curled slightly, the jacket pulled high over your shoulder. The cut ran along your cheekbone from the fight the day before, reminding him of how you always put yourself in danger for him.

He hated himself for it. How he had come to the point where he felt useless to protect you.

Now, you looked peaceful despite the frown that creased your forehead. Joel knew that look. He knew you too well to know what was happening.

Ellie stirred next to him, stretching before getting to her feet. She glanced at you, then back at Joel.

“Should I wake her up?” she asked, rubbing her tired eyes.

Joel shook his head. “Not yet.”

Ellie raised a brow. “Why?”

Joel sighed, glancing at you again before taking another sip of coffee. “She has a frown.”

Ellie blinked. “Yeah, because she’s mad at you. Even in her sleep.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, but there wasn’t much fight in it. “No. It’s different. She gets that when she gets migraine.” He ran a hand over his beard, glancing at you again. “Just let her sleep a little bit longer.”

Ellie’s teasing smirk faded slightly, replaced by something softer in her gaze, “You really pay attention, huh?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took another slow sip of coffee, staring into the fire, fading. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “When it comes to her, of course I do.”

Ellie sighed, dropping back down next to him. “So are you gonna fix this or what?”

Joel tensed, setting his cup down beside him. “She doesn’t wanna talk to me.”

“Yeah, because you yelled at her.” She reminded him.

Joel rubbed a hand down his face. “She shouldn’t have done what she did.”

“She saved your ass, Joel.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “That isn't the point.”

Ellie scoffed, shaking her head. “Yeah, it kinda is. She did what you would’ve done for her.”

Joel was silent, his gaze dropping to the ground.

“Do you think she would be fine if you were dead?” she pressed on, sighing.

Instead of an answer, Joel reached for his bag, unbuckling the strap. He knew exactly where to look; tucked inside one of the side pockets were the pills he always carried for you, just in case.

Ellie, who had been watching with quiet curiosity, tilted her head. “Wait… do you carry her pills?”

Joel didn’t look up as he pulled out the small bottle, checking how many were left. “Yeah.” His voice was gruff, like he didn’t think it was something worth mentioning.

Ellie crossed her arms. “Huh.”

Joel finally glanced at her. “What?”

Ellie smirked. “Nothin’. Just, you act all tough, but you’re, like, secretly the softest person ever for her.”

Joel rolled his eyes, muttering, “Keep it to yourself, kid,” as he moved toward you.

You stirred slightly as he knelt beside you, brushing your hair back from your face with a careful hand. The sight of the cut on your cheek made his stomach twist again, but he pushed the feeling down. He had already failed to keep you from getting hurt once; he wouldn’t fail you now.

Gently, he set the bottle of pills down next to you, along with a canteen of water. He knew you still weren’t talking to him, but that didn’t mean he was going to stop taking care of you.

As he sat back, Ellie watched him with something unreadable in her expression.

Joel sighed, rubbing his thumb over the strap of your bag.

Ellie nodded. “You’re doing the right thing, at least.”

Joel wasn’t sure about that. But as he sat there, keeping watch while you slept, he figured it was all he could do for now.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the dull ache in your head. The second was the soft sound of the fire crackling and fading nearby. You blinked against the morning light, your body still heavy with exhaustion from the last day.

And then you saw the canteen and the small bottle of pills sitting beside you. You didn’t have to ask who put them there.

Your gaze flickered to Joel, who sat a few feet away, his back turned slightly toward you. He was sharpening his knife, and Ellie sat across from him, kicking at the dirt with her boot, sneaking glances at you like she was waiting to see what you’d do.

You swallowed, your throat dry. Carefully, you pushed yourself up, wincing as your muscles protested. Your fingers brushed against the bottle of pills, and you hesitated before finally picking it up.

Joel’s voice came before you could say anything. “Drink some water with that.”

It was quiet. Gruff. Like he wasn’t sure where the two of you stood after yesterday.

You pressed your lips together, debating whether to respond, but you didn’t have the energy to fight with him again. Instead, you obeyed, twisting the cap off and dry-swallowing the pill before chasing it with a sip of water.

Joel didn’t look at you, but you saw his shoulders drop just a little.

Ellie, of course, didn’t stay quiet for long. “Sooo, does this mean you guys are done being mad at each other?

You shot her a look. “Ellie.”

“What? I’m just saying—”

Joel cut in; his voice flat. “Eat your breakfast.”

Ellie huffed but dropped it, tearing off a piece of jerky with her teeth.

You sighed, rubbing your temples before stealing a glance at Joel. His eyes were still fixed on his knife, but you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers gripped the handle a little too tightly.

He was waiting. For you to say something. For you to forgive him.

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temples in a weak attempt to ease the pressure in your skull. It wasn’t working. Nothing ever really worked, except for him.

Joel had a way of grounding you when the pain got bad. He didn’t always have the right words, but he never needed them. He had his own way of taking care of you, of letting you know he was there. And right now, all you wanted was for him to kiss your temples the way he used to. The way he always did when you were hurting.

But things weren’t the same. You had fought, you had pulled away, and he had let you. And now, even though he was right there, he felt miles away.

You swallowed hard and shut your eyes, trying to push down the disappointment twisting in your chest. It was stupid to want that from him right now. After everything, you shouldn’t need him like that.

Except you did.

Joel shifted, and you felt him move closer, his presence clear even before he spoke. “Did you take the pills?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

There was a long silence, and then, so softly you almost missed it— “Still hurts?”

You hesitated. Your pride screamed at you to say no. To brush him off and keep that last little bit of distance between you. But you were tired.

“Yeah,” you admitted.

Joel exhaled slowly. And then, finally, finally, you felt his fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your head just enough so he could lean in.

His lips pressed against your temple, lingering for just a second longer than they needed to.

You closed your eyes, breathing him in, savoring the feeling of his lips on your skin.

“Get ready, we have to go now,” he said, still closer to your face.

You nodded, your throat tightening at the sudden shift back to reality. The moment was brief, fleeting, just like every soft thing between you and Joel seemed to be.

He pulled away first, his hand dropping from your face like he hadn’t just touched you just a moment ago. Like he hadn’t just kissed you the way he always used to when you were hurting.

You cleared your throat, pushing yourself up slightly, ignoring the dull ache in your chest. "Yeah, okay," you muttered, rubbing at your face as if you could wipe away the lingering warmth of his touch.

Joel stood up, already shifting back into that closed-off version of himself, the one that had been there ever since your fight. The one who didn’t know how to bridge the gap now.

Ellie walked in just as you were attempting to stand, her eyes flicking between the two of you. "You guys look weird," she said, frowning.

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Not now, Ellie."

She just smirked, clearly entertained by whatever tension was hanging in the air. "Whatever you say, lovebirds."

You rolled your eyes, reaching for your bag to distract yourself. Your fingers trembled slightly as you adjusted the straps, but you pretended not to notice. Joel pretended to, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you, watching you too closely, like he always did.

The road stretched ahead, cracked and broken, nature reclaiming what once belonged to people. You walked in silence, the weight of the morning still pressing against your chest. Your head ached, but you bit down on the pain, refusing to let it slow you down.

Joel was beside you, his pace slow, his presence solid as ever. But something about him felt distant. He was looking at you, and you could feel his gaze flickering toward you every few moments.

Before, his eyes had been filled with something warm, something certain. But now? Now, it felt like he was watching you from behind a wall, like he was making sure you were still there but refusing to let himself feel anything about it.

Ellie, for once, was quiet, kicking a stray rock as she walked ahead, letting the tension settle between the two of them.

Joel’s outburst had been raw and desperate, yes, but now, you saw it for what it was. Fear. Not just losing you. But what did it mean to him if he did it?

Because Joel didn’t think he deserved to have you. He thought he wasn’t enough, that he never had been. And maybe, he would never be the man you need it.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. "You don’t have to keep looking at me like that," you muttered, not even turning your head.

Joel tensed beside you. "Like what?"

"Like you're waiting for me to cry to let you in and forgive you, you shout at me and I'm angry about it."

His jaw ticked, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t say anything at all.

"I am not," he said, voice rough. A lie.

You stopped walking. Finally, you turned to face him. "Then what is it?" you asked, your voice softer than you meant for it to be. "Because you had been like this for days, something's been different, and yesterday you just broke."

Joel exhaled slowly, looking away, his hands on his hips, his fingers flexing. "Nothing’s different."

You huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Bullshit."

Ellie stopped a few steps ahead, glancing between the two of you like she wanted to intervene but thought better of it.

Joel shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders stiff, his mouth opening—then closing again. He had no answer. No real one, anyway.

Because the truth was, it had never been about you. It had always been about him. About the way he would rather push you away than let himself believe, even for a second, that he was allowed to keep you. That you would want to stay.

That you would choose him. But you were tired of being the only one fighting for this.

So, you just nodded, setting your jaw. "Alright," you murmured, turning back toward the road, ignoring the way your chest ached. "If nothing’s different, then let’s just keep moving."

He heard the way your voice broke at the end, and he just watched as you joined Ellie.

Joel stood there, hands tightening into fists at his sides as he watched you walk away. He’d done this again.

Ellie shot him a glance, her expression unreadable, before she turned her attention back to you. She said something low under her breath, nudging your shoulder. You didn’t look back.

And Joel? Joel just stood there, rooted in place, watching the one thing he was most afraid of slip through his fingers.

Because, deep down, he knew. It wasn’t the world that would take you from him. It was him. It was a matter of time.

A few hours later, when the cold still found its way deep down your bones. You followed Joel and Ellie into the old market, the air inside thick with dust and the remnants of a world long gone. The faded signs above the shop windows once advertised fruits and vegetables, but now they were nothing more than silent witnesses to the decay around them.

Joel stepped inside first, scanning the area with ease. His hand never strayed far from the rifle slung across his back. He wasn’t just looking for supplies; he was looking for danger, as always, and he was ready to find it. You watched him move with that quiet confidence that made him seem invincible.

He disappeared behind a corner, moving into the heart of the market.

Ellie, always ready for adventure, shifted impatiently next to you. “Is it safe?” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness of the market.

You didn’t answer right away, your eyes fixed on the place where Joel had vanished.

“He’ll let us know when it’s safe,” you said quietly, not taking your eyes away from him.

Ellie raised an eyebrow, clearly not fully convinced. “Yeah, but what if-”

You cut her off with a shake of your head. “He’s careful. He’ll check everything first.”

She didn’t seem entirely satisfied with the answer, but she stayed quiet. You both waited in silence, the only sounds the distant hum of the wind and the occasional creak of the building settling.

Then, Joel’s voice echoed from ahead. “Clear,” he called out as he reappeared from behind a row of shelves, his gaze briefly flicking over you before he turned to lead the way deeper into the market. His expression was unreadable, but you could sense the wariness beneath it.

His fingers found their way to your shoulders, his touch was brief, just the slightest brush of his fingers against your jacket. A silent reassurance. Or maybe a habit he couldn't break.

You didn’t react, didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, you focused on scanning the shelves, looking for anything useful. Cans, medical supplies.

Ellie was already rummaging through a shelf, muttering under her breath about how people really liked canned beans before the world went to hell. Joel moved ahead.

You bent down, shifting through a pile of toppled boxes, when Joel’s voice came from behind you again, “You good?”

It was automatic, the way he asked. Like, even when he was keeping his distance, he still couldn’t help but care.

You hesitated, keeping your back to him. “Yeah.”

Another pause. Then a quiet, “Alright.”

But it wasn’t alright.

Not the way his voice sounded. Not the way your chest ached every time he was close, but not close enough. And definitely not the way his fingers had lingered just a second too long on your shoulder again, as if he didn’t want to let go.

Joel was already moving toward another section of the market, scanning the rows of empty shelves, searching for anything of value. Ellie had drifted further ahead, already rummaging through a crate she found. You stayed close to the wall, the building’s dilapidated structure making you nervous, but you tried not to let the unease show.

You took a few more steps, carefully picking your way over the cracked floor, when suddenly, the ground beneath you gave way with a sharp, unsettling creak. Before you could react, your foot twisted, the bone snapping like a twig under the weight of the fall.

A sharp, searing pain shot through your ankle as you cried out, unable to stop yourself. The world spun for a moment as you collapsed, hands pressing to the ground to catch yourself, but the pain in your ankle was unbearable. You let out a sharp gasp, fighting the urge to cry out again as you felt something shift beneath the skin; your foot didn’t feel right.

"Shit," you muttered, trying to stay calm, but panic crept in with each breath. Your heart raced as you instinctively tried to pull yourself up, but your foot wouldn’t hold any weight. You couldn’t put it down.

Ellie’s voice broke through the fog of pain, distant but growing closer. “What happened?”

“Sweetheart?” Joel’s voice followed almost immediately. You could hear the panic lacing his tone, the urgency in his steps as he turned back toward you. You were grateful for his presence when you saw him, his figure coming into view, moving fast.

He saw you on the ground, your face twisted in pain, and his heart dropped. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, kneeling down beside you with a speed that surprised you. His hands were gentle, but you could hear the frustration in his voice as he assessed the damage. "What the hell happened?"

“I—I fell,” you stammered, gritting your teeth as you tried to hold back more of the pain. You couldn’t focus on anything other than your ankle, the way it throbbed, the way your body seemed to give way under the weight of it.

Joel’s face hardened, his jaw clenching as he reached down to carefully touch your injured ankle. “I’m gonna need you to stay still, alright?” His voice was calm, but there was a warning edge to it. He was trying to hold himself together, trying not to let his worry show, but you could see it in his eyes. His hands worked quickly, checking for anything more serious, his brow furrowed with concentration.

“Ellie, get over here,” Joel called out, his voice low and strained.

Ellie rushed back toward you, eyes wide with concern as she knelt beside you. “Shit, are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” you said through clenched teeth, trying to sound stronger than you felt. “It’s just my ankle.”

Joel’s gaze flicked between you and Ellie, his mind clearly racing. “We need to get you out of here, now.” His hand gripped your shoulder for a moment, his fingers digging into the fabric of your jacket as if grounding himself in that brief contact.

Ellie was already standing, her expression determined as she took a deep breath. “I’ll go grab what we need.”

Joel nodded, but his focus never left you. He reached down, his hands carefully lifting you as he positioned himself behind you. "I'm gonna carry you. It's gonna hurt a little, but I need you to hang on."

You bit back a hiss of pain as he adjusted his hold on you, making sure not to jostle your foot too much, but you couldn’t suppress the way your body tensed at the movement. The pain was still sharp, but something was comforting in the way Joel’s arms secured around you.

“Joel,” you whispered, too exhausted to speak louder.

“I got you,” he muttered back, his voice almost a promise. "Just hang in there."

As he started to move, carrying you carefully toward a safer corner, you could feel your heart rate begin to slow, your pulse steadying slightly in the rhythm of his steps. But the ache in your ankle was still lingering.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to block out the pain, trying to find some semblance of peace in the way Joel had his arms around you. Because no matter how mad you were, no matter how much you weren’t talking to him, Joel Miller was always going to take care of you.

Joel helped you settle into a quiet corner of the abandoned store, easing you down onto an old crate. He crouched in front of you, his hands working carefully as he pulled your boots off, careful not to jostle your ankle too much.

Ellie hovered for a second, glancing between the two of you, then rolled her eyes. “Alright, I’m gonna go check the other side of the store. Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”

You didn’t respond. Joel didn’t either.

Once Ellie disappeared, Joel focused back on your ankle, pulling out a roll of bandages from his pack. He was quiet as he started wrapping, his fingers gentle but firm, pressing just enough to support your injury.

You watched him for a moment, then let out a quiet scoff. “You don’t have to pretend you care about this.”

Joel’s hands stilled. His jaw ticked. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet yours.

“Do you think I’m pretending?” His voice was low, rough. Almost offended by the way your voice sounded saying those words.

You looked away, focusing on the peeling paint on the walls. “I don’t know what you’re doing, Joel. One second, you’re mad at me. The next, you’re acting like...like this.” You gestured vaguely at him. “Like it actually matters.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, sitting back on his heels. “It does matter. You are the most important person to me. ”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Does it? Because you sure as hell didn’t act like it when you were yelling at me.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides. “I was mad because you almost got yourself killed.”

“I was saving you.” You protested.

“I don’t need saving,” He replied, rough as always.

Your eyes snapped back to his, anger flashing in them. “And I don’t need you acting like I don’t have a say in whether or not I protect you."

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. He looked exhausted, like he was carrying too much weight on his shoulders. “You don’t get it,” he muttered. “I can’t—” He stopped himself, shaking his head.

You frowned, your voice softer now. “Can’t what?”

His gaze met yours again, something raw behind it. “I can’t lose you.”

The words hit you hard. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The only sound was the faint wind outside, the rustling of leaves.

You swallowed, your throat tight. “So do you think I want to lose you?”

Joel’s expression softened just a fraction. He sighed, reaching forward, his hand hesitating before resting gently on your knee.

Your breath caught. The fight, the tension, it was still there, but underneath it was something deeper.

“You are always so willing to die,” you sobbed, your voice breaking. “Like you’re just waiting for the exact moment. Like, none of this matters to you. Like, I don’t matter.”

Joel’s breath hitched. His grip on you tightened, grounding you, but he didn’t say anything.

You sniffed, shaking your head. “Do you even know what that does to me? How it makes me feel?”

He swallowed hard, his throat working around the words he wasn’t saying.

“You walk into danger like you’ve already made peace with dying,” you continued, your voice raw. “And maybe you have. Maybe you don’t care what happens to you, but I do, Joel. I care. And you make me watch you throw yourself into danger like it doesn’t matter if you make it out. Like you don’t care if I have to watch you—”

Joel let out a slow breath. Then, finally, he spoke. “I do care,” he said quietly. “More than you know.”

You let out a bitter laugh, swiping at your tears. “You sure don’t act like it.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. His gaze dropped for a moment before he forced himself to look at you. “I’m not waiting to die.”

You scoffed, looking away.

“I’m not,” he insisted. His voice was rough, firm. “I just…I don’t know how to protect you.” He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face before gripping the back of his neck. “I spent twenty years not giving a damn about whether I made it out of alive. And then you—” He stopped, shaking his head like he didn’t have the words.

You stared at him, waiting. His gaze met yours again, and for the first time in a long time, he looked vulnerable to your eyes.

"Do you think I would survive without you?" You asked him.

"You're strong," he stated.  

"That doesn't matter if the person I love and I protect throws himself to death," you said, tired of the cycle.

“I’m not trying to--” he started, but you cut him off.

“Yes, you are,” you snapped, your voice trembling. “You act like you don’t care what happens to you, but I do, Joel. I do. And I don’t know what’s worse, watching you run into danger without thinking or knowing that if you died, you’d probably think I’d just move on.”

His brows furrowed. “That isn't-"

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around Joel’s wrist. “Do you love me, Joel?”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw tensed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t say it, that maybe, after everything, he’d still hold back.

But then, his hand moved, cupping your face gently, his thumb brushing over the cut on your cheek. His touch was careful, reverent, like he was memorizing traces of your face.

“I do love you,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion. “More than I know how to say.”

Your breath stilled.

Joel exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “More than I ever meant to. More than I know what to do with.”

Your heart ached at the honesty in his voice.

“Then stop trying to leave me behind,” you whispered, pleading to him.

He looked at you with such intensity, as if he was trying to see past the pain and fear, trying to understand something that had always eluded him.

“How do you even love someone like me?” Joel’s voice cracked slightly, the question laced with vulnerability, a side of him you rarely saw, something raw and unprotected. He was always protecting people.

Your heart hurt at the sound of it. You wanted to reach out and erase the doubt from his mind, to tell him that he didn’t have to question it. But instead, you just looked at him, letting the silence linger for a moment, trying to gather the right words to answer him.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm, “I love you because you’re you. Because through all the broken pieces, all the walls you’ve built around yourself, I still see the man who’s been there for me. You’re not perfect, and none of us are. But you’re the one I want. You’re the one I need.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if taking in your words, processing them, before meeting your gaze again. His expression softened, the tightness in his jaw easing, but there was still that guarded look in his eyes. He was trying to fight something inside himself, something he had carried for so long.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, almost to himself, but you heard it loud and clear. The doubt in his voice, something he couldn’t shake.

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you, forcing him to see the truth in your eyes. “Stop saying that,” you said, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “You deserve me. You deserve everything good that’s coming your way. I’ve seen who you are, Joel. You’re not what you think you are.”

“Why do you think I keep pushing you away?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper now, like he was afraid of the answer himself.

You leaned in a little closer, your forehead nearly touching his, and your breath mingled in the quiet space between you. “Because you’re scared of letting yourself love me the way you do,” you said softly. “You’re scared of losing me. But pushing me away won’t make it any easier. It’ll just leave you with a regret you can’t undo.”

He inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling as if your words had struck a chord in him, but it wasn’t enough to break him completely, not yet.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’m afraid if I let myself love you fully... if I let myself need you the way I do… I won’t be able to protect you. I can’t live with that.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek as you reached up to wipe it away, the tenderness in his voice catching you off guard. You could feel the pain in his words, the depth of his fear, and it only made you love him more.

Joel’s hand gently moved to your ankle, and despite everything that had just been said, the tenderness in his touch wasn’t lost on you. His rough fingers brushed against your skin as he carefully positioned your leg. You winced slightly at the discomfort, but it wasn’t the pain from your ankle that caught your attention; it was the way his eyes never left you, the quiet care he was showing in that moment.

“Hold still,” he murmured, his voice low, trying to keep his own emotions in check. You could tell he was trying to be calm for you, even though you knew he was anything but calm inside.

Joel’s fingers moved gently over your ankle, wrapping the bandage with the precision of someone who had done this a thousand times. His touch was careful, and for once, it was soft, more like the careful tenderness of someone who didn’t want to hurt you, rather than the harshness that often came with survival.

You winced slightly when the bandage tightened, but he immediately eased his grip, looking at you with concern.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s fine,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure why, but his care made you feel vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to.

Once your ankle was properly secured, Joel leaned back, looking at you for a moment, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite place in them. He didn’t speak for a while, just stared at you like he was trying to decide something in his mind.

Joel’s gaze went to your ankle for a moment, then, unexpectedly, he leaned forward, his lips brushing the soft skin of your bandaged ankle. It was a gesture so tender, so unexpected, that you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Don’t laugh,” he murmured, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his voice remained quiet, almost apologetic. “I’m just trying to make it better.”

You shook your head, still chuckling lightly, the sound feeling strange after everything that had happened. “I wasn’t laughing at you, Joel,” you said, meeting his eyes with a smile. “It’s just... never thought you’d be kissing my ankle better.”

Joel’s smirk softened into something more tender, and for a moment, there was nothing between you but the quiet understanding. His eyes dropped back to your ankle for a brief second before lifting to meet yours once more, his expression serious.  Without another word, he moved closer, his hand reaching to cup your face gently, his thumb brushing over your skin with the same tenderness he had shown when tending to your injury. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, his lips just a breath away.

And then, without hesitation, he kissed you, soft, lingering, as if it was everything he hadn’t been able to say before. You leaned into it, letting the kiss speak for you both, the tension between you finally easing, at least for this moment in the middle of this kiss.

“Oh, come on! Seriously?” Ellie’s voice cut through the moment like a knife.

You and Joel broke apart instantly, your breath still tangled in his, as you turned to see Ellie standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, a smirk pulling at her lips.

Joel cleared his throat and sat back slightly, rubbing a hand over his beard like that would somehow erase what she’d just walked in on.

Ellie rolled her eyes. “I leave you two alone for five minutes, and you’re already making out. Unbelievable.”

Your face burned, but you couldn’t help but laugh at her dramatic tone. “Ellie—”

“No, no,” she interrupted, waving a hand. “I mean, it’s kinda sweet, but gross.”

Joel shot her a look, his voice flat. “Ellie.”

“What?” She shrugged, grinning. “Just saying. But, uh—maybe save the romance for later, lovebirds? We kinda got shit to do.”

Joel exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but when he glanced at you again, you caught the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“C’mon,” he muttered, standing up and offering you a hand. “We should get movin’.”

You took his hand, squeezing it briefly before letting go. As you stood, Ellie shot you both a smug look before turning on her heel.

As she walked away, you heard her mutter under her breath, “God, I hope I never have to see that again.”

As soon as you put weight on your injured ankle, a sharp pain shot up your leg, making you wince. You bit down on a curse, trying to tough it out, but Joel noticed immediately.

“Joel, it’s fine, I can walk,” you protested, but you could see the look in his eyes.

“Not gonna argue with me on this one. Up you go.” Before you could protest, he crouched slightly in front of you. “Get on.” He waited for you to settle onto his back, and you reluctantly complied, knowing it would be easier than walking on your own.

You blinked at him. “Joel, I can—”

He shot you a look over his shoulder. “I'm not asking...”

Ellie snorted. “Just get on, lovebird.”

You sighed, but there was no real fight left in you. Carefully, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he hooked his arms under your legs and lifted you effortlessly.

“Easy, old man,” you teased, resting your chin on his shoulder.

Joel huffed, adjusting his grip. “Call me that again, and I’m dropping you.”

You laughed softly, “Thanks,” you muttered after a moment, your face buried in his jacket, still feeling the warmth of his body. The way he carried you felt like a sense of safety you hadn’t realized you needed until now.

You sighed against him, letting yourself relax just a little as Joel carried you forward with slow steps. Without thinking, you pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck, just above the collar of his jacket.

Joel stiffened for half a second, his grip on your legs tightening before he exhaled slowly. “You trying to distract me?” His voice was lower now, rougher.

A smirk played on your lips. “Is it working?”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Maybe.”

You laughed, placing another kiss on the same spot, “I love you, Joel.”

His steps faltered for just a moment, barely noticeable, but you felt it. His grip on you tightened, his fingers pressing into your legs like he needed to ground himself.

He didn’t answer right away, just kept walking, his jaw tight. For a second, you thought maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all.

But then, in that quiet, gruff voice of his, he murmured, “I love you too, darling. Always”.