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psychedelic-ink · 2 years ago

Text

𝐂𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘.

DAY SIX OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: slasher au (still takes place in the tlou'verse) + sex in the woods or somewhere public (added bonus if it includes knife, blood, hunter x prey kink)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, soft dark fic, horror, murder mystery

summary: bodies have been dropping left and right in the most brutal ways in jackson. as the relentless wave of deaths continues, your mind becomes increasingly restless. however, you find a sense of comfort and solace in the presence of joel. who might be hiding secrets of his own.

word count: 10k (i don't know what happened)

warnings: dubcon at the end, knife kink, descriptive canon typical violence, blood & mild gore, grief and death, an unpleasant guy hitting on you, murder, face-sitting, throat-fucking, mutual oral sex (69), dirty talk, possessive!joel, exhibitionism (tommy watches very briefly, he also kisses you in a platonic way), sex in the woods, piv, Joel is actually quite nice if you exclude the murders, mild breeding kink, size kink, little bit of blood kink

a/n: the owl mask joel wears in this to hide who he is is inspired by @softlyspector's post about the tawny owl mug joel uses in tlou part 2 which I still get sad if I think about it for too long 😭

Bodies have been dropping dead all around you long before the outbreak.

Maybe not in the everyone-you-know-is-getting-infected-and-killing-people type of way, but more so in a death-never-felt-like-a-stranger-to-you sort of way. Yet, you still don’t know how to deal with death. Your grief is as violent as a butterfly flapping its wings; the strength of it non-existent but you never know where, or when, it’ll cause a storm.

First, it was your grade school teacher. You didn’t have a particularly strong bond with her but you did like her. You still remember how your friend's voice quaked as she gave you the news on a landline. You couldn’t believe it and had to accuse her of making a joke, even though you knew she would never joke about something like this. Then your dad took the phone from you and you just assumed your friend's mom did the same. The next week, when you went back to school and the funeral was now behind all the children in the classroom, the custodian cut the last tablecloth your teacher had used for her desk and gave a piece to each and every one of you. It was a vibrant orange cloth with daisies scattered around – ugly, but you still cherished it.

Then it was your pets, grandparents – there was also the time when your pet-crazed neighbor adopted another smaller dog while she still had two untrained, over-energized dogs, and the two twins ripped the other dog apart. You had seen the carnage. By some miracle, that small, fluffy dog named Sugar was still breathing, alive. You had held a blood bag over the dog's head, hoping that the small animal wouldn't die.

She didn’t die that day, but it sure as hell left a scar on you.

As a kid, you never seemed to quite grasp the ways of grieving. You didn’t get angry. You didn’t cry. You just. . thought about it. However, the emotions came differently when you became an adult. Now when someone close to you died, you felt it more violently, oddly enough you still fought against the tears and only cried when you were alone.

On Outbreak Day, you lost everything.

Your family, your friends—your life, now it was all about survival, but survival towards what, you didn’t know. You killed for it, fought for it. Yet every move you made felt automatic like you were wired to at least try and survive — to wait it out and not be left behind when civilization rebuilt itself once more.

You made some friends along the way and lost some friends too. You locked their faces and their memories in your heart, only unlocking the box when you were truly and utterly alone.

Then you found Jackson.

And you met Joel and Tommy Miller.

Your official title is scavenger but you much prefer to label yourself as an explorer instead.

You’ve adapted to your quite well life at Jackson. You go beyond the borders, sometimes alone and sometimes with other fellow explorers, and gather supplies or try to pinpoint other locations threats might be lurking in. You’re about to go on another trip, this one shorter than your regular one to two-week expeditions, but before heading out you decide to stop by the only bakery in Jackson named The Last Crumb—previously named The Cordyceps Crumb but Maria decided it was in bad taste. You, on the other hand, had found it funny and topical.

As you patiently wait in line, your camping bag waiting for you outside the bakery, someone bumps into you from behind, then never moves back.

You turn with a raised eyebrow, not enjoying the close proximity, “Excuse you,” you snap. The man looks at you with a hint of mischief in his eyes, you roll your eyes when you recognize the face. “Move back a beat Tucker, I’m not in the mood this morning.”

“Someone didn’t get her beauty sleep,” he grins but moves away regardless. “Want me to come with you this time? Sweet thing like you alone out there? It’s ain’t right.”

“You can barely aim. Why would I want someone that’s most likely to get me killed around me?”

“I think you’ll find my company to be plenty entertaining.”

You’re about to gag when the bell of the bakery chimes, the sharp sound echoing through the wooden walls. Your face must've shown immense signs of relief because Tucker turns around to see who you're looking at. His instant frown makes you want to laugh and chuck him between the two men you’d describe as a wolf den.

“Well, if it ain’t the Miller brothers,” Tucker tuts, attempting to give one of them a friendly pat on the shoulder. He stops midway when Joel’s gaze flits between you and him, his glare hard enough to cut diamonds.

So he ends up slapping Tommy’s shoulder instead, which isn’t the best thing since you know the younger Miller hates Tucker. But among the brothers, he’s probably the one with less probability of getting your hand bitten off.

“Mornin’ Tucker,” Tommy answers, forcing a smile.

Joel is less friendly, his words directed at you, “Is this dumbass botherin’ you again?”

“I wouldn't exactly call a greeting among friends “botherin’,” Tucker says. “We’re just catchin’ up, no need to get your panties in a bunch Miller.”

“God, you’re one word away from ruining my morning,” you hiss, glaring at the unpleasant man. “And we’re not friends.”

His brows furrow, eyes going hard with an ugly snarl accompanying them, you feel braver when Tommy and Joel are around so you hold his gaze, not flinching away.

Tommy is the one to ease the tension. He lays a hand on Tucker’s shoulder and squeezes, drawing the man’s attention away from you. “I’ll get you what you want a’right Tucker? It’s on me. Just go wait outside.”

“But—”

“Outside, Tuck,” Tommy repeats and you shudder at his tone.

Tucker’s shoulders drop, defeated, “Fine, get me a raisin bagel.”

He doesn’t wait for Tommy’s response and heads out the bakery. You finally release the breath you’ve been holding, your muscles relaxing along with the exhaled breath. Joel is by your side in the blink of an eye, his broad shoulder brushing yours providing comfort.

“You sure you’re a’right?” he asks, gently curling fingers under your chin. “The prick didn’t do anythin’?”

“Nah, nothing. He’s all bark but no bite. He asked if he wanted to join me today as if that buffoon wouldn’t get me killed.” you shrug, men being assholes was nothing new to you. You’re just glad that in Jackson it seems that there are more good apples than rotten ones. “Too bad even paradise comes with drawbacks.”

Joel snorts as Tommy cuts in, “Maria would be thrilled if she heard you calling it paradise.”

“What are you smiling at? You think you can find anywhere better?” You playfully nudge Joel with your elbow. “You know there’s nothing but hell out there.”

“I do, I just think callin’ here a paradise is a bit of a stretch is all.”

The line moves and the three of you are finally at the counter, “You’re just a grump,” you tease Joel before turning your gaze to Poppy, the barista who knows everything about everyone. “Hey there, Poppy, the usual please.”

“And a damn raisin bagel,” Tommy adds.

“Well, isn’t it my favorite trio,” Poppy grins. “I’ll get all that ready for you in a second,” she locks her blue eyes on you and leans closer, you mimic her by instinct. “By the way have you heard of Ian? He wound up dead right outside the chopping block, an axe right through his chest.”

You frown, “Good morning to you too, Poppy. Jesus Christ.”

“I’ll confess I didn’t love the guy but isn’t it worrying that there’s a killer among us?” she murmurs while stuffing the goodies in paper bags. “Be careful out there.”

“Well, if the culprit is here I think I might be safer out there,” you say and turn to Tommy. “Does Maria know?”

“Of course, she does,” when you part your lips to say more, he lifts a finger and shoots you a crooked smile. “It’s confidential.”

“Aw man, can’t you just tell us who she thinks it is?” Poppy asks, Tommy shakes his head and she lets out a dramatic sigh, “I miss my murder mystery books.”

“I’ll try to find you something while I’m out,” you say, ignoring the way your heart began to race. Jackson is still a small town, it’s jarring to think someone might be out there, looking for their next target. “Though I think we could all do with a little less murder.”

You hadn’t expected your voice to crack but your tone had betrayed you. Poppy extends you the bag of goods and a latte, as you reach out you feel Joel’s hand on your waist. His lips touch your ear. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m sure whoever it is is only goin’ after those who deserve it.”

You lock your eyes with him, blinking heavily at the weight of his words. His voice had dropped, nothing but gravel as he whispered the words into your ear. A cold sensation slithers down your spine, chilling you to your core and making your throat tighten.

His hand never leaves your waist as the three of you head out, and after a while, that chill slowly dissolves into a pleasurable warmth.

You find solace in the woods. You love Jackson, but being in the woods away from everyone and everything makes you feel comforted. The first time you went scavenging, there was a slight fear in your movements; no matter how good your aim was, any kind of infected was difficult to kill.

But now you walk with ease. There isn’t an ounce of worry in your bones. The trees rustle happily and the smell of flowers and pine fills your nostrils. You can feel your lungs rejuvenating with every breath. Trickles of orange sunlight pour from the gaps of the trees. The sun sets, meaning you need to set up camp soon.

While unpacking, you think of this morning. How Joel and Tommy stepped in when Tucker started bothering you. Honestly, you didn’t need their protection; Tucker is just one of those men who think they might have a shot if they bother you enough times. Still, it was nice to be claimed in a way, to be accepted into a family and cared for.

Your breath hitches slightly. Tommy, you see as a close friend, a brother perhaps, but Joel... Joel is another thing. Just thinking about him is enough to start a wildfire between your legs. You wish you were brave enough to do something about it, though. Whenever you two patrol together or stay awake late at night drinking, you always chicken out in the end. It doesn’t matter how his hands linger on your thighs or his eyes drop to your lips; you're just never convinced that the Joel Miller would be interested in you beyond a friend.

An unease starts to settle in the pit of your stomach. As the air grows colder with the approaching night, your skin prickles and you feel the phantom sensation of claws dragging down your back. You set the tent as quickly as you can, your eyes darting around the depths of the forest. Briefly, you bend over to adjust the ropes.

A breath warm and damp ghosts the back of your neck and you jump, gun in hand as you turn around only to find—

Nothing.

And no one.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, adrenaline pumping in your veins, a drop of sweat trickling down your forehead. You've never had a trigger finger, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't want to just shoot every shadow you see.

“Dammit Poppy,” you mutter, annoyed that she gave you the brutal knowledge of Ian’s death right before you were heading out. Guilt stings at your heart. Ian was an asshole for sure, and you don’t exactly feel bad that he’s gone, but still, it was an eerie thought that someone had murdered him so violently. It had to be personal.

Some part of you wishes Joel was here, or even Tucker, just another human being to tell you you’re just seeing things.

You take a deep inhale and follow it up with a long exhale. You’re fine. There’s no one here.

You give your surroundings one last suspicious look before going back to setting the tent.

No matter how hard you try you can’t shake the feeling of someone watching you amongst the shadows.

Joel hears crickets and owls. The night had always been his friend since the outbreak. He had become a violent man with an equally violent heart. He waits in the shadows, watching. Laughter and playful shouts echo from the bar, and soon the door swings open; the man he's been waiting for crawls out of the establishment, shit-faced. The drunk man shouts his farewells and staggers toward his home.

Joel follows, his mask heating up the skin that lays underneath. His fingers itch with the need to wring that asshole's neck. One by one, he had been cleaning Jackson for the better. His tendencies subdued while also doing some good. Ian was one of those people who deserved it and Joel had enjoyed the chase, the pleas, he especially enjoyed the way he tripped and cried right before he sunk the blade of the axe through Ian’s chest.

Tucker trips, making Joel want to laugh. The idiot might not even realize he’s being hunted. Joel looks around, they are far enough for the chase to begin. Tucker continues to slip and fall as he attempts to get up. Taking the opportunity, Joel walks towards him with quick steps, making sure the first thing the asshole sees is his mask.

Tucker notices him before he gets up, his hands bracing the ground, his eyes go wide, “What the fuck?”

Joel only tilts his head. He sees the trembles rolling down the other man’s body, he relishes in his fear.

“Look man, I don’t want any trouble, whoever the fuck you are so. . . scram.”

Joel’s eyes dart to his hand on the dirt, without a second thought he lifts his foot and curb stomps Tucker’s hand. Then he kicks the side of his face, an audible crunch echoing before his scream could. The man whimpers and falls back in his attempt to crawl away. He holds his jaw, blood streaming down his broken nose.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

He steps closer and watches as Tucker’s eyes bug out. He’s too drunk to properly run away or even scream. Such an easy target. He grips the other’s hair and lifts him to his feet, he can feel the strands starting to rip from his scalp one by one, Tucker’s face twisting in pain. “Your worst fuckin’ nightmare,” Joel answers eerily calm. It doesn’t matter if Tucker recognizes him. He’d be dead soon enough anyway.

“P-Please,” he begs, realizing the same thing. “I’ll do whatever you want promise. I don’t want to die.”

Joel grunts, not dignifying his pleas with an answer. Lifting his other hand, his knuckles connect to Tucker’s face with a loud crunch, body flying to the ground headfirst.

He pulls out his knife and drops down, ignoring the ache in his knees, he grabs Tucker’s arm and aligns the sharp blade against his wrist. Tucker notices, his face going pale as a ghost. “D-Don’t—”

Joel doesn’t bat an eye as blood spurts violently over his clothes and the dirt. Drops of crimson seeping into the fabric. The knife cuts through the flesh like butter, severing hand from bone. His hand clamps over Tucker’s mouth. Joel smiles as his screams bounce off of the palm of his hand.

You come back to Jackson hand empty and earlier than intended. You were too much at unease, and being so jarred wasn’t the best while scavenging for supplies alone. During your trip, you did end up scribbling something for Poppy. It wasn’t finished but you hoped she would enjoy the first draft of the first chapter. It was mostly descriptions of what you felt, a cat-and-mouse game between two people who had bumped into each other accidentally.

While heading into Jackson, you notice a crowd in the distance. You promptly get off your horse and walk with haste. You recognize Joel and Tommy easily, both brothers standing on each end of the crowd like gates keeping a herd of sheep in check. Ellie is standing right next to Joel, lifting herself on her toes to see; Joel is holding her back by gripping the cap of her hood.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

Joel turns to you, his eyebrows raising when notices it’s you and not some random person he has to ignore, “You’re back,” he says. A statement rather than a question.

“Yeah, wasn’t feeling that well,” you shrug him off. “So what happened?”

His eyes turn to steel, his jaw locking in place. Before you can ask again, he gestures for you to move up the crowd with a tilt of his head.

“Lucky,” you hear Ellie murmur as you walk ahead, gently pushing those who were looking at the sight with concern. With every step you take, the murmur of the crowd fades into the background, becoming nothing more than white noise. Maria is addressing the crowd, you think, though you're not entirely sure. The scent of blood is thick in the air, disorienting you as you get closer.

Your eyes go wide, the earth slips from beneath you but your expression remains emotionless.

It’s Tucker.

You feel as if you’re standing alone. As if you’re the only one taking in the sight of absolute horror and gore. Tucker is lying in a pile of his own blood face first, his eyes are open and lifeless, his one hand is outstretched like he’s about to crawl away.

His right hand, however, is chopped off.

It’s not even a clean-cut. The edges of his flesh are jagged and crooked, his blood-caked where his hand should be. Whoever did this cut it so it would hurt, so he would suffer tremendously.

You can’t help but gasp, covering your mouth with your right hand. You begin to shake, confusion churning in your stomach as bile coats your tongue. He’s dead. Just like Ian.

When Maria’s eyes find your own, she narrows her gaze, a small warning for you to keep it together. You can’t though. How could you? Tucker was alive and kicking a couple of days ago, just being his annoying self around Jackson.

“Calm down,” you hear Joel mutter into your ear. You shiver at the brush of his lips. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Safe. You want to laugh. You don’t even know what that word means anymore.

Joel’s mouth moves over the shell of your ear, “He was a nuisance. Don’t feel bad now that he’s dead.”

“I didn’t want him to die,” you hiss back. “And knowing there’s a serial killer out there doesn’t exactly make me feel safe.”

Despite your half-angry tone, you find yourself leaning into Joel’s presence. Your shoulder presses into his broad chest, and without missing a beat he wraps his arms around your shaking frame. Relief comes in the form of warmth spreading along your chest, tingles forming at the tips of your fingers and toes. The voices of the crowd gradually come back but you only hear one of the many questions.

“What do you think the message means?”

Confusion crosses your face, brows furrowing as you try to make sense of it. Joel makes a choked-out sound that could’ve easily been taken as an amused chuckle.

Then your eyes drop to Tucker’s outstretched hand and his dying message written in blood.

O W L

A week had passed since Tucker’s death.

You've been thinking about both murders relentlessly, trying to piece together everything that you know so far. During this time, you're grateful for Poppy, who comes by almost every night to help you try to solve the case. That's been your sole focus for the past few weeks; you haven't been scavenging since you spooked yourself so badly that you returned early, only to find Tucker dead.

Some part of you thinks that the eeriness you felt that day was a sign of what was about to happen. It's also an odd coincidence that he ended up dead the same night he harassed you in the morning. However, there are no forensic investigators in Jackson, so it’s almost impossible to determine the exact time of death. That fact alone makes you anxious. It only means that whoever is killing everyone has nothing to worry about because even if they leave traces, who’s going to know?

In order to keep your nerves in check you end up writing a lot. You haven’t shown any of it to Poppy yet but you’re excited. You never thought writing a thriller would be the perfect way to escape the horrors of your actual life. At least in your stories, you have control.

You also visit Joel and vice versa.

Something had shifted the day he held you as you both gazed upon Tucker’s lifeless body. Maybe it was just you who felt bolder since death was once again right around the corner — or maybe Joel just felt more protective now, wanting to check on you as much as he could.

“You’re really writin’ a whole ass novel?” he asks, pouring you a glass of scotch. You still can’t get over the fact that it nearly tasted identical to the actual stuff. Jackson is truly a miracle; at least when bodies aren’t dropping left and write.

Ellie’s at a sleepover, which means you and Joel have the whole house to yourselves. With everything going on you’d expect your libido to diminish a bit but it’s as strong as ever, ready to go.

You smile as he places the glass in front of you, “Yeah,” you say, picking up the glass and heading toward the living room. “I couldn’t find Poppy anything to read and it helps me relax.”

“Relax, how?” he asks, taking a seat next to you. The couch dips with his weight, and heat crawls up from your chest to your neck when his knee brushes against yours.

“Well, it’s a horror thing. Horror slash mystery? I don’t know—whatever it is, it’s nice to have an outlet to escape what’s been happening lately.”

“So to escape brutal murders you write more brutal murders?”

You chuckle at the way his eyebrows raise, eyes going wide, “I don’t really focus that much on the gore. It’s more psychological, my sweet brute. Things don’t need to have blood to be scary.”

His grin is wide and instant, dark eyes lighting up with amusement, “What did you just call me?”

“I. . .” Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, suddenly realizing what you’d said.

“What cat got your tongue?” he teases. Joel leans closer, fingers dancing along the curve of your shoulder. You can feel the gravel in his voice. “You just called me yours, sweetheart. Does that jog your memory?”

“I also called you brute,” you quip back immediately, cheeks aflame. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Don’t it?” his palm now presses fully into your shoulder, keeping you in place in case you might run. Joel tilts his head slightly, the plush of his lips only an inch away. “I like you callin’ me that,” the pink of his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “Say it again.”

“S-Say what?”

A small chuckle parts his lips, oddly enough it almost feels like his patience is wearing thin. He comes closer, the tip of his nose brushing yours. “That I’m yours,” he clarifies. “Been waitin’ to hear those words come from your mouth since I met you.”

“You’re mine,” you whisper against his lips, eyelids fluttering but not quite closing. With the confession, you feel the brush of Joel’s lips on yours. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth. You part for him with a moan, and taking the opportunity, he slides inside, tasting every inch of you.

His lips taste and feel like the forests you wander off to; it soothes you, calms your nerves, and has the taste of home. They’re chapped from the sun, yet soft. You can’t have enough of him, if he’d offered, you’d gladly kiss him forever.

Joel parts with a shaky breath, his chest heaving, “And you’re mine,” he groans, his eyes dark with arousal. It’s an involuntary action but your eyes drop to the front of his pants where you see the thick outline of his cock.

Your mouth goes dry, yet you manage to speak anyway, “Are words all you’ve been waiting for?” It’s bold, you’re highly aware, but you can’t help it when he’s this close. His scent suffocating, pulling you to him like a moth to a flame.

He stares at you silently. His thumb touches your bottom lip, slightly tugging it down. He’s not smiling anymore, only observing.

“No,” Joel answers slowly. He leans towards your ears, the thick hairs above his lips tickling your skin. “I’ve also been waitin’ to feel that velvet tongue on my cock, honey. And to feel how tight your throat gets when you take every inch of me.”

Joel blows a puff of air, it caresses your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brings your hand to the front of his pants, dragging your palm up and down his length. You shudder. The heat of it seeps into your palm despite the thick fabric of his jeans, you lick your lips absentmindedly. “This is all for you sweetheart.”

“Fuck, Joel. . .” your eyes roll back when he kisses your neck, open-mouthed kisses laid upon your skin like a gift. Your nipples tighten and if you look down right now, you know you’ll see them peeking through your shirt.

He reads your thoughts, eyes moving down before meeting your gaze again. “Didn’t know you walked around without a bra, sunshine.”

“I only go braless when I’m comfortable,” you answer. Joel cups your breasts roughly, kneading the flesh, he simultaneously sucks on your neck, teeth nipping the sensitive skin. “Oh god,” the fabric of your panties grows damp and you clench your thighs together.

“Not god,” he says sharply, sinking his teeth into you. “Joel.”

“Joel,” you moan and arch your back, filling more of yourself into his palm. You squeeze his cock, relishing in the way he makes a strangled sound. “I want to suck you off, Joel.”

“Be my guest.”

You push him until he’s lying on the couch. You’re about to unbutton his jeans but he stops you.

“Turn around,” he says.

“What?”

His wide grin nearly stops your heart, “Want to taste that sweet pussy, sunshine. Strip down and take a seat.”

“On—On your face?”

“Where else?”

You’re too embarrassed to speak, tongue suddenly too big in your mouth. Quickly, and a bit clumsily, you strip down and turn before straddling his chest. You don’t need to touch yourself to know that you’re soaked.

You swallow, “I’ve never done this before.”

His hands come up to cradle your hips, urging you to move back towards his face. You feel the blunt sting of his nails.

“That’s alright,” he mutters. “I won’t let you fall if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m more worried about how I’m gonna move, or accidentally suffocating you.”

“What a noble way it would be to go.”

“Joel!” you laugh, playfully smacking his thigh. He answers by giving your hips another squeeze, you surrender and move back until you’re hovering over his face. Your hand planted firmly over his hip bones, you lower yourself. You shudder as his tongue licks a stripe between your folds. He moans into your cunt, pulling you flush against his face.

Meanwhile, you finally unzip his pants and pull his cock out, the heft of it bumping against your nose and lips. You drip at the smell of him and swear he smiles as he sucks on your aching clit, short-circuiting your brain with arousal. His cock throbs in your palm, a drop of precome glistening at the tip. Your mouth watering, you lean forward and clean him off. Another groan echoes within his chest and he thrusts forward, the tip of his cock kissing your lips.

Eyes fluttering closed, you suck on the bulbous head and force yourself to go down until he hits the back of your throat. You wrap a hand around the base, stroking where you can’t fit, and hallow your cheeks.

“Come on, sunshine. You can take me,” he rasps. “You’re mine, aren’t you? That mouth is meant to take me.”

Without waiting for an answer, Joel pushes his tongue inside, your walls clenching around the wet muscle—you let out a loud gasp and grind down, then you feel the sting of his palm against your ass, pain blossoming from where he smacked.

Your throat rattles with a moan and Joel takes the opportunity to drive forward, your eyes go wide as you feel the length of him sliding down your throat, cutting the air from your lungs.

“Oh, fuck—” he moans unabashedly, the sounds sending a pleasurable tingle down your spine despite the strain on your throat. “That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Fuck, fuck—”

Your throat tightens around him, your lungs starting to burn. His hand caresses both sides of your ass, the abrupt pain of the smack from before subduing, “Relax,” he says, swirling his tongue around your clit. “Breathe through your nose. Just a bit more. . .”

Your nails bite into his thighs as you attempt to follow instructions. You relax your throat and slowly begin to breathe from your nose. It’s still difficult, but your lungs rejoice in the minimal amount of air that comes through. You make a mess of him. Saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth and down his length.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he murmurs. “Gonna fuck that pretty throat now and make this pussy come, understood?”

Eyes tearing up, you nod. From the way your stomach convulses, you know that you’re close, your skin tight over your trembling muscles. The nod is all that Joel needs from you. Holding you in place, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself completely down your throat while flicking his tongue against your clit. You scream around him, eyes rolling back as he continues to devour you and take you apart at the same time. He licks you with fat strokes of his tongue, a hint of teeth scraping your folds here and there as he fucks your throat with shallow thrusts.

You’re limp against his broad body, allowing him to use you as he pleases while all you can do is hang on for the ride. Pleasure licks the base of your spine, a searing heat caressing your skin while Joel continues to build you up only for you to fall spectacularly. Your lips start to ache, your throat squeezing around him whenever he snaps his hips forward—

And all hell finally breaks loose.

You come undone with a devastating cry only for it to be muffled by his cock going down your throat. You gush around his tongue, soaking his facial hair and mouth, Joel is underrated, licking and sucking until you’re shaking above him, every bit of tension draining from your body.

Joel comes shortly after, his hand slides from your waist and he manages to reach out in order to hold your head down. You don’t have a choice but to swallow as he spills down your throat, thick spurts of come going down while he shudders and pushes even deeper.

There’s so much of it, cock twitching and throbbing in your mouth until your mouth sucks him dry. You’re lightheaded from the lack of air; you find that it adds to the pleasure that’s buzzing in your veins, your cunt still pulsing with the heft of him still buried in your lips.

He pulls out with a satisfied groan and you manage to scoot down so you’re straddling his chest instead of head. Joel caresses your back, the gentle repeated motion sending tingles down your spine.

“That’s was fuckin’ amazin’,” he says, voice hoarse. “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” you answer sounding meek. “I think I need some water though.”

You get off, legs still shaking, but he grabs your hand, halting your movement. “Let me get it for you,” he says, sitting up.

“I’m already up,” you smile as his brows furrow with worry, the expression warming your heart. You quickly bend down to kiss him and he’s quick to lick himself into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. “I’ll be right back.”

You have no idea how you’re standing while feeling like jello but you manage to get yourself all the way to the fridge. You smile at the coolness touching your warmed skin when you open the door. Scanning the interior, you thoughtlessly rub at your throat in an attempt to soothe the ache a little. You grab the pitcher of cold water and notice a bit of apple pie left over.

“Hey, Joel?” you call out. He hums in acknowledgment. “Can I have a slice of pie?”

His humored chuckle follows through, “You can eat the whole damn thing after what you’ve done,” you smile and take the desert out. “Can you bring me a slice too?” he adds.

You smile and place the pie on the counter. The leftover is already two slices give or take so you decide to just take two forks with you instead of dirting a plate. Looking through the drawers, you try to remember which one is the cutlery drawer.

On your second try you find something else.

Something that makes your eyes go wide and heart throb painfully.

Your hands shaking, you pick up the owl mask from the drawer. The surface is smooth, and the color of it a light shade of brown just like a tawny owl. All the pleasant tingles fade away, the buzz of pleasure in your veins replaced by fear and adrenaline.

Heading back to the living room, you show the mask to Joel.

“What’s this?” you ask, your voice betraying your sudden outburst of fear.

Joel looks up, eyes flitting between you and the owl mask. He raises a brow, his confusion evident across his face. “It’s a mask, sweetheart.”

“No no, I know it’s a mask,” you answer, breathless. “But why do you have it?”

“It’s Ellie’s,” he stands up, his pants still unbuttoned but pulled up. You fight the urge to step away, fight the urge to flinch when he touches your cheek. “They were makin’ Halloween masks last year in school. I didn’t even realize we still had it.”

“Really?” you ask and he nods.

“Really,” Joel claims your lips in a chaste kiss, thumb stroking lines up and down your cheek. His hand slithers down your arm to your wrist and when he squeezes, you drop the mask. “Why?” he breathes into you. “Is this about the damn thing Tucker wrote down?”

You remain silent and he pulls away, dark eyes boring into yours.

“You need to relax, sweetheart,” he mumbles. “Why don’t you just allow yourself to enjoy this? You deserve to be happy.”

Your eyes widen with surprise, his words crashing into you, “I. . . Do I do that? Really?”

“It’s normal, darlin’,” he answers. “I’m pretty sure we all have survivor’s guilt.”

You let out a shaky exhale. He’s right. You were just feeling guilty of being alive when so many had died. Joel smiles back and traces the curve of yours with his fingers. “There’s that smile that I adore,” he guides you towards the kitchen. “Now let’s go eat some pie.”

No matter what though, you can’t help but turn back to look at the owl mask one last time as it lays lifelessly on the floor.

“So, tell me about this book you’re writin’?”

You let out a low laugh, “I already told you about it. What more do you wanna know?”

You stare at Joel’s back as he takes the lead, he’d decided to join you in your explorations ever since you told him how nervous you had gotten the last time. You had appreciated the gesture but still felt a tad anxious around him ever since you found that damn owl mask—

A branch snaps into two under your steps and he turns, extending his hand to you. With a smile you allow him to lace his fingers within yours, your stomach jumping a little as he tugs you close so the two of you are walking side by side instead.

“If memory serves me right we got distracted when you told me about it,” he says with that southern drawl of his. “So tell me again what it’s about.”

“Okay okay,” you smile, squeezing his hand twice. “It’s all a big mess now but the premise is that there’s this guy obsessed with this woman and he stalks her and no matter what she does, she always feels like there’s someone watching.”

Joel looks ahead, “Sounds familiar. Isn’t that how you felt last time you were out here?”

“Yeah, and it’s when I started writing it.”

“So do these two people know each other?” his tone drops, his fingers suddenly feeling like barbed wire within your hand. You swallow. “I mean in their regular lives, does the woman know that he’s the one stalkin’ her?”

You roll your shoulders, a weak attempt to shrug off the eeriness that you feel.

“Exactly. I think that just makes the whole thing creepier. He’s just a normal guy, even a friend, but he’s also the one among the shadows.”

“Interestin’,” he murmurs. “You think that’s happenin’ to you?”

“I don’t think there’s someone stalking me, if that’s what you’re asking,” you utter every word hastily, your pulse quickening under your skin.

His lips curl in a half smile, “That’s good,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you to be laying awake thinking about what might lingerin’ on the other side of the window.”

“I think I’m more likely to stay awake thinking about infected,” you say with a soft laugh. “But yeah, it’s all fiction. That day I probably just got scared because of what Poppy said about Ian.”

“Probably,” Joel trails off, his steps slowing. “How do you think it’s gonna end?”

“W-What?”

He stops and so does your heart. At least you think it does.

Joel faces you fully, his presence towering, he grips your shoulders and pushes you back until the air is knocked from your lungs by a tree right behind you. Your eyes go wide. He leans in, breath tickling your lips.

“How do you think your book is gonna end, sweetheart?” he asks again, eyes gleaming with something dark. “Is the guy gonna get the girl?”

“I—I don’t know.”

All you can think about is the owl mask and how it would perfectly fit his face. He cocks his head and taking a step closer, he slips a leg between your thighs. Slick gathers at your underwear—he feels the fabric dampening on his leg and grins.

“Fear turns you on doesn’t it?” he purrs. “Wicked thing.”

Relief drowns your senses. So that’s why he got all weird suddenly, he’s just teasing you. With a laugh, your head falls back against the tree trunk, “Jesus Joel, you scared the shit out of me.”

“It ain’t my fault,” he says, nipping at your chin. “You’re easy to scare.”

“Well, two brutal unsolvable murders will do that to a girl.”

Joel lets go and pulls away, smiling as he shakes his head, “What’s it gonna take for you to believe I had nothin’ to do with those? Even in death, Tucker causes nothin’ but fuckin’ trouble for me.”

“You don’t need to do anything, I’m sorry,” you pull him back, relishing in the way his strong arms wrap around your frame. “I’ll stop being such a chicken, promise. I’m still a bit jittery that’s all.”

“I forgive you,” he says against your lips, kissing you quickly before pulling you away from the thick trunk of the tree. “Now let’s find a place to settle down for the night.”

When you two return to Jackson three days later, the first thing you notice is the crowd. Your stomach drops at the familiar sight and instinctively you reach out to Joel, lacing your fingers together. He squeezes your hand two times.

The last thing you should be feeling is relief that now it’s not possible for Joel to be the one killing all those people but alas, that’s all you feel. Relief and love.

The trade fair sprawls before you. Stalls with makeshift awnings, tattered banners, and worn tarps create a patchwork quilt of colors, beneath which a diverse array of goods is proudly displayed. The air is thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, the tang of cured leather, and the earthy aroma of herbs. Laughter, chatter, and the occasional clinking of metal form a lively symphony, a chorus of life that drowns out the ever-present background hum of death and infection.

You’ve always enjoyed the time of the trade fair. People move like busy ants, weaving between the stalls. Children, their cheeks dusted with earth, dart through the crowd, their carefree laughter that should be comforting doing the opposite. Since Tina’s death— she was one of the council members— you had been sleeping at Joel’s. Neither he nor Ellie seemed to mind you staying there.

The purpose of the fair is to exchange goods – to exchange, to connect, to share stories of survival.

Your eyes scan the crowd for Joel's familiar silhouette. He and Ellie had headed out before you since you wanted a change of clothes. Just as your gaze begins to falter, a voice reaches your ears. "Hey!" It's Poppy, she waves you over.

You navigate your way through the bustling stalls until you stand before Poppy. She's leaning against a rough-hewn post, a glint of excitement in her eyes.

“Hey, Poppy,” you greet her with a smile. “I’m looking for Joel, or Ellie, have you seen either of them?”

“Well, Ellie is with Dina, hanging out,” She points to the forest that skirts the settlement. "I saw him heading that way not too long ago."

“Alright, thanks. I’ll see you later then,” Waving her off, you head after Joel.

The trees are a bit more scarce here, there’s more room between them. The forest opens up, revealing a sprawling expanse that stretches as far as the eye can see. It's a stark contrast to the dense woods you often travel to, where the trees stand like guardians, their branches interlocking in a tapestry of shadow and light. Here, the gaps between the trees create pockets of sunlight that dapple the forest floor.

However, the expanses between trees can be deceiving, and without the markers and familiarity of the well-trodden paths closer to home, it's easy to lose your way.

For some reason instead of calling out for Joel, you decide to wander aimlessly. You’re not sure why. You don’t come to this side of Jackson often enough to feel comfortable with your surroundings and shouting his name would definitely be easier than walking without aim.

Soon enough you hear faint murmuring beckoning you deeper into the forest.

Survival instincts kicking in, you slow down your steps, making sure to step onto clear dirt instead of gravel or fallen branches. Hiding behind a rather large tree trunk, you stare ahead. In the distance, you see two men: one with his back against the tree, while the other holds him by the neck, the sharp blade of his knife catching the sunlight and reflecting it directly into your eyes.

You hold your breath and your eyes go wide. You hear the thrum of your heart. It’s the killer. It has to be.

You can’t quite hear them but you can decipher the tone of begging for one's life. The man holding the knife tilts his head slightly, your mouth waters at the prospect of finally seeing the murderer's face—

It’s the mask.

The same mask you found in Joel’s home in the shape of an owl. Your stomach churns violently, bile raising to your throat as you watch on. You rub at your eyes, take deep breaths—anything you can think of that would erase the image before you.

Goosebumps raising across your skin, you shake your head. It can’t be Joel. He was with you the day Tina died and no matter how competent he was not even he could be at two places at once.

A muffled scream echoes within the forest and your eyes snap to the two men, the owl had driven his knife into the flesh and bone. He pulls it out, and the body falls. You recognize who it is; Jacob. You heard his name a couple of days ago from Ellie, he was bothering both her and Dina because they were hanging out.

He’s still alive when the killer stomps his head in, blood splattering across the leys.

You’re frozen in place. Your throat dry and tongue motionless. The killer kicks Jacob one last time for good measure and finally stops. You observe the way his shoulders drop as if a great weight had been lifted off of them, then he looks up into the sky, the golden sun highlighting his mask.

Very slowly, he lifts his hand and takes it off.

Every feeling comes rushing back, too fast and too soon. Your tongue is alive again and so is your body, the world is suddenly vibrant with life and horror. The sun continues to caress the countenance of the unmasked killer’s face, his sunkissed skin the perfect canvas to soak up the light.

Joel.

You take a step back, every thought of precaution dropping from your mind. The forest starts to spin. It spins and spins and spins until the ground slips from beneath your feet. You catch yourself at the very last second.

When you look up you see his gaze staring directly into yours.

“Fuck,” you hiss out, quickly staggering up. The last thing you see before you start running is his extended hand as he tries to reach out for you.

“Wait!”

You don’t. You do the exact opposite of that. You run. You run for your life and those in Jackson at the fair.

You run with memories loud in your mind. How Joel had listened to you, comforted you, fucked you—

Tears sting your eyes. Every part of this feels like a nightmare that you hope to wake up from anytime soon. But as the wind hits your skin, you know that every part of this is very much real. Your chest burns from how fast you’re going, your legs starting to falter underneath you.

Before you can react, an unexpected force slams into you. The impact sends shockwaves through your body as you collide with something—or is it someone?—their presence as jarring as the jolt itself. Your momentum falters, and for a fleeting moment, time seems to slow as you stumble, desperately trying to regain your balance.

Two arms grab at you and without even seeing who it is, you start to push the person away, fighting against it like a wild animal.

“Let go of me! Let go of me!”

“Hey hey hey,” you hear a familiar voice repeat. “It’s me, you’re okay,” you’re shaking all around, only when you feel his hands cradle your cheeks do you open your eyes. He smiles when he sees your eyes flicker in recognition.

“Tommy?” you whisper. He nods and without a thought you jump him, wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him close. His arms coil around you in response, promising to not let go. “Oh, thank fuck it’s you.”

“What happened? Are you alright?”

“I—I am okay but—Joel—It’s Joel, Tommy he’s been the one behind all those murders. We need to warn everyone, we need to tell Maria!”

You grab his arm and tug him along toward what you assume is the right way out of the forest. He remains still. Turning around, you shoot him a confused glance. 'Tommy, we need to tell people.'

“Can’t let you do that sugar, sorry.”

“Why. . . Why not?” you let go and slowly step back, heart pounding. “Is it because he’s your brother?”

You wish that was his excuse. Some moral obligation towards Joel because he’s his brother, that you can relate to. Your heart still pounds for Joel and in your brain, you’re still desperately seeking an explanation.

But Tommy allows the silence to linger, your fear and worry quickly turning into anger.

“Fine, I’ll tell them. It’s wrong.”

It only takes a blink of an eye; you feel Tommy’s iron grip around your wrist, yanking you back into his chest. He holds you. Oddly tender for someone who had made your arm nearly fall out of its socket. You thrash within his arms, pulling and hitting his chest.

“We’re doing good,” he grunts. “You gotta see that.”

You refuse to listen, your ear narrowing on the sound of your own blood rush instead of his words. By some miracle, you manage to slip your arm out and punch him square in the chin. It was a weak punch but strong enough to startle Tommy.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart, calm the fuck down—” he tucks your arm back against your body and turns you around so your back is flush against his chest. You’re breathing raggedly, chest rising with every deep gulp of air. His lips touch your ear, his tone menacing, “I really wish you would’ve not done that.”

“Why?” you gasp. “You’re gonna kill me too?”

Silence follows, and with every passing moment sweat beads on your forehead, “It was you wasn’t it?” you continue. “You killed Tina. Joel only came along with me to calm my suspicions.”

Before Tommy can confirm your suspicions, you notice movement within the forest and your eyes are immediately drawn to the shadow coming forth.

“Smart girl,” Joel remarks with a half smile as he emerges from between the trees. There’s a splatter of red over his shirt but the knife seems to be tucked away. For now. “But you’re only half right, darlin’. I came along because I like spendin’ time with you.”

“Is that supposed to make me ignore the fact that Jacob’s body isn’t even cold yet?”

Joel curls two fingers under your chin, lifting your gaze while Tommy continues to hold you back. You shudder against him, a soft sound parts the younger Miller’s lips.

“He was a piece of shit,” Joel grunts. “He was botherin’ Ellie, callin’ her names, he deserved what he was gettin’.”

“So what, you guys are just playing hero? Killing everyone who’s causing trouble in town? There’s a system for that.”

“Honey,” he tuts, an involuntary warmth spreading within your abdomen. “The system didn’t work before the outbreak, it ain’t gonna work now either.”

“We protect our own,” Tommy says from behind you, breath fanning your neck. “We take care of it before it escalates. You have to understand that.”

“And why the hell would I understand?” you hiss, looking directly into Joel’s eyes while addressing Tommy.

Joel smiles, his lips curling slowly, “Because you’re one of us. And you like it when we protect.”

Your lips part with an exhale. He’s right, not that you still agree with them killing people, but you had enjoyed that primal protection coming from the Millers. It made you feel powerful, loved, cared for. All the things you craved deeply.

You ignore Joel and his words entirely, averting your eyes with embarrassment and shame.

“I just don’t understand why you did it, Tommy” you murmur. Tommy tenses behind you, his arms tightening around your frame, drawing the remaining oxygen from your lungs. “I understand the other’s to an extent but Tina didn’t do anything wrong.”

Joel looks towards Tommy, it was his kill after all and the older Miller had nothing to say about it.

“She was wrecking what Maria is tryin’ so hard to build,” he answers. “She’s pregnant, stress ain’t good for her or the baby.”

“Does. . . Does Maria—”

Tommy cuts you off, “No.”

Joel leans closer, mouth an inch away from yours as he parts his lips. “I killed for you,” You hate the way your body reacts to him, wanting to close the distance between you two despite how unsettled you feel. “Ian was a piece of shit, so was Tucker and Jacob. They don’t deserve your empathy, honey. And you can’t deny that you’re glad they’re gone.”

His hair is a delightful mess. Soft locks going in every direction. All you want to do is thread your fingers within and forget about all of this. Joel’s gaze is observant, dark eyes darting all over your face. You don’t know what he sees but whatever it is, he nods to Tommy for him to let you go and he does. Legs lifeless and shaking, he catches you, his warmth welcoming. He’s still tender with you. Hands delicate as they move over your arms, shifting you so you'll be facing Tommy.

Joel’s hand curls around your neck and holds your chin so you can’t look away. You can’t read Tommy’s expression. You’re not sure what he’s feeling. However, you think he looks almost relieved that you’re not fighting anymore.

You shudder as Joel drags his lips down your neck, taking deep breaths of your fear-induced scent. His hands slip under your shirt and cup both breaths, making you squeal. Your objection is short-lived when he brushes his thumbs over both nipples, awakening them with slow strokes.

Tommy’s gaze drops to your chest.

“He’s been watching you, you know,” Joel says. “When I had things to settle in town it was him who looked after you,” his voice drops, eyes observing his brother. “I think he deserves a bit of a show, don’t you think?”

The whimper you let out is enough for Tommy to meet your gaze curiously. Joel smiles into your skin and your eyes widen as he pulls out a knife—a different one from the one he used on Jacob, you realize with relief.

Your breath hitches as he slides the knife under your shirt and cuts your shirt clean from the middle, exposing you completely to his younger brother’s eyes. Sudden arousal pools between your legs and you clamp them together suddenly, the movement not unnoticed by either of them.

“You like it when my brother watches?” he asks loud enough for Tommy to hear. “You got a little crush on him too, sweetheart, hmm? Don’t worry, he’s always goin’ to be lookin’ out for you. That’s what family does after all.”

Your neck strains as Joel tilts your head suddenly, claiming your lips in a violent kiss. He doesn’t wait for you to part your lips for him and pushes his tongue into your mouth, licking the surprised sounds of pleasure right from your mouth. Your heart skips a beat. He presses the flat side of the knife against your warmed skin, the chill of metal settling in your bones.

When he parts away, a string of saliva connects you still. “You’re mine aren’t you?” Joel groans, lips moving over yours.

You nod in a daze and he smiles, “And I’m yours too,” he says.

Your eyes meet Tommy momentarily, the younger Miller’s lips twitch in a half smile. He doesn’t say a word as he closes the distance.

Tommy cradles your face tenderly, urging you to come close as he envelopes your lips with his own, taking you by surprise.

The kiss lacks the intensity compared to Joel’s. Tommy caresses your cheeks with both thumbs. You don’t even feel his tongue, it’s just a gradual movement of lips, a type of affirmation and comfort.

“You’re one of us now,” he says pressing his forehead against yours. You don’t know how to react or what to say and you end up just nodding, your hands fisting his shirt. Him, parting away from you almost feels painful but you’re not sure why. Tommy gives you a smile and Joel a nod before he leaves.

You and Joel stand like that for a while, in complete silence, bodies flushed together, knife still resting over your stomach.

“I only did what was right,” he breaks the silence. His tone isn’t one of asking for forgiveness or understanding. His arms tighten around you. “Are you afraid of me?” he whispers into your ear, the thick hairs above his lips tickling the shell of your ear.

You don’t answer him.

“You don’t need to be,” he continues. He allows you to move within his arms, you want to see his face, you need to see him to not fear for your life. You ignore the knife grazing your skin as you turn around, your bare front snug against his chest. “I’ll never hurt you. And you’re the only person in this whole damn town that can say that. You and Ellie.”

“What about Tommy?”

“Tommy’s priorities lay elsewhere.”

He doesn’t allow you to inquire further about what he means by that. All you can detect is a hint of anger that quickly dissipates when he claims your lips once more.

You’re lost in him. His tongue captures you in a way that makes you forget the blood on his clothes—on his hands. His tongue slides against your own, pressing until you’re moaning into his mouth, your knees faltering at the knife smoothing down your skin.

Before pushing you down to the ground, he takes off the shirt he cut in half completely off of you, your bra following the pile on the grass. Your breath hitches as he takes his place between your legs, his mouth devouring your neck, “Joel. . .” you moan, fisting his shirt and grinding up to feel at least a bit of friction.

A silent laugh seeps into your skin, his breath sending shivers up your spine, “Do you still feel bad for them?” he teases, laying a wet kiss between your breasts.

You don’t think much as you answer, “No.”

And as a reward, Joel closes his lips over a nipple, sucking hard until your breathing goes ragged.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, moving towards the other pebbled flesh. “You’re too good, too kind, but they don’t deserve that sweetheart.”

He hooks his fingers into your belt loops and tugs down your jeans, laving you with soft, ticklish kisses as he moves lower and lower. When you’re completely bare to him, you have the urge to cover yourself, the grass tickles your back and the wind feels colder now. Joel smiles and pulls your arms away. He lays the knife right above your stomach and your breath hitches.

“I want to taste you,” Joel says. “But not in the way you think, darlin’,” he kisses the sensitive skin right adobe your belly button, and brings the sharp edge of the knife to your skin. “I want to taste the life that pumps through your veins.”

Your eyes widen as he nicks you. It’s a small cut and blood beads at the wound instantly. He doesn’t allow it to gather enough so that’ll trickle down, he quickly presses his lips against it, your essence coating his tongue as he gives it a tender suck. You can the blood leaving your veins, a pleasant tingle echoing from the wound and spreading throughout your body. Your eyes flutter, a moan escaping your lips as he flattens his tongue against the cut and licks with board strokes.

“Fuckin’ delicious,” he rasps, pushing two fingers into you with ease. You gasp at the sudden stretch, your back arching into his touch. “So darn wet—All this for me, sunshine?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, grinding down. “Joel, please—”

You hear the sound of his belt buckle coming undone, his breath heavy in your ear, “Since you asked so nicely, sweetheart, I’m obliged.”

You feel the head of his cock brush against your entrance, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. Your eyes close in anticipation and you whimper as he slowly slides inside you inch by inch. You can feel it, that intense fullness that can only come from him, taking his time to make sure it feels good. His size is intimidating but you feel yourself melting around him, eager and willing.

“That’s it. . . you’re takin’ me so well, such a tight little hole for me. Fuckin’ amazin’.”

He presses his forehead against yours, nipping at your bottom lip before thrusting, sending a wave of pleasure that makes your toes curl. You cling onto him for support as he pumps deeper and faster, hitting all the right spots. It takes neither of you long to climb the edge, ready to fall. You can feel the warmth of his breath, and his grip tightens on your hips. His pace quickens as the intensity builds, and you clench around him as he groans your name.

“Gonna come inside,” he slurs his words. “Gonna fill you up—shit—”

You can feel him throbbing and pulsing inside of you, his hard length contracting. As he pushes deeper into you, your insides flutter, squeezing around him. Your orgasm is ripped from you, shattering and mind-numbing. Your head spins and you cling to him, afraid that the world underneath you might slip entirely. His hot come warms you from the inside out, spilling from where his cock stretches you.

Joel remains inside until he starts to soften. He pulls out of you, leaving you feeling a longing ache deep within your core. You shudder as his come trickles down your thighs, your cunt clenching around nothing.

“Such a pretty sight,” he murmurs, entranced, as he gathers himself over his fingers and pushes it back inside you. “Try to keep as much as you can inside.” To emphasize his want for it, he slides your underwear up your legs.

You’re tied to him now. And even though you shouldn’t, you enjoy being the one near the beast. Joel helps you dress, at least helps you with what remains, and gives you his leather jacket to wear since your shirt is in ruins. Neither of you says a word as you walk back to where Jacob’s body rests. You help him bury the body, not feeling a single thing; no grief, no remorse, no sadness.

You always did have a complicated relationship with death after all.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #hauntedhoedown

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eamour · 2 years ago

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the void craze

as many of you already might now, the "void" state, also called the "i am" state, is a method coined by neville goddard which became popular and famous for its rather unique way of manifesting your desires. just like with every method being put on a pedestal, there are a hand full of problems that come along with it. with this post, i want to help you gain clarity but also consciousness (no pun intended) about your outlook on this method.

problems of obsessing over a state

disregarding your outer reality. you have responsibilities and things to look after in the physical world that — even if you can change and get rid of them — need your attention. you exist in both, 4D and 3D. as long as you are aware of yourself physically, you need to care for yourself.

disregarding your inner reality. by constantly being in a state of waiting and wanting, you keep desiring. you keep occupying a state of mind and refuse to change it — in other words, change your "i am" — and will remain in that state assuming you don't "enter" the void state.

dismissing your feelings and emotions. this point is less about you desiring something but more about your emotional well being. by not fulfilling yourself from within, you are enslaved to your senses and will continue to upset yourself with the 3D, starting to bottle up your emotions.

becoming indifferent to your surroundings. you might start to disregard everything around you and force yourself not to negatively react or acknowledge the outer world.

developing unhealthy habits. some people are likely to isolate themselves, some begin to spend an unhealthy amount of time on the internet (specifically apps like tumblr or youtube), some ruin their sleep schedules to attempt once they are truly sleepy, and so on.

overconsuming information. with people spending a significant amount of time online, it enables the possibility of people taking in more information than they actually need (also causing people to doubt or double-check their knowledge).

overcomplicating the method. now, entering the void is easy. all you do is "enter" a specific state of mind, something you do all the time with many many different states all day long. but people love to think that it's different with the void as it's such an "important" state to occupy (which it is not).

refusing to change from within. as you rely on one method to change your life entirely, you are not willing to take the lead and to "manifest the usual way". you don't want to try any other method, nor make an effort to try something else.

focusing solely on the void. you are convinced that the void will be your saviour and fix all of your problems immediately which is why you see no point in manifesting another way. you are certain that the void is the only way to shift your reality easily, quickly and effortlessly.

trusting only the void. it's easy to give up all efforts to manifest your desires with other methods when you feel that manifesting without the void seems too difficult, hard or too exhausting.

mistrusting other methods. you might also feel like other methods don't work as "good" or "efficiently" as the void method.

putting your life on hold. while many people try to attempt to "enter the void" aka "become pure consciousness" at night or once they get into a sleepy, drowsy state, they tend to fail to care about their lives for several hours throughout the day. they dismiss improving their lives, start losing hope and stop to invest in themselves, as they see no point in "trying" to change anything. they believe that achieving change will only be worth it or purposeful once they do it via the void state.

conditioning your desires. waiting for the best moment to attempt, meaning once you are tired, doesn't mean to condition your desires. it's thinking that you can only attempt around that time that makes you condition your desires.

discrediting your power. since the void is known to change lives drastically, some lean towards ascribing more power to this method compared to themselves.

believing in an external power. some even believe the void is a place that exists outside of them rather than viewing the void as a state of reaching pure consciousness.

doubting your abilities. you can draw this conclusion once you begin to think that a state of mind has more power over you than the person that has the ability to choose and to occupy any state of mind they wish to.

burning out. if you have "failed" to identify with that state of mind, you are very likely to develop beliefs implying things such as being unable to manifest, being out of control and overall giving up on yourself.

advice

i didn't make this post for the solely purpose to scare you off and to persuade you not to try the void method at all. i made this post for you to understand the many many unnecessary thoughts all around this method. these are things that people do or think once they start to make their happiness depend on a method, a state that they are infinitely greater than.

i want to encourage you to try out any method that you are interested in and determined to master. do as you please, regardless of the opinions of other people. but always keep in mind: it's nothing you can't achieve. and remember, just like neville said, the conceiver is ever greater than his conception — meaning, you will always and forever be more powerful than any state of mind you could possibly think of.

with love, ella.

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fantasticalleigh · 3 months ago

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as much as i love drew and find him entertaining no matter what i have to admit that his post match loss surprise attacks are kind of stale by this point. i know we sort of have to expect this from him by now because he's that unhinged but i think there's room to do more here so it doesn't feel like the same thing every week.

for example, i love when he still refers to himself as 'the savior (of wrestlemania)' or acts all holier-than-thou with the "find one lie, i dare you!" and the "and i forgive you bc you know not what you do!" bits to the audience in his promos and i think that should be explored more.

he's been dropping cold truths for a long time now and nobody's listened to him and he's been proved right. (most recent example is jey and sami running back to roman's side for War Games). no one's ever apologized to him or acknowledged that he was right and he's just stewing inwardly over the unfairness of it all. he believes in his own cause so much he's willing to burn bridges left and right and even burn himself to try and prove that he's right...except he keeps failing in the end.

i would love if, instead of another post-match crashout, next time drew just takes the mic and addresses the roster and the audience and starts ripping into everyone who ever doubted him or called him irrational/whiny/crybaby. let him once again declare that he's told nothing but the truth and he's tired of being made fun of so he's going to make us all see as he vows to prove he's still the Chosen One who will bring justice and peace to the roster. (he's only gonna make it more chaotic)

let it lead him down a darker path. when he says those lines i mentioned above, he really sounds like he's trying to emulate some kind of messiah. wouldn't it be interesting if he used all his power to try to force everyone to see his side and for his own cult? a plight for truth and justice that could and will corrupt him in the end. he's so blinded by his faith that it turns him into an even more despicable heel but he'll always think he's in the right. bring back his sword. set the blade on fire and have him look terrible and mighty and so so sinister. he could go through the roster to find allies, and anyone who doesn't want to join his side is automatically an enemy. he's trying to make everyone see through the cancers and the poisons in the locker room that he's always talking about (roman, punk, jey, seth to an extent, etc.,) at last and he's given up all reason. he's given up all patience. he has nothing left to lose so it's do or die.

i'd love to see him defeat roman once and for all and finally end his storyline with the blooline. let them run drew vs seth back and drew defeats seth again, let him scream at seth that he was a false messiah and the real one was always the Chosen One. bring out punk vs drew part two and this time drew wins. make him unstoppable for a bit to really give him credibility. he'll win either the WHC or the universal championship and use that as validation that he won, that he was right along...until someone (not sure who yet. punk? damian? sheamus? rises to challenge him in an intense feud that either serves to redeem drew at the end and makes him realize how fucking nuts he became in the pursuit of 'good', and repent (to a degree) or...he's defeated at last and his cult/band of supporters dissolved and he's banished (sent packing back to Raw) to find himself again.

AND i know they already had a program last year/are still sort of entangled lately so the wwe probably doesn't want to run this back so soon BUT this also parallels back to seth with his messiah gimmick from years ago. but frankly i hated that gimmick for seth bc it hardly made sense to me and wasn't written well tbh. it could also make a jab at punk, too, because drew's always making comparisons to punk and charles manson but in the end he himself would turn out to be the crazed cult leader.

anyway it's late and i'm rambling like crazy. thank you for reading this insane fantasy booking :D

#WWE I HEARD YOU'RE LOOKING FOR WRITERS....i am available and ready at a moment's notice O7 #leigh talks wrasslin #Leigh analyzes media #drew mcintyre #i'm sure there's a lot of flaws/plotholes here but the idea struck me like lightning and i think i'm cooking a bit #wwe

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webothblackedout · 6 days ago

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Dude what? Now I can’t unsee it. After reading your last ask. The seggs scenes do look like Lochlan on top having penetrative sex with Saxon 😳 because of the angles and how Chloe is obscured.

is that something our homophobic fratboi secretly wants? Reminds me of the Sam Rockwell monologue on Asian girl 😳 Mike White you are naughty, idk what else he is holding back.

I bet post canon Saxon’s sex life would be interesting ( assuming Lochlan doesn’t feature there anytime soon), he will have a different ( difficult?) experience jerking off, he will have different experience hooking up. In any case I can’t see his relationship with sex remaining the same.

in terms of whether or not saxon specifically wants to be topped sexually by lochlan, it really depends on who you ask. i, personally, interpret it more metaphorically. given saxon’s view of sex as one person imposing their will onto another person, i think the framing of the shots speaks mostly to saxon’s desire to exist outside of the prison of heterosexual masculinity that he’s lived his whole life in. lochlan feels no such pressure to conform to these social norms. of course, tim and saxon try to impose them on him (i think its interesting that he only ever actually tries when prompted by saxon, not tim, but thats kind of irrelevant to this specific point) but he never internalizes it and seems to actively resent it (recall his attitude toward the whole posture treatment thing which seemed, to me, to be a pretty thinly veiled way of telling lochlan to “straighten up”).

harkening back to the sam rockwell monologue, i think lochlan’s lack of respect and personal buy-in to the ratliff cult of masculinity in contrast to saxon is part of what provokes saxon’s behavior toward him. i think he’s confused and resentful of lochlan for not throwing himself at the altar of their father but also incredibly envious that he feels no pressure to be a mini tim. he spends all of eps 1-5 “fucking” lochlan (to use sam rockwell’s character’s choice of words) only to realize that maybe, what he really wants is to “be” lochlan (or at least stop chasing standards of heterosexual masculinity he’ll never achieve the way lochlan doesn’t)

obviously, saxon can never bring himself initiate a situation in which his masculinity is compromised (both in the sense that lochlan’s “will” triumphs over his own and that he participates in a gay sex act) so this creates a paradox because that also necessarily means he will have to take on a submissive position in the situation. i think this is the contradiction from which a lot of saxon’s internal strife ep 6— springs.

as for post canon, i do see lochlan ultimately featuring in saxon’s sex life quite soon after canon (as they have both already shown disinterest in “dropping it forever” despite that being the stated intention) but i do think there will be a period of denial and that could really go a number of ways. when we leave the ratliffs, saxon seems to really resent other people’s perceptions of him as some sex crazed pervert (although i’d argue that lochlan’s “you’re all about getting off” isn’t something lochlan actually believes, but the effect is the same regardless). because of this, i could easily see him becoming celibate for a bit (i’m making myself laugh rn imagining saxon’s r/nofap posts) and trying to figure out how he can assert his identity with sex off the table, can’t see that ending too well. i could also see him being super stressed with all the tim shit and bearing the burden of making sure his family is all okay and trying to find solace in the one thing that always worked pre thailand: anonymous sex with random women from bars. only for it to stress him out even more because it’s not scratching that itch the way it used to and, in fact, that itch gets bigger and more desperate every time he tries and maybe the sound of chelsea telling him that “once you have a spiritual connection with someone, you can’t go back to cheap sex” rings in his ears louder and louder every night. lots of possibilities! i think they all end in gay incest sex though

#txt #not even sure what this post is. half meta and half unhinged fantasy #had a blast writing it though!#the white lotus #saxloch #lochlan ratliff #saxon ratliff #twl s3 #white lotus #saxon x lochlan #asks

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thejohnlockedfemboy · 2 months ago

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Nothing Permanent But Change pt.6

[ tw for violence, foul language, and fear ]

note: this chapter feels a bit rushed to me, idk. tried my best, hopefully it makes sense.

cross-posted on ao3

It was killing him, the way Roach smelled of Price now.

The omega had reappeared after two and a half days, his heat finally over and his eyes alert and bright once more, skin practically glowing, his mood bouncy. His natural citrus-and-hay scent had been overlaid with something heavily masculine, thick with the musky brand of ownership. It was the same smoky-sweetness of the captain’s cigars and aged brandy.

Millen couldn’t decide which of them to be envious of.

On one hand, he’d have given every single bag of his beloved Doritos just to spend five minutes with Roach, soothing the omega through his heat and finally sating the ache in his alphan fangs by biting down into Roach’s compact muscles. But that would also require Millen to take upon himself a role as a top, and that alone was enough to make him sink back into the shadows of his own fantasy and abandon it entirely.

No, he would so much rather be the one beneath Price. Millen wanted to be taken by someone bigger, someone mean that could manhandle him as they wished. He wanted to be pushed past his physical limits, to be used until any delusions of dominance were wiped clean from his mind, leaving only a blank slate, a dumb little mutt for somebody bigger and stronger to use as they wanted.

But another part of Millen’s mind whispered that Pride would take such good care of him. Millen would melt if the captain gave him just one feeble scrap of praise. A single “good boy” rumbled in that low London drawl would be enough to make the staff sergeant die a very happy man.

He was so hopelessly confused. One fleeting glance from Gaz was apparently enough to start his rut, and he was having sexual fantasies about his commanding officer, all while being desperate to make a good impression on the sole omega of the team. He didn’t know which to pursue. Gaz and Price had an open relationship, but did they really? Price might become angry if Millen made an advance towards the beta, or Gaz might be petty and jealous if Millen presented towards Price.

And what was Price’s arrangement with Roach; were they friends with benefits? Had Price bonded with the omega the way Ghost had with Soap, or was it only due to Price being the pack alpha, therefore the most convenient and biologically compatible option for Roach during his heat?

Millen’s head was spinning. He felt like he’d been chucked onto a merry-go-round boosted to hyper-speed, been handed a pistol, and told to play roulette. Any wrong move, one slip-up, and he was either flying into thin air or having his brains blown out. There were a thousand possible outcomes, most ending with a dishonorable discharge for fraternization, an instant transfer signed by the captain himself, or maybe even being put in a padded white room because he must be crazy for thinking he could ever have a chance with any of them. Only one ending would have him getting laid, unless it was in the cold, dark earth after being strangled in a web woven by his own crazed scheming.

The days passed, blurring one after another until nearly two weeks had managed to slip by unnoticed and Millen found himself laying in his bunk, staring up at the ceiling. He realized that he had no idea what day or hour it was, and from the tight pain in his stomach, he hadn’t eaten yet today.

He sat up. His two roommates were laying on one of the beds, with Gaz sitting up reading and Soap snuggled up in his lap, snoring softly.

Gaz glanced over as Millen sat up. “Hey, have a nice nap?”

Millen blinked. “I don’t remember going to sleep.”

Gaz seemed amused by this. “Yeah, well, that’s generally what happens when you’re tired. You close your eyes and then it’s the next day.”

“What day is it?”

“Saturday. The fifteenth, I believe.”

Millen looked to the door. “Shouldn’t we be doing something?”

That made Gaz frown, and he tilted his head. “We’ve been off-duty for three days, remember?”

“Oh.” Millen rubbed at the back of his neck. He vaguely remembered Price telling them something like that. Vacation days, maybe. Had that really been three days ago? It felt more like that morning. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember now. Sorry, guess I was just groggy.”

“Somebody say grog?” Soap perked up sleepily, his mohawk looking like a drowned rat that had died upon the top of his head. “Ah could go fer a grog. Skip th’ water an’ jus’ make it th’ rum, though.”

“We aren’t drinking, you numpty,” Gaz laughed, ruffling the Scotsman’s hair. “I swear, you need help. Your liver is crying out for mercy.”

“Mah liver will outlast th’ lot o’ ye an’ dance on ye graves, too,” Soap grumbled, swatting away Gaz’s hand. “It’s ye ego that we should be watchin’ out for. It’s gonna get so big, swell up ye head so much that ye willnae be able tae fit through the door.”

“Wanker,” Gaz retorted, affectionately miffed.

“Pansy,” snorted Soap in reply, and then the whole thing resolved into a tussling match on the bed, heavy bodies wriggling skin-on-skin, almost pup-like in their excitement. It was so simple that it was almost surreal: two men, trained to kill and destroy, wrestling just for the fun of it. Not sparring, not fighting for their lives, but just throwing their own weight around to try and out-compete the other.

Gaz managed to use his extra inch of height to pin Soap down, only for the Scottish sergeant to roll them both violently from the mattress to topple down into the space between the wall and the bed frame. Gaz gave a squawk of surprise as Soap landed on top of him, crushing the breath from his lungs momentarily.

“Oh, god— you bloody lump, get off of me!”

“Nae, Ah’m rather comfortable ‘ere, ye ken.”

“Asshole, I swear—“

Soap tsked. “What ha’ Price told ye aboot cussin’?”

There was a scrabble of movement, before Gaz elbowed Soap just a bit too hard and Soap howled, biting down on Gaz’s shoulder. They both thrashed until Soap managed to squirm his way under the bed and out the other side, roll halfway across the floor, and then leap to his feet. Gaz sprang after him, chasing the other man through the open doorway as Millen watched with a scandalized expression.

There was a crash in the hallway, followed by the frantic scamper of footsteps as a group of rookies threw themselves out of the path of the twin tornados with sergeant’s bars.

Millen found himself alone once more. The room was suddenly far too empty. He fled after Soap and Gaz, hurrying down the hall as Soap chased Gaz and Gaz vaulted himself over a hapless private who had been barreled down in the fray.

The race took them skittering around a sharp turn and ducking through a pair of lieutenants, who just shook their heads, used to the antics by now. Millen nearly lost sight of his teammates, but he had been an excellent sprinter before he ruined his legs, and his body had seemed to decide that today was a good day, so he broke out into a run and quickly caught up.

Soap noticed Millen’s rapid approach, and he yawped in greeting. Abandoning Gaz, who was quite a ways ahead, Soap instead decided to prey upon the man with two busted knees and a bad back. He body-slammed Millen, sending them both to the linoleum floor. They pinwheeled over and over, Millen startled but delighted by the turn of events. He hadn’t romped since he was a child, his littermates having moved on to other things when he still wanted to rassle with them. Happiness coursed through him as he and Soap nipped and thrashed at each other, his scent opening up in a way that it hadn’t in years, flooding the air with pheromones of friend and play.

Soap responded in kind, headbutting his entire face against Millen’s cheek in an affectionate, almost cat-like gesture, the sergeant rubbing his own scent onto Millen and marking him as pack. Technically, their position was inappropriate— a superior officer allowing his subordinate to take control, but it didn’t seem very important at the moment. From what Millen had seen so far, the 141 didn’t seem too inclined to follow neither the rules nor societal expectations.

They continued to roughhouse, both of them floundering against each other, one sometimes managing to keep a bit ahead, only to be dragged back by the other. Gaz joined in again, and he and Soap ganged up on Millen, who yelped with gleeful dismay and kicked them both off so he could scurry away.

He ducked into the rec room, where Price was in his armchair with Roach on his lap, and Ghost reclined on the couch meticulously cleaning his favorite sniper’s scope.

Millen got about three steps into the room before Soap tackled him like a star rugby player. They were a blur of breathless laughter and flailing appendages.

Roach trilled excitedly, sitting up to watch. Price just chuckled to himself, like a father watching two of his children go at it with all the bloodthirsty vigor of Spartans.

Soap locked his legs around Millen’s torso, nearly crushing him. The xi wiggled and bucked, but failed to free himself, Soap’s sturdy hands planted on his shoulders.

Millen felt a flash of panic. He was immobilized. Soap, more muscular and more powerful, could hurt him. All of the trust that he’d built up over the past two weeks came crashing down and Millen wanted to be let go. He growled, but Soap mistook it for a bluff of aggression.

“Ah win,” declared Soap smugly, his breath warm against Millen’s cheek. “Knew ye didnae ha’ it in ye tae bring me down.

Millen jerked again, but Soap was holding fast, and he was too heavy, stopping Millen’s lungs from drawing a full breath. Desperation was beginning to close in around him, clawing at his chest and demanding he fight back.

“Soap,” began Price, catching a whiff of the change in Millen’s mood, but the Scotsman was already crooning to Millen in false sympathy.

“Ack, pur wee pup, are ye stuck?” Soap was enjoying every second of Millen’s forced submission, though he didn’t mean any real harm by it. The sergeant was simply a bit too self-satisfied, and when he went too far, it was difficult for him to realize it. “Ah thought ye might be able tae take me, being such a braw fellow as ye are, but Ah guess ye jus’ no match for the prowess of Johnny MacTavi—“

Soap’s words were cut off as Millen, teeth snapping, reared abruptly, shoving him off. Soap toppled backwards with a shout of surprise that ended up as a grunt as he hit the floor hard enough to knock the wind from him. However, his hand was still encircling Millen’s wrist, and so he ended up dragging the staff sergeant on top of him as Millen fought to pull back.

A black-grey blur flew across the room with a guttural noise of animalistic rage, and Millen only had time to catch a glimpse of Ghost’s hazel eyes blazing like twin hellfires before the lieutenant was flinging him off of Soap.

Millen thudded against the side of the coffee table, his head cracking hard against the polished wood. Ghost was already on top of him, balaclava shoved up to expose one gleaming jagged incisor. A cry of pain was wrenched from Millen’s throat as Ghost buried the fang into the junction where the British-Princípean’s neck met his shoulder joint.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” Ghost snarled through a mouthful of blood and fabric as Millen’s yelps became progressively more panicked, and the murderous intent in Ghost’s words would haunt the younger man’s nightmares for years to come. “Nobody touches my Johnny, you sonuvvabitch— I’ll rip your motherfucking heart out, I swear to god—“

One big hand clamped down on the scruff of Ghost’s shirt and bodily heaved the lieutenant away from Millen. “Simon!”

It was Price. He forced Ghost’s head down against the floor even as the lieutenant spat and hissed like an enraged, feral cat. Price held firm, knee jammed against Ghost’s back.

“Simon, that’s enough!” the captain ordered, in a tone that meant that there would be serious trouble if he was not immediately obeyed. The command, coupled with a powerful flare of dominant scent from Price that would have any alpha — or san — regretting their life choices, was enough to make Ghost go rigid and then still.

“What the ever-lovin’ hell is wrong with you? Going fuckin’ feral on your own teammate? You ain’t no goddamn attack dog, Simon!” Price shook the lieutenant heartily, as if trying to rattle his wits back into place, then released him after several more seconds, and then stood and quickly moved to kneel beside Millen.

The newest member of the team was curled up in a ball, neck bloodied from Ghost’s bite but still instinctively presented in a last-ditch show of submission to try and save himself from Ghost’s unexpected fit of violence.

He was shaking uncontrollably, as stiff as a board, and small whimpers trembled their way from his lips. His breathing came sharp and fast, his eyes screwed shut; his body was stuck in survival mode, every primal impulse ingrained in the deepest reaches of his subconscious telling him to make himself small and unseen, and to remain that way until the danger had passed. It was the same defense mechanism that pups naturally fell into when feeling overwhelmed, a biological function that referenced a time long past when going unnoticed would be a small creature’s only hope against a predator.

Roach was already pressed against Millen, his designation calling him to comfort his injured teammate. He sniffed frantically at Millen’s neck, then reflexively recoiled at the acidic, vinegar-like scent of Millen’s terror. It drenched the air like a humid April storm, overwhelming to Roach’s sensitive omegan nose.

Price gently moved Roach out of the way as Ghost glared in Millen’s direction and then shuffled over to Soap. At that moment, Gaz peered in the door, and could only stare, as he had no idea why everyone was on the floor or why there was crimson smeared across Ghost’s face.

“What…” Gaz began, but Price caught his eye with a look that clearly said not now. “Kyle, take Roach to his room,” the captain said firmly, nudging Roach in Gaz’s direction. Price turned to Ghost and Soap with a much harder look. “Johnny, go to Simon’s quarters and stay there until I send for you both. Is that understood?”

Soap nodded, realizing that this was no time to joke or playfully argue against orders. He gently tugged Ghost towards the door as the lieutenant panted harshly in the pheromone-soaked air, clearly stressed out of his mind. The pair, quickly followed by Gaz and Roach, disappeared into the hallway.

Price exhaled, looking ten years older than he was. He glanced back down at Millen, who had yet to move from the fetal position.

Without hesitation, the captain scooped him into broad arms and lifted him up. Millen tensed and a fearful noise choked low in his throat, but Price murmured low reassurances, rubbing between xi’s shoulderblades and nearly grimacing at the tight knots of tension corded there.

“Shh, it’s okay, son. You’re alright. Ghost just got a little carried away, but I’ll sort him right out. Just settle, now. Breathe.”

Millen buried his face against Price’s neck, quivering pitifully, just breathing in the warm, cocooning scent of an alpha comforting one of the people under his care. Millen might not yet have been an official part of the pack, but he was hurt and in emotional shock, and that activated every protective bone in Price’s aging body.

Staggering just a bit from the exertion, Price carried Millen down and across the hall to his office, thankful that nobody was nearby to see him or the quaking xi. Once they were in his office, Price shut the door with his boot and ever-so-carefully laid Millen down on the long leather couch to the left of the desk.

Price had spruced up the once-barren room with pictures of the 141 on his desk, as well as a ‘world’s best dad’ mug, and the walls were heavy-laden with various plaques and a few scattered medals, a high school diploma, a bachelor’s degree, and a framed certificate of divorce, which seemed a bit passive-aggressive, but also strangely hardcore.

Price carefully draped the jacket he had hanging on a peg over Millen’s drawn-up form. The added warmth and the presence of Price’s scent seemed to calm the staff sergeant down enough to coax him back out of his traumatized state.

“Easy,” Price repeated, quickly getting out the small first-aid kit he kept for situations that, while certainly not by the same events, were of the same necessity— someone needing to be patched up. He soaked a wad of gauze in some hydrogen peroxide and carefully pressed it against the single deep bite wound.

Millen jerked, a gasp peeling from his lips as his eyes snapped open wide. “Ah—“

“Stay down.” Price quickly swabbed away the rapidly congealing blood, cleaning and disinfecting the mark in one go, and then pressed a thick bandaid over the area. “You’re lucky he didn’t bite a few inches further up, or you’d be dealing with a rejected claiming mark.”

Millen gazed blearily up at the captain. “Why did he attack me? What did I do?”

Price sighed, tossing the used gauze into the trash and pouring some hand sanitizer into his palm. “No bloody clue. He’s… you have to understand that he’s… affected. He’s dealt with things that no man should ever have to, and he just barely holds himself together on a good day. But that’s not to say he had any right to do what he did to you. Something must have triggered him. That wasn’t your fault. All you and Soap were doing was havin’ a bit of fun, nothing wrong with it. I’ll talk to the lieutenant, try and figure out what the hell went wrong in there. Until then, you stay away from him. For your safety and his, too.”

Millen tenderly touched the bandage on his neck. His skin felt hot and tingly where Price had touched him, and the sensation helped to distract him from the pain. His insides were both numb and burning all at the same time. “Y-yes, sir.”

Price eased down onto the couch beside him, patting his thigh. Hesitantly, Millen moved to rest his head against Price’s leg, and was rewarded with a calloused hand petting through his greying curls.

“Just relax for a while,” Price said, sounding tired. “You’re gonna be shaky for a bit, and I’m not haulin’ your arse back in here if you get the notion to try and walk out and then end up fainting.”

Millen felt a twinge of stricken pride at this, and he wanted to protest that he was not some Victorian maiden prone to swooning. He was a grown damn man. Except, at the moment, with the memory of Ghost’s sour, blistering breath on his neck still vividly uncomfortable in his mind, Millen didn’t feel very big.

A small tremor arced through him. How long would it have taken for Ghost to rip out his throat? Another five seconds? Ten? Two? What if Price had not intervened? Surely the lieutenant wouldn’t have actually killed him— at least, that was what Millen was going to be telling himself to stave off the images of what had happened that were already flashing unbidden across his inner eye.

He’d been like a rabbit being mauled by a wolf, unable to do anything but squeal, forced beneath someone who was lusting for his flesh in a way that Millen had never experienced before; it was his very lifeblood that Ghost had tried to tear from him. The most mortifying part was that Millen couldn’t decipher what exactly had triggered the attack, and so there was a possibility it would happen again—

“You’re gettin’ up in your head,” Price said gruffly. Millen looked up at him in surprise.

Price gave a weary chuckle. “You don’t think that after thirty years in the military, I don’t know how to spot a thousand-yard stare? I know what you’re thinking, but you don’t have to. If I hadn’t stopped Simon, then Soap or Roach would have. They’ve taken to you, wouldn’t let you get hurt.”

Millen swallowed hard. His breath caught, a surge of emotion overtaking him. He pressed his face against Price’s knee, flooded with uncertainty and adrenaline, and he wished he had the words to ask for Price to lock the door, because Millen was already cowering at the thought that Ghost might come after him to finish him off…

“You’re alright.” Price’s deep baritone broke him from the clutches of his own head. “He won’t get near you again, not until I’ve had words with him.”

“Promise?” Millen croaked out, his voice shaky. He felt like a fool and a coward for asking.

“Promise.”

Millen shuddered out a breath of wretched relief. He let his head fall back to a resting position again. He felt… safe. Price would keep him from harm.

He’d never been so certain of anything.

note: guys i promise ghost had a good reason for flying off the handles, pls don’t think it’s out of character 😭

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intimacyequalsdeath · 2 years ago

Text

Bubz's Slasher Fictober Day 9: Chop-Top Sawyer (Pumpkin Spice)

Almost to double digit days! This is also officially day two of the Pumpkin spice week which will make much more sense when I post the final masterlist so stay tuned!

Notes: Minors DNI, Porn with a smidge of plot. No pronouns or descriptions of reader used. NSFW. Not really anything to raunchy but it's also Chop-top so proceed at your own risk lol. Kinda off AU really the other thing I changed for story sake is Nubbins being alive. Short and spicy.

"Bobby your brother could walk in!" You screeched at him.

He gave a laugh that more so resembled a witch's cackle before wrapping his arms around and pulling you further down on his lap, subsequently shoving his cock further into your plush walls.

Cock warming was something you and Bobby did often, especially since he got back from Vietnam. It would help calm him down after particularly rough nightmares about his time in war and helped him to shut up after fighting with Drayton. Though you two never had dared to do it with the door unlocked when Nubbins could easily walk in at any moment.

If you didn't know any better you'd think Bobby lied to you that the door was locked just to get your pants off.

"C'mon mama relax! Nubbins ain't gonna come in here and even if he does I'm sure you'll be good and quiet" He breathed into your ear letting out another signature laugh. He jutted his hips sharply into you and continued to laugh at the squeal that was produced from your throat at the feeling of the tip of his cock brushing up against the sweet spot at the deepest point in side of you.

"Chop I swear I'll never you let you do this again if you don't quit it" You snapped at him, him and you both knowing you didn't actually mean it.

He brought a hand up to your chest and rubbed your nipple through your shit while sucking on the pulse point on the side of your neck. You threw your head back and groaned.

Your eyes widened when you heard the oldest Sawyer brother approach the outside of the bedroom door.

"Bobby! Goddamnit Boy are you in there?!" Drayton yelled.

"Better find a way to get him to git before he opens that door mama" Bobby snickered before reattaching his lips to your neck and giving another few random thrusts.

'Bobby I swear to god if you don't answer me right now you'll sleep out in the barn!" Drayton yelled again.

"He's Busy!" You screamed through a moan as Bobby began steadily thrusting back and forth in and out of you. You heard Drayton grumble something about sex crazed young people before he walked away from the door.

Bobby's hands gripped your hips, no doubt leaving figure shaped bruises, and slammed you continually into his girth. You turned your head pressing your face into the dirty mattress to suppress your moans hoping to save a little dignity with his brothers.

"Bobby on my bed again?!" A voice yelled as the door swung open, But Bobby's thrusts didn't stop on account of his brother.

"Godammit Nubbins get the hell out!" Bobby yelled panting from over exerting himself with his thrusts. You suddenly started loosing yourself, not caring that Nubbins was in the room as you began to push your ass back into Bobby to meet his thrusts.

You were chasing your own climax and didn't give a fuck whether Nubbins was in the room or not.

"Y-you also do it on my b-bed, you g-got your own!" Nubbins yelled again seemingly not caring himself that his brother was nearly splitting you open in front of him on his bed none the less. Bobby didn't answer that time focusing on bringing you to your high. You could feel his cock pulsate inside of you and knew he was close too.

The ecstasy washed over you at once, You could feel your walls clench around him while you came as you milked his cock of the creamy warm ropes that shot out into painting your walls white.

"Oh fuck baby" You moaned, Bobby's lips connected back to your neck and his thrusts became erratic trying to give you every last ounce of his cum.

When the world stopped being spotty and you were brought back to earth panting with a grin that matched Bobby's, You lips met as the two of you started to cool down. Only one thing brought the two of you out of your sexed out state. The click of a camera.

"Nubbins Goddamn you!"

And there went tonight's peace in the Sawyer house.

#slasher x reader #slasher fandom #Fictober #Halloween #texas chainsaw massacre #chop top x reader #chop top sawyer #nubbins sawyer #the texas chainsaw massacre 2 #the texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw massacre 2

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bluedeedeedoop · 1 year ago

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My Thoughts on Tales of the Empire; mostly Barriss (spoilers ahead!)

Ah hello all, i have had some days or so to think since watching the show and to say it has completely wiped me of my life force would be... pretty accurate tbh. BUT I HAVE FINALLY DECIDED TO POST MY THOUGHTS. will this cover my entire though process that im sTill working through? PROBABLY NOT! my thoughts are very unorganized and very unstable! ANYWAAAAYS.

Now I just gotta say overall, the show itself definitely passed the test. To be completely honest, i wasn't really paying attention to the Morgan parts as i was the Barriss parts, since it was literally what I was looking forward to this entire time.

Though I will say that the first Morgan episode was pretty neat! it was crazy seeing that perspective of the Nightsisters again and god did they make Grievous fucking terrifying. Honestly, bravo to them, it was amazing. I diiiiid end up just.. kinda spacing out the rest of it tho unfortunately cuz i just wanted to see barriss..

Visuals 10000/10. stunning, amazing, phenomenal, gahdamn. the animation was so smooth and fluid and uGHH it was amazing throughout the entire show. Acting amazing as always. BUT GOD I CANT GET OVER HOW AMAZING THE ANIMATION WAS.

NOW.

In my opinion, they got her character pretty on the dot. I am SO glad they did. I was rlly rlly worried they were totally butcher her character and make her unrecognizable to all of us but oml they didn't completely disappoint us, she has her morals, SHES STILL A HEALER! Im so happy from that.

Now although i did enjoy it, i do have my own little complaints.

Now okay one i noticed since the trailer and has REALLY been bugging me; where are her hand tattoos??? idk i guess i just wasn't expecting them to just be gone?? they couldn't have just forgotten them.. right? I dunno, but unless someone has a genuine answer for that, imma just keep drawing them on her in the future.

??????

Alright another thing i've been seeing ppl post about is how come she looked so old at the end? I am also confused on that and i've seen multiple theories. She should only be like 30-35 max right?? Because i'm assuming the last episode took place a the time in Rebels where the inquisitors were after the force sensitive children, and Ahsoka was around that age a the time, so why is Barriss any different?

I suppose the one i think makes the most sense is the force healing? I guess it could take a toll on her over the years causing her to look more aged, but still, i'd really prefer an explanation. Also what happened to her hair coverings?? Is that not her culture?? I dunno, again, i really need an explanation. I suppose that maybe her perspective has changed since trying to come to terms with her new life, and her ditching the coverings is a way to free herself from her past? Honestly i have no clue but i just need a lot of things answered.

That's mostly my complaints on it! I just felt things weren't explained enough but to be fair, they only gave her like 3 15-ish min episodes?? I really think they got some explaining to do. Which brings me to my next points.

I'm like... 98% sure that the "old friend" is Ahsoka that she was talking about. Who else would it be?? Like cmon. And if it is Ahsoka, why did we not get to see anything about the moment of confrontation? or at least more of a mention? I guess they wouldn't rlly wanna rush that scene, and tbh, im glad they didn't. It's not some "we talk for 5 min and everything is fine" type of situation. it'll take time. time to rebuild that trust. time to discuss. YEAH. I've heard many people state how it would be more likely and realistic to see a novelization of that and i agree. I would want it to take time, showing the build of the relationship over time, going on further into the story as we watch their strong bond mend from the trauma it's faced. I'm not saying this as a crazed Barrissoka shipper, i mean it that I would genuinely want to see how that confrontation is handled, as do many others and not just as a ship!! It's been a decade! the fans wanna know!

And my last point.

I.believe.Barriss.is.alive.

The more i rewatch it, the more i believe it. the first time around i had my doubts, but something tells me they are NOT done with her character. At least before the stabbing scene anyway. There's too much stuff that's left unanswered for it to just end that way! I dunno man, but Lyn's "i'm going to get you out of here" sounded way too determined for a "im going to move your body out of here" type of thing yk? maybe she could sense she was still alive, just barely hanging in there? I don't think they are done with Barriss Offee, and I wont think so unless we see her corpse being fucking BURIED. Not to mention the UNGODLY amount of parallels of that scene along with them exiting the cave. I've already seen so many point it out. Post-Vader and Ahsoka fight on Malachor?? Back when we all thought Ahsoka may or may not be dead?? sounds familiar hello?? Also a parallel from earlier in the show itself when Barriss saves that unnamed jedi! she HEALS them when they were going to be left there. Something tells me the same fate may happen to Barriss. Idk call me crazy but i will say it again, i don't think they are done with her story.

Thank you for reading my very unorganized thoughts! this has taken me longer to write than expected because i did not predict this to make me have to step away from making SEVERAL times- but yeah! lmk what yall think! and yes you can be expecting some art here and there! i know i've been slacking- Also lmk if u want me to post my crazed Barrissoka thoughts! because aHa i have them. i have them a lot. send help.

ALSO KEVIN KINER I GOT MY EYE ON YOU. BRO NEEDS TO RELEASE THE SOUNDTRACK BEFORE I DIE.

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kocch · 8 months ago

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this is a rambling post no one is gonna read but I GOTTA WRITE IT because i've watched the whole 911 show in the past five months and never really talked about it, so i gotta say some things that are important to me (some might be unpopular opinions idk i don't really know the fandom, i've only checked the tag in the past weeks for s8 and all i can see is mostly annoying fanwars about which ship is better)

my dash could be biased and tumblr itself could be biased for mlm ships BUT WHY DID I NOT KNOW THIS SHOW HAS LESBIANS. like. i'm gonna use the few screencaps i posted here on tumblr while i was binge-watching the show buT

they're everything they're the best they're all i've ever wanted and they're not talked about enough, i don't know if it's because they're a wlw ship and they're a BLACK wlw ship or it's just that they're an enstablished couple and all, but damn i wish i saw them more in my dash and here on the freaking gay website because they have given me so many emotions through the seasons and they're SOLID and i just love them so much :( of course i know karen is not always present because it's a procedural show and sometimes the characters disappear for episodes, but they've solidified 911 in my heart . because damn this show is QUEER and it has been queer since day 1

my top faves are chim maddie hen and buck ok i don't make the rules they're the best but I LOVE THEM ALL and i think one of the best things of this show is the found family concept. you just gotta love them all. even if sometimes they have crazy writing moments through the seasons (like when buck tried to sue 118 or when eddie left 118 jfefhrf)

i love LOVE LOVE 911 because of all the feelings, the found family, how inclusive it feels with all the queer storylines and how diverse the main cast is (but also the case-of-the-day cast too... i'm a fan of another procedural like fringe, it was the 2010 and it was the whitest thing ever, (and the production was racist too) things have changed) BUT IT'S still copaganda. athena grant is a lot of copaganda. the two things can coexist i can love her and despise her story at times ok.

i hope we get a great henren/madney storyline in season 8 because (they're literally my faves) they're the best. i kinda wish for chim and maddie to long for a second children, now that they have mara in their lives? I'm not sure, i just know i need more of them. they're literally . so good to me. they've captivated my heart in s2 and they never left. the potential chim and maddie had was so great, but timing, trauma, depression, many things were keeping them apart, and every win felt EARNED. i just think sometimes straights have rights and that's madney's case.

i love buck like anyone in the fandom, but i think part of the craze on tumblr is due to his bisexual storyline and i gotta say... i do enjoy bucktommy. atm they're cute. being silly and in the honeymoon phase. do i ship buddie? i do, there are so many GREAT things through the seasons that make you feel - wow they could be perfect together - but that doesn't mean i will hate on bucktommy for now (yeah, i know, tommy was horrible in the past, yeah he was closeted and repressed, yeah he could have been better, he was racist and homophobic, i know, but i guess he got better since the characters are ok with him? sometimes we'll never get that resolution on screen) (i think all of them had their bad moments as characters, i mean, i could open a whole file about athena being a bad cop and still she's everyone's faves)

getting back to buck i did love his bisexuality storyline and i love him BEING BISEXUAL, it's not about tommy or about eddie or about anyone it's about him being bisexual. in his early 30s. BUT I gotta say, for how writers have written these characters, for me it made so much more sense for eddie to turn out gay than buck having his bi moment (and it's because of the writing). it makes sense for buck to be bisexual because he has always loved women and he's tried to make his relationships work, unlike eddie, but then he found out he also like men. he had soo many queer hints around him and it's just. fitting. i love him to bits. i wish s7 was longer so we could get things a bit slower, the pace was fast but i loved it. AND DAMN buck was jealous of eddie because of tommy? or of tommy because of eddie? I wonder.

i'm not sure 100% they'll go with buddie for now, but maybe it's just i am not an optimistic per se and i wanna see where they go with eddie's personal growth BUT eddie is gay. he gotta be gay. that man only had one love in his life, shannon, and that love is an idea he has. he thinks they had a great love story, but the truth is that they met when they were young, she got pregnant, he ran away from her for years with the military stuff, then he came back and she ran away, then they got together but still she asked for divorce and then she died. he denies her leaving him because of an idea of something that never really existed. even if he loved her, i'm sure he did love her but, it wasn't something perfect or functioning like bathena henren and madney. eddie is a terrible romantic partner (he's a good dad, but a terrible guy to date lbr) and it's because he's gay. i know everyone in the fandom agrees but i gotta write it down ok. when he's forced to date he feels like he has to perform? he self-sabotage all his relationships with women?? his love stories always end because of him? he had panic attack because of committing to ana??? come on ? the marisol storyline?? That shit is insane if he isn't gay

and that's why i'm asking for eddie to come to terms with who HE REALLY IS without christopher in his life. he's not just chris dad. he gotta stop running away. they have the possibility to make a great storyline for him, after several weird seasons for the poor guy. he gotta understand and accept himself and then maybe he'll work out the things with his son. this is one of the most exciting storylines for s8 and i really hope we get it. if we don't we need a PROPER story that makes sense with all of that tbh.

i'm ok with buddie happening in another season tbh i just want eddie to come to terms with his sexuality. i just love good writing and this show has its great moments with characters and that's why i love it, because it has heart. it has incredible characters i love.

i do love bathena and bobby and athena even if it might not be obvious in this post hahah and i wish we could get back may and henry, i miss athena having actually children

#911 #henren #buddie #personal #eddie diaz #chim han #maddie buckley #evan buckley #madney #gay eddie is my current obsession as you can guess. i do enjoy buddie bc dam the buckley diaz family!!! but i dont think the story and #times are ready yet.

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imagine-a-sanctuary-like-this · 8 months ago

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My (cautious) thoughts about the Good Omens/NG happenings

I've not been in the Good Omens fandom for a couple years. Season 2 briefly re-ignited my interest, but after watching it, I basically lost interest for good. A mix of things drove me away, I think mostly that (1) I thought Season 2 quite poorly-written, and, more relevant to this post, (2) I'd grown a little tired of the Neil Gaiman idolizing that I'd seen in the online fandom spaces.

So that said, I care little about the S3 90-minute-feature situation (though I'm glad the remaining fans will get some closure). And, of course, I do not know if Gaiman actually did all what he's being accused of - that doesn't really matter to what I'm about to discuss. More interestingly, this puts me in mind of something that's been bothering me about many fandom spaces, and I wanted to pen (digital pen?) my thoughts.

To me, what seems to be going on right now's a good demonstration of why over-attaching yourself to a fandom and idolizing creators, especially those that you see as your 'political ally', is probably not a great idea. From what I've seen, GOmens fans aren't just upset but rather deeply personally betrayed. This reminds me (distantly) of the Joss Whedon craze when BTVS fans basically elevated him to 'writing god'/genius status, and all but worshipped him (as seen in many notes to fanfics written in the early 2000s).

In my view, a similar but much more personal 'idolization' happened with Gaiman. (more under the line thingie)

A lot of fandom discourse (that I've seen) doesn't seem to get that creators, no matter how politically aligned with one's own views, aren't fictional characters, they aren't one's friends, nor are they 'comfort people'. I mean, I guess they could be insofar as you make them into your 'comfort people', but it's through no action of theirs. Nothing wrong (of course) in taking comfort in an author's work, but clearly for many it's a far more personal thing that just that.

Another thing: interacting with the creator's work and social media presence, one is NOT interacting with them, nor really getting to know them. Sometimes fandoms seem to forget this and kind of just perpetuate this made-up version of the author that shares very little with the actual human being that exists somewhere out there in the world, has flaws (small or... not so small), and probably occasionally acts dishonest, petty, judgmental, selfish, etc. in the best of cases. That it doesn't happen publicly doesn't mean it never happens at all. Attaching oneself to a made-up, idealized version of an author (making it 'YOUR Neil Gailman', 'YOUR comfort author') probably feels nice, but it kind of distorts reality. Makes you feel like the author's a lot personally closer to you than they actually are, like you know them better than you actually do.

It makes sense why this happens: no one likes to feel that the creator of something they love's not a great person. At least, it's hard to come to terms with this suddenly. I had a similar (though much less intense) experience with this one creator, S, whose content on medieval armor/weaponry I enjoyed very much. Later, S turned out to be... not such a great person. And yeah, it felt unpleasant, precisely because I liked the guy's content AND I liked his public persona, and ended up disappointed in both. Because I liked both in connection to each other, not independently. In this case, it didn't take long to separate the artist from the content, but in cases like GOmens emotional investment runs much more intense.

But so I think this is a big part of what's happening here with the NG situation: quite a few GO fans have let it get to that stage where they've identified so strongly with a creator through his works, political support and public persona that they felt like they actually deeply knew them. All the info going against that seems to come as not just a disappointment because NG did something immoral (which, if the allegations are true, he obviously did!) but rather a very personal betrayal. The sentiment I'm seeing seems to be less 'oh, this guy I liked isn't really who I thought he was, this sucks', and more 'I have been betrayed/hurt/deceived', as in 'me, personally'.

On the same note, I feel like this relates, too, to the 'x is so precious', 'x needs to be protected at all costs', 'x can do no wrong' kind of mentality about favourite authors, which seemed pervasive in the GO community (at least when I used to run in those fandom circles a couple years back).

So in my mind, we're seeing (and, in some cases, feeling) the natural conclusion to undue author idolization. It never really pays to forget that authors, like all public figures, only show a small part of themselves, and letting your imagination get away from you with just that part... well. Maybe not a great idea?

(I'd love to hear others' thoughts on this! Leave a comment if you disagree, think I've missed an important or interesting detail, or just to express your take on this)

#good omens #GO #NG #neil gaiman #books #thoughts #good omens season 3

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xotaemintol · 2 years ago

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BRATTY SWITCH!TAEMIN x BLACK FEM READER: SLAVE FOR YOU

“Baby, I'm a slave, baby I'm a slave for you.”

TWS: switch!idol, sub to slightly dom Taemin, dom reader, mommy kink, teasing, begging, hair pulling, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, grinding/dry humping, slightly bratty Taemin, pet names:(naughty kitty, kitten, good boy, pretty boy), dumbification, and praise.

PRONOUNS USED: None/fem implied (mommy/ma’am used)

WORD COUNT: 3486

Be warned, this might be slightly messy lol, I got sleepy while writing but wanted to post something a little longer for subby September, I would've continued it tomorrow but I would've lost the flow, so hopefully my sleepiness doesn't show lol, but enjoy, I'll end up editing it again (I did edit it once already) in the morning.

Taemin’s whole body feels hot to the touch, the slightest movement and he feels like he’d burst into flames from desire, losing his mind to lust he looks into your eyes, pouting as the submission takes over, there’s no more room to hide it or deny it, he needs you and he needs you now,

“Please, can I feel you?” He asked in a shaky and breathy voice, sounding unsure of himself since he knew himself that he had misbehaved enough to be told no and then some, but still, he can’t help but hope that you’ll go easy on him as he looked into your shiny eyes, your body on top of him felt so warm that he felt like he might explode from just the pressure of you, the way your eyes stare into his with that same amount of desire and sexual energy tells him that you want him too, but that telling grin on your pretty lips tell him that he won’t get anything that easily. As you look at him with a sense of faux sympathy and a teasing pout, you wrap your arms around his neck loosely and press your hips into him a little more, knowing how sensitive he must be by now. “Oh really?” You ask in a slightly condescending tone, keeping that same playful expression as you slowly rock your hips.

“How bad do you need me kitty?” His breath hitches and his body shivers from your teasing, your lips and body are addicting, just from looking at them and feeling you so close to him he was desperately trying to figure out how to get what he wanted without begging too much, “This is driving me insane”, He says in a small voice filled with pleas and desperation “Don’t torture me like this, please.” Taemin's simple request was left unfilled though and of course, it would be, Why would you let up on him so soon? That bulge in his underwear, soaked by your wetness and his precum isn’t enough to show just how badly he wanted you, no, it wasn’t nearly enough, you need him begging and crying with no shame, declaring loudly his selfish cravings for your body as if not a soul would ever hear it.

You playfully giggle as the sound of crackling thunder rings through the dimly lit apartment, the sound of the rain hitting the large windows makes the atmosphere all the more pleasant and intense, the glass of wine on the table half full with both your glasses empty and knocked over along with another that you had drank just before, nights like these, long, rainy, and dark with just Taemin by your side as he shows you just how badly he wants you always fills a certain part in you that has always been left empty by everyone else. “You think you deserve to be rewarded after behaving like a brat for so long?” You ask, you grin and gently tilt his head up to you, you look into his shiny doe eyes as they fill with desperation before leaning in as if you’ll kiss him and stopping, swiftly you lean close to his ear, softly whispering with your hands on his shoulders and your hips still against his: “Don’t get ahead of yourself, you’ve been a naughty kitty, Taemin, and a naughty kitty should be punished.”

His whole body convulses, and you can feel a soft throb underneath you as he whines, his whole body responds to your words, making him shiver and lose control, his mind going from sane to crazed by the instant “Please!” He whines, his face heating as he tries to control his breathing, still not wanting to beg to avoid embarrassment Taemin tries to find the words to say, but he can’t help it, he wants you to take control, for you to punish him for his misdeeds and make him your toy. He pouts and looks away as his body shivers in pleasure with the subtle and slight movement of your hips as you ask: “Please what?”, “Give me what I want” He answers in a slightly confident, yet submissive voice, There’s something about the way the rain hits the window and how this would be added to the moments he’d never forget that make him unable to control his urges anymore.

“And why should I?” You ask, your fingers trailing down his exposed chest, the buttons of his polka-dotted pajama shirt scattered across the cold floor and hanging by a thread to the soft material. “If you want it, you should prove it.” He looks up and takes in that mischievous smile on your pretty face, the way your lips curl so beautifully and how your brown skin is illuminated by the occasional thunder and the soft candle lights makes him want to scream, butterflies swarm his stomach as he whines and pouts, “I don’t want this to turn into a game, can’t you just see how bad I want you?” He asks as he grabs your hand and softly kisses it, his eyes close as his lips linger on the back of your hand, savoring the feeling of your skin against his even if it’s hardly anything, he lets out a small groan as his eyes roll back, once again, you rock your hips, ruthlessly teasing him as he tries his best to plead his case.

“It feels like I need you to survive,” He says, his voice cracks as he speaks, the waver in his voice as he swallows the saliva in his mouth to cure the dryness in his throat makes you throb on top of him, his cheeks flushed down to his neck and his eyebrows knot together as he places your hand on his chest and licks his plump, kiss swollen lips. “Please, don’t torture me like this, I learned my lesson.” You couldn’t deny yourself anymore, taking great pleasure in the way he expresses his thirst makes you feel that same undeniable heat, you don’t know how long you can go on like this. Suddenly the feeling of his underwear acting as a barrier between the two of you is agitating, every part of you wants to rip it off and feel him inside of you, sliding into you so sweetly that you could cry, You don’t see the point in making him beg any longer, not when it’s making you ache so badly too. So you quickly instruct him to take them off, leaving him completely naked on the soft sofa as you hover above his completely erect dick and kiss him.

Soft moans of satisfaction leave his mouth as he wraps his arms around your waist, he knows better than to lead you any further though, so he lets you take the lead, moaning softly as you slip your tongue past his thick lips and into his mouth, his body tensed as he awaits the feeling of your warmth around him, anticipating the sound you may make or how wet you’ll feel, how soft your walls will be and how hard it’ll be for him not to break at the slightest touch. You pull away, looking him in his eyes as you both pant like you had run a mile non-stop, he knows that look all too well, the look on your face when you want to keep control but feel just as needy as him when you want to punish him but feel too lost in your lust to keep up with what had gotten you in this position to begin with.

“I can’t wait anymore,” You say softly, he could swear right now that he’d evaporate into nothingness if you took even a second longer, “Please use me ma’am…make me your toy and please yourself.” You curse under your breath and bite your lip as you carefully line him up with your entrance, the feeling of his dick bumping against your cunt made you gasp softly, while you are still mostly fine, Taemin can’t help but cry weakly and roll his eyes back. “Fuck, you’re so…pretty,” You mutter, slowly you lower yourself onto him, even the head of him sliding into you with ease makes you struggle to breathe. You both jolt forward and gasp for air, your oversexed bodies feel sensitive to the touch, and going so slowly was only making it worse. “Oh god!” Taemin exclaimed as a burst of pleasure hit him, you want to degrade him or maybe poke at him for feeling so good from just the tip being inside but you are no different, gripping his shoulder as you bite your lip and slowly pace yourself.

Although you can take him, it feels too good to rush, wanting nothing more than to take it slow you pause for a second and kiss him again. You can feel yourself becoming wetter as you kiss him, the feeling much more immoral as your walls just barely clench around him, the moment he feels your wetness slowly dripping down his shaft he can’t take it anymore, lost in pure and unfiltered thirst he grabs your hips and begins to pull you down more. You break away, gasping as his length slides against your walls, already Your back begins to arch as your toes curl and your nails dig into his skin. As badly as you want to stop him, you feel too good to interfere just yet, so you allow him to guide you until he’s inside of you, nuzzled inside of you as he fills you up so beautifully, making you feel so full that you start to feel like you might shatter into a million pieces.

“F….Fuck…Oh my…” You stop as your body shivers, intense pleasure taking over as you sit on top of him and listen to his sweet cries, the way he grips your hips as if you’d fall apart gives you butterflies. “I’m so sorry…I’m sorry ma’am…I…I needed you so bad…I-“ He stops, a sinful whimper cutting through his words as he tries to speak, but it’s not like his words can save him anyways, despite your pleasured state you pull a wickedly sexual grin and grab his face gently, “You…aren’t sorry,” You say in between deep labored breaths, before you can even get anything else out you are overwhelmed with a urge to have him with no more delays, with not another word spoke you begin to slowly rock your hips back and forth. With even the slightest movement you are both sent spiraling into a pleasure that can only be described as heaven-sent, the way he presses so beautifully against your walls, how you convulse around him and the way your voices mingle together perfectly makes you both feel crazed with lust.

Neither of you want to stop and as you go faster and begin to bring yourself up and down all you can manage is broken praises, telling him how good he feels as you pick up the pace and bounce up and down on him, your skin slamming together as the sound of rain, thunder, and desperation mash together. Taemin can just barely stabilize his voice enough to thank you, crying out as his voice cracks and trembles, he can’t begin to form a sentence if he tried, and feeling you become so wet that it soaks his thighs only makes it harder for him to think. Truly falling victim to the drug that is lust you cling to him and start to move faster, Every time you move your hips he brings his towards yours, thrusting up into you as if he couldn’t bear a second without being inside of you.

“M-Mommy!” He cries out, “Oh fuck! You feel so good! Mommy! Please!” You groan and crumble against him as his voice hits a spot that makes you feel weak, your brain can hardly keep up with the different sensations, your mind goes completely blank as you become just as mindless as him and messily ride him. “Good! So good!” You scream out as your nails drag up his back, and your eyes roll back as he starts to thrust harder and holds your hips tighter, still sounding just as weak and submissive as before. “Am I doing a good job mommy?” He asks in a dangerously sexual and wicked tone, the way his eyebrows knot together with a pretty pout on his lips makes your whole body feel throb, “Am I fucking you how you like?” You almost cry as he bites his lip and looks you in your eyes, somehow that submission in his eyes is as strong as ever, even with his words being slightly more vulgar and aggressive, you know he’s only yearning for your sweet approval.

So you nod your empty head and roll your eyes back muttering: “G-Good…so good…” You lean your head against his shoulder and moan against his sweaty skin, biting down on his shoulder as he whines in your ear. “Let me take care of you, please ma’am, please let me be a good boy for you and make you cum,” Finding it impossible to deny him; and unreasonable to say no, you nod your head once again. You first expect him to go faster and slip his hand between your bodies to stimulate your clit, but your expectations are quickly derailed as he leads you to lay back on the sofa and gets between your legs. You aren’t going to tell him to stop though, you’d be crazy to turn him down when all he wants is to please you and make up for being such a brat, so as he begins to slowly eat you out you only encourage him. Your back arches as you sob softly and put your hand in his hair, pulling it as you roll your hips against his face just how he likes.

“F-Fuck! You’re doing so good baby, just like that,” You say with your eyes shut tightly, “Such…fuck…s-such a good boy! M-Mommy’s pretty boy!” Chills from all over your body, from head to toe You get an incredibly strong feeling of passionate lust that makes it impossible to think. Taemin’s mouth latches to you with his soft lips acting as pillows, his tongue massaging slow circles on your clit as his fingers stimulate it from the inside, pressure builds in your stomach as it tightens and your body begins to feel tense. His tongue feels like heaven and he shows no signs of stopping as he closes his eyes and reaches up with his other hand, rolling your nipple between his finger and thumb to add to the mind splitting pleasure. “Taemin! Oh fuck! I…shit!” You stop as you begin to pant and squirm under his touch, so close to the edge that you begin to tremble and your breathes become short and shorter, a white fog fills your mind as you pull his hair even harder and arch your back deeper with your toes curled so much that they might rip through the sofa.

“G-Good boy! Keep going! So close! So close! Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Taemin!” You scream out in chants as the feeling starts to overflow, his mouth feels too good for you to hold on any longer, and as soon as he started, you were already finished, but he doesn’t stop when you reach that peak, your walls flutter around his two fingers, and just like he expected you begin to gush just a little against his chest as he brings his body up and starts to fuck you with just his fingers. You can’t hold it in, you need him inside of you again and you need it now. “F-Fuck me, now.” That is all you have to say, he won’t deny you and he won’t waste another second, Taemin is quick to fulfill your needs and do whatever it takes to please you. As he slowly enters you again you both feel like you are ripping at the seams, The moment he bottomed out inside of you he tried to control himself but he was far too gone. “Do you want me to go slow ma’am?” He asks, already moving he doesn’t realize that you can hardly speak, but you don’t have to, he knows what you want because he wants it too.

Taemin grabs your legs and pushes them back, with your body folded he begins to slowly fuck you, although he moves at a slow pace his every stroke is aggressive and hard, yet so precise, he slams into you with so much force that it knocks the air out of your lungs with every movement and leaves you both screaming out to the heavens above. The sound of the rain is drowned out by Taemin’s voice begging for you, he trembles above you as beads of sweat drip down from his forehead to his chin and fall onto you, he feels so good, so pleased and grateful for you being too lenient that he starts to forget himself and with no shame calls out your name as he goes faster, an intense wave of chills rush up his spine and he hunches over as he grips the back of your knees tightly, his nails; just as yours did him, dig into your skin and his stomach muscles tighten. You can feel him pulsing inside of you, every movement is another kiss to the thousands of nerve endings that allow you to feel this good.

“Ma’am, Ma’am, I’m gonna cum…I-I I’m gonna cum!” He tries to warn you as he continues that same fast pace but you don’t respond, and when he looks at your face he sees why, your eyes are rolled back and your mouth is slightly open but no sound comes out, only short bursts of struggles for air as you slap your hand against the armrest, “Oh mommy, did…fuck…oh my god…” Taemin rolls his eyes and drops your legs to kiss you before whispering in a kitten-like voice, “Did I fuck you dumb?” You finally let out a soft moan, long and drawn out as you wrap your arms around him and hold him closely, knowing that this power switch won’t last long or end well for him Taemin kisses you again, “I’m…I’m sorry ma’am, I’ll behave next time,” he whimpers out, “I’ll be a good boy…I’ll be a good toy.” As his words come out even more rushed he once again warns you that he’s about to cum, and just like before, you don’t respond, you only weakly pull him closer to kiss him and mumble against his lips. “Good boy, good boy, my good boy, such a good boy.”

The feeling of a white wave of pleasure comes crashing down on him, chills cascade across his skin and he can hardly keep his body upright, his breathing is uneven and he feels tingles spread all over from his head to toes. Before he can stop himself or pull out, he melts inside of you, spilling his love deep inside your walls as he whimpers and holds onto you tightly.

“Fuck! Oh god! You feel…f-fuck!” As his climax hits him at a pace too fast and intense to keep up with, his perfect strokes become slightly sloppy yet deeper. Allowing that feeling to take over as he calls out your name and pouts, his eyebrows knot together and his voice becomes weaker and softer, “Y-You…feel so good” He says in a submissive voice, before the feeling can completely die down he leans back and pulls you on top of him, letting you fall onto him and lay against his chest as you both pant and try to recollect yourselves, your bodies buzz with delight as you silently lay together, allowing your bodies to become one in a more wholesome way for just a moment. Neither of you speak as you listen to the sound of the rain and thunder, and each other's breathing, you don’t say anything until you start to feel yourself dozing off, laughing as you catch yourself and open your eyes.

“You know, this doesn’t count as me punishing you,” Taemin smiles a little and pouts, as you look at him you smile at the sight of his eyes closed and a satisfied look on your face, “can’t you let me off the hook just this once?” He asks, “I promise that I’ll behave tomorrow…” You sigh happily and brush the hair that sticks his sweaty forehead away before kissing him lovingly, for a second you say nothing, just enjoying the feeling of each other for a little longer as you calm down. “Are we sleeping on the couch?” You ask, “If we are, we should at least get a blanket…what if someone sees us?” Taemin yawns and shrugs as he rolls over on his side, forcing you to turn over with him, leaving you trapped between his chest and the couch. “Let them, it’ll be their fault for walking in without a warning.”

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longtallglasses · 1 year ago

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it’s very interesting to me amongst the different fandoms i’ve been a part of in regards to their attitudes toward nsfw fanworks bc with the marauders those teens are always wildin’ - smoking, drinking, sleeping together - if they’re not i would even say it would be out of character for them? wolfstar is messy and horny and so in love, even if in a lot of fics they won’t admit it to each other. in atyd everyone is shagging up a storm, the girls, the boys, it’s still juvenile of course the way they discuss it and go about it. very little communication, feelings are hurt, they don’t know what they’re doing all the time. and it makes sense, they’re teenagers!

i have never once heard of discussion around it being ‘wrong’ to write them this way. that it’s ‘objectifying’ and if you’re thinking about it you must be weird or unnecessarily sexualizing characters. sexualizing characters? they’re already sexualized wdym? they have a sexuality, everyone has a sexuality, whatever the author/artist wants to give them, whether that’s a sex crazed maniac or the most sex repulsed asexual, they Have a Sexuality! even before the exact moment they turn 18, they have a sexuality. it’s just another facet to explore character through, to understand them more fully, and also sometimes for the author to help understand themselves.

i’m sorry age doesn’t matter when it comes to fictional characters. it just doesn’t. they’re not real you can’t hurt them. if someone wants to write through trauma, something ‘wrong’ and ‘problematic’ let them use fictional people. it may seem gross and you don’t have to read it, but its existence does not mean promotion of harmful behavior. it can mean so many different things to that author but it doesn’t equate to that.

i say this bc i myself have written some horrid things. i’ve never posted them, was not in a place where i wanted to, i wrote it all in a period of my life where i was seriously hurting, and writing fucked up horrific things stopped me from hurting Myself. i’ve read some ‘problematic’ fics that made me feel better, hurt me in a good way, reading comments of people who related and appreciated what was being explored.

most people who write about fucked up shit, SA, or some form of trauma porn or whatever it is have probably gone through something similar in their life. the people who read it and seek it out are usually drawn to it for a reason but we don’t need to know why. there is also just curiosity. and being curious doesn’t make you a bad person, it doesn’t mean you ‘like’ it. you may like the power dynamics at play, you may be intrigued by desires different than your own, you may… ANYTHING what you enjoy to read or write speaks to nothing regarding who you are in your day to day life. your morals, your beliefs, or what you want sexually or otherwise. i say this to a younger me, there’s nothing wrong with you!

with all that being said… there is also porn that is just porn. and that’s perfectly fine and good too. people have always written porn about whatever and whoever they want and they always will. if you don’t want it, scroll pass. you won’t be given a gold star for announcing you think it’s gross or wrong, you just look silly. i’m not saying that you must like it too, but attacking the moral character of those who do partake, shows an immaturity and lack of tack when it comes to these subjects. go out in the world and you will discover just how ‘abnormal’ and ‘depraved’ sexual desire can manifest itself as.

as someone who grew up a Very sexually confused person. not knowing i was queer or on the ace spectrum exploring sexuality through fiction was like my saving grace. and those books and those fics that made me feel seen, made me go huh! woah! ooooh my god that’s me! or made me go … wait why do i kinda like that? more often than not they were written by adults. bc they had made it through to the other side so to speak. and as An Adult now i find the traditional adolescent experience very intriguing as i did not have that growing up. the sexual experiences i’ve had now have shown me so starkly that that feeling which accompanies a new experience never really goes away. people are fumbling well into their 20s and 30s. reading the plight of a young person discovering who they are sexually i don’t think will ever not be relatable or make someone reflect. that includes the sweet and innocent as well as the ‘gross’/depraved horniness. it is not necessarily enjoyed on a basis of attraction to these characters, it is enjoyed on a basis of ‘i know this feeling’ or ‘i also do and have yearned for this kind of intimacy’. and if who you are isn’t represented in those stories, oh well damn, looks like i have to write it now. that’s how we have Are you there God, it’s me Margaret and the edge of 17 (the ‘98 and ‘16 iterations), all these stories written by Adults! that make us all sigh in relief and laugh and cry and aaahhh

fiction is fiction, idek what anti-ship means, let people be freaks in peace, fandom spaces are created to have fun in, let’s pls have Fun!!! explore and write and draw and fantasize whatever your heart desires bc there can be no right or wrong, it is just discovery.

if you feel kinship with characters and it feels natural to extend yourself to them, to take them and make them your own, amazing, gorgeous, beautiful. play dress up with them in all the ways you can, do whatever You Want!!

#i really surprised myself w how much i wanted to say here but #i started writing and just couldn’t stop #byler #marauders #spicy byler #fandom #fandom discourse #fandom discussion #fanfiction #byler fanfic #marauders fanfiction #stranger things #speaking my truth #bc i can’t believe what i see sometimes #gritting my teeth as i post this #i just feel like this message needs to be reiterated #i know there are a lot of young people in this fandom and i find this censored attitude so harmful #longtallglasses

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dinarosie · 9 months ago

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I read your post about Regulus but I gotta say, I’m not totally on board. Just ‘cause he was the ‘good son’ doesn’t really mean he was loved, you know? A lot of the time, being the perfect heir—joining the Death Eaters keeping up the family’s image is more about duty than being genuinely cared for. It doesn’t mean he was happy even if his parents were proud of him for it.

I believe the reason fans create headcanons for characters like Draco and Regulus, imagining that they joined the Death Eaters due to torture or coercion, is because they don’t have a clear understanding of Voldemort's position within the pure-blood society. They assume that from the beginning, Voldemort was seen as a snake-like, crazed terrorist and murderer by the wizarding world.

But as I’ve explained in this post, Voldemort, especially during the First Wizarding War, was a charismatic and influential leader, almost like a celebrity. He rose to power with promises of restoring greatness to the wizarding world, and as mentioned in the books, much of the wizarding society supported him. For many, especially the youth, joining the Death Eaters wasn’t seen as shameful or horrifying. On the contrary, it was exciting and prestigious, like getting accepted into an elite university.

Regarding your argument, I think fans are free to create their own theories and headcanons about their favorite characters. However, it's important to remember that these are just fan interpretations, not canon. It doesn’t make sense to compare fan-made headcanons with the canon traits of another character like snape. We could create similar headcanons for any character. For instance, we could speculate that Harry Potter suffered sexual abuse from his uncle, or that Percy Weasley was the result of an unwanted pregnancy, which is why Molly never seemed to favor him. But in the end, what truly matters in analyzing canon characters is the author's intent and the clues provided in the actual story. This is especially important when discussing side characters like Regulus Black, where we have fewer details. We need to focus on the purpose the author had in creating the character and the information given in the story.

J.K. Rowling didn’t intend for Regulus Black to be a victim of abuse or neglect. She didn’t suggest that he joined the Death Eaters because his mother tortured him with the Cruciatus Curse. If that had been the case, Rowling would have left clear hints throughout the seven books. But that’s not the story she wanted to tell. Instead, she portrayed Regulus as the favored son of a fanatical pure-blood family, loved and admired by his parents, to the point that it made his older brother jealous. She wanted to show how deeply Voldemort’s ideology had permeated wizarding society, to the extent that young people idolized him like a celebrity. The fact that Voldemort choose his house-elf for a dangerous mission tells us a lot. It shows how much Voldemort trusted him and how far Regulus was willing to go to prove his loyalty. But as Rowling mentioned in interviews, Regulus wasn’t ready for the harsh reality of the Death Eaters’ world. He quickly realized that the real Voldemort was far from the idealized image he had in his mind. At that moment, Regulus transformed from a misguided teenager into a brave man, trying to make amends for his mistake by sacrificing his life.

Reducing his story to that of an abused teenager takes away the depth of his character and diminishes the impact of his redemption arc.

#harry potter #regulus black #hp fandom #marauders era #regulus arcturus black #pro snape #r.a.b #anon #draco malfoy

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scribblesquid077 · 4 months ago

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𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 4: 𝓔𝔁’𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓞𝓱’𝓼

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💕𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂💕: Aspiring diva Kang Mi-na takes part in this year’s Squid Games, challenged among the fellow lower class. In order to have a safe chance of winning, the aspiring fashionista teams up with former-rapper Thanos. Not only is she tested on what she is willing to risk for money, but her place as one of Thanos’ confidants.

💜𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰💜: Choi Su-Bong(Thanos) x Kang Mi-na, Thanos squad + Kang Mi-na

💕𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮💕: mi-na lives au, se-mi dies instead tho :( , romance, angst, fluff, casual, flirty bantering, lots of jealousy on nam-gyu’s part

💜𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼💜: graphic depictions of violence, murder, mild gore, explicit language, drug usage, mentions of suicide, major character deaths, spoilers for squid game s2,

💕𝓘𝓶𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓸💕: like the original show, this is intended for a mature audience, please proceed with caution. updates will be posted biweekly at the latest, constructive criticism is welcome as long as it is dmed to me!!

💜𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓼💜: work in progress 🤭

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💕𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 💜𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻

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A charming little gift box was displayed with two buttons: a blue ‘O’ and a red ‘X’. The blue button indicated a desire to stay, while the red button signaled a wish to leave. It was as simple as that, right?

On one hand: high stakes, crappy uniforms, crappy dorms, risk of failure/death. That and becoming reduced to another stack of bills for some rando that wasn’t her. But, on the other hand: money.

Like, sure death and all. But money.

The vote would be held in reverse order, since she was number 196 Mi-na had plenty of time to think.

If the majority vote was in Team ‘X’s favor, she’d leave with 24,931,500 won, it wasn’t enough to pay off her debt but it was a start.

Not even ten minutes into the voting, Mi-na was already bored to tears. She tugged on one of her blue braids, watching the numbers tick higher on the board.

Blue took the lead, then red, then blue again. Snail's pace, at best.

“Player 230.” The mention of the number snapped her out of her fruitless daze. She turned to Thanos, curious as to what he would pick.

He gave her no second glance and trotted down the aisle. Thanos paused at the podium, before eagerly tapping the blue button. The scoreboard now had 87 votes for ‘X’ and the O’s had 93.

“Wait a minute-everyone!”

Oh my god.

As if the voting didn’t take long enough, the crazy man just had to interfere and make an opinion.

“You can’t do this! Come to your senses don’t you see? These aren’t just any games. We will all die if we keep playing. We have to get out of here now, with a majority vote we can!”

Going along with that came Spouts of ‘Who do you think you are? You just want the money for yourself!’

Yadda yadda yadda’

Mi-na mindlessly twirled her hair around as she blocked out the arguing, none of it appealed to her. It wasn’t the fun kind of arguing, no. This was no new gossip about celebrities or scandals with boy bands, it honestly felt kind of political.

More people got involved, and the dormitory grew louder with overlapping shouts. She was just about ready to snap, howling at the crowd to shut up, but the crazy guy beat her to it:

“I'VE PLAYED THESE GAMES BEFORE!”

A beat of silence came, and the frustration became both rational and mostly understood.

“I said I’ve played these games before! I knew about the first game because I had played it before! Do you hear me?! I’ve played these games before!”

Mi-na leaned over to Nam-gyu

“I don’t know about you, but I think he’s played these games before.”

Nam-gyu snickers, covering it with a cough. He itches his nose, trying to act like her sarcasm didn’t amuse him. It totally did. Mi-na smirked as she watched the crazed man somehow act more like a lunatic.

So, he was the winner. Who had all that beautiful 45.6 billion won yet chose to come back, but there were some benefits to that. According to the others, they could get some tips. Just like Red Light Green Light.

Mi-na wasn’t fully paying attention, though it was evident that the man was in distress. No amount of convincing could overpower the greed of men. Anguish intensified in the crazy man’s warnings, clinging to the shoulders of a player who hadn’t voted yet.

Finally, one of the pink guards coerced him to silence.

“From now on, interruptions will not be tolerated during the voting process.”

Once more, the vote recommenced. The numbers dwindled closer to Mi-na’s eventual turn.

‘Player 196’

Mi-na perked up, her focus on the buttons ahead. With immense conviction, she sauntered down the aisle.

Several hopeful eyes surveyed from both sides, praying that she would make a choice that would benefit them. However, only one pair of eyes was the most welcoming. Mi-na’s lip twitched upward slightly but never wavered.

Once she made it to the podium, Mi-na popped her hip and scoffed. After all, why not? Besides, it would be fun to see what happens.

With two fingers, she tapped the button. She heard a bouncy ring, then a flick of the scoreboard.

Sighs of relief flowed from the ‘O’ team and groans from the ‘X’ team. Mi-na took the blue patch from the guard’s gloved hands. She stuck the patch perfectly onto the Velcro, careful to not leave any wrinkles and bends.

Peeking out from the crowd, a smirking Thanos kept his eyes on her. When she took her place beside him, he once again put on a show. Pouting his lip, he uncrossed his arms with unnecessary flair, which only delighted her further. Thanos curtly nodded, visibly impressed.

“Good choice, señorita.”

——

#squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game thanos #230 x 196 #kang mi na x thanos #squid game fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #beefork #forkbee

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unseededtoast · 11 months ago

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Turtle Doves | Joel Miller

Part Twenty Two

Chapter Directory

Series Summary: In which two broken souls connect so deeply, that if one should perish, the other would surely die of a broken heart. (slow burn, timeline changes. After TLOU1, before TLOU2, assumed knowledge of infected, uses elements from both show and game)

Series Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, and sexual content.

Also cross posted on my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those formats. Here is a link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted.

"But that night you got hurt, I enjoyed killing them. I liked hearing them die in front of me, their blood staining my hands."

Joel and I don't stay in the town for another night, we continue on. Our pace is slower than what I've become accustomed to, but Joel's wound isn't completely healed yet. The two of us have been silent after our discovery, Joel didn't have anything to say after I declared my death threat. No, instead of saying anything, he just handed me the photos and nodded solemnly.

With the two of us getting closer and closer to Omaha, I find myself feeling appreciative of Joel's slower pace. This gives us opportunities to find things we may have otherwise missed. And it also gives me more time with him. Since his near-death experience, I find myself trying to memorize the way his eyes shine golden in the sunlight, the way his voice sounds in the morning, how his shirt clings to the broadness of his shoulders, just small details. The small details are the ones I know will fade first, and I want to be able to hold onto them for as long as possible.

I know this to be fact because I can no longer quite remember what Ryan's voice really sounded like, and I can't quite remember just how soft Lucas' hair was. The simple things about them have slowly faded from my mind without me realizing it, until I thought about them one day and could never truly remember. I've never been able to forgive myself for forgetting, and I know I don't want to forget these things about Joel. After all, he's the man who has kept me alive all this time.

A part of me wishes I could be there when he's reunited with his pseudo-daughter. I wonder if he's going to tell her about this, or never mention it to her at all. She would have no idea I exist, or that Joel and I took this trip together. I know Joel is trying to protect her from the people of this world due to her immunity, so it makes sense if he never tells her about any of this. She's still a child at the end of the day, and no child should hear that there's a bunch of crazed men out there trying to find and kill them. Even if she never knows about me, or any of this, I know I'll still be able to rest peacefully at night with the knowledge that I helped protect her.

"This okay for tonight?" We stop walking as Joel points out a small, run-down gas station. It's likely the only building for miles, and so I agree to stop here for the night.

As we set up our makeshift camp, I continue to think about the girl waiting for him back in Wyoming. After hours of on-the-road thoughts, I can't help but to be fascinated with someone who is immune. It's glaringly obvious that she's one of a kind. Sure, I've known for a while that she's immune, but I think it just took some time to process it, to really understand what it means and the ramifications of it. But mostly, I just want to know how it happened. What caused her to be immune and why it's not being replicated anywhere else, that we know of.

My eyes follow Joel's form as he starts the fire for the night, my thoughts anywhere but the present. I watch how he situates the flammable material while wondering what his life is like in Wyoming and if he's excited to be back. Obviously, he's probably eager considering he's got family waiting for him. He lights the fire and the amber glow illuminates his features in soft light. His eyes look warm and inviting, the curve of his nose beautifully adorns his face with unique character, the plumpness of his lips reflect with the drink of water he just took. As if he feels my eyes lingering on him, he looks over and meets my gaze.

"What's on your mind?" He asks, shifting back from the fire a few feet as it takes flame. My eyes dance between him and the fire, debating if I should confess or not.

"I um, I've just been thinking about a lot of things." It's not a complete lie, I guess. Orange flames rise and dissipate, crackling in front of us.

"About what? You've been quiet since this morning." Instead of confiding in him my most recent thoughts, I decide to unload the other thing that's been bothering me for a while now, since he was stabbed. With a sigh and a quick lick of my lips, I tell him my moral dilemma.

"I've never been one to enjoy taking a life. Didn't like it when I was on FEDRA gate duty, and I didn't like it when we ran into the Fireflies. But that night you got hurt, I enjoyed killing them. I liked hearing them die in front of me, their blood staining my hands. And I've been having these thoughts of what it's going to feel like to kill these people. It's almost anticipatory." Our eyes stay locked on one another as I speak, my words quiet and somber. With a shaky breath, I continue,

"And I'm not sure what that makes me. Am I really any different from them if I look forward to killing?" My throat constricts, like my body doesn't want me to voice my fear. The silence between us is palpable and dread grows in me with each second Joel doesn't say something. Not being able to handle the criticism when he opens his mouth, I focus on the fire.

"Doesn't make you a bad person, if that's what you're worried about." He finally speaks, and his words catch me off guard, the total opposite of what I was expecting.

"Then what does it make me? Because it isn't good." My voice cracks. I know it's not fair to be asking him these questions, but, I can't stop from asking them. He shifts his weight to his other side and leans forward slightly, looking deeper into my eyes and I fear if he looks too hard he'll be able to see right into my soul.

"Makes you human. Means you have purpose, something worth protecting. Or, in your case, a ledger to balance." There is no trace of anything but authenticity as he speaks, his words settling into my mind. My eyebrows come close together as I mull over what he's said and I realize he may be right.

"You know I really thought you were going to die that night." I change the subject slightly, not wanting to admit to him that he's becoming my 'something to protect' and a part of my 'ledger to balance'.

"And if I did I suppose it was just my time." He relaxes his posture as if the thought of death is no more stressful than deciding what he's going to wear the next day.

"Don't say that." I shake my head, not wanting any more images of his dead body in my mind. The one from this morning, from the photos, still haven't left my mind. Each time they pop up behind my eyelids, it instills a new fear in me each time.

"You did a damn good stitch job." He tries to lighten the mood, pulling up the hem of his shirt to show the still intact sutures.

"It's a wonder you didn't bleed out. Do you even remember what happened?" I'm not entirely sure how much he saw, or what he remembers. To answer my question, he shakes his head.

"Not really, just remember you gettin' there and the rest is just kind of-" He motions with his hands that his memory of the night has become scrambled.

"One of them got you real good with their machete. I stuffed the wound with my shirt to try to stop the bleed and then I had to get you to another building. On the ground just outside of where we ended up there was one of their torches, barely still burning on the sidewalk. So I took it and heated the blade of my hunting knife, then I cauterized the cut. Found the sewing supplies when I was looking around and just did my best. Truthfully, you lost a lot of blood, like, way too much." I give him the brief recounting of the night. His fingers lightly trace the stitching before he meets my eyes again.

"Thank you." He tenderly says, dropping the hem of his shirt.

"It was the least I could do." I shrug one of my shoulders. The silence between us returns for a few more moments before Joel announces that he's going to get some sleep for the night. I tell him I'm going to as well, but end up staying awake.

After a while, the flames of the fire begin dying off but my eyes remain affixed to the back of Joel. The shirt across his shoulders is drawn tight, battling to stay intact. His dark curls are barely brushing the collar of the shirt, more prominent from the humidity of the day. As my eyes wander down his solid form, the chain around my neck seems to burn my skin. Disgust with myself boils up from within, and I force myself to look away from Joel.

My gaze turns up to the ceiling and I try to flood my mind with how Ryan sounded, how he felt, how he loved me. Bits and pieces come back, like how his hand felt on my cheek, how solid his chest felt when I hugged him, but I cannot remember his voice. I can feel the timbre of it, but can't place the true tone and inflection. Tears well in my lower lash line as I accept that I genuinely can't remember him fully anymore. I've known for a while that certain things have faded, but I never took the time to mourn that loss, I have not allowed myself to mourn Ryan the way I should have all those years ago.

My hands curl into frustrated fists, my nails digging crescent shapes into my palm as silent tears run down my face. Tears of guilt for forgetting, tears of sadness because I can no longer remember all of my husband. Tears of fear because I realize that I may be falling in love with another man; one whom I cannot be with. I grit my teeth together in lieu of screaming and a hollow feeling opens in my chest.

Moving faster than my mind can keep up, I go outside where the air hits the wetness of my face and sends a shiver down my spine. Once I'm sure that I'm far enough to where Joel can't hear me, I let myself cry. With each ragged breath I take my chest heaves up and down unevenly. Tears uncontrollably run down my face and I grip the chain around my neck tightly, wishing I could just have one more second with my family, wishing I could feel the warmth of their skin on mine, to tell them how much I love them one final time. Hoping and praying that my love for them and their absence is enough to stave off the feeling blooming inside of me for Joel.

All through the past ten years I've yearned to have my family back, there's been a hole in my heart, a void that has never been filled since outbreak day. A void that hasn't been hurting as much the past couple of weeks. I've always missed Ryan and Lucas, but lately their absence has been a dull ache as opposed to the sharp stabbing I'm used to. I'm not sure what this means, because I know I love and miss them vehemently. But I also know how I feel about Joel.

Unable to stay standing, I lower myself to my knees, burying my face in my hands. My eyes squeeze shut and the tears fall off the ends of my eyelashes. Guilt overtakes me as I remember how on outbreak night Ryan protected Lucas and I to the best of his ability. How he told me he loved me, and that we were going to be alright. If only I had turned that corner first. Why was I the one to survive, but they had to die?

Guilt burns into anger and I blame myself for what happened. If only I had been brave enough to go first, then maybe they would still be on this Earth. I know they could've forged a life for themselves somewhere. Meanwhile I was content being shipped everywhere and ended up being a lowly pill runner. Why couldn't that FEDRA guard have shot the infected two seconds earlier and spared them? It just isn't right.

Sobs strain my throat while I try to stay quiet and I use the sleeve of my button up to wipe my nose. The stars above me shine brightly and I stare at them, stray tears falling down my cheeks. If only they could reach out to me and let me know that wherever they are, that they're together and they're not suffering, that they're not angry at me for feeling this way about Joel.

Ryan and Lucas will never be able to be replaced, they will always occupy a special place in my heart. I know I can never have them back with me physically, yet I know that they are forever with me, tethered to the very fiber of my being. But I feel that my heart is opening up a new spot, and I'm not sure I'll be able to kill whatever is blooming. I'm not sure I want to.

With wide eyes I search the sky for some sort of sign, some indication that my feelings are right or wrong. But my search is cut short when I hear the door of the gas station open. Quickly, I use the sleeve of my shirt to wipe my face and hope that the darkness of night will conceal my puffy face. As my head turns to face Joel, I can almost swear I see a streak of light in the sky. But by the time I do a double take, whatever I thought I saw, is gone.

"Are you okay?" Joel's voice cautiously asks as he slowly approaches me. The stars are shining so bright tonight that I can see the familiar crease between his brows. His boots crunch softly on the loose pebbles on the pavement and I nod my head, trying to stabilize my breathing.

"I'm okay." My voice betrays me as I speak, it comes out hoarse. Joel comes to my side, and lowers himself next to me, crouching instead of resting on his knees.

"Why don't you come back inside? I'll get the fire started up again." I feel his eyes on me as I stare back at the sky, one last lone tear sliding down my cheek. Joel's words are smooth as honey, calming and soft. A gust of wind blows past us, sending another shiver up my body.

Joel must see the slight quiver as the breeze passes, and he puts an arm around my shoulders, the other under my elbow, and he helps me back to my feet. He keeps his arm gently wrapped around me as we go back to the gas station, and I lean into his touch out of instinct. Before we enter the building, I stop and take one last look at the sky, hopeful to see whatever it was that zoomed past when Joel stepped outside just to confirm what I think it was. But nothing happens.

I step back into the building in front of Joel, who works to get the fire reignited. My body begins to physically calm down from my crying, jagged breaths turn into hiccups. The first one shocks us both, but after the second I think I can almost see a tiny smile on Joel's face. However, when he turns to me after the fire is rebuilt all signs of a smile are gone and is instead replaced with a caring expression. Joel's dark brown eyes are wide and I see how his eyes look over my face, his shoulders aren't tight and rigid, he almost looks relaxed.

He walks over to me and leads me to what I've claimed as my spot for the night, marked by my backpack. Gingerly, he sits me down and crouches by my side once more, moving a rogue strand of hair out of my face that was plastered to my cheek from the tears. His fingers are warm against my face, and he lets them linger there for just a second longer than he needs to. My eyes slowly blink, appreciative of the contact. He licks his lips and his eyes look over my face once more, trying to piece together what's wrong.

"You don't have to tell me why, but I just need to know that you're alright, that you're not hurt." I look into his eyes that are inches from me and I nod with another hiccup jolting through me.

"I'm not hurt." My hoarse voice confirms to him and I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand to dry them fully. I feel that my eyes are puffy, my lips swollen from keeping quiet and I hope I don't look as disheveled as I feel inside.

"Okay." Joel nods and only then does he back away from me. Though I wish he would stay. However, I know that with my uncertain emotions, that it's probably better he that he doesn't. For his sake. He doesn't need to be roped into my personal shit show.

Every few minutes a hiccup interrupts the quiet, and each time I see Joel struggle to keep a smile at bay. I'll admit, they do sound a little ridiculous and if I weren't so upset I'd probably laugh at them too. But as my hiccups calm down, I find myself transfixed by the dancing flames.

Perhaps I needed to come to terms with my reality, accept my losses, and understand how Ryan and Lucas are still a part of me to be okay with something new. And perhaps this something new is for the better. Even if it doesn't work out, at least I know I'm still human enough, capable enough, to keep going.

Twenty Three

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