#// my writing

[elizabethminkel]

In a normal year, @flourish & I would have made a list of five big fandom trends for our annual "Year in Fandom" round-up. But the podcast is on hiatus, and I was left with MANY THOUGHTS about fanfiction seeming to break containment this year and nowhere to put them. So this is a "Year in Fandom" segment of sorts, about a set of related fanfiction trends that I'm pretty unhappy about!

I get that sense that a lot of fandom folks are, like me, worried about the way the ground seems to be shifting beneath us: in meta after meta, I’ve seen frustration over a larger but increasingly passive fic readership; dismay that traditional publishing has a growing influence over a practice that partly exists in opposition to it; and anger that some guy can just copy-paste your work and charge money for it, and no one outside of fandom seems to care.

What happens when fanfiction scales—but participatory fan communities do not? Read or listen to an audio version via the link above!

[pedgito]

𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐅𝐔𝐋 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Joel finds the perfect way to keep you quiet while he showers you with compliments.

author's note | i saw a text post ages ago that i cannot find that inspired this. here's a vaguely disguised new years themed fic and some pwp to celebrate. not to get sappy on a blowjob fic but i'm very thankful for this community and the ideas that have been shared, love you all <3

content warning | 18+ MDNI, jackson!joel, established dynamic, idiots in love, shy!reader, joel being a quiet lover in public but loud in private, this is a deeply emotional blowjob y'all buckle in, unprotected piv.

word count — 2k

“Am I gonna have to shut you up just so I can tell you how pretty you are?” Joel snarks, only half-joking.

You hated compliments.

Joel loved giving them.

It was a slow work in progress, trying to feel comfortable with the showering of words, the outward affection Joel showed in private. 

He appreciated that you weren’t big on public displays, enjoyed the idea of keeping you and this, all to himself.

But, he liked you—had for some time. It took months of courage before he could bring himself to admit it. It was after a long night of patrol, a grueling walk to your last stop. You had both collapsed in exhaustion on the dirtied couch in the lookout far west of Jackson, delirious with sleep when the words finally left his lips. 

Even then, as he spoke, your hands found their way over your face, the heat of embarrassment prickling your skin as you shied away from him.

He’s learned to do it in subtle ways—a smile, longing looks, a touch, learning that love could be translated in many ways, not just words.

Besides, he wasn’t all that good at words anyways.

You decided to drag him back to your house after the annual New Year's celebration in Jackson—Tommy insisted that it was something to celebrate.

Another year of survival, another year without detrimental loss. Every day was something to cherish, but the party was a way to take a weight off of everyone’s shoulders.

You and Joel had never nailed down exactly what you were doing—just that you enjoyed it, you liked him, and he fancied you. He said it all the time, even now as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

“You are so old-fashioned,” You snorted softly, helping him strip the thick winter coat down his shoulders, torn on one sleeve still from a fight with another small group. You had promised to stitch it up. You were good on your promises, he knows you’d get to it eventually. 

He separates from you briefly, placing it carefully over the barstool in your kitchen before he’s pushing you up against your couch, your ass pressing against the hard edge of the back, nearly tumbling as he presses his lips against yours again, your hands curving around the back of his neck as you kiss him back in earnest.

“Somethin’ wrong with that?” He teases, “I know an old man who’s real good at makin’ you scream.”

You giggle softly, “Hush,” You chastise him, allowing him to lead you blind until you both could land on the couch safely, straddling his lap as he worked at your jeans, fitting his hands underneath the denim and cotton of your underwear as he squeezed at your ass, cupping the flesh tight in his hands as you gasp, nudging your nose against his as you breath into his open mouth, “You and that mouth, I swear.”

Joel chuckles, eyes opening to yours closed, hiding your face away as you mouth at his neck, pressing gentle kisses into the skin as he squeezes at your ass harder, a moan slipping past your lips involuntarily.

“There she is,” He says with an air of wonder, like he’d just discovered something new, his overgrown curls tickling at your nose, “s’just me and you—don’t be shy.”

“I’m not—“ You argue, “you know I’m not.”

You widen your legs, grinding down against the growing length beneath the zipper of his jeans, leaning back as his eyes drag down your body, slipping his hands from your jeans to squeeze at your thighs, his bottom lip tucking between his teeth with your lazy rhythm.

“I know, baby,” Joel coos, “need me to fuck you? Don’t you?”

You nod fervently, “Please—Joel, please.”

Your lips part, perching forward to grip into the collar of his shirt as you lazy movements become more frantic, face contorting in pleasure as your tongue glides along your bottom lip, distinctly aware of Joel’s affectionate gaze.

“Fuck—never gonna get tired of that,” Joel speaks aloud, one hand rising to cradle your face as his thumb drags over you wet lip, “how pretty you look when you get needy—pretty all the damn time, but—“

You kiss him quick in an effort to silence him, his laughing blending into a groan as you bite down on his bottom lip, stripping your shirt over your head, tossing it aside before you’re reaching for his belt, loosening it while he licks into your mouth, the subtle taste of malt liquor on your breath.

It matched his own, sharing a drink with him earlier in the night as he hid away in the corner of the room, as he often did at parties, too eager to get his hands on you as he watched you work your magic, gracing your smile upon everyone that passed, keeping up small talk that Joel would rather not suffer through. 

“Got a request,” He tells you, speaking against your lips as you hum in question, “how much d’ya want me to beg to get those lips around my cock?”

You giggle softly, wordlessly you move toward the floor, working against his jeans before he’s helping you shove them down far enough that he can scoop his balls into his hand, rolling them against his fingers as he wraps his other hand around his cock, pushing his thumb over the head as he guides it into your waiting mouth.

It was always a stretch, even like this.

You apply a gentle kiss before your lips spread, the faintest taste of precum at the tip of your tongue before you’re guiding your mouth down his cock, the salty taste of the velvet skin around him, a musky but sweet taste to the opaque liquid gathered at the slit.

“Perfect, fucking perfect,” He breathes, running his finger through your hair as he pushes it back, his other hand hovering nearby, curling into a tight fist as you press your nose into the thick patch of curls at the base, “shoulda stuffed this mouth sooner, seems to do the trick.”

You gag against his forceful movement, burying the head of his cock into your throat so far his teeth clenched, leaving you effectively silenced.

“S’that what it took, a mouthfulla’ cock and you won’t stop me from complimentin’ you for once?”

Beggars can’t be choosers, he’d take it.

And such a pleaser you were, you had a job to do.

Usually he revels in the feeling, subdued and quiet while he watches you work, skilled hands and an exquisite mouth to match, he’d hit the jackpot somehow. 

“Come on, pretty girl,” He encourages, allowing you up for air for a brief moment as your spit slick mouth drools down his shaft, tears brimming your eyes, “fucking beautiful takin’ it all in like that—more?”

You nod, watching as he grips his shaft, tapping the mushroom shaped tip against your lips, teasing you as you slip your tongue along his shaft, guiding you back as you chase his movements.

“Work for it, baby,” He insists, “show me how bad you wan’ it.”

Impatience grows, you huff through your nose as you swat his hand away, wrapping your own hand around his cock instead, your mouth covering what your fingers couldn’t, your other hand cupping his balls, rubbing a single finger down the seam of his sack as you twirled your tongue around the dripping head, lapping up his cum at this slit.

“That’s right, lookin’ like a goddamn dream. Eyes on me, sweetheart,” He beckons, with you peeking through tear-stained eyes, silenced as your mouth is stuffed full of him.

Eventually, your tongue trails along the vein at the underside of his cock, reaching the seam of his sack before you’re rolling his balls along your tongue, sucking them between your lips with a wet noise that causes Joel to groan, his hand squeezing in your hair at the scalp.

“I would keep you like this for hours if you’d let me, wish you could see how fuckin’ amazing you look, gotta know how lucky I am to have you—I am, I’m so lucky, baby.”

In any other context, you would cry. 

It scared you, hearing the admission. The love Joel felt so immensely, the love that terrified you—because when things get too serious, they always go south. 

It was easier to keep things light—fun, simple. As much as you had found a home in Joel, nested in between his ribcage, around his heart—it was still constricting.

Physicality was easy to detach from.

Words, however, meant the world to you.

You couldn’t hear those words unless, in his heart, he truly meant them. Even then, it still terrified you. But, he had you now. Locked on his gaze, the words tumbling from his mouth like a dam finally breaking—you were done for.

“Stick your tongue out,” He orders gently, watching you move away to follow his order, rubbing the head of his cock over the wet, fleshy muscle, “always listenin’ so well, too,”

You feel the heat in your face return as you close your eyes to avoid his intense gaze, sucking him down eagerly as you shift from your haunches to your knees, hurrying your pace as he begins to fall apart, pathetic grunts of half pleasure and half plea filling the room.

Shamelessly, you swallowed him down again as he pressed against the back of your throat, holding yourself in place until he collapsed against the back of the couch, his hands tangled into your hair carelessly as you gagged, a distinct sound that brought Joel over the edge in an instant.

“Oh—oh, fuck. Darlin’, I fuckin’—“ His orgasm surges quickly to the surface, the warm of his cum spreading against your tongue as you swallow him down without hesitation, “God, I’m so in love with you,”

You can feel him shudder against your tongue, cock twitching as you remove him from your mouth, his chest releasing a sigh as he reaches blindly for your hand, silently begging you to come to him. You crawl slowly, careful as you position yourself over him again, his hand pushing your fallen hair away from your face as he pulls you in, breathing heavily into the lazy kiss he presses against your lips.

“Been tryin’ to tell you for so long,” Joel admits with a fond tone, “you’re always shuttin’ me down,”

“I’m sorry,” You admit softly, “S’just—words mean more to me than you think.”

“Oh baby—I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” Joel assures, “I’m not throwin’ that shit around lightly. I mean it—every fuckin’ bit.”

You let the conversation fall silent, eyes scanning over his relaxed expression.

“Is that what it took, though?” Joel teases, rubbing his thumb along your bottom lip, pressing against the plush skin, “Gotta shut you up with my cock to tell you all the nice things you deserve to hear?”

“It does help, doesn’t it?” You counter with amusement, his face cracking into a smile, the skin beside his eyes creasing with emotion as you laugh, his own mixing with yours.

“It does,” He agrees with a chuckle, pulling you forward gently to curl his hand around the back of your head and pull you into his chest, echoing a quieter, “It does.”

Still undressed at the waist, Joel nips at your skin, a tell-tale sign of his persistence.

“Slow down, cowboy,” You tease, “It’s almost midnight—can’t have you skippin’ out on our kiss.”

“Better yet, I can start it off inside ‘ya,” He bargains, a deal that seemed far too good to pass up.

Joel is eager in his attempts to get you undressed from the waist down, shrugging his shoes and jeans off completely before you straddle his lap, gripping his cock with a delicate hold, slipping it inside of you slowly, enjoying the contortion of Joel’s expression as your walls squeeze around him. 

You can hear the muffled celebration off in the distance as Joel whispers something unintelligible into your skin, nudging your shirt up high enough with his nose until he can get his mouth on your skin, aiding the slow bounce of your hips with his hands as he pants, “I love you too,” You admit, “f’that wasn’t already clear.”

“Crystal, darlin’—but it is nice to hear.”

There was no rush for now, enjoying the sensation of each other’s bodies in a way that consumed you both, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips as you spoke into his open mouth.

“Happy New Year,” You tell him, fighting through your own quiet giggle.

Joel nods in approval, humming, “S’right—Happy fuckin’ New Year.”

[orphicmusings]

based on this request

a cringe on your face as you adjusted your position was all viktor needed to see. his thick brows furrowed in concern, a slight pout approaching his lips. he didn’t even have to ask, he knew it was your back. “don’t worry.” you assured him, brushing it off as you usually do. “i’m used to it, i’ll be okay.”

“i didn’t even say anything.” he commented gently, palms facing you in surrender.

“no, but you were gonna.” you smiled fondly, despite the stiff ache in your back. “i saw the look on your face.” he huffed and rolled his eyes playfully. “i’ll be fine.” you insisted, wincing on your way up to get ibuprofen. a delicate but firm hand intercepts your shoulder before you can.

“nope.” he countered. “lay on your stomach.”

“you don’t have to-“

“i said…” he fixed you with his golden eyes, “lay. on. your. stomach.”

you couldn’t help stopping the heat that bloomed on your cheeks. you secretly loved when he got all…hot doctor like this. you did as he said, changing your position on the bed. he let out a pleased noise of affirmation before he sat behind you, opening the bedside drawer that contained the only lotion that both smelled good and offered some relief.

“shirt off.” he commanded innocently as he lathered his hands in the fluffy lavender. you had to bite back a smirk as you discarded your top, your back bare to him now. “good girl.” he murmured.

“huh?” your eyebrows shot up.

“nothing.” he pressed his long, dextrous fingers into the flesh of your back and began to knead. his thumbs worked in firm circles, moving up and down and alternating sides. though it didn’t relieve the pain fully, the stiffness his hands released from your back felt so nice— you swear you can’t help but moan! it started innocent, little sighs and hums of satisfaction. the more he responded though, through little clearings of his throat and abrupt breaths, your mouth went as loose as your muscles. moans of pleasure floated from your chest.

“fuck, just like that…” you breathed, and you felt him dig his blunt nails into your skin to ground himself and remind himself what he’s doing. “feels so good.”

eventually, he decided to play into it. “you feel me here, darling?” he asked huskily, rubbing his hand down your lower back, pressing little circles into it with his fingers. “you like when i do that?” he let himself indulge in the innuendo, the suggestiveness of what you’re doing, a smirk gracing his face. you nodded, breathless. “speechless already, my love?”

[soft-beams]

you and me (let's make something great)

author's note: so i had an idea, and originally, it was gonna be a ficlet mainly focused on debauchery. BUT THEN my brain decided to turn it into something longer with plot, so here we are. it's very soft in the first bit but don't be fooled, it gets filthy as it progresses. please enjoy!

cw: gp!vi, afab!reader, pregnancy talk, breeding kink, dirty talk, nsfw 🔞 (primarily in the second part)

wc: 3.3k

dividers: @/cafekitsune

part i: let's talk about it

There’s always been talk of starting a family.

Kids with the white picket fence and a garden large enough for them to run around. Maybe a dog or two and a cat because you’ve always spoken about how much you want one. It’d be everything that’s so simple and expected of a family, something so ordinary that it’s almost laughable. But you and Vi never had the opportunity to experience what the ordinary family is.

She grew up an orphan with only her sister by her side, only able to survive due to Vander’s kindness.

You had your own set of problems; a family that didn’t listen or could listen but choose not to.

So to have a family where you can give your children the life you weren’t able to have, that means the whole world and more.

Vi toys around with the idea of asking you again, about the possibility of starting your family as soon as possible. You’ve been together for ten years and married for two, and life has never been as perfect as this.

You’re both doing well at work, bills are being paid on time and there’s even some savings in your joint account. Even savings to potentially look into starting something if that is what you want.

You’re swaying around the kitchen, speakers blasting your playlist as you cook up dinner for tonight. You’ve settled on a simple pasta dish, warm and spicy with delicious herbs. The sauce is bubbling away on the stove and your hips follow the stir of your wooden spoon. You bring the spoon up to your lips, blow gently before having a taste. A hum leaves your lips as your eyes flutter shut, pleased with what you’re creating.

Vi’s enchanted by you and one might call her silly, to be captivated by you merely making dinner. But it’s the mere act of it, the domesticity of it all and how you show your love through everything you do. Even if it’s cooking a dish that you’ve both eaten a hundred times before.

That’s what being in love is and Vi is greedy to share that with someone who’s both her and you.

“Taste this for me?” You ask, facing where she’s sat at the kitchen island. Vi’s quick to hop off her stool and make her way towards you. Her arms encircle you the moment she gets close and your smile brightens at the touch. You lift the spoon up to her lips and even though she knows it’s delicious, Vi goes in for a taste. She mimics your pleased hum from before, swaying you to the slow beat of the song that now plays.

“Babe, you crush it every time,” Vi reveres, causing you to roll your eyes fondly. “How do you do it? Were you a famous chef in your past life or what?”

“It’s pasta sauce,” you respond, voice deadpan but expression vibrant. “The same pasta sauce we’ve been making for five years and can make with our eyes closed.” You turn around in her arms so you can attend to the sauce, Vi taking this opportunity to latch onto your back. She nuzzles into the curve of your neck, pressing a kiss into the sensitive spot there just so she can feel you shiver. “It’s hardly Michelin star worthy.” You pause. “Wait, can dishes be given Michelin stars?”

“Fuck if I know,” Vi murmurs, hooking her chin over your shoulder and settling in. From here, she can see a pot full of water boiling for pasta and the sauce thickening nicely in its pan. “So I want to talk to you about something.”

“We can’t go to the water park next week,” you say, amused. “We’ve had this discussion like six times and as much as I would like to go and hit the wave pool, there’s no—”

The laughter that bursts out of Vi’s mouth is enough to hurt her chest. But it doesn’t stop her from cackling, burying her head into your shoulder in an attempt to muffle how loud she is. She can feel the shaking of your body and hear your lovely laughter as you join her, fully leaning into her chest for support.

“No, you idiot,” Vi manages to say through her chuckles. “Oh fuck you, this was supposed to be a serious thing.”

“Why do you think I said what I said?” You retort playfully and Vi falls even more in love with you, as if that’s even possible. “But tell me what’s on your mind, baby. What’s going on?”

Vi takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second to gather herself. When she opens them, you’re turning off the burner for the sauce and reaching for the fettuccine to the side. Just as you’re pouring the pasta into the bubbling water, Vi’s thoughts spill out.

“I want to have a family with you.”

You go still for a moment, your arms poised above the boiling water with the empty pasta box in your hands. Vi’s unable to see your face but she isn’t necessarily worried about your reaction. It’s a conversation that you’ve had multiple times over the span of your relationship, but today is where you start taking steps towards putting it in action.

“Well, yes,” you start, placing the pasta box back on the counter. Then you’re turning in her arms so you’re facing each other again, your eyes peering into hers. “We’ve spoken countless times about this.” You smooth your hands over the rounds of her shoulders, your face soft. “I’m still very much onboard with this because I want to have a family with you too. But I’m guessing you want to talk about a timeline.”

Vi nods, momentarily speechless because you always just get her, even without her having to say anything. She pulls you away from the stove to sit you on one of the kitchen island’s stools. She notes how you eye the pasta and makes a mental note to attend to the pot after five minutes.

“We always did say that we’d really start considering it once we’ve gotten our lives sorted,” Vi says, standing between your thighs. “And I’d say that our lives are pretty solid. We’re no longer in debt and we’ve got a decent amount saved away.” Her fingers play with your hair, causing you to lean into her touch. “So I thought that now would be a good time to try.” Vi then shakes her head. “Obviously, it’s your choice because it’s your body and I’d never want to pressure you into doing anything because of me and—”

Vi doesn’t notice she’s rambling until you’re pressing your finger against her lips, fond amusement colouring your features.

“I married a good woman,” you say, so tender that Vi feels her heart swell so much that it hurts. It presses against her ribs, pushes up on her lungs making her breathless. It makes her cling to you, hiding her head into the curve of your shoulder. Your hands come around to run soothingly down her back and she melts. “I know it's my choice, baby. You've never made me feel like it wasn't.”

Despite Vi knowing that, the relief that hits her is cool and instant. It's always nice to hear that she isn't pressuring you; that she's allowing you to make your own choices regardless of what she wants.

“I've always wanted to have children with you,” you continue, still running soothing patterns down her back. “That's something that has never changed and probably never will.” You then lean back and Vi's graced with the excitement in your beautiful eyes. “I imagine a little kid who's a mixture of me and you. Maybe my hair and your eyes or vice versa.”

“I hope they get your personality,” Vi says softly. “That they get your kindness and empathy. Your patience and wisdom.”

You laugh quietly, closing your eyes to hide from the blinding of Vi's earnest gaze. You're embarrassed, she can tell, and that makes this moment all the sweeter.

“Well, I hope they get your strength and conviction,” you reply, tilting your head up so the tip of your nose catches the softness of Vi's cheek. “That they get your loyalty and ambition. Your sympathy and empathy.”

Vi's cheeks burn at the compliments you dress her in. Compliments that you would call truths because that's how you see her. Even under all the mess and mistakes, you see the diamonds that rest beneath the dirt.

She'll never understand why someone as special as you forever wants to be with her.

“So…what are you thinking?” Vi asks, eager to see where your head’s at. She watches as you purse your lips with a hum, eyes rolling upwards to stare at the ceiling in thought. Then you’re looking back at her with a smile and that’s how Vi finds her answer.

“Really?” Vi has to double check, to be sure that you’re both on the same page; that this is what you want to do from this moment.

“I’ve been wanting to suggest it for a while but—Violet!” You exclaim out of surprise, laughter startled from you when Vi pulls you in for a tight hug. But your arms are wrapping around her instantly, holding on with a solid grip.

“Thank you,” Vi whispers into your neck, planting a delicate kiss over your pulse. “Thank you so much.”

“No need to thank me,” you say quietly, returning the kiss to the curve of her ear. “I want this too.”

Vi nods and gives you a firm squeeze before pulling away, but not too far so she can still keep you in her arms. She’s so overwhelmed; there’s so much she wants to say but all of it is tied at the back of her throat. The words aren’t coherent but they have meaning and Vi will try all she can to convey how precious that meaning is.

“Okay so,” you begin after you both sit in relaxed silence for a while. “I love you so much and you’re my everything but if that pasta’s mushy, I’ll never forgive you.”

“You lie,” Vi replies, nuzzling at your cheek. “You love me too much to hate me.”

“But I love pasta more,” you tease, your soft laughs muted by the gentle press of Vi’s lips against yours.

The pasta has gone soft but you don’t seem to mind, all too distracted by Vi's sweet kisses.

“So you’re officially trying for kids now?”” Jinx says one afternoon in the small cafe they often frequent. It's raining outside and there's a chill in the air that seeps into your bones and makes you want to stay in bed. That's where Vi wishes she was now, all curled up underneath the sheets with you.

“Yeah, we had a proper talk about it a few days ago,” Vi says. “Not that all the other talks weren't proper but our plans didn't have a start date.” She swirls the remaining dregs of coffee in her mug. “Now we're both ready and soon there's gonna be a kid in the picture.”

Jinx hums, taking a sip of whatever iced concoction she's gotten today. “I mean, it's a big thing,” she says around her straw. “Bringing a small human into the world. Plus babies are kinda gross with their uncontrollable bowel movements.” Her nose scrunches up. “Not to mention the crying and screaming and inability to talk for the first two years.”

Vi shrugs. “Yeah, but I don't give a shit about any of that.”

“Well, duh. Because you're with someone who's gonna make it worthwhile,” Jinx replies matter-of-factly. “It's kind of like being in love with the person of your dreams makes you more tolerable to things. Shocker.”

“You're already falling into your Cynical Aunt role.” Vi says, deadpan but smiles when Jinx chuckles.

“Don't get me wrong, I'm gonna love the shit out of that little goober,” Jinx says strongly. “Gonna be the best auntie in the world. Much better than Caitlyn or Mel, that's for sure.”

Vi makes a doubtful expression, an eyebrow raised, and raises her hands to placate when Jinx aims her butter knife at her.

“No, you'll be great,” Vi tells her and despite their jokes, she means it. She sees how Jinx is with kids; how she may not seem interested at first but then slowly opens up. Not to say that she connects with every child but when Jinx cares, she cares with her entire heart. So Vi knows that her children will be loved.

Jinx eyes her and takes another sip of her drink before saying, “There's something on your mind.”

Vi huffs. “How can you tell?”

“I'm your sister, we grew up together,” Jinx lists off. “I mean, ignore the fact that we didn't talk for seven years but I know you.” She finishes off her glass and pushes it to the side. “What's going on?”

“Do you really wanna know?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

Vi chuckles, running a hand through her hair, before leaning back in her seat.

“I just…worry that I may not be a good parent.” She confesses after a moment.

“Why?” Jinx asks straight away, not giving Vi the time to wallow too deeply.

“Because…I mean, look what happened with us,” Vi says, gesturing between them. “I left you alone for seven years over a misunderstanding that took ages to fix. I was supposed to be there for you when our parents died. When Vander died and I…” Vi stops for a second, a heavy knot in her throat. “...I wasn't there and I'm just scared that I'm gonna fuck all of this up.”

Jinx stares at her for a bit, her expression unreadable, before she gives a big eye roll.

“You're so stupid,” she says loudly.

“Gee thanks.” Vi replies.

“You're so stupid because I don't think you realise how good of a big sister you were,” Jinx continues. “How good of a big sister you are. Life sucked for us for a long time, Vi. Especially after our parents and Vander died. Then the hits kept on coming and we had no say in how we survived for a long time. Yes, we got separated and yes, it made me so fucking mad at you, but you came back for me.” She takes a deep breath. “If we could redo the past, we would. But we can't. But things have been fixed and you've shown me time and time how capable you are.” She then laughs. “I mean, you've been in a committed relationship for twelve years, Vi. Most people don't last up to the five month mark.”

Vi tries to ignore the sting behind her eyes, the tears that slowly blur her vision.

“Plus you guys are totally in love,” Jinx says, a slight smile curving her lips. “It's absolutely nauseating but it's also kinda beautiful. You'll make a really good parent, Vi. You got the best of mom and our dads. And your partner kicks ass and is one of the best people I've ever met so…” Jinx shrugs. “Your children are gonna be so lucky to have you two as parents.”

There’s then a lull that falls between them and Vi's trying so hard not to cry. So she swallows back the knot in her throat, chasing it away with her last bit of coffee.

“Saying all of that must have driven you nuts,” Vi jokes weakly, reaching out to give Jinx's hand a grateful squeeze.

“Yeah, I feel gross and need to take a shower,” Jinx jokes in return, weak too and she squeezes Vi's hand just as tight. “Consider that your birthday and Christmas gift.”

Vi laughs loudly, eyes crinkling and mouth wide with the joy she feels.

“Fair enough.” She concedes, knowing damn well Jinx will surprise her with a homemade gift regardless.

“...So, gonna go home and blast your baby batter into���?”

“Jinx.”

A week or two pass after those conversations are held. Life maintains its norm, leaving you and Vi to continue your existence in its blissful way. It's comforting as it is confusing, because Vi knows that everything’s on the table now. Left wide open for the both of you to bask at.

Vi waits for your move, watches you with a keen eye as you drift throughout the days. She cooks the both of you dinner every other night, picks you up from work every day without fail and holds you close at night so you fall asleep. She does what she knows to do, does it because it has that essence of normalcy.

But that doesn't stop the urges from arising. It doesn't halt the need that bubbles in her stomach every time she sees you. It's overpowering, overwhelmingly so, and Vi fails to understand it until one late evening.

You're curled up beneath Vi’s arm as a movie plays on the television. It's a standard comedy, nothing utterly hilarious but enough to pull a few chuckles from both of you. Vi has hit optimal relaxation, all loose and soft due to you being so close. She can smell the scent of your body wash, drops her face into your hair so she can inhale what lies there. Your shampoo and something so uniquely you.

Her focus has since shifted from the movie, all of it on you as she notes how you’re barely paying attention to the screen. You’ve got this faraway look in your eyes, seemingly lost in thought and Vi wonders what's going through that pretty head of yours.

Then you do something unexpected; you shift a hand towards your stomach and…gently rub at it. The arc of your hand graceful as you follow the slope of your covered flesh. It looks soothing, similar to how you rub Vi's muscles on the days the flare-up of old injuries is too much. But it's also different and Vi's quick to notice it; she sees how your hand comes to lay at your lower stomach and—

Oh.

Vi's suddenly feeling a bit flustered.

A minute goes by, slowly ticking, and Vi tries not to give herself away. She tries not to reveal how the simple act of you rubbing your stomach has her heating up. How she's instantly imagining your stomach round with her child and the way your hand would look caressing the bump.

So tender, so gentle.

Something hot within Vi stirs, causing her to grow a bit restless. The movie captures her attention for a bit, but it hardly does much. Especially when you're pressed into her, still rubbing at your stomach and fuck, her sweatpants feel a little tight.

Because it isn't only about your stomach growing with life inside you. It's also about the transformation you'll grow through. How you'll get softer, how your scent will become a little milkier. How your breasts will swell in preparation and how you'd be a stunning image of how you belong to.

Vi.

Because it's Vi who'll do that to you; it's her who will fuck you full until you can't take anymore. It's Vi who will come and come and come in you until it takes and she sees the fruits of her labour.

It's her who'll…who'll breed you until you’re tongue's tied and your body's a wreck.

So beautiful and pilant and hers.

“...Vi?” Your voice calls her home, like a siren's song, and she's retrieved from her debauched thoughts. “Vi, sweetheart, the movie's done.”

Vi blinks at the television, the credits rolling down the dark screen. How long had she been spacing out for.

“Oh,” she says lamely and you chuckle, standing up from the couch. You tug at her arm, smiling tiredly, as you tilt your body towards the bedroom.

“I'm sleepy,” you say, giving one more tug before Vi’s standing on her feet. “Let's go to bed, we've got work in the morning.”

“Uh huh,” is all Vi can manage as she allows you to lead her to your bedroom.

Something new has clicked in her brain.

Something deep and primal at its core.

...She cannot talk to Jinx about this.

[athenajbrooks]

Here's one from Lucioden the Warbringer's POV:

"AITA for trying to liberate my home country from a pathological liar and murderer?

My (26M) former friend Abrahath's (26M) dad is the leader of the new country his father founded, Aldea. He announced his retirement and decided to set up a new system of government and place whoever the people wanted as the first king. Abrahath and I were both candidates. Abrahath had always been a bit of a prideful prick, so he assumed he wasn't going to have competition. He complained, I told him to be a good sport about it, and I thought that was the end of it.

Then one night, I saw him leaving his house with his dad, who looked to be not in the best of health. Sure, the guy was old, but something about it didn't seem right to me, so I followed them. I watched Abrahath toss his own father to a pack of demons outside of town.

I was outraged. I confronted him the next morning. Two days later, my beloved wife went missing. My precious, darling Muen was never seen again. It broke me.

This time, I made sure to confront him at midday in front of the city hall so I had an audience and told them everything.

Now, here's the problem: Abrahath was a prideful prick, but he was also really good at putting on a show. His whole life was a string of good deeds done solely to bask in praise. Only I knew him well enough to know it was just an act. He spun a convincing cover story. Most of the people sided with him. They called me power-hungry and exiled me.

Now, let me reiterate: I did not murder my own father and cover it up. I did not create a spell to turn innocent people into demons and punish my enemies with it--because, oh yes, that's what he's doing now, so I hear. You know who did all that? Abrahath. And yet, somehow I'm the bad guy here?! Somehow Abrahath is more suited for the throne than me?! Give me a break.

I don't hate the people for that. They'd been manipulated and brainwashed, which isn't their fault. In fact, I decided that since I knew the truth, it was my responsibility to break the spell, so to speak. So, I traveled up north, started my own settlement, and...well, I'm thinking of preparing for war, because what else am I to do? An evil king isn't just going to sit down for a heart-to-heart and give up the power he killed for.

So, I ask, AITA for trying to take over Aldea?"

One of the comments would be: "This is BS. I was there. Sotalbin sacrificed himself willingly to keep Aldea safe. As for OP's wife, there's absolutely zero proof Abrahath killed her. Also, OP forgot to mention he made a pact with the demons recently to help him kill as many people as possible."

To which Lucioden would respond, "I know what I saw. As for the pact, my friend Xijikh pressured me into that decision. I was not in a good place at the time, and he took advantage of it."

if you're trying to get into the head of your story's antagonist, try writing an "Am I the Asshole" reddit post from their perspective, explaining their problems and their plans for solving them. Let the voice and logic come through.

[tahbhie]

How many drafts should you go through before deciding your novel is ready?

There's no specific (official) number, but to create a foundation that ensures you don't burn out quickly, overwork yourself, and get tired of your work, I'll say four. It's the same number I use for my students since most of them have other engagements outside writing that take up a copious amount of their time.

1. Initial or Zero Draft:

This draft is also called the 'just write' draft. Focus on putting that idea down. As the creative juices flow, let it all out. Don't worry about perfection or coherence; the goal is to capture your raw ideas and get the story out of your head and onto the page.

2. Second Draft:

This is the plot draft. Read through what you have written to see if every detail you added was meant to be. Here, you focus on the structure of your story. Ensure that the plot makes sense, the pacing is right, and there are no major plot holes. This is where you might add, remove, or rearrange scenes to improve the overall flow of the narrative.

3. Third Draft:

Character development draft. In this stage, you look deeper into your characters. Make sure their motivations, backgrounds, and arcs are well-defined and consistent. Flesh out their personalities and relationships, ensuring they are compelling and believable. This is also a good time to refine dialogue and make sure it sounds natural and true to each character. That's for this drafting stage.

4. Fourth Draft:

Grammar and punctuation draft. This is the polishing stage. Focus on correcting grammatical errors, punctuation, and spelling mistakes. Pay attention to sentence structure, word choice, and overall readability. This draft is about making your manuscript as clean and professional as possible.

Keep in mind that the goal is to define what completion means for each draft. Once you reach the goal, take a break and return to it for the next drafting stage.

Some writers pay people to carry out some of the drafting stages for them, so if you fall into that category, you might have fewer drafting stages to handle yourself!

Reblog to save for later 😉

Thank you all for the support 💜!

[beanarie]

for the micro stories - 22. nap

"Did I just hear a snore?" Karen asks, fighting off a grin.

Buck turns a few degrees to the right. Tommy's head got heavier on his shoulder a little while ago, but he didn't think anything of it. Everything about Tommy's physicality is heavy. Large hands, barrel chest, giant feet. When he moves, he forms his own force of gravity.

"Babe?" he says softly, ignoring Chim mouthing the word. Yes, they are one of those couples now. Buck is determined to claim this man in public as often and as blatantly as Tommy will allow.

There's no response. Buck looks around the table sheepishly. "Long shift. Nonstop medevacs for hours, then the rest of his 48 he was stuck on ground ops with barely a breather." Careful not to dislodge him, Buck plants a kiss on Tommy's head and eyes his pile of chips. "I’ll finish out the hand, then I gotta get this one home."

"Whose home would that be, Buck?" Hen asks, looking up from her cards. "You haven't-"

"No. I have learned my lesson there. Thank you. We're going to his place, where I enjoy staying sometimes." Two weeks ago, Tommy presented him with a drawer, trying so hard to be casual about it that it went back in a loop to formal. Buck was so charmed and grateful he immediately sucked his dick about it.

"So you're good?" Chim asks, moving his cards around with a grimace. He's a terrible actor. Buck needs to fold.

Tilting his head to rest on Tommy's, he grins widely, accepting their groans at his sincere happiness. "We're awesome."

[noleftexit]

They shouldn't be here Doing this It had been years since they'd seen each other

"I'm surprised to see you at a baby shower?!" she laughed nervously He was leaning against the bar in between her and the bartender "Well I couldn't turn down the invite after Rachel mentioned you'd be here. I thought you were out of town?" he replied "I am. Living the high life in the big city with my fiancé and dog" she laughed, trying to get the bartenders eyes

That stood there for ages chatting and laughing about everything that had happened since that night and at the absurdity of this event Who even has a baby shower this late in the evening at such a swanky hotel This close to New Years Rachel and her adorable husband, that's who

After too many drinks and some dangerous flirting they both knew they'd made a mistake But the look in their eyes tried to deny it "I need to go get something from my car before I forget" she sighed placing her glass on the bar "I'll escort you. It's dark out there" he quickly offered

The cold December air hit them both as they stepped outside They had barely reached her car before they were all over each other "We shouldn't be here" she gasped in between kisses As her hand reached down to feel him through his suit trousers "I thought about you every day for the last three years" he replied, spinning her around and kissing her neck from behind His hand ran down her front Cupping and squeezing her breasts before moving down to the slit in the side of her dress And as he ran his hand down her thigh she was his Laying down against her car bonnet she spilled every thought she'd had about him too How every lover she'd had since that night didn't compare to him He'd become her biggest fantasy and obsession and she didn't know what she was going to do if he hadn't showed up tonight

She stopped dead and gasped as he ripped off her panties and slid his hard thick shaft into her wet pussy They didn't care if someone caught them This needed to happen now "Fuck… I've wanted you to fill my desperate cunt for so long" she moaned while grabbing at him to pull him closer His grip on her waist was strong She squeezed around him with each thrust Wanting him to stay deep inside as her legs quivered at the sensations flowing through her body "Don't stop. Fuck, I'm going to cum. Don't you stop" she squealed into her forearm Her pussy spasming as he slid in and out The sound of their skins coming together with each thrust as her excitement dripped down her thighs "Cum for me" she whimpered. "I need to feel you cum in me"

[Previous]

[inkprilled]

The new year feels like a broken clock that speeds up when you want the world to slow down. It doesn't care how heavy your heart is or how you fail to catch the light with your flimsy hands, it just approaches whether you're ready or not.

It spins forward and we spin with it and it sometimes feels a little unnerving, how evrything keeps moving while you’re standing there counting how many breaths you have left. But it's also comforting, It’s like a little nudge saying hey by the way, you can hit reset whenever you want. and you can, there's no universal default start date, your beginning can be when ever you want it to be. Maybe your new year starts when the winter months are long gone and the flowers are in bloom, maybe you begin when the sun baths the ground with new life and the glow of it all makes everything feel easier.

Maybe this year you don't think about beginnings or endings but just let yourself enjoy the middle. Time doesn't care when you start or how, it will push you along regardless. This year will be what it'll be, things from the last year will be carried along and some left behind, we just have to have hope that it'll kind.

[tally-kat]

A contrapuntal poem inspired by @two-bees-poetry for Ava and Beatrice :)

[kisakis-boyfriend]

OH SHIT UH baizhu x monster reader because I've been thinking about him lately. maybe something dubcon-y? I love pathetic men whimpering and crying 🎃

Author's Note: My mind went places, y'all… very horny places. 💀

Pairings: Baizhu x male reader

Warnings: Male plant monster!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!Baizhu, sort of gullible Baizhu, dubcon, handjob, facial, riding, aphrodisiac, mild dumbification

Why he had to run out of this particular herb was beyond him. As if that wasn't annoying enough, his suppliers were out of stock and wouldn't be able to ship him any more. The location of this herb has become increasingly dangerous, and no one could figure out why the men sent to gather these herbs came back… weird, to say the least. Nonetheless, Baizhu needed those herbs to treat his patients.

Was it a stupid idea to travel out there by himself and gather them by hand; yes, most certainly, and Changsheng told him as much, but a doctor's mind is a puzzling thing.

And that's how he ended up here; in the high mountains of Chenyu Vale. Normally, one would expect to run into a few monsters, at the very least, but Baizhu had yet to see a single one during his trek. There were plenty of other creatures, and the foliage didn't seem withered, so it's not as if this place was devoid of life nor on a biological decline—there was simply a lack of danger. Which is a strange occurrence, considering the reports he'd read…

That fact really should be comforting to the frail doctor, but in truth, it made a shiver run down his spine. His eyes nervously scanned over the immediate grassy grounds, hoping to catch a glimpse of the herb he so desperately needed — desperate enough to set foot on this mountain alone.

It took a bit more searching, but the herb in question was flourishing just around the back of one particular mountain. Baizhu carefully made his way towards the area, picking one herb and inspecting it to check its quality and that it was, in fact, the correct herb. Picking a few more, Baizhu comes across one plant that refuses to be plucked — an unusually tough herb, resisting his attempts to yank it out from the dirt.

As he goes to inspect the stem, a soft voice cries out; “U-um… excuse me? Could you help me…?” Looking over his shoulder, the doctor spots a person's head sticking up out of the ground—except their skin has a pale green hue to it, and as this person rises up, he notices how the ground around them shifts; as though the ground is a part of them.

Baizhu turns halfway, cautiously keeping an eye on you as he questions, “…What do you need help with?” The way your body flows effortlessly when you move—creating ripples in the immediate area around your torso—piques Baizhu's curiosity.

“O-oh! Um… it's a little embarrassing, if I'm being honest, sir…” you begin, “As you've probably guessed, I am not a human — think of me as a type of dendro spirit, I guess? Uh, anyways, there's this…ritual, of sorts, that only a human can help me with–”

The whole time you're explaining this predicament of yours, Baizhu keeps a watchful eye on you to make sure you're not tricking him. Even though you come across as rather sheepish.

“…I understand if you don't trust me, I just don't know what else to do…humans don't come around here too often, and the pain has become so much worse–”

“I'll help you.” He interjects. The sparkles in your eyes force him to hold back a chuckle as you thank him a million times over. “Please take me to this plant of yours.”

You excitedly take off, essentially a torso and head gliding halfway inside the ground, while this kind human with green hair trails just behind. Arriving at your destination, Baizhu kneels down, giving you a glance, and you return it nervously.

Baizhu eyes the plant inquisitively, staring at the odd shape and strange fleshy texture of the whole thing.

“Go on, doctor, I-I'm ready…” you prompt, giving the man a shy smile to mask your nerves.

With a quick breath to strengthen his resolve, the doctor raises his hands, wrapping them both around the plant and lightly squeezing it until a wet substance seeps out through the petals. “A-ah! aAh-” you gasp suddenly.

“I'm sorry—did that hurt?!”

You shake your head, nearly whimpering as you try to assure him, “N-no… just surprised me. Your hands… they're a bit cold…”

“My apologies, they should warm up soon enough. Shall we keep going?” Said like a true doctor. This stranger with kind eyes has been nothing but gentle with you so far, helping out a non-human creature whom he only met a few minutes ago, even if he finds your request a tad strange.

More wetness falls down his hands, pouring from the plant the more he squeezes and twists his hands around the elongated object. He experimentally moves his hands to other areas, and when Baizhu's thumbs rub and press on the tip of the plant, you're unable to hold back a sharp intake of air. Your eyes roll back momentarily, and you chomp down on your lower lip to conceal the noises threatening to escape.

The doctor eyes your pained expressions with worry written all over his face. “It's… fine — I'm fine. The pain… is not that bad… please, don't stop, doctor.”

As you wish, Baizhu milks more and more liquid from the plant, creating a pool of it underneath the stem of the plant—gradually creeping towards his knees and threatening to soak his pants. For the most part, it feels and looks like regular water, but there's a faint sensation of stickiness on his palms, close to the surface of the plant.

While this is supposed to be a medical procedure, Baizhu can't help feeling a bit… embarrassed by the whole situation. This plant of yours—it is a bit phallic. Not to mention how the method used to wring out the liquid is akin to… uh, a specific hand movement performed on phallic objects. The suggestive sounds coming from your mouth don't help that either. Baizhu can't ignore you when you moan out “Faster… faster, doctor- aah~ Keep stroking it like that… it's definitely woRKING-!”

The more Baizhu watches himself squeeze the glistening liquid from your plant, the deeper into a trance he falls — soon enough he's fallen so deep that he shamelessly jerks off the phallic plant until the tip opens up and explodes like a volcano; shooting thick, honey-like ropes all over Baizhu's pretty face.

The substance drips all down his features — clumping in strands of hair, clinging to his glasses, dripping from his nose and chin, and even a little sliding into his open mouth. “A-ah! Y-you… you did it… you made me release it all, doctor~” you comment — your words are the only thing penetrating that fuzzy mind of his right now. “Thank you soooo much~ But, could I trouble you with one more thing?” you lean forward, gently holding the doctor's chin so that he can't turn away from you. “Won't you help me again? It's the only way for me to feel all better.”

“Aah…? I don't… understand…” Baizhu breathes, confused and seemingly in a daze. It's such a precious sight to behold, really.

You reach out and slide a hand up and down the doctor's stomach, teasingly pushing his top up a few times before moving towards the edge of his pants. “You'll help me, won't you? You're such a kind doctor, after all~” you remind him. Baizhu's pants are quickly yanked down, removed the rest of the way by vines that the good doctor never noticed before…

With his sensitive areas laid bare for you to see, Baizhu gasps, frozen in place as your hands feel up his waist and thighs, pushing the latter apart so that you can inspect his body. Sliding two fingers towards his rear, you find that special hole humans have and tease around the rim of it. “Aha! There it is. I'm sorry to ask so much of you, but… I really need this right now.”

While he has no idea what you mean, the doctor senses something amiss within your words. Your fingers attempt to push inside of him, and Baizhu clumsily refuses. “I-I don't think… don't think that I can do that, young man… mm ooh~”

Impatiently, you lift him up and pull him towards you, hovering his hole right above the plant he'd previously milked. A little burst of liquid shoots from the tip, splashing against Baizhu's entrance, which startles him. The consistency of the liquid feels just like the substance it coated his face in earlier; thick, sticky, and warm.

While Baizhu's mind tries to resist, his body is doing quite the opposite, already lowering itself down until the tip of the plant is entering his ass. “A-AAH! Wait–!” he begs. But it's too little too late as your phallic plant penetrates him with ease, thanks to that honey-like fluid. The fleshy appendage pushes a wave of liquid inside his hole, and it creates a wet mess all over his ass, thighs, and the ground below as you begin to fuck him.

“Mm doctor… you feel incredible~ Hehe, look at that—this little guy is having fun too~” Baizhu blushes deeply, shaking his head while you watch his cock bounce every time your plant cock thrusts in.

“N-no… please, harder–! This is weird… aah~ so good~ ” the doctor grits his teeth, biting his lower lip as he grows frustrated by his own mouth betraying him. The cutest whimpers are the only sounds coming from his mouth as you continue your assault on his hole, thrusting your plant deeper and deeper. The amount of liquid gushing out of Baizhu's ass is ungodly now; sticky, squelchy, slick fluids that overflow with every thrust, filling his tummy until it hurts with how full it is.

“You're doing amazing, doctor! That terrible ache is almost gone, I j-just need to– guh!” you suddenly slam your hips into him, laughing as a pang of pleasure wracks your body and causes you to bury your cock in him. Your hands fly to his waist, and you bounce the human while he whimpers some more.

Tears begin to roll down Baizhu's cheeks, staining his glasses with a salty film as you release another round of that thick substance; this time inside the doctor's body. You pant wildly, mere inches from his face while your plant cock spreads open inside of his hole, releasing far too much liquid inside his belly.

[thargelalia]

This is Comrade Red Hood!Jason hehe

Bruce: So, the CEO of United Healthcare was shot and killed

Jason: What? Why's everyone looking at me?

Bruce: Did you do it?

Jason: WHAT? Do you really think I would do something like that?

Dick: Yes

Tim: Yes

Damian: Yes

Steph: Yes

Cass: Yess

Jason: ....without telling everyone? If that was me I would be shouting it from the rooftops.

Bruce: Just tell me if you killed the CEO or not

Jason: Bitch I'll kill a CEO right now if you don't start acting right.

[pedgito]

𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 | Joel Miller x reader x Tommy Miller

↝ series masterlist | masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | twisted into the miller brothers web, you find yourself deeply entangled in a complicated situation between the two and hell bent on self-preservation, you discover that running isn't always the best choice.

author's note | i was going to get this out before the end of the year if it was the last thing i did. i have never been so fully engulfed in a fic like this. it's just a little mini series, but i could talk about this shit for hours. thank you to everyone who's listened to my incoherent rambling and especially @gracieheartspedro who nailed down this ending when i was struggling so hard to decide. if you enjoy this silly story as much as me, ily.

content warning | 18+ smut, this is heavily joel miller x reader leaning, cannibalism, gore, mentions of violence, blood, death, joel's territorial <3, lots of unprotected sex going on 'round here, oral (f receiving), pain kink go hard, blood kink and consumption, biting kink, literal love as consumption, restraints, description of wounds from said bites, scarring, omitting a few tags for spoilers but please remember you are responsible for the work you consume, if you are ever feeling uncomfortable, do not continue reading. this is dark fic. that's the only warning i'm giving.

word count —13k, BITTER (part one)

“Killin’ is a viable option.”

Tommy groans, hand rubbing over his face as he leans against the kitchen counter, “They aren’t backwoods folk, Joel. You know that, we gotta be smart.”

“All they gotta do is get the law involved,” Joel points out, “fancy lawyers—“

“We’re selling to half that department,” Tommy argues, a long moment of silence before he adds, “and if you’d stop interrupting I’d tell you I already spoke to ‘em. Said I’d run it by you first before we set anything in stone.”

The big brother seal of approval.

You watch along curiously, stuck in the chair that Joel had a hand gripped around, sandwiched between them both as they volleyed arguments back and forth like they were fighting gladiators shoved in the colosseum—may the best man win.

“I still think we should just kill ‘em,” Joel chirps with finality, glancing briefly over your dumbstruck look, frozen somewhere between fear and shock, their voices fading in and out like muffled conversation, “make sure no one’ll come askin’ questions. Easy. You ain’t never had an issue with it before.”

The letter was still clutched in Tommy’s hand, a list of vague threats and accusations—the weird occurrences around the Miller property, the strange behavior of Tommy’s older brother, the smell. There wasn’t hard evidence, but they weren’t wrong either. A few minutes grazing the property and a look in the barn would confirm anyone’s suspicions—which, speaking of…

“Are you going to kill me now?”

 It was a brave thing to interject with, given Joel’s current hostility around the situation with their nosey neighbors and you, like a pest making a mess of his home. But, instead it was him. His mind—a foreign feeling that he didn’t like or intent to allow to wreak havoc much longer.

He’d kill you if he had to, if that was what it took.

Unsurprisingly, they both ignore you.

“Let me talk to ‘em tomorrow, Joel,” Tommy barters, “see if I can smooth things over.”

“Ya ain’t smoothin’ shit over, we know how this goes—you lose your temper and then we have a mess. Just take care of the fucking problem like I suggested.”

You knew the house, it was the only one within walking distance. Far off, covered by a line of trees and eclectic decor—you never thought much of it, under the impression that everyone in this town was as demented as the Miller brothers, most of the suspicions confirmed as the brothers continued to argue. 

It was an open secret—deranged and fucked-up, but there was full, completely loyalty.

If you had gone digging enough, you would have found out yourself. But, Joel wanted you to know. It takes a killer to know a killer—the wood of the chair cracks behind you as his grip tightens.

“We aren’t gonna hurt you,” Tommy comforts suddenly, a quick glance over of your injuries, “not intentionally, at least—”

“She fell,” Joel explains, a half-truth, “made a damn mess and wasted the scraps for the pigs—”

“Joel,” Tommy warns, returning his gaze to you, “You’ve been good to us, better than most. We can trust each other, alright? Ain’t no reason to think otherwise.”

He was sickeningly sweet, laying it on so thick you see right through the facade. He was upset, rightfully so, but you weren’t sure how much of it was directed at Joel and how much of it was directed at you.

“When did I surpass being a meal?” You turn your attention toward Tommy, flicking your eyes up briefly at Joel, “Was it before or after you fucked me?”

You expect it to be newfound information to Joel, but he doesn’t react in the slightest. He almost smirks, actually. A sudden, miniscule response that you wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t so on edge.

“Now, darlin’—”

“Cut the shit, Tommy,” You retort, “When did it happen?”

“Still a chance, if you’re feelin’ persistent,” Joel taunts.

Tommy shoots Joel a dangerous glare before his face softens.

“The thought never occurred to me,” Tommy replies though you find it hard to believe him, “M’not sayin’ we’ve been this kind to everyone, but with you—s’different. Right, Joel?”

“Well, she does like the taste,” He grins viciously, a showing of teeth that sends your body into a full chill, “ate it right up, loved it.”

Your eyes shoot daggers in his direction and he shrugs, his tongue shoved into his cheek as he moves to stand, turning in a circle on his heels as he leans against the nearest surface.

“I mean it, you’re safe with us,” Tommy assures, “out there—we can’t protect you. And if you think we’re the monsters, you’re in for a rude awakenin’, baby.”

“Don’t,” You chuffle, a short laugh through your nose, “I’ll—I’ll stay, but this,” You wave your finger between him and you, before it circles the group, a discoordinated trio, “I don’t trust either of you and don’t call me that. Don’t call me anything, actually.”

Your anger was justified and Tommy didn’t try to argue, only sinking back in his chair with an ‘I told you so’ look on Joel’s face. Luckily, they leave you to gather yourself, ignoring the subtle sting from the wounds on your legs and your spiraling thoughts—you could wait until nightfall.

That was it—wait long enough until it was dark and they were both asleep and make a run for the only sane people in the nearest vicinity. They could help you and help take the two brothers down in the process, it was a fair victory for the opposing party and your only saving grace.

–

They retire to their rooms eventually, the insistent chirp of crickets keeping you awake, standing on sore legs as you move around the dark room and pulling on a warm pair of clothes to trek against the nighttime winds. 

You were careful, prying open doors with a quiet effort and allowing the softest steps against the old floorboard as you reached the door, immediately met with the deadbolt lock and an even heftier lock to keep you trapped–or to Tommy, safe. The house was silent aside from the sounds of nature, the occasional howling wind blowing through but you looked around, searching for another path—you had already made it this far, you weren’t going to go scrambling back.

If anything, the backdoor would have the same locks and your eyes scan the windows, closed shut but not inescapable. If either of them decided to wake, they would surely know. 

There was no time to deliberate or weigh the consequences, hurrying toward the living room window that led toward the yard, pulling it up with forceful but cautious precision, ripping at the screen.

It isn’t an easy feat, not nearly the path you would have chose, but you fell to the ground with a deft slump, careful of your fresh bandages and gravel under your hands as you land, wincing as you stand but peering inside of the house cautiously, determining if you needed to make a run for it.

Silence meets you. Dead silence.

The eerie feeling in the distance creeps in, eyeing the house over your shoulder that is still lowly lit but quite the walk, you turn on your heels and make the long walk there, wondering if darting off down the road would be simpler, continuing until you came upon another sign of civilization or normality, anything to save you.

As you grow closer, the muffled melodic tunes coming from the house start to drown out your stream of thoughts, the bass booming from the driveway as you grow closer. You careful approach the steps to their door, pressing a finger into the doorbell as it chimes throughout the house—the music lowers in an instant, quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop, the door ripping open with a forceful gust of air, meet with the fierce scowl of an older gentleman.

It was hard to describe him, but there was so much going on—a peek at the inner house decor that screamed for a touch of neutralness, a mix of beaded necklaces hanging around his neck over a stretched out tank, barefoot as he approached you on the mat at his door.

It only dawns on you now that you hadn’t prepared anything—you were drawing a complete blank.

“You better start talking,” He speaks, a grittiness to his voice that stills you at your core, “botherin’ us in the middle of the night—”

“You’re right,” You blurt out, shaking your head slightly as you realize how abrasive it was, taking a breath before you speak slower, “about Joel and Tommy, you’re right. They’re bad people.”

His expression turns steely, jaw tightening as he straightens his back in an intimidating manner. You couldn’t mistake the whiff of alcohol on his breath, his drifting eyes down the length of your body, slowly realizing that this might have been a mistake.

Self-preservation had always come first, even if you didn’t think the Miller’s were the worst possible people you could have come across, they were unfortunate targets in the moment. 

“They—they are killing,” You point vaguely in the direction of the house, “it’s—the smell, it’s the bodies. They’re murders, you have to help me,” It comes out in a panic and you stutter as the confession rolls off your tongue, his expression only growing dark as time passes.

Fuck, he didn’t believe you. Of course—who would? 

Hey, you’ve got a couple cannibals for neighbors—let’s deal with them.

It was never that easy.

“You don’t think I know?” He responds, stepping into your space to send you stumbling backwards, but his arms lock around your biceps and keep you upright, but not for the reason he should, feeling the sting of pain as he squeezes down hard.

You gasp at the suddenness of it, “N—no, no! You have to believe me!”

“I’ve seen you helpin’ them,” He nods vaguely, “Think I’m gonna believe this shit? Where are they, huh?” The spit from his vicious reaction and volume sprays against your face as he shoves you to the ground, your arms skidding against the cement as you scramble backwards, trying to flee his quickly approaching figure, “They use you as bait?”

He’s over you before you have a chance to roll out of the way, your forearm presses up against his neck as he leers, glancing around for any sign of the brothers—silently praying that he was right in the moment, but you knew there was no one to help. Just you. Just him.

He forces you onto your stomach as your face was smashed into the rock path along the driveway, “Well, good—they can watch,” It makes your blood run cold, sensing the exact implication of his words as you calmly and slyly wrap your fingers around a palm sized rock, curling it in your fist as he leans back on his legs, twisting in his grip and bashing the rock blindly at his face, a grunt releasing from him as you make contact with his skull, falling to the ground with a dead weight as you scramble away breathless.

You stare at the sight, a man near death on his lawn before the whistle fades in—low and melodic as it approaches with the sound of heavy boots and speaking before you can react.

“Well, look at that,” Joel looks on in admiration, a small suspicion of amusement in his tone as he steps onto the lawn and peers over you, hand extended out blindly for help as he cautiously steps around the pooling blood of the now dead man, “little messier than I like, but you got the job done.”

If looks could kill—you’re seething, staring up at Joel with narrowed eyes as you take his hand and stand.

“I’ll give you some credit,” Joel continues, “You’re resourceful but predictable—suppose you can’t trust anyone in this town anymore, can you?”

He’s cocky about it, which pisses you off more. Undoubtedly, he was probably watching you the entire time, waiting in the shadows, undetectable. He’s mastered his craft, he killed people for a living. It wasn’t a mystery how he knew or expected your retaliation. But, his reaction is jarring.

“C’mon, up,” He yanks at your hand and helps you upright, instinctually brushing the clumps of grass and dirt out of your hair with a pinched expression as your eyes slowly drag toward the motion, unmoving out of…not fear. It was something indescribable, flinching at the heat of his hands as his eyes gradually rose toward the upstairs window.

“You know what happens next, right?” Joel asks, kicking at the dead body to roll him on his back, staring down at the lifeless corpse.

You didn’t need the whole speech—murder me now, please. Spare me the misery.

“Alright, alright,” Joel sighs, almost like he’s carrying on a conversation with himself—and with your silence, he was. But, he senses your fear, “well—you can’t just murder one and not the other, you little killer. You’re gonna take care of the other one, too.”

“Joel—I—” The adrenaline rush was waning, the bile in your stomach swimming and swirling.

His face hardens in an instant, forcing his hand over your mouth with a stern shake of his head as your eyes grow wide, “Ain’t time for excuses.  You made this mess—you’re gonna finish it.”

You blink slowly, searching for any sign of a bluff. It never comes, in fact, his grip only grows tighter until you answer, shakily nodding your head.

“Go on,” He urges, “I’m right behind you.”

He’d have a front row seat this time instead of waiting in the wings. 

Joel wanted a full taste.

–

The wife is tucked into bed when you finally find her, barricaded in her sheets and sleeping soundly despite the loud, blaring music when you first approach the house—you figured it was a regular occurrence, but you don’t linger on the thought long. 

You hold onto the thought of the husband and his unwillingness to hear you out, how they seemed to already have you figured out, wrapped up in the Miller’s web and just another willing accomplice, repeating the same careful steps from earlier that had clearly failed you as Joel breathed over your shoulder.

It needed to be quick—not entirely painless, but clean.

The vase to the left of her head seemed like an emergency option, the woman splayed out on her back as you searched around, knowing that you didn’t have long with Joel’s looming presence. You chew at your bottom lip as you reach carefully for the pillow beside her head and slowly press it over her face, a few seconds of calm before you find yourself in a predicament.

Climbing over her lap, you mount and press the weight of your palms into the pillow, face scrunched in concentration as the woman flails and shakes against the movement, grunting meekly as your hand slips against the scratch of her nails, glaring at Joel for a silent plea of help, realizing that she was putting up far more of a fight then either of you expected.

He waits until the last possible second, an unreadable expression on his face before he’s flipping the switchblade out of his pocket and piercing it through her clavicle, the blood squirting on your chest and face, rearing back instinctually as you gasp, her body falling lifeless in an instant.

“I can appreciate the effort,” Joel comments, wiping the blade off on the sleeve of your shirt before he pockets it again, “how’d that feel?”

You don’t realize your heart is racing until he asks the question—it was a similar feeling to a drug-induced high, slightly floaty and off-balance, your mind hazy as you blink, the stench of iron filling your senses and that strange look on Joel’s face returns.

You understand it then—lust, another subtle hint as he licks at his bottom lip out of reflex.

Joel would lick you clean if you let him.

You clear your throat and speak quietly, “What—what do we do?”

“Well, we gotta transfer ‘em to the house,” Joel explains, “So, you’ll stay here and wait—not run, that clear?”

You nod mindlessly, towering over your second dead body of the night.

You were far too deep now.

You don’t move—not really. You sink to the sheets beside the woman’s body but you listen dutifully, ears perking up at the roar of an approaching truck and door slamming followed by footsteps before Joel reappears again, seemingly breathing out a sigh of subtle relief as he spots you.

He’d never admit it, but you can see it.

It take a while, but eventually you carry both bodies into the bed of the truck and cover them with tarp, questioning Joel on what happens with the house, the evidence, everything that could essentially criminalize both of you—

“That’s above my paygrade, honey,” You’re not amiss to the change in his voice, his expression more relaxed as he shifts the truck into gear, “the sheriff handles all that for us.”

“And…the sheriff…he—”

Joel chuckles, “It’s everyone. Not just a group of us. We aren’t just sellin’ to townsfolk, either. It’s overseas, across the country. Shit is high risk, high reward. Why do you think I followed you tonight?”

So, he did follow you—he’d known the entire time.

“I saw the idea pop into your head earlier while Tommy and I were arguin’. Like I said, predictable. I’m not sayin’ you didn’t have a fair reaction, I get it. But, we can keep you safe.”

You cross your arms over your chest silently, skin and face caked with blood.

“But will you?” You retort, “Can I really trust you both?”

As the truck pulls in near the barn, the ignition falls silent.

“I want to,” Joel admits, “natural ability like that shouldn’t be wasted.”

A natural-born killer, he means.

“You feelin’ guilty right now?” Joel asks, eyebrows raised.

You shake your head quietly, avoiding his gaze.

“Good, keep it that way.”

Joel works silently to unload the bodies and load them in the barn as you sit quietly in the passenger seat, staring at the barn door as he drags tarp covered corpses inside with a brute strength unlike his brother, somehow spotless throughout the entire ordeal.

“I’ll move the truck in the morning,” Joel tells you as he pulls your door open, a hand waiting in assistance as you climb out on unsteady feet, the ache of your wounds coming back in waves as reality sets in.

“It is morning,” You retort, earning a huff of annoyance from Joel.

“You know what the fuck I meant,” He responds, his thumb flicking at a flake of dried blood on your collarbone as you stand in front of him, “Tommy’ll get pissy if you wash the blood off in the main bathroom—I’ll let you use mine.”

Your face contorts in a mix of confusion and amusement.

“Or I can hose you down out here, your choice.”

–

The house is as quiet as you left it, guided silently with the touch of Joel’s hand between your shoulder blades as you traversed the dark house—and you aren’t sure what you were expecting as you enter Joel’s bedroom, but it wasn’t this.

It was lived-in, personal; full of books and random trinkets, pictures lining the top of his dresser and walls—his family, you can only assume. A few pictures of kids that you surmise are Joel and Tommy, you avoid Joel’s gaze as you look around aimlessly, clearing your throat as you approach the bathroom, hearing the light flick on beside your head.

It was clean, at least. A dark colored shower curtain hiding the tub away from view and his bathroom amenities only slightly astray, probably from previous use that night. 

You turn to him with a quizzical expression, his expression matching.

“What? Somethin’ wrong?” He asks.

“It’s just—it’s…clean. It doesn’t—it doesn’t fit you, I guess.”

“I’m just a dirty old man to you, ain’t I?”

It’s a joke, but his delivery falls flat.

“I’m confused, I guess.” You tell him honestly, “Look at me—” A vague gesture at your own disheveled state, dirt and blood smeared on your face as he tilts his head against the doorframe.

“I am,” The deep timber to his voice strikes you at your core, a casual but unsuspecting answer, “I cleaned up for the night, wasn’t plannin’ on getting dirty again.”

“But, you’re always dirty.”

His job required that—but Joel was meticulous about his routine after he was done for the day. Dinner, a thorough shower, sometimes another if he was feeling particularly bothered, and the quiet of the calm house to lull him to sleep.

Unfortunately, that routine has been disrupted since you arrived. 

Like an infestation, you’d taken over.

Joel ignores you with a half-assed shrug and flicks a dried speck of blood from your nose.

“Go on,” He demands, “I’ll grab you some clothes and fresh bandages.”

You clear your throat awkwardly and nod as you gently swat his hand away, avoiding his gaze as you press the door closed enough that it doesn’t lock, but allows you the privacy to undress.

It feels good to clean the blood and grime away, scrubbing at your body until it burns, bathing in the distinct smell of Joel’s body wash, a faint hint of it always wafting off of him despite his usually dirtied state.

You can hear him moving quietly beyond the curtain, his shadow passing a few times as you’re expecting him to fold against the urge to peek his head beyond the curtain—something, anything.

You hated the forced gentlemanly facade. 

Once you’re out of the shower and dressed in clothes Joel had picked out, a matching set and a fresh pair of underwear that had you glancing sideways at him as his fingers peeked around the bathroom door with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and fresh bandages in his hands.

He kneels quietly with a concentrated expression, mirroring his actions from before. Wincing through the sting of pain as he cleans and dresses your wounds, catching his glances as the noises slip beyond your lips—an inconspicuous check-in, wordless.

You can’t help but fuck with him now, defenses down.

His eyes follow the way your hand smooths over the waistband of your shorts, your thumb slipping beyond the thick band as you lean against the mirror, watching as he taped down the gauze, “Kinda defeats the purpose, don’t it?”

“What’re ya gettin’ at?”

“The whole—bet you can’t guess what color underwear I’m wearing joke,” You play quietly with the waistband, fingers twirling in the drawstrings below your navel as your thighs spread against his guidance, his hand sliding down to your ankle to raise your leg higher in an effort to secure the bandage, “I see you wanted them to match,” You jest at him lightly, noticing the way his eyes immediately lock onto the apex of your thighs.

He brushes it off, a roll of his eyes as he finishes up his job, carefully piling up the trash on the floor as you slowly slide off the bathroom counter, leaving his head level with your waist. 

Had you asked yourself if you wanted to be this close to him twelve hours ago, the answer would have been different, but the downright pathetic look on his face as his eyes drag up your body and eventually land on your face are a powerful spell.

Slowly, your hands drift into his hair—surprisingly soft as the curls sway with your movement, gripping the hair tight and pushing his head back in the process, a low rumble in his throat at the action.

“Do you like that?” You inquire, his eyes darkening at the question as he sets his sight on something he wants—a primal gaze, almost like a warning.

“You tryin’ to make my brother jealous?” He asks, “Think I should tell him about your plan to rat us out—how it didn’t work and now you’re tryin’ this—”

“I can’t leave now,” You admit, still not fully settled with the idea but deep down you knew, “I—I do feel safe, you know. With you—”

You exhale shakily as his lips press against the sliver of skin beneath your shirt, just below your navel as his eyes fall shut, his tongue following the path as he presses surprisingly gentle kisses into the skin before his fingers are curling over the band of your shorts.

“Don’t trust me, though—do you?” Joel asks snarkily, eyes peeking open slightly as your lips part in a soft gasp as he pulls the clothing down your hips, peeling the underwear down with it.

One hand drags up your calf, calloused hands against soft skin as he pulls one knee over his shoulder and shoves your shirt upwards, giving him an obscured view of your cunt, lips spreading open with the movement and glistening with slick despite how much you tried to loathe him—there was a racing in your heart that differed from Tommy, like you know you shouldn’t be doing this but your body was demanding otherwise.

You shake your head lazily as it drops back, slumping against the medicine cabinet as he drags a finger through your folds, toying with your clit in small movements, silent as he drinks in every small sound you make, your opposite hand digging into the counter of the sink as his fingers dig into your thigh, opening your eyes as he presses his lips to your cunt, right against the mound and into the short, coarse patch of hair before he’s spreading his tongue out flat against you and licking a slow, tortuous line up the seam.

“Trust–trust is earned,” You reply breathily, “It, fuck—it takes time.”

Joel hums a response of approval as his nose nudges against your clit, tongue dipping inside of your hole as he stared up at you, even at this angle you could see the smug smirk on his face as he drank you in—Joel was still a frightful man, enough unknown that you found yourself wondering if the choices you were making were correct, if somehow this would cost you your life in the end.

But, then he’s pulling away, dragging his finger up the seam of your pussy as he stands, unbuckling his belt quietly as you strip your shirt away, not needing to be told or guided, his tanned skin flushed a subtle red as he unbuttons and parts his flannel, adjusting his jeans and underwear down just far enough under his balls that they sit snug against the fabric, his cock intimidatingly large against his even larger hands.

So much with Joel is unspoken, his intensity held in his gaze. Even from your first meeting, there was a look—and even now, he’s got that look. Like he’s trying to decipher you.

He flattens one hand against the bathroom counter as you spread your legs to accommodate him, his other hand grabbing at your ass to pull you near the edge before he’s running his hand down his shaft, the foreskin swallowing up the red, angered tip of his cock before he’s pulling back and rubbing his cock through your folds, gathering the wetness there and pressing inside with a pinched expression on your face, your breath catching as your hand twists into his shirt.

“That hurt?” He asks, his voice taking on a softer tone.

You nod fervently, “Yeah—yeah, it’s—you’re…pretty big,”

You weren’t trying to actively compare the brothers, but the thought passes in your mind and Joel notices the thoughtful look on your face, huffing out a laugh under his breath.

“Good,” That it hurts—he wanted you to feel it tomorrow, that it would be a constant reminder.

He’s a natural masochist, but he wasn’t about not enjoying sex. So, while he savors the soft hiss of pain at first, the dig of your nails into his chest, eventually you relax and turn to curling yourself around him, legs tight around his hips and your arms slung over his shoulders as he presses his forehead into your own and fucks you with a slow, powerful force of thrusts that make the walls shake—surely it would wake his brother, maybe that was what he wanted.

His mouth parted slightly, panting out hot against your skin as he glares at you—into you, through you, your eyes fluttering open and shut as he follows your trailing gaze, the precipice of your pleasure clawing over the edge of their metaphorical walls.

“Yeah, s’right there—isn’t it?” He taunts, a half smirk on his face as he watches you.

Always watching you.

You nod again, feeling the hand that was squeezing at your thigh digging into your skin as he used it for leverage, thrusting into you while he guided your hips toward him, using your body like he had full control over it. His other hand finds your breasts, squeezing the flesh in his hand before he’s rubbing his thumb over the quickly hardening bud, a shiver running down your spine.

There was nowhere to hide with Joel, all imperfections on display as your head lulls back against the mirror, eyes opening to find him matching your expression—somewhat sated but nearing the edge of his own release, he nudges his chin up and speaks, “S’this what gets you off?”

Your brow furrows as you tilt your head, his hand trading your breast for the hand twisted into his shirt, guiding it toward your clit as he gives you a silent order, your fingers circling the sensitive nub.

“Fuckin’ both of us—s’gonna be a hell of an issue when he finds out, you know.”

“Is this what you like—huh, talking about while you fuck?” You counter, “Your brother?”

His jaw shakes slightly as he gaze dips, admiring the way your cunt swallowed him up, his fingers wrapped around the wrist that was working at your clit, toes curling as your knees squeezed into his hips, that heat building in your core.

“I can talk about how he eats pussy better than you,” It’s teasing, an effort to get a rise out of him, “or do you—you wanna hear how he whimpers when he fucks me because he’s so pathetic? Is th—is that what you want?” His hips stuttered with your words, “He’s so much sweeter, you know? S’all soft and kind—”

Nothing like Joel.

His hand seems to loosen at the mention, but you shake your head.

“Oh, don’t ease up now, honey—I never said I liked it.”

Joel opens his mouth to speak, but you didn’t want to hear it, shoving your opposite hand over his mouth as you both spill over the edge, the ache of loss finding you as he pulls out, thick ropes of come panting your stomach as you clench around the emptiness, his teeth digging into the palm of your hand as he groans with his release.

“I’ll handle Tommy,” Joel promises as you both dress, cleaning yourself up as he buttons his shirt, “It’ll be easier coming from me.”

“You don’t have to lie, he should know—”

“I’m not,” He responds quickly, looking up at you through his downturned gaze, “like you said—trust is earned. You’ll earn it.”

How was a mystery—but what other choice did you have?

-

You learn very quickly that Joel was intentional in you earning his trust—not so much Tommy. He wasn’t surprised by your attempt to escape, but the marring of their neighbors—yours too, now—he was slightly disappointed. Hoping that he could spare you the gruesome side of things, that keeping you within the house and under his watch would help save your innocence about the entire ordeal.

But, he quickly finds out that isn’t the case.

And you find out how steady their diet of human meat was, a fridge stocked full of various cuts and textures, unsuspecting to the eye but you knew—and truthfully, the sickness dissipates after a month of eating that way. Tommy will occasionally skip a day or two, sometimes even a week.

Whereas Joel, he’s fully accepted his ways.

“How does it work?” You ask curiously, night has crept in and left both you and Joel, who you’ve gradually drifted toward lately, aware of Tommy’s lingering touches and fighting that feeling of betrayal on both ends—Tommy never seemed to mind you favoring Joel, even indirectly. However, Joel was territorial, overwhelmingly so. You wished you disliked it, but that was the furthest thing from the truth.

“How’s what work?” He asks, legs spread wide on the couch as take a seat beside him, legs curled under your body and the fire crackling beside you, his hair wet from a recent shower and his shirt sticking to his skin, “Tommy’s job?”

You nod quietly, chewing on a piece of dried meat, akin to jerky. 

You’ve willingly succumbed to the lifestyle over the past few weeks, partly to blame on Joel, but mostly out of your own morbid curiosity, finding that it wasn’t all that bad as the nauseous and general sickness fell dormant. 

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Joel answers bluntly, but honest, “He’s got some kinda system going, I do my job—cuttin’ things up, mindin’ my business. I just know it makes us damn good money.”

You wouldn’t be able to tell outside of their house, but they kept things well within the interior—they owned nice things, you assumed they were out of debt and had money saved back, but they lived beneath their means as much as possible. 

Joel liked a quiet life, you could tell. 

“I could help out more, you know.”

Outside of your general duties and decent pay—it felt lacking, like you could be doing more.

Neither of the brothers kept you chained or trapped, that much was obvious. And you didn’t feel the lingering threat of something to come, the need to run—the feeling of security was something you had searched out for a while and oddly, they provided that. 

In some sick, fucked up way, you felt protected. 

“Stock is runnin’ low,” Joel debates, his thumb circling the beer bottle between his legs, while his other trails along his bottom lip in thought, “I got an idea, dunno if Tommy’s gonna like it.”

“Who cares what he thinks?” You reply, “He cowers like a puppy when it comes to you.”

It was essentially a lure and catch situation—Joel never strayed too far, always on the outskirts while you found the next willing victim, it was always you approaching them, never the opposite. You were in full control and under very specific orders. 

Never people in town, always the stragglers. The more meek and unsuspecting the better, but it varied—after a couple months, Joel doesn’t even bother to stick around, sitting in his truck while you finish up the job.

And you’ve learned over time just how different Tommy and Joel are—Tommy prefers seclusion in the extremist of ways, more subdued with his affection when Joel was around and didn’t argue with him in your presence, almost like he was attempting to shield you.

Joel is out late in the barn when Tommy crowds you in the kitchen, a curious and longing stare out the window at the closed barn door, his tell-tale throat clearing as his hands wrap around your waist, his chest pressing against your back as you sip gingerly at the glass of water in your hands.

“M’glad you feel safe here,” Tommy murmurs into your skin, a soft peppering of kisses along your spine as he moves the material of your shirt out of the way, his fingers slipping beyond the thick waistband of your pants, shoving them down wordlessly, “ready for bed?”

“Not yet,” You admit, letting the silence linger before you speak again, “Can I ask you something—and I’m just curious, I swear.”

Tommy makes a noise of approval. 

“What happened to my car?” A laugh bubbles up at the thought and Tommy laughs too.

“I mighta sold it for scraps when you agreed to stayin’ with us long term. I was meaning to tell you, but you never asked…so I figured…”

Who cares, right? Truly, it was a piece of shit anyways.

You laugh softly at his advances as they grow more needy, your arm curling behind you to flex your fingers in his outgrown hair, “I want you to fuck me here,” You admit, his eyes peeking open as he leans over your shoulder to look at you, a salacious smile on your face as you lean back, rubbing your ass against his cock, growing hard underneath the confines of his sweats, before you turn to face him, “like this—right here.”

Fortunately, it takes very little convincing. He’s impatient in his movements, only getting both of your pants down before he’s pushing the head of his cock inside of you, a welcomed but comfortable stretch before his cock is fully seated inside of you, walls squeezing down tight as he buries his face into your clothed chest, your hands cradling his head as he rocks into you at a gentle pace.

“God, I’m never gonna get tired’f this,” Tommy groans weakly, a hand gripping tight at your hip as he quickens his thrusts, one hand falling back on the counter to support the forceful angle of his movements, laughing breathlessly at his comment, his head rises to look at you with complete and full admiration, “I’m serious, baby.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” You assure him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips that quickly divulges into an open-mouthed exploration as you trade sounds, feeling Tommy teeter closer to the edge of his own orgasm as his fingers drift against your clit, always assuring that you were taken care of first—it doesn’t take long, hands gripping the curtain above the sink as your whine loudly against his ministrations. 

Tommy is too distracted to hear the quiet creak of the door, but you’re not. The lights are off, only granting you a silhouette of Joel, but you know—he’s smirking to himself, closing the door behind him quietly as he freezes for a moment, seemingly locking eyes with your sated expression, your orgasm hitting you just as he passes down the hall, his face coming into view for a brief moment.

It was pathetic, how quickly your mind drifted to him even while his brother was buried inside of you, your grip on the curtain tightens, pulling the rod from the wall and sending it clanging down against the sink as it startles you back to reality, feeling Tommy’s hips stutter before he’s pulling out and you sink to the ground instinctively, lips wrapping around his cock as he releases the warmth of his cum against your tongue, a heady but tolerable taste that slides down your throat with ease. 

Joel is already gone by the time you rise to your feet, redressing quietly as Tommy examines the broken curtain with a subdued chuckle, tossing the few pieces of sheetrock in the trash.

“Sorry,” You wince, looking at him apologetically.

Tommy grins, his thumb rubbing down the center of your chin in a comforting way as he shrugs, waving it off, “Easy fix.”

The difference between the two is simple to spot after a while—Joel’s leniency with things comes to a head as Tommy’s rigidness battles for dominance. He doesn’t make it a habit to put his foot down often, but he was already increasingly hesitant as you started luring people back to the farm—while thankful, it was dangerous. You were good at it, without fail, but something was bound to implode.

–

“She’s earned it, you know,” Joel fights for you, the usual recluse encourages a night-out—a real one, no work, just pure enjoyment, “Ain’t much trouble to get into there.”

The bar, he means. With how often you frequented it now, it was like a second home.

You were coming up on your sixth month mark of living with the Millers, finding the stragglers came in like a cycle, every few weeks, and the town was due for more.

Tommy squints cautiously, turning in the desk chair as the heel of his boot scuffs against the flooring, “An hour—only an hour, don’t need you stickin’ out like a sore thumb.”

Joel, he means. He rolls his eyes in response, dressed more casual than you’ve ever seen him. It was a simple pair of jeans and a dark-colored shirt, but it made him seem normal.

It was unsettling.

“Don’t worry,” Joel smirks, “No one’ll touch her.”

Except him, you think.

Tommy wasn’t oblivious to your odd affection toward Joel, but he wasn’t privy to every detail. He didn’t know how often you snuck into Joel’s bed at night, sometimes after being on his own before that, the devouring looks and purposeful touches that always happened behind his back.

Joel knows you find comfort in Tommy, but there was something missing.

Something lacking.

Tommy eventually relents and you arrive at the bar a half hour later, Joel in tow.

And it is mostly uneventful, drinking amongst the other patrons with the loud rumble of music drowning out far away voices—Joel was stoic, like a bodyguard over your shoulder as he seemed to people watch, like he often did.

“You’re doing it again,” You tell him, peering up at him from your seat as he glances down, his glass pressing to his lips, ignoring the wide-eyed stares from the occasional townsperson, seemingly shocked to see him. 

“No I’m not,” He argues, tapping his finger against your lips before he’s guiding the glass to your lips, a wordless order to silence yourself, “Drink, enjoy it—or all that beggin’ was for nothin’.”

Eventually, Joel lets you wander.

Even if it was to dance lazily a few feet away, practically begging him to join you with your hand outstretched, a constant scowl on his face as he refused. But, eventually someone takes that offer for him, obstructing his view with a grin—an older gentleman with wiry hair and rotted teeth.

There’s a few moments of uncomfortable movement before you’re making an excuse to flee toward Joel who snickers at your discomfort, a hand wrapping at your waist to pull you between his legs as the man, persistent as you suspected, approaches beside you.

“Tommy finally let his dog out of the house?” He asks over you, staring Joel down.

Joel chuckles at that, subdued as his hand tightens against your waist, hiding your own giggle behind a sip of beer.

“C’mon, sweetheart—I’ll show you a better time than this guy. Wouldn’t know how to care for a nice piece of ass like that—him or his damn brother.”

Joel stands then, without warning as he towers over the man and you as he forces you into the seat, “Get the fuck out of here,” It was the only warning he was offering, but it strikes fear through the man without fail, sending him scurrying off for the moment.

“Tommy’s gonna kill you when he finds out about that,” You comment as Joel approaches at your back, maneuvering you out of the seat to settle between his legs again, his large palm settling against your stomach as he pulls you against him, spotting the man again from across the room, staring you both down with hardened eyes.

“What he doesn't know won’t hurt him,” Joel argues, the surprising press of his lips against your neck as you jump at the touch, calmed by his reassuring words, “Gonna scare him off, alright?”

“How—” You’re cut off on a gasp as his hand travels up your shirt, squeezing at your breast as his teeth dig into your skin, mouth hung open as you stumble back against him, eyes fluttering closed at the stinging pinch of Joel’s teeth, hard enough that you fear it breaking through the skin

Surely, it does. 

As Joel raises his head and catches sight of the man’s widened eyes, he scurries off. He’s not amiss to your reaction to the bite, fingers clawing into his skin, moaning at the action. Really, he should’ve expected it.

“Turn around,” He orders, spinning you on your feet before you can react on your own, catching sight of your dilated pupils as you stare at him wondrously, a smile growing on your face as his impatience grows.

He ignores your wandering hands that crawl up his arms, gripping onto his large biceps before he’s hauling you out of the bar without a word, arm twisted behind your back as you tumble on your feet toward his truck parked in the far back of the parking lot, far away from the roar of music.

“Did I do something—oh,” You squeak, jumping back at the creak of the drivers’ side door as he sandwiches you between the seat and him, “wrong—Joel, did I—”

You’re stuttering but he isn’t answering and you begin to crawl to your side of the seat before he’s stopping you in your tracks, feet pressing against the step bar of the truck while the upper half of your body curls against the seat—and Joel, with his large and threatening presence, towers.

He works at the belt in your jeans, turning your head over your shoulder as he rips the leather from the loops of your pants, “Put your hands on the steering wheel,” He orders and you follow suit, watching as he quietly tightened the belt around your hands and through the steering wheel, rendering you immobile from the waist up.

“Wait—right here? But, there’s people—”

Never stopped you before,” He comments and your face heats at the mention, having never brought up the instance with you and Tommy until now, “I’m not a fan of waiting and I’m not against takin’ you in front of my brother—rather not, but…”

“You like having me to yourself,” You finish for him, a hum of acknowledgement following. 

Joel yanks at your jeans until they fall to your ankles, pulling them off alongside your shoes and underwear as he tosses them over your head and into the passenger seat, sinking to his knees without a word as he parts your legs, licking into your with warning as you gasp, your hands yanking against the leather belt.

He squeezes your ass in his hands, spreading you open as he dips his tongue inside of you, forcing you up on your toes as you curse into the seat of his truck, forehead pressing into the fabric as your hands are stretched over your head. 

He’s got an idea…a lingering suspicion as he trails his lips along the inside of your legs, never quite kissing or lingering, just a slow drag before he’s digging his teeth into your skin, a sharp pain that makes your pussy clench, his eyes locked on the action as he bites down. 

Instinctively, you yank against the binds, the urgency growing as he bites down more, picking various places along your legs until he decides to bite into the fleshy cheek of your ass, purposefully breaking the skin—the tiniest drop of blood pooling at the surface before he licks it away. 

He repeats the process, trading between bites and licking at your cunt until your orgasm catches you by surprise, panting against the seat as you catch your breath with his satisfied presence looming behind. 

Quietly, he rustles with his belt and slides into you without a word until he’s got his hand tucked up under your chin, wrapped around your throat as he presses you against the seat with his chest, turning your head to the side to catch your already fucked-out expression, more turned on from the biting than the fact that his dick was finally inside of you.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Joel remarks, watching the smile spread across your face, “You like it when I bite you? The pain?”

You shake your head with a soft hum, “S’nice, but I like you marking your territory.” You watch his face morph into something indecipherable as you laugh, “Got you really riled up in there, didn’t it?”

“Gotta let them know to lead you back to me if you go runnin’ off again,” Joel taunts, grunting against the shell of your ear as your walls squeeze down when the head of his cock nudges at a particular spot inside of you that steals your breath away, “Yeah—that? That right there?”

You nod weakly, wishing you could touch him—claw at his skin, grab on and take hold, but you were left helpless. Though, somehow it was more comforting this way. Joel was increasingly careful of the authority you tried to hold over him, never allowing you to have the upper hand—and you didn’t mind it.

Again, it was the stark difference between he and Tommy, who’d be willing to bend to your will if you asked, eager to please you, but with Joel, it was kismet. He always knew what you were thinking before you even spoke about it.

And as the ache in your wrist grows into full discomfort he releases them without a word of acknowledgement, lips parted with bated breath as you turn until your back is pressing into the seat, legs wrapping around his waist as he hoists you up with his brute strength, releasing a loud moan of expressive pleasure as you surge forward, pressing your lips against his before he can object, licking into his mouth with profound eagerness as his nails dig into the skin at your hips, his balls tightening with an impending release as he returns the wet, sloppy exchange of lips.

It stalls him for a moment, the sensual pace of your lips pulling his focus up, your tongue twirling around his own before they trail to his lips, your lips dragging down his chin, along his jaw, before you’re biting against where his jugular would be hiding under his skin, not nearly hard enough to cause any damage but enough to have his eyes rolling back and his hips stuttering.

“Don’t—don’t pull out,” You tell him through a murmur, running your tongue along the mark in a soothing gesture, catching his gaze as he looks at you, “What? Are you scared, Joel?”

Not scared—Joel wasn’t sure he could emulate that emotion anymore, but it was far too personal for his liking, even with the few partners he’s had in his life he’s never crested beyond that, purposeful in his abhorrence distaste of kids or the possibility of, but you have him completely under your spell and he shakes his head.

“S’just you—wouldn’t want it to be anyone but you.” You assure him, his expression softening as your thumb trails along his bottom lip, eyes locked on his own as his thrusts stuttering through his own orgasm, face pinching at his brow, your breathy moans guiding him through as he pumps your pussy full, feel the warmth seep down as he eventually pulls out, his cum sliding down the inside of your thighs.

“Get in the car,” Joel instructs as he tries to catch his breath.

His silence on the ride home is deafening.

–

Joel is more stoic and pensive over the following weeks—spring is always harder on the business, or so he says, and selling overseas picks up quicker, it wasn’t something they could explain but it was a constant trend; high demand, high reward. It was quite stressful, really.

So stressful that eventually things are beginning to run thin and you become the source of stress relief for both of them—in different ways, but nonetheless.

Tommy would rather cuddle up with you on the couch while you lull him to sleep with your magic fingers, dragging through his hair—it was gentle caresses and quiet conversation that he found comfort in, but Joel was always unpredictable.

Sometimes it was just sharing a meal—his weird obsession with feeding you; providing, in a way? You couldn’t make sense of it, but it never made you feel uncomfortable.

“Have you ever gotten a bad batch?”

“We’re careful,” Joel reminds you, “It’s why we test all of ‘em before we go through the process.”

“Is that why you sent me?”

“Do you want an honest answer?”

You stare at him blankly, waiting.

“Yeah—we had to make sure you’re clean.”

“But now?” You push, your tongue pressing against the underside of the fork as he brings it to your lips.

“I trust you,” Joel admits, “You’ve kept up your end of the deal.”

It was conversations like this that led to Joel’s affinity toward you, a drunken night several weeks later leading you both outside after Tommy had already fallen asleep, walking backwards as your fists curled into Joel’s shirt as his hand cupped your head, licking into your mouth as he unintentionally led you toward the barn door, both of you separating as your back hit the creaking wood.

You pull apart, peering curiously over your shoulder and attempting to look through the cracks, awaiting Joel’s reprimand that never comes. 

“You wanna see inside?” He asks curiously.

“You’re fucking with me—”

“It’s a yes or no, darlin’.”

“Yes—yesyes, I do.” You spit out quickly, curiosity getting the best of you as he fishes his keys out of his pocket and snakes it into the lock, unlocking and prying the door open, met with full and complete darkness as he leads you inside, his chest close at your back.

He reaches blindly for the lights out of memory and you’re engulfed in the blaring lights of a spotless room—almost like a medical office with the array of equipment lining the walls and the long embedded tables, something reminiscent of what you would see at a mortuary for draining bodies and embalming, probably to help with the mess.

You sniff slightly, curious about the lack of smell as the door closes.

“That’s partly the animals, but we dispose of some of the shit the pigs can’t eat out behind the barn.”

“Like what?” You stare at him incredulously, eyes wide.

“Clothes, shoes—s’why we have the barrels burning every couple weeks when the stench gets too bad.” He spots your itch to explore, that glistening curiosity in your eyes as you relax at his answer, “Go on, look ‘round.”

You’re not ignorant to the absence of bodies—it was confusing to see a place so clean come from a man who always left work looking like he had brought half of it home with him.

There’s an array of knives and confusing cutting devices that you trail your fingers along, a bonesaw lying against the table lining the shelves, a stack of papers with faces and names, various info that you took a glancing look at, attempting to avoid the idea of putting names to faces and treating the people as anything other than product—it was how Joel lived, as disconnected and separate from the ideas possible.

“Usually it’s messier in here,” Joel admits, your lips parting in a surprised gasp as he presses his lips to your neck, “—we can fix that, though.”

“Joel Miller,” You respond in a scandalized tone, “what exactly are you implying?”

“I’ve got a room upstairs,” Your eyes flick up, spotting the loft overhead—that would explain the long nights when you wouldn’t see him at all, his comfort with being more openly affectionate outside of sex has grown slowly, turning your head to face his over your shoulder as his gaze trails up in another silent question, “unless you’ve got another idea—m’just dyin’ to get inside of you, honey.”

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip in faux thought, already knowing your answer as you were brimming with excitement, resisting the urge to drag him after you.

“Yeah?” You tease, his lips pressing against your soft, kissing you soundly.

“Yeah,” He responds against your mouth, a rare moment of calm, a sweet exchange before he’s chasing after you with a swift slap to your ass.

–

It was essentially an extension of his bedroom, cozy and homey, you find yourself stretching out on the rug rather than the couch, watching as he carefully kneeled to the floor, cursing his achy knees as you giggle, spreading your legs open to invite him in.

“The things you do for me,” You joke, slowly unbutton his flannel as he yanks you towards him, knees falling against his hips as his palms grip either side of your, his thumbs rubbing against the soft skin underneath your shirt, “careful—I might think you love me.”

“If that’s what you want,” Joel replies easily, stripping your shirt over your head as your breasts bounce free, removing your jeans with the same impatience before he’s immediately latching his lips onto your breasts and lazily trading off, biting teasingly into the skin as he looks up to gauge your reaction.

If Tommy notices Joel’s evidence that he leaves, he never says anything. Perhaps it was unspoken, maybe they’ve talked it out—it was information you weren’t privy to, but you didn’t question it. He could smell his brother all over you and he was dying to rid you of it, baring his teeth as he bit into the flesh of your breast, a satisfied hum coming from you in response.

“Do you want that?” Joel asks again, “To be loved—ain’t somethin’ you’ve felt much, is it?”

Quietly, you shake your head.

“Well, you’ve got my brother by the balls,” He chuckles knowingly, “I’m sure he’d marry you if you asked—I ain’t good with words, but I can show you—”

Curious, you watch as he stands, grabbing a sharpened knife off the end table before he’s returning to you, “Somethin’ my parents passed down to me—never used, just like lookin’ at it.”

“We’re not about to Romeo and Juliet ourselves, are we?” You joke lightly, half-serious.

Joel grins wide at that, a full belly laugh following as he slices his palm with a squint of pain before he’s allowing the blood to pool in his hand as beckons you forward with a finger. You rise on your palms and stare curiously before he’s directing his hand to your mouth, lips parting wordlessly as the deep crimson hits your tongue, eyes falling shut as you sucked at the wound.

You were so accustomed to the rich, irony taste that it isn’t even a surprise, moaning as the blood slides down your throat and his fingers curl, squeezing more blood out for you to consume before he’s sliding his hand over your mouth and down your chin, stopping against your chest as he smears it with blood, one-handed as he shrugs his flannel off and rips his shirt over his head, tearing the fabric apart in strips like butter, not a sign of struggle.

He ties the fabric around his wound before he’s wordlessly handing you the knife.

“My hand?” You ask curiously.

“S’up to you,” He admits—the wordless blood trade vowing his affection toward you.

It was something far deeper than love, you think. Devotion. Loyalty. 

“Wherever?” Your eyebrow raises as Joel seems to clock the moment the idea comes into your head, trailing the blade along the inside of your thigh, up your stomach, along your breasts.

Eventually the tip of the blade finds a spot against your inner thigh, Joel’s hand careful adjusting your placing as he speaks, “Careful, there’s an artery there,” Further down, you brave the initial sting and slice through the skin, watching as the blood rose to the surface and Joel quickly descends, knife clattering to the floor as he sucks the flesh between his lips, his tongue lapping against your skin.

It’s euphoric, the feeling. So intense you could descend into madness as Joel eagerly lapped up the blood, even as he pulled away going back for a second time, a third, rising with blood stained lips and the crimson liquid pooling on his tongue as he pulls you toward him, mixing the taste of his blood with your own as he kisses you, a messy exchange of fluids as you claw at his skin, rising to your knees to match him.

Silently, you work at his jeans, unbuttoning and pulling them down his lips alongside his underwear—Joel works them the rest of the way before you’re pulling the hand supporting him over you out from under him, straddling him into the rug as your cunt sat directly over his cock, feeling him grow harder underneath you, a sight to behold with blood dripping down the corner of his mouth.

“I want more,” You tell him honestly, his cock twitching at the words, reaching for the knife laying beside his head, “Can I have more?”

Joel nods wordlessly, slightly breathless.

It was a trading battle of surface wounds, just enough to spill blood but nothing deep enough to cause any damage—surely looking insane as you straddled him with a smile, blood-stained lips yearning for more. Joel has a drunken haze to his expression, committing the sight to memory as he squeezes at your hips, rutting his cock between your soaked folds.

“Enough,” He says softly, barely above a mumble as he tosses the knife aside, rolling you underneath him before he’s sliding home inside of you, a hand cradling the back of your head while the other gripped at your knee, pulling it high over his hip, near his chest as he thrusts into you, a controlled but needy pace that was followed by low, pitiful groans of pleasure.

You’d broken this man.

His head was buried in your neck, your hand trailing down his back as you squeeze into the flesh of his ass, the fingers off your opposite hand carding through his hair, pulling gently at his curls.

“Got so much of me inside you now,” He breathes into your skin, “fuck—I’d eat your right up, baby.”

Despite his obvious lifestyle, your laugh is careless and light.

“Greedy,” You note, “I’ve already given you a taste and you’re asking for more?”

He doesn’t respond, not really. His hips are sharp, forceful as his cock spears itself inside of you, rubbing against the sensitive spot inside of you, eyes fluttering shut as it overwhelms you.

“Take a bite,” You encourage him, “f’that’s what you want.”

A real one.

Enough to scar, to leave a permanent mark and reminder of him.

One, two—you didn’t care.

His teeth drag over your breasts, tongue trailing around your hardened nipple before he’s biting into the skin at the top of you breasts, a gasp ripping from your throat as your walls flutter around him, tightening at the pain that slowly transfers to pleasure, glancing down at the small gash and trail of teeth marks in your skin. 

He’s admiring, finger running over the wound before he’s rising on his knees, continuing the thrusts of his hips but slowing as he reaches for your hand, pulling you upright again.

“You–do you want me to?” You ask cautiously, feeling the blood from your wound trail down your chest, “Are you sure?”

“Ain’t never been sure ‘bout nothin’,” Joel admits, “but—this…yeah, I want it.”

It shouldn’t make you hesitate, but it doesn’t. He isn’t emotional or forceful—it was like a plea, disguised behind his facade of stoicness. He needed this devotion just as bad as you. He needed someone to put his own trust into.

When your teeth dig into his side, he hisses, his right hand cradling your head as the other curls tightly into a fist, your face pinching up as you bite beyond the first layer of flesh and taste the liquid against your tongue.

He pulls you away eventually, looking down at you with a newfound expression.

This was love—not the lust you were used to seeing.

The rest of the evening is quiet, his pace gentler before he brings you to a slow orgasm, coming inside of you nearly seconds after with a soft moan, persistent that the wounds needed to be cleaned immediately after a few moments of rest.

He tapes it away with a gentle care after cleaning and applying an ointment to fight away any possible infection, snorting at how fatherly it all seemed, even helping you situation your top back on.

“At least we spared the rug,” You break the silence, “guess you aren’t as messy as I thought.”

“Oh, I can be,” He assures you, noticing the scabbed up bit of your lip that had become victim when he’d bit into your, biting down to silence yourself. Just a small movement and the wound reopens, completely unintentional but he sucks the blood away from your bottom lip in a soothing gesture before he kisses you soundly.

You only hoped the bliss would last.

–

Eventually, the implosion comes. But, instead of gradual—it was all at once.

Tommy’s birthday was supposed to be a quiet affair, something at home, between the three of you, not having time to celebrate during the week on his actual birthday like you had planned—but eventually Tommy finds himself antsy and Joel senses your annoyance as he keeps finding excuses to slip away or cancel. He encourages Tommy to go off on his own, leaving you both sprawled out on his bed after a rousing round of sex that leaves you both sweaty and breathless, resting your arm against his chest as you stare at him, “What’s up with him lately?”

“He’s good at acting, isn’t he?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There’s a reason he keeps to the books, you know—why I do my job alone.”

Your eyebrow raises in a silent effort to urge him to continue.

“When I’m angry, you’ll know—” That much was obvious, having been on the receiving end plenty, but Tommy—it was unnatural to see anything but his kind, bright smile.

“He’s my brother—but there’s plenty of shit you haven’t seen yet. And I think it’s unfair that he’s actin’ like things are normal, like he can keep that act up, but something’s gotta give—”

“So what, is he like…a psychopath or something?”

Joel’s silence is telling, jumping up from your spot as you settle on your knees.

“He’s a fucking psychopath?”

“No—no,” Joel excuses, your face contorting into a mix of confusion and amusement.

“You took a long time to answer that.”

“He has episodes—periods of time where he ain’t himself. I can’t explain it and my parents refused to take him to the doctor—you know, backwoods folk and all. If we had a problem we toughed it out.”

“So, he’s got anger issues?”

Joel shakes his head, lips pursed into a tight line.

“He’s killed a couple people—by accident.  Least, that’s what he calls it. Tried killing me a few times, too. I’ve always been good at talking him off that ledge, thankfully. M’not trying to turn you against him but I’ve grown up around him, I know how to handle it.”

It was a lot of information to consume at once, still naked in Joel’s sheets as you adjust to sit more comfortably, a small peek at the scar near his ribcage as the sheets shift down.

“He’s lucky we do what we do—he’d probably be in jail otherwise, I’m just telling you because—“

“If it came down to me and him, you’d choose him.”

Joel pauses, his face softened as his lips downturn.

“It’s okay,” You shrug, “Let’s just hope it never comes to that.”

Truthfully, Joel wasn’t sure anymore.

After years with Tommy, he’d grown tired. It was exhausting, fighting between the battling personalities that lived within his brother.

“C’mere,” He beckons, your nose scrunching up as you grin, fitting your face between his waiting hands as he pulls you back over him, kissing you slowly.

A gentle calm before the storm.

–

The arguing is what wakes you first, not the roar of the truck, voices trailing toward the barn.

The bed is empty too, not a single remnant of Joel in sight.

But, you hear him. Loud, angry.

By the time you’re outside the barn is already closed, illuminated by the light inside as you pry the heavy door open, several underdressed with only a shirt to cover the underwear clinging tight to your skin, bare feet digging into the dirt as your feet scuff against the cement and the door falls shut behind you.

“She doesn’t need to know, Joel!” Tommy’s voice cracks, a slight slur to his speech.

He’s drunk, clearly.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Tommy—one night and you pull this shit? It’s exactly why dad had a tight leash on your ass for so many years—”

“Need to know what?” You ask suddenly, breaking through the tension as your head peeks around the corner, both of their heads whipping toward you, Joel moving subtly to block the body that you spot on the table, eyes widening. 

It had always been something you and Joel had managed together—Tommy had never shown an interest, didn’t seem to care, but this…

“I’m just tryin’ to carry my weight ‘round here—is that why you like him more?” Tommy asks suddenly, his eyes glazed over and dark as you step forward.

“I invite you into our home—give you a place to stay. I—I stuck up for you when he wanted to throw you out and you chose him? My own fuckin’ brother?”

“He’s drunk,” Joel states blankly, almost dismissive of his rant.

“No—no, let’s show it off, Joel.”

Tommy comes at you with a knife, slicing it down the middle of your shirt as you struggle against him, ripping the fabric away and showing off the healing scar on your chest.

“What happened to no attachments, Joel? No baggage?”

As Joel moves toward Tommy to remove the knife, he lunges at Joel and pushes him out of the way, leaving you with a clear view of the woman laying on the table, an eerie resemblance to yourself as your eyes widen, stepping toward the table as you glance over the body—unmoving, still. She was already too far gone, with no signs of what Tommy had actually done to her.

Your head snaps up at the brawling brothers, screaming for the attention to break through their rage, Joel burying his knee into Tommy’s back to subdue him.

“Why her?” You ask him—Tommy, looking directly at him as you point to the lifeless body.

“Get the fuck off me—” He argues through gritted teeth, attempting to shake his brother off him.

“Why—her?” You stress again, walking forward to crouch in front of him, uncaring of how your body was bared to him in your vulnerability.

“Thought I could give Joel his own version of you to play with—but she wasn’t cooperating. That what you wanna hear? I had you first—motherfucker won’t let me have a single thing to myself.”

“Let him up,” You instruct Joel, backing away slightly.

As Tommy stands, you approach him, his face tight and unrecognizable. 

He reeked of alcohol and sweat, a stench of something else that made the bile in your stomach rise, “I never chose, you both had me. You would continue to have me, but this—Tommy—”

“Don’t fuckin’ lecture me, not you,” He bites.

You stare at him with a growing sadness, “You’re drunk—really, really drunk. You’re gonna sleep this off and you’ll regret everything you’re saying right now, I know it. I know you.”

Something seems to snap in Tommy—attempting to rip away from Joel as you scramble toward the floor.

Tommy gets a solid right hook in, something that, if any normal person would have delivered would have left Joel unphased, but Tommy had his advantages, similar in size and stature to Joel, it was barely a fight as Joel dropped to the ground, hitting hard enough that both of you freeze, a slow ring of blood pooling from his head as your chest clinches in a mix of anger and resentment, but your body flinging into flight mode, fleeing while Tommy has distracted by the possibility that he killed his own brother.

Unfamiliar with the place you scramble to hide, unsure if running off would help after your last try, squeezing into a closet buried in the back corner behind a pile of yard tools and mowers, watching as Tommy dropped to the ground.

You could hear him mumbling to himself—a mix of self-assuring words and back and forth conversation, as if someone was responding to every word he offered.

“He’s dead—yeah I killed him,” He mumbles, “if I—if I chop him up, chop her up. Fuck,” His head whips over his shoulder, realizing you were gone, “gotta find her—but Joel, deal with him first.”

Your eyes widen at the firsthand witnessing of exactly what Joel had admitted to you—like some kind of bad omen of what was to come, you sunk down into the darkness and hide yourself away, watching as Tommy roamed around for tools, not a moment of hesitation as he intended to follow through on his plans with Joel’s lifeless body awaiting it’s demise.

It feels wrong, tossing a bone saw aside carelessly as he ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation, flailing tools around wildly, a knife clattering so far away that it lands near your feet, small enough to wrap your fist around as you grab it quietly, awaiting Tommy’s approach to Joel.

Sometimes takes over, not entirely yourself as you crawl from the spot you were hidden in and lunge at Tommy, planting the knife between his shoulder blades as pressed the blade against his own brother’s neck, his blood curdling scream ripping through the barn as he dropped to his knees.

“You bitch,” He groans, shouting out in pain as you remove the knife and sink into his spine, a few seconds of struggle before he slumps to the ground, his eyes dragging toward your shaking frame, bloodied hands rubbing your hair away from your face as you stare down at Tommy’s face, his lips parting as he gasped for air but instead find blood dripping from his mouth.

You drop to your knees, the air stolen from your own lungs but for different reasons.

Both of them dead, within a matter of minutes and it was all your fault.

“Fuck, fuck–” You cry, slamming your fist into cement, but quickly startled by the rousing beside Tommy, almost blaming it on a break in your psyche before Joel is mumbling your name, pressing his fingers into his temple as blood coats his fingers, a sizeable gash on the side of his head as he sits, slowly picking apart the sight before him.

“Oh, honey—what did you do?” Joel asks, glancing down at Tommy’s lifeless body and up at you—surprisingly, there wasn’t an ounce of anger.

“He thought—he thought you were dead, he had a knife at your throat,” You rambled in a panic, “He kept saying he was going to chop you up—chop me up. I don’t know, I fucking panicked.”

Joel remains wordless, staring into the deep abyss of blood pooling on the floor.

“I’m so—I’m sorry. I’m,” The emotion is like a tidal wave, “Joel—I panicked. I swear—”

Joel grimaces against the sharp sting of pain as he reaches for your face, his blood covered hand pressing against your face, fingertips wrapping around the back of your head as he forces you to lock eyes with him.

“Look at me,” He demands, waiting until your eyes lock on him, “This is the part where you promise—and I mean promise, that you won’t fuckin’ run off.”

“No—never. Never, not,” You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut to blink away the thick tears, “Never again, Joel. I promise.”

“We handle this together,” He explains, “I’ll protect you but you have to say it.”

“Anything,” You nod, leaning forward on your hands to move closer to him.

“Say you’re loyal to me—that you’ll listen and do whatever I ask, without question.”

“I am—I am. Joel, I’m loyal to you. I love—I love you. I need you to know that.”

Joel sighs, head bowing.

“I would have chosen you over him. I couldn’t admit that to myself earlier, but I’m telling you now. Tommy’s always been a manipulator, I tried warnin’ you. Months ago.”

You ain’t the first, you won’t be the last.

“I won’t run. I promise, Joel.” You assure him, because with Joel you felt that protection.

A silence falls before you speak again.

“What happens now?”

“You follow my lead, that’s all I need.”

[deepspacenova]

between the strokes of midnight

1500 words | new year's eve. flirting. fluff. first kiss.

Note: Just a little something while I get in my feels about how thankful I am for this little corner of the internet. Wishing everyone a peaceful and happy year ahead xx

"One hour 'til the countdown starts!"

Sylus rolls his eyes at the cheers and squeals that erupt through the room when the arbitrary announcement reverberates its way through the balloons and decorations that swath the hotel lobby. As if there isn't a device capable of tracking the passage of time in every pocket of the increasingly stifling room.

“Oh don't be such a grump. Even you must find some redeeming qualities about New Year's Eve."

The melody of that voice is an invisible string, trailing its softness along the shell of his ear before it tugs up the corners of his downturned lips. "Hm," he considers. "I guess it does end with explosions."

He turns to face you right as you stumble into him, the scent of the warm spice clinging to your hair curling around him when he frowns in the direction of the passerby who'd bumped their weight into yours. Pressing his palms into the back of your bare arms, he pulls you both back a few steps until you're closer to the wall and further from the chaos.

He watches laughter flicker through your eyes before he hears your soft giggle. "You know what I mean! The allure of it, the romance." Sylus raises his brow in amused confusion, eliciting an admonishing huff from your lips. "Don't tell me you've never taken advantage of telling some nameless beauty that she'll be the 'first thing on your to-do list' in the new year."

The incredulous sound that slips from his mouth is somewhere between a scoff and a guffaw. "Was that an insult, kitten? You think my romancing skills are so banal and cliché?"

"No, the opposite actually." Your face comes closer to his when you shift your weight to your toes and a small ember breathes to life where your palm connects with his chest. "It just seems like you'd have the perfect formula to make sure you ring in the new year with... a bang. And yet, you're avoiding the question," you tease, a gleam of mischief bounces off the apple of your cheek.

“I didn’t hear a question,” he replies. A shadow appears behind you and Sylus pauses to glare daggers at a vaguely familiar Hunter hesitantly approaching you from behind. By the time you turn around to see what has him distracted, your hopeful colleague is long gone. “I just hear prejudice.”

When you turn back to face him, the sequined, silver ‘Happy New Year’ headband that crowns your updo bounces with the movement. “You’re telling me you’ve never kissed someone at midnight on New Year's Eve?”

Sylus hopes his casual shrug distracts you from the way his weight shifts from one leg to the other. “You know how I am about my investments, sweetie. And tying my luck to someone whose name I don't know for a whole year doesn't sound like a good one.”

The distant sound of his name seems to distort around the edges when he watches your bottom lip disappear behind your front teeth and your head shake. "Luck? You're the least superstitious businessman in the whole city. You literally only came here with me because you're trying to strike a deal. Try again."

His fingernail scratches at a piece of lint in the pocket of his charcoal trousers. And maybe it's the gold color of your dress that unexpectedly matches his tie. Maybe it's the two glasses of gin fizz already sending bubbles of air through his body. Or maybe the way you keep getting closer to him is interfering with the amount of oxygen making it to his brain. But the next words that stagger out of his mouth come a bit closer to the truth than he means them to.

"I just haven't liked anyone enough to make a commitment like that," he drawled. "Happy now, sweetie?"

Sylus thinks he sees surprise soften your eyes but when you open your mouth to respond, his name is called — this time clear and insistent and right behind him.

When his business for the night is finally concluded, you've melted into the crowd. No longer in the spot he left you.

You take another sip from your flute, watching it swirl around like liquid starlight. The cityscape is on display before you, the windows from the buildings reflecting the fractured patterns of light that dance around you as impatient revelers set off bursts of fireworks a few minutes before the city's are meant to debut.

And though the balcony you stand on is largely empty — too cold to be hospitable for most — it still feels enchanting, as if nothing can siphon the magic from the space. 

"Had a feeling you'd be out here."

You startle as the rasp of Sylus' voice rouses you from your reverie, your hand flying to your chest to keep your heart from fluttering away. Smiling at him briefly, you turn your attention back to the performance of color around you.

"Didn't you hear our fiftieth reminder of the night?" he quips dryly. "Five minutes until the countdown."

Your brow lifts slightly. "I did. But I'm surprised you came out here to tell me, Mr. Cynical."

The snowflakes dust his face like kisses of frost, standing out against the dark fabric of his suit while melting into the strands of his silvery hair. When his body is close enough to heat the air around you and he leans an elbow against the railing, he sighs.

"Maybe I just need someone to explain it to me." He gestures to the city in front of them. "The 'allure' of this night, as you put it. The... romance." He leans toward you and watches your face intently, like your answer holds its own gravitational pull.

Seeing his sincerity, that he isn’t being sarcastic or facetious, you stare out at the skyline and start slowly. Drawing out your words as if speaking too quickly might break the spell. "It's not just the night itself. It's... the feeling. Time seems to, to hold its breath for a moment. There's this magic in the air and the world feels... softer somehow. That's the romance."

As you finish your thought, you shift your focus from the view in front of you back to him and you're struck simultaneously by the intent yet inscrutable expression on his face, as well as how striking and dear that face is.

You wait for him to break the strand of lightning that crackles between you, but he doesn't. He just stands there gliding his garnet gaze over your cheeks, your lips, your shoulders. Like a thread of silk, tangling your ribs and heart and lungs into knots until it's almost too hard for you to breathe.

"And there's this anticipation," you say, giving into the dizzying feeling. "Waiting for the stroke of midnight like it's a portal to something new. A chance to start something. It’s the belief that anything can happen." Your words trip over the gasp of air he steals. "And maybe it will."

You jerk in surprise when a shrill Ten!... Nine!... Eight!... Seven! buzzes its way across the balcony.

Never taking his eyes off you, Sylus takes a slow, deliberate step closer. "A chance to start something...” he considers, his voice low and velvety, the gin fizz on his breath painting the skin of your cheeks pink.

Six!... Five!... Four!

You frown in confusion when he reaches out and plucks the flute out of your hand, carelessly disposing of the glass on the railing behind him. His gaze drops to your lips, a flicker of hunger in his eyes.

"Three!… Two!… One!… Happy New Year!"

He surges forward and catches your lips in his. Your pulse quickens, the world outside blurring into a backdrop of lights and fireworks. Each explosion and pop harmonizes with the fizzing heat that's crackling through you every time he lets your lips go and recaptures them at a new angle.

You don't remember how the strands of his hair slither their way between your fingers, or how the softness of your thigh comes to hug the hard ridge of his hip, or how the inside of his forearm becomes a band that slots you so tightly into him, you can feel his shirt buttons branding your chest, your diaphragm, your navel.

All you know is the intoxicating taste of his tongue. The vibration of his groan.

All you know is the rhythmic sound of your panting. The heat of his fingers and then his mouth stamping their prints into your cheek and jaw.

All you know is that the strokes of midnight seem to suspend you both in that moment in time.

[bookdragonlibrary]

Most of my characters are demisexual/demiromantic does that count ?

hey writers- if you're ever working on a story, and you hear a voice telling you to make all your characters aromantic, or polyamorous, or maybe even both, that's an angel talking. and you should listen