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pearlessance · 4 months ago

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Lust Among Thieves [part one]

Raider!Joel Miller x reader x raider!Tommy Miller

Summary: Survival is a skill that everyone had to gain after the world ended. Your father was killed in the Boston QZ, leaving you alone and forced to survive all on your lonesome. Just to eat, you had to steal from strangers, but unfortunately, you picked two of the worst people to target. What you didn’t expect was the lust that steadily built between all three of you. Warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, dubcon definitely but not quite noncon, reader is held hostage by Joel and Tommy, threesome, canon typical violence, mean!Joel and manipulative!Tommy, unprotected sex, slowburn, angst with a happy ending NOTE: this is a fic i've cowritten with my bff joelmillersgirlfriend!! she has sooo many good fics over on her A03, her most recent one is called Hangover In the Sunshine and if you don't go read it I'll cry kay <3 Read on A03! MASTERLIST

It felt as if every vein in your body was pulsing, begging for a moment to stop and breathe in fresh oxygen. You couldn’t stop moving though, you had to keep running like your life depended on it - because it did.

You had grown desperate after fleeing the QZ. In the QZ there were rations, yes, but it had never been full on starvation. You had to steal from them. You had no other choice.

But now you were caught and fleeing the scene, tumbling through the thick Massachusetts snow. The sound of rapid steps behind you made you speed up, your worn boots crunching in the snow. You had seen the two men from afar, both broad-shouldered and scary. They weren’t like the other raiders you had encountered in the city, loud and rambunctious. Those were easy to spot, easy to avoid.

These two, on the other hand, were cool, quiet, and calculated. The only reason you had the upper hand was because you watched them from inside the city, following them back to the cabin they resided in deep in the woods. You watched silently from the window as they unpacked everything they had scouted out; food, batteries, medicine, even something as futile as beer.

They didn’t need everything that they had. So, every time they went into the city, you would steal little by little. You didn’t anticipate that they would actually notice. You made sure to cover your snow tracks, but they were simply too observant.

A hand suddenly wrapped around your wrist, yanking you back hard enough that the air was knocked out of your lungs. You huffed and fell to the ground, the snow melting around your aching body.

“Got the bitch, Tommy,” graveled a voice from above you. Before you could turn and glance up, you felt a heavy boot press into the side of your face. It smushed your face into the snow, the heat of your cheek making the snow burn as it melted against your face.

“Let me go,” you growled, flailing your body in an attempt to escape. The weight of the boot on your face shifted, a warning. You could tell that if this man wanted to crush you under the boot, he very well could.

You could hear a low whistle blow behind you, the man who you assumed was “Tommy” beginning to speak. “Damn, brother. She’s a feisty thing. Didn’t think a little girl was the one comin’ and stealin’ our food.”

“A little girl who took what didn’t belong to her. I say that we make sure that she never steals again,” spoke the voice from above you. Pathetically, your eyes watered at the threat.

“P-please,” you begged, clenching your fists into the snow. “I’m sorry, okay. I-I’ve been out here on my own, I would’ve starved.”

“Not my problem,” growled the man from above once more, his boot pressing harder into your face. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to breathe from the weight of his foot.

“Come on now, Joel, she’s beggin’ so nice. She’s young, could be real fit if we put some food in her. She could be useful,” Tommy said, tutting at the sound of your sniffling.

“I didn’t sign up for no babysittin’. She would be just another mouth to feed,” Joel grumbled.

“No,” you pleaded, whimpering when Joel’s boot heel shifted, pushing into your throat. You gasped, wrapping your hands around his thick calf. Even though you couldn’t turn your head to look at him, you still clawed at his leg, trying anything to get him to relieve the pressure. “I can be useful.”

Your words sounded more like wheezes at this point, but suddenly, both men were silent. Perhaps they were exchanging glances, silently conveying a message without even speaking. Whatever it was prompted Joel to release his boot from your neck, finally allowing you to breathe. Your coughs were rough and raspy, interrupted by you taking in deep breaths.

“She’s your responsibility. If you wake up and see her standin’ over you with your own gun, don’t be surprised.”

Instead of replying, you felt four hands grabbing you and pulling you up. Two held you in place while the other two tied your hands quickly. You didn’t even have the opportunity to glance back before you were being dragged forward, a heavy palm wrapped around your wrist.

“Names Tommy,” greeted the voice from beside you. Tommy leaned forward, his face just inches from yours. He continued to walk even as you stumbled over your own feet, overwhelmed by the sudden proximity of the stranger.

Seeing him from afar did him absolutely no justice. Long, dirty blonde hair, bright eyes, and a charming smile that made your face warm, despite the situation.

“What’s a little thing like you doin’ all the way out here? Shouldn’t you be cuddled up with your daddy in the QZ?” Tommy asked, but not with malice. He held a natural curiosity behind his words.

You didn’t speak, unable to form a coherent sentence, too busy thinking about the situation at hand. What were they going to do to you? Kill you? Torture you?

“Don’t worry,” Tommy said in a hushed whisper, trying to hide his sentence from Joel. “I won’t let nothin’ happen to you. You’re safe.”

As much as you wanted to believe him, you couldn’t. Not even when you got back to the very same cabin you had stolen from earlier. Not when Tommy removed your restraints, because when you finally got a good look at Joel, you knew he’d kill you if he got the chance.

All arms and frowns and enthralling gazes - just the thought of being alone with him made your stomach drop.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked Tommy when he pulled you into one of the bedrooms, sifting through the drawers to find you something dry to wear. He glanced back at you, his aquiline nose enhancing the rest of his side profile. He was certainly nice to look at, as much as he shouldn’t have been.

“Joel can be… rash sometimes,” Tommy sighed, glancing back at the drawer. “You don’t deserve to die just because my brother is throwin’ a fit.”

Finally deciding on a shirt, Tommy slunk back over to where you were standing. The backs of your legs were pressed against the rotted bed when he approached you. You had nowhere to run, nowhere to move.

You looked up at Tommy, at this staggering man who was at least a decade older than you. You should’ve been trembling in fear, scared of the anticipation of what they might do to you. Instead, you found yourself oddly excited, suddenly fearless.

Being in the QZ, you lived a strict life. Your father, the guards - you had no freedom. At least now, you could decide your fate. Try to run away, or play along. Make Tommy and Joel happy until eventually, you could slip away.

Tommy used his free hand to run across your bottom lip, pulling a stray piece of hair away. His eyes moved down from your eyes straight to your lips, watching the way they opened. He pressed his index finger into your mouth, spreading your lips slowly.

“Wonder what this mouth could be useful for, baby. You said you’d be useful for me, right?” Tommy whispered, leaning down to brush his lips across yours. Goosebumps erupted across your body, an unexpected rush flooding in between your thighs.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made Tommy pull back, not quite kissing you. You glanced back to see Joel standing in the doorway, most likely watching everything. The expression on his face wasn’t one you could read, but the way his shoulders were squared off told you everything you needed to know.

“Get changed. Knock on the door when you’re done,” Tommy commanded, handing you the fresh clothes before walking out of the room. He shut the door behind him, but you could still hear the hushed whispers from the hall.

“Jesus, if you fuck her, Tommy, I’ll kick your ass back to Texas.”

“Well, what do you suggest we do with her then? We can’t kill her, Joel. She’s a little girl.”

Even with the door closed, even with a sound barrier, you can hear his frustration. “She stole from us. You got no idea who she belongs to. Could be part of a bigger group. What happens if we let her go and she brings back a whole other world of problems? She knows where we sleep, Tommy.”

There’s a single, fleeting moment of hesitation before he says again, “No. We’re not going to kill her. That’s not who we are.”

“Isn’t it?”

You don’t bother to listen to the rest of their bickering. That moment of doubt was enough to remind you how dangerous a situation you’ve wound up in, bringing you back to the task at hand.

The room is small, furnished with little else but the withered bed and beat-up dresser. There are two windows with sheets hung up in front of them, but of course, they’re both nailed shut.

The nightstand beside the bed has a lamp on it. You could use it to smash the window open, but they’d hear the shattering of glass and be on you in a minute.

You try to pry out the long, iron nails securing the window closed. The rust turns your aching fingers a sickly shade of orange, a vivid reminder of how you’re stuck and at the mercy of two strangers.

“Goin’ somewhere?” spoke a voice from behind you, making you jump in surprise. Both Joel and Tommy are standing near the entrance of the bedroom, watching you as you try to escape. They must’ve opened the door when you were trying to pry the window open, too distracted by your hopes of escaping to notice the men.

Shaking your head no, you cowered in the corner of the room, praying that Tommy would protect you from Joel’s wrath.

Tommy stood behind Joel with his arms crossed, a small expression of disappointment painted across his face. He truly had faith that you wouldn’t try to escape, which was as endearing as it was ridiculous. Of course you’d try to escape.

“Guess you can’t leave her alone, Tommy. If she eats, sleeps, pisses, you better have an eye on her,” Joel growled, his eyes staring daggers at you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your free hand still clenching the clothes that Tommy gave you. Joel’s eyes move down to the clothes, then back up to you.

“He gave you a chance to have some privacy, but you fucked that up real quick,” Joel said, nodding his head in your direction. “Get on with it.”

You hesitated, glancing at both men with wide doe eyes. “With what?”

Joel huffs, crossing his arms without even explaining any further. Both men were mirror images of each other, arms crossed and gazes heavy. You glanced over to Tommy, thinking that maybe he’d rescue you from the situation. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to see the toothy grin that spread across Tommy’s mouth, his eyebrows raised in excitement.

He shrugged, but the smile on his face showed you just how much he was enjoying the situation. A wave of anger washed over you, at how much neither of them cared. They weren’t as bad as other raiders you had encountered; cannibals, rapists, slavers. Still, they were holding you hostage, upping the ante if you made any mistakes.

Your hands shook when you gripped the wet puffer jacket that was covering most of your upper half. You slowly pulled it back, the nylon material swishing against your body, dropping to the ground at your feet. Pausing, you looked to see Joel looking away, a frown etched into his face. Tommy, on the other hand, was watching you like a hawk.

The skin on your stomach broke out in goosebumps when you slid it up, exposing your warm skin to the brothers. Joel still wasn’t looking, confusing you. Why would he order you to undress for him but not even watch?

Soon, you were standing in just your worn bra and panties, reaching to grab the fresh clothes.

“How long have you been on your own?” Tommy asked suddenly, making Joel glance up at you in response. You stood there stupidly, attempting to cover yourself from their gazes. It had been months of scavenging on your own, rarely finding something to last more than a couple of days. You knew that you had lost an uncomfortable amount of weight, but you didn’t need Tommy to point it out.

“I thought that you assumed I was with a group?” you asked, your face turning pale from the way Joel looked at you. A seemingly permanent scowl reappeared on his face, the muscles in his arms flexing, like he was controlling himself not to close the distance between you.

“Okay, smart ass,” Tommy snorted, rolling his eyes at you. “I can tell you’ve been on your own, with how skinny you look,” he pauses before speaking again. “Must’ve been hard.”

You swallow, nodding stiffly at the statement. It was unbearably difficult, fleeing the QZ after you watched your father get executed. Though your relationship with him was on the rocks, he was all you had left. You had to survive on your own, on the outside. You heard stories growing up in the QZ, of how dangerous it was outside of the city walls.

The rumors were nothing compared to what you had seen.

“It has been,” you whispered. “Hard.”

Something shifted behind Joel’s eyes before he turned away, brushing by Tommy as he walked out of the bedroom. Tommy frowned at the sight of his brother exiting the room.

Turning back to you, he spoke, “Well, hurry up and get dressed so you can get somethin’ to eat. I’m sure it’ll do you good.”

You nodded, shivering in the corner of the room. “Cold.”

Tommy laughed, that Cheshire grin of his making your stomach twist. He moved over to you, rubbing his palms against the skin of your bare shoulders. His large, rough hands moving swiftly over your shoulders, the consistent friction creating a warmth that started from your shoulders and spread between your thighs.

“How’s that feel?” Tommy asked, rubbing his thumbs into the collum of your neck. He added a bit more pressure at the tip of his fingers, digging them into your now-warm skin.

“Good,” you squeaked, still clenching the shirt in your hand. Tommy’s hands left your shoulders, pulling the shirt away from you. He raised your arms up, letting his hands slide over the skin of your wrists, higher, higher. Slowly, he worked the worn, long-sleeved cotton shirt over your frame. When your head peeked out of the hole of the shirt, Tommy winked down at you, brushing your hair out of your eyes.

“You’re a pretty thing,” Tommy whispered, moving down to his knees to remove your boots and help you step into the shorts he had given you. His hands slid up the shorts, warm palms spread across the apex of your thighs. You could hardly bring yourself to look down at him, the heavy look in his eyes making a shiver run down your spine. “I told you, I’m not gonna let anybody hurt you, and that includes Joel. Just try not to set him off, alright?”

You nodded, watching Tommy run his lips across the skin of your thigh. His mustache tickled your skin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to react to the feeling. You were frozen and your eyes couldn’t move away from Tommy’s.

He kissed a path across your thigh, creating a trail of goosebumps. “Don’t let me down.”

“I won’t,” you whispered, experimentally extending your hand to run through Tommy’s hair. It was long and shaggy, but surprisingly soft, the strands falling through your fingers easily. Tommy hummed at the feeling, those sharp canines making yet another appearance.

“As much as I’d love to let you braid my hair, we better not leave Joel waitin’. He’d get suspicious,” Tommy joked when he stood, groaning at the sound of his knees popping.

You pulled your hand back, peering up at Tommy through heavy lashes. This was insane, you were insane to be entertaining his advances. But, he wanted to take care of you. He could protect you.

“Suspicious of what?” you asked, blushing when you felt Tommy’s hand take hold of yours. He laced his large fingers through your own, grinning down at your question.

“Of me not being able to control myself. Now, come on,” he spoke, pulling you along with him, not allowing you time to process his words. Your clothed feet followed Tommy out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the tiny kitchen and living room space. Joel was using a portable burner to warm up some food, not even looking up when both you and Tommy walked in.

“Look, Joel,” Tommy said, gesturing to you. “It’s your favorite.”

You watched Joel’s frowned face meet your own before dropping to look at your shirt. Your eyes followed, reading the name Bob Dylan. Tommy snickered at Joel’s expression; full of frowns and impatience. Their dynamic was interesting, to say the least.

Even though you should have felt scared of Joel, you found yourself relating to him. To use anger and lack of empathy. After watching your father die, and losing everything, you understood that empty feeling that you recognized in Joel.

“The moment I saw it, I knew you would like it. She winnin’ you over yet?” Tommy asked, pulling your hand to walk further into the kitchen. Joel rolled his eyes, propping his body up against the counter behind him. He was so broad-shouldered, you couldn’t even process how he fit in the tiny kitchen.

“Cute. Can’t say she is, Tommy,” Joel grumbled, stirring the pot that he was working on. Tommy released your hand, joining Joel in preparing dinner.

“I really am sorry,” you suddenly sputtered, both of the men looking at you in response. “I was desperate. In the QZ they always had at least some food, I-I’d never starved before.”

Tommy’s smile faltered, his eyes meeting Joel’s in a silent conversation.

“You were in a QZ? What are you doin’ out here?” Joel asked, cutting off the gas burner. You could feel a shift in the energy, though you couldn’t figure out what exactly it meant.

You nodded. “Went to the Boston QZ with my dad when the virus hit. I was there ever since.”

“But now you’re not.” Joel huffed. “Why?”

“It's not important,” you whispered.

Joel’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t test me,” he replied.

Tommy’s eyes caught yours, silently pleading for you to play along. After all, you did tell him that you would try to stay on Joel’s good side.

“They killed him there, and they were going to kill me next. I had to flee.”

He stares at you for what feels like a long time, skin burning beneath his gaze. In the moment of silence, you see the similarities between them; they share the same rugged exterior, the same aquiline nose, the same crease between their brows. Though Tommy’s quite a bit softer, face not contorted into a perpetual scowl like Joel’s.

“Your dad,” Joel says simply. Not a question but rather a demand for information. An order.

You shake your head, averting your gaze. “It doesn’t matt-” you began, but after you saw the dark look on Tommy’s face, you corrected yourself. “There isn’t much to say. He broke FEDRA rules, so they made him pay.”

“Not much of a daddy’s girl, I take it?” Joel questioned. This was the most that Joel had looked at you since the moment you met him, and the heat of his gaze was overwhelming. It felt like an interrogation, a “good cop, bad cop” scenario - with much higher stakes.

“He was all I had,” you said, tone wavering. The room was heavy, shrouded in uncertainty. Neither Joel nor you spoke or created a new rebuttal. The silence lasted for a couple of minutes before Tommy spoke.

“Come on, you two. You can play twenty-one questions later. Let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

And even though Joel had only warmed up a few cans of chicken noodle soup, you swore that it was the best thing that you had eaten in years. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you hadn’t had a meal in days, but either way, it was delicious.

“Slow down, little girl. Gonna make yourself puke,” Tommy teased. He sat across from the table with you, his feet propped up the table as he ate from the bowl in his hands. Joel was sitting alone in the small living room, slowly sipping from his bowl.

“It’s been days,” you spoke in between bites. Tommy nodded, suppressing a grin.

“Yeah, we know. You really dug into our stash the last time you came. When was it, a month ago now?”

You swallowed, sheepishly avoiding his smile. “Thirty-eight days. It lasted for twenty-seven of them.”

Tommy hummed. “That’s a long time with no food. I can’t blame you, for what you did.”

“Tommy!” Joel hissed from the living room, but his brother paid him no mind.

“Come on, Joel, be serious. She’s harmless. Probably spent the past ten years livin’ in the QZ, that’s half her life. She hasn’t seen what it’s actually like out here; she hasn’t lived it.”

Joel exhales through his nose angrily, turning back to focus on his food. “I’m over this conversation.”

And when Joel said he was over, he meant it. For the rest of the night, you were a ghost to him; invisible. Even later on, you were sitting with Tommy on the small couch in the living room. Tommy was pulling information out of you - what your name was, where you were from, if you liked living in the QZ - but Joel didn’t bat an eye. The only question that made Joel shift in his seat at the kitchen table was “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” you said, suddenly very aware of how insane the situation was. Both of the men were probably almost double your age, rabid, dangerous, but you weren’t really scared. You were more so… intrigued. They had fed you, and Tommy had comforted you. Maybe being with them wasn’t any worse than being on your own.

“Christ,” Tommy exhaled, “Barely old enough to drink. Not that that matters anymore.” He reached down, pulling his bag over from the corner of the couch. His slender fingers produced a bottle of Jack, half empty. “Was gonna use it for a Molotov but I think we could all use somethin’ to take the edge off. Ever have some of this before?”

You shook your head. “I’ve only ever drank vodka,” you admitted, watching how Tommy’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “I had some friends in school who would steal bottles from some of the stalls.”

“Bad influences,” Tommy said, instantly becoming hypocritical when he passed the bottle of jack over to you. You took it from him, glancing down at the bronze liquid glowing from the setting sun. Your fingers twisted the cap off, swishing the liquid back and forth before you took a swig.

You winced at the feeling of the liquid fire running down your throat, a chortle coming from the end of the couch. Both your throat and face were burning with the way Tommy was grinning at you.

“Got a little somethin’ right there,” Tommy said, reaching across the couch to wipe up the excess liquid that dribbled down your chin. He brought his index finger to his lips, sucking the alcohol from the tip of his finger. “Mmm. Sweet as pie.”

The heat on your face made you take another sip of the alcohol. A sudden scrape came from the kitchen, with Joel standing up tall and reaching for his rifle. “I’m taking watch.”

He was out of the house before you could blink.

“He’ll come around,” Tommy reassured, taking the jack out of your hand before swallowing down a big swig.

“There’s a half-decent bed in that room there,” Tommy said, gesturing to the hallway. “You can lay down if you’re tired. It’s been a long day for all of us.”

You eyed the bedroom, gazing longingly at the queen bed. You spoke before thinking through your next words. “You’re being very nice. Why?”

Tommy locks eyes with you as he drinks from the jack bottle. “‘Cuz I think you’re cute,” he winks when he finishes swallowing. He stretches out his long legs, resting them on the small coffee table before leaning his head back. His throat is exposed, showing off his thick and unruly beard.

“Either take the bed or I’m gonna beat you to it,” Tommy paused to yawn. “I’m exhausted.

Standing, you took his advice. Tommy’s eyes were shut, not watching you trail into the bedroom. You momentarily considered running to the front door but for all you knew, Joel was standing right outside. You needed to think, work slowly to build their trust, and then try to escape.

“Thank you, Tommy,” you said from the bed, climbing in and tucking yourself beneath the sheets. He hummed from the couch, not sleeping but also not paying you much mind. It was surprising how much he had already begun to trust you. His trust would be easy to win over. Joel’s… not so much.

Stretched out in the bed, you doubted you would be able to fall asleep. Your thoughts were racing, your father's death, being held captive. It was just too much to sink in. You glanced around the room momentarily, taking note of how this bedroom lacked windows. No escaping through here.

What made things so much worse was how you found yourself watching Tommy resting on the couch. His Adam’s apple bobbed each time he swallowed, his long, slender legs stretching across the coffee table. His long, layered hair covered his face from you, and you could practically feel the way it felt between your fingers.

You thought about how he had kissed you earlier, all of his affection confusing you. You shouldn’t be attracted to him. He was holding you captive.

Pathetically, you found yourself thinking of Joel as well. Of his heavy presence, of how he could make the energy in the room shift just by stepping into it. The heat of his gaze shouldn’t have made your palms grow clammy and your head go all fuzzy; in both fear and some sort of weird attraction. Men in the QZ weren’t like Joel and Tommy, not rugged and full of pure testosterone.

Somehow, in between creating escape plans while simultaneously reminiscing about the way Tommy’s palms felt against your skin, you ended up falling asleep. Your dreams were full of images of strong, thick hands, as well as crunchy snow. You weren’t sure how long you were asleep before being woken up by Tommy.

He was leaning over you as you groggily blinked up, uncertain of what was happening.

“I’m about to take watch. Joel will be on the couch now. Everythin’ okay?” Tommy questioned, brushing his fingers across your forehead to see your face more clearly. The light from the lamp streaming from the living room into the bedroom accentuated Tommy’s features. This could be a moment where you use his flirtation to your advantage.

Without thinking, you laced your fingers through his hair. It was a quick, instinctive action that ended with you pulling Tommy in for a kiss. The kiss was rushed, fervent, an electric buzz shocking your entire body and making your pussy hum in excitement.

He took every opportunity to deepen the kiss, nipping and licking at your lips. You’re manipulating him, using him to your benefit. It doesn’t mean anything, it’s only natural for your body to react to the feeling of his hands running across your throat.

“Well, good mornin’ to you too,” Tommy laughed into your mouth, pulling away. A web of spit connected between your lips, both of your eyes moving to watch the string break. “Fuck. Aren’t you full of surprises?”

He glances over to Joel, who is stretched out on the living room couch. His arm was thrown over his eyes to block the light of the lantern, not paying any attention to what you and Tommy were up to.

After realizing that Joel wasn’t watching, he used both of his hands to cradle your face. He kissed you so passionately that it was almost hard to breathe, a mashing of lips and teeth. One of his heavy hands reached down to palm your breast, experimentally squeezing a handful. The sensitive peak of your nipple brushed against your bra from the way you were arching your back, making you gasp into Tommy’s mouth.

“I’m gonna be hard for you the whole damn time I’m on watch,” he whispered, pulling both his hand and body away from you. He stood over you, adjusting himself in his pants.

“Be safe,” you said breathlessly, running your palm across his hand. Tommy shot you a toothy grin, flipping your hand over into his own.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied.

Your plan was working.

In fact, it was working incredibly well for you. You were slowly starting to gain Tommy’s trust, and you had survived past the first night. Nights turned into days and soon it was weeks that you had been held captive by the men.

Tommy couldn’t help but grow close to you, not with the way you would bat your eyes at him when Joel wasn’t looking. You clung to him like a dog, trying to work anything out of him. It wasn’t before long that he finally spilled some information.

“Why does Joel have a stick up his ass?” you asked Tommy, helping him gather the wood that he had just chopped.

“Hey now, watch your mouth,” Tommy said, but the amused smile told you that he agreed with your statement. “He wasn’t the same, after outbreak day.”

You nodded, holding a piece of wood to your chest. “None of us were. I was so young when it happened. I’m glad that I can’t remember what it was like.”

“It was terrifyin’, not knowin’ what the hell was goin’ on. But losin’ her, that’s what did it for Joel. Wasn’t no time machine to go back in time to fix it.”

He was cracking, getting much too comfortable with you. This was your chance to get something to use against Joel.

“Who was she? His wife?” you asked, making Tommy laugh through his nose.

“Joel was no romantic. She was his daughter, Sarah. Best soccer player in the goddamn world,” Tommy chortled, grabbing the rest of the wood from the snow-covered ground.

It made sense, that Joel had a daughter who died. Only a deep, soul-crushing pain could make someone as empty as Joel.

The look on your face must’ve alerted Tommy that he probably shouldn’t have told you any of that information. His eyes widened as he swallowed, chuckling nervously.

“Don’t tell Joel that you know that.”

And you didn’t. You held the information and waited. The perfect opportunity would arise where you could use it for your benefit.

For weeks you’d watched them. Memorized their patterns, their habits. You’d taken note of every rotation in watch shifts, every outing to gather food or supplies. It’s Tommy’s turn to check the snares today, leaving you and Joel alone in the cabin.

The two of you had established a routine of your own on these days. Silence, as Joel prefers, and to keep far enough away from each other. Tommy didn’t bring up your kiss around Joel, but he was just as flirtatious as ever with you.

They’d fed you, clothed you, returned the strength to your bones. Carved room for you in their lives, despite your unplanned arrival. And yet despite all of this, you knew you had to get out. And if you were to ever have a chance, it had to be today.

Joel sits in the living room, knife in hand as he carves something into the piece of wood to pass the time. You can hear the steady grating of metal, a soft hum that echoes in the cabin.

You don’t get close, too afraid to look him in the eye, too afraid his heavy gaze will deter you. Instead, you stand in the doorway, creeping slowly towards the front door. “Tommy should be back soon, right?”

He doesn’t say anything. Just whittles away at the wood in his hands.

“I hope he catches another deer,” you say, steadily creeping towards the front door. It’s less than a foot away, so close you could reach out and touch it.

But you wait, holding tight to your patience.

“Said he’d teach me how to skin it,” you continue, timing each step with your voice, with the scraping of his knife.

Joel makes a sound at the back of his throat. Not quite a response, but an acknowledgment that he’s hearing you.

You reach out your hand and take the iron lock between your fingers, trying to draw at each syllable as much as possible without sounding strange. “I’m not sure I’ll be any good at it, to be honest with you. All the…the blood, you know? I’ve seen it before, up close, but…it’s different. Isn’t it?”

This time he does respond, and the sound of his voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin. “Blood is blood,” he says.

Unlocked.

You reach for the handle with shaking fingers. Slowly, you twist it open, heart hammering so hard behind your ribcage you can hear the pulse in your ears.

He’ll kill you if he catches you.

But you have to try. You have to.

Gently, you ease the door open. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” you say, voice a little louder than before.

The wind is cold as it hits your face. The most refreshing breath of fresh air you’ve had in weeks, as it’s been the first that’s belonged to you only.

“Blood is just blood,” you say, stepping over the threshold. “I guess, in the QZ, it always just got washed away so quickly.”

The door creaks when it closes. You’ve memorized that, too. So you leave it open in hopes it gives you a couple of extra minutes before he realizes you’re gone.

“Sorry, Joel,” you say. “I’m sure I’m annoying you. Tommy will be back soon.”

You don’t wait to hear a reply.

The moment you’re out of the cabin, off the porch with your feet on solid ground, you start running and you don’t look back.

It’s been so long since you’ve been granted this much freedom, and in only moments your lungs begin to ache.

Still, even with no true destination in mind, you push your legs as fast as they’ll carry you. The snow crunches beneath your feet and your breath fogs in front of your face, but it’s the best you’ve felt in weeks.

There’s an end to the woods somewhere, right? You needed to get out, to find someplace to hole up in temporarily. Someplace that Joel and Tommy haven’t checked a thousand times over. Someplace far.

Tomorrow, you could make a better plan. For now, away was all that mattered.

You’re not sure how long you’re running before you nearly fall against a tree trunk, rough bark scratching against your sweaty palms. Straining your ears, trying to keep your panting breaths quiet, you listen for footsteps, rustling, any sound of life apart from your own.

And when you hear nothing but the wind in your ears, you let yourself feel it for the first time since setting foot in that cabin.

Hope.

“Don’t you fucking move.”

His voice comes a second before the click of his rifle.

You don’t listen.

This time when you begin running from him, your adrenaline is fueled by much more than trepidation. You’re not running for your freedom, you’re running for your life.

Joel’s heavy footsteps are right behind you, his unheaded warning echoing in your head.

You spare a glance over your shoulder to see that perpetual scowl on his face has turned murderous, deadly.

His pace slows only long enough for him to raise his rifle. The shot reverberates between the trees, and pressure builds behind your eyes as you realize how dangerous this man is.

You’ve known it from the moment you’d seen him, but it suddenly feels much more real. He’s going to kill you.

Another shot.

He’s going to kill you.

You run faster, push your legs harder, warm tears sliding down your cheeks.

But Joel’s much bigger than you. Faster, too. And when he crashes into you, sending you both tumbling to the ground, he presses his knee into the small of your back. Pain shoots up through your spine, down to your toes.

He’s speaking but you can’t hear it, can’t hear anything but the sound of your own cries in your ears. You fight him, even knowing you have no chance, even knowing he’s going to take this opportunity to do what he’s wanted all along.

“Please,” you find yourself saying. “Please, just let me go. I’ll never come back, I’ll never tell anyone where you are.”

He laughs. It’s a sick, maniacal sound that frightens you so much more than anything else ever has. “What makes you think I’d believe a single word that comes out of your mouth?”

You can hear the sound of fabric tearing, and then he’s taking your hands in his and pining them against your back. He ties the scrap of his flannel tight around your wrists, immobilizing you.

Trying to break free of the well-practiced knot is fruitless and you know it, but you try anyway.

His breath is hot against the back of your neck. “Stupid little girl,” he says. “Know that whatever happens now, you did to yourself.”

The fear starts to fade and is replaced with exhaustion. Every muscle in your body aches but it’s your mind that simply can’t take the torment any longer. You let out a slow breath, savoring the way your lungs persistently expand, breathing sweet life into your veins. And when you exhale, you say, “Just do it.”

Joel picks up his rifle.

You close your eyes.

His hand is warm as he wraps it around your arm and pulls you to your feet. “Get up.”

He’s taking you back to the cabin? To make for an easier cleanup, you assume. But if he’s going to kill you, you’re not going to have your life to him on a silver fucking platter.

No. If you have to work for it, then so does he.

You pull out of his grasp. “Do it right here.”

“How about you do as I say.”

“Took you for a lotta things, Joel. But I admit, I didn’t think you were a coward.”

His jaw tenses but he says nothing. Just grabs your arm again, hard enough to bruise, and shoves you in front of him. The metal point of his rifle digs into your spine as he pushes it against you. “Walk.”

“No.”

This time he stabs the rifle into your spine so hard a hiss of pain escapes you. “Walk,” he repeats.

What are you to do? You can’t run, can’t hide, can’t fight him off.

You follow his order with gritted teeth. It isn’t until you’re halfway back to the cabin, adrenaline wilting away, that you realize you’re bleeding.

There’s a clean-cut slice through your right shoulder, crimson dripping slowly down the sleeve of your shirt. “You fucking shot me.”

“You asked me to.”

“No, I asked you to kill me. There’s a big difference.” You narrow your eyes at him, to which he gives nothing in response but that stupid fucking scowl.

The sun is beginning to set, casting him in an orange hue. It silhouettes his profile, accenting the scruff on his chin and that thin scar across his nose. The thought crosses your mind that he’d be really handsome if he wasn’t such an asshole.

“Walk,” he says again, announcing each letter.

“No.”

He shoves the point of his rifle into your ribs this time, knocking you to your knees. But then he waits for you to gain your composure, and says, “Make me repeat myself one more time, and I’ll pull the damn trigger.”

Joel wraps the strap of his rifle around his forearm and pulls you roughly to your feet. You expected him to push you forward again, but this time he wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you off your feet entirely.

“Asshole,” you murmur. You contemplate kicking him but know it’s in your best interest to just stay still. With how angry you’ve made him, you can’t imagine there’d be any saving you. Not unless Tommy’s returned from his hunting trip early.

But when Joel kicks open the cabin door, it’s still empty. Your one saving grace is absent.

“Must be hard,” you say as he shoulders you onto the couch. “Blaming the whole world for your fuck ups.”

His jaw feathers as he clenches his teeth. “Feel free to keep quiet.”

“Bet the two of you have done an awful lot to survive. Know you have, ‘cause I have, too. And you and Tommy have been out here on your own far longer than me. If your first instinct was to kill me, I’m sure I’m not the first wanderer to pass through here. Am I?”

He sets his rifle on the counter and runs his hands through his hair. There’s a light dusting of snow on the ends, melting as the seconds tick by.

“You ever killed a girl before, Joel? Or was I going to be your first?”

The muscles in his body go rigid. He turns to you, eyes narrowed. “Watch your mouth.”

It's his reaction, after so little of them, that lets you know you’re on the right track. Your mouth forms a satisfactory grin, which only seems to incite his anger further. “No,” you say. “I wouldn’t have been the first.”

Joel reaches to his wrist, adjusting the broken watch. “Should’ve killed you on day one,” he says. “Before you got your claws into my brother.”

“Who was it?”

“Put a fuckin’ bullet in your head from fifty yards out. Never should’ve even approached you.”

You tilt your head, trying to adjust the position he’d put you in. Your fingers have gone numb, tied too tightly behind your back. “Heard stories about outbreak day,” you say, voice taking on a manipulatively soft cadence. “People had to kill their loved ones when they got bit. Parents, siblings, children. That what you had to do, Joel?”

He crosses the room in a few short strides and takes your face roughly in his hands. “Shut your mouth.”

So quietly it’s almost silent, you whisper, “Who was she?”

In a last-ditch effort to silence you, he wraps his hand around your neck, crushing your windpipe, but all you can focus on is the way he looks at you. Those dark, haunting eyes. Filled with hunger.

Joel looks at you like he’s starving.

And even though you know it’s wrong, know it’s terrible and vulgar, you can’t shake the ache that settles between your thighs as you realize what exactly it is he wants from you.

He lets you go suddenly, running his hand down his face in exasperation. Joel disappears down the hallway for a moment, and you can hear him rustling around, but you don’t realize what he’s looking for until he returns to the living room with gauze, medical tape, and Tommy’s sacred bottle of Jack.

He pours the alcohol over your wound and every muscle in your body tightens at the pain of it. It’s not deep, just a graze from the bullet, but it’s enough to hurt. “How noble of you to treat the bullet wound you gave me.”

Joel doesn’t respond. He dabs the cut with the gauze, cleaning away both the drying blood and the whiskey.

“Can’t believe you missed,” you say, light laughter laced through the words.

But Joel’s not laughing. Not even a little as he tells you, “I don’t miss.”

It can’t be true. You figure it’s just his bruised ego, which is hypocritical considering you’re the one with your hands tied behind your back being mended while he’s got nothing to show for your near escape but a light sheen of sweat on his brow.

But if it is true…and he doesn’t miss, that means he had no intentions of killing you. Joel had every opportunity and every excuse to. Hell—you’d even asked the man to. Yet still, here you sat, untouched save for a scratch.

You’re not quite sure what to make of it.

Now, it’s you who sits in silence while Joel speaks.

“We did what we had to,” he says. “We found this place, fixed it up. It’s ours. Sometimes people get too close. Try to take what doesn’t belong to them. There’s a price for that these days.”

He stays focused on the task at hand; cleaning your wound, placing clean gauze, and taping it to your skin. “Is that why you’re so angry with me all the time? Because you think I owe you something?”

When he tears what remains of your sleeve away from your shirt, the feel of his hands on your bare, sensitive skin is foreign. Not bad, but different from Tommy’s. “You sleep real good at night. Hardly seems like we’re even.”

Joel’s hands are rough and big. There’s dirt beneath his fingernails and wind chap on his knuckles, a display that does something to you. He’s so rugged, so masculine…

“There are other ways I can repay you,” you tell him. His eyes snap to yours, shrouded in a dark mystery you can’t help but lean towards. “I bet it’s been lonely out here. No one but Tommy to talk to. No one to touch but yourself.”

He says nothing. Turns his attention back to patching you up dutifully. But he doesn’t tell you to stop, doesn’t tell you to shut your mouth, and you take it as a sign.

“I’ve been lonely too, Joel. Before the two of you, I hadn’t spoken to a human in weeks. Do you know what that can do to a person? Makes them desperate.”

You can see his pulse quicken in his throat and begin to wonder why you waited so long to try this tactic. It worked for his brother, it only makes sense it would work for Joel, too. He must be just as wanton, just as deprived.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” you tell him softly. “We can help each other. I can…I can repay you.”

When he’s finished patching you up, you stand awkwardly on your feet, hands still tied behind your back. Joel stares up at you with a heat in his eyes you’ve never seen before.

“Just because you’re used to flashin’ those eyes at Tommy doesn’t mean it’ll work on me. I know what you’ve been up to with him, workin’ him up, usin’ him. I’m not that easy.”

You step forward, stumbling a bit before Joel reaches up to steady you by holding your thighs. His palms are so big and wide, stretching easily over the expansion of your legs.

“I’m not using anyone, Joel. I’m only trying to help you out. I know how much it terrifies you, to get close to someone. To lose them.”

Joel’s palms tighten around your thighs, his dark eyes glaring up at you. “You don’t know me, little girl.”

Your heart thumped in your ribcage so loudly that you were scared Joel might hear it. Joel’s chin is almost tucked in between the middle of your thighs, his rough beard brushing against your denim jeans.

“Then show me, Joel. Show me who you really are.”

“This how you survive for so long? Sleeping with all the men you run across?” Joel questioned, one of his palms running along the inside of your thigh. His touch shouldn’t make you feel like this; ignited, aching unbearably.

“Nope,” you exhaled, “just you and your little brother.”

Joel growls, fingers twitching as they traverse higher, one hand gripping tight to the back of your thigh, keeping you balanced, the other dancing dangerously close to the seam of your jeans. “Fuckin’ brat. I bet you gave your daddy hell, didn’t you?”

His palm moves higher, slightly grazing against the outline of your pussy in your jeans. He sits a little straighter, chin pressed to your navel. When he looks up at you like that, it forces you to acknowledge just how handsome he is. Rugged and strong in a way that enhances his loveliness, shrouded in a magnetism you can’t help but fall victim to.

Joel’s hand on the back of your thigh moves slowly over your waist, around your side to the button of your jeans. You watch with rapt attention as he skillfully undoes it, wasting not a second before he’s parting the metallic teeth of your zipper. “S’a shame Tommy ain’t here to save you now, little girl.”

You watch him, but Joel watches you. His attention warms your cheeks, sets your skin ablaze. He hooks his thumbs into your waistband and tugs both your jeans and panties down in one sure movement.

The force of it has you stumbling forward, falling onto his lap. Not so much as an ounce of shame flashes in his eyes as you situate yourself comfortably, becoming acutely aware of the bulge in his jeans. He knows you can feel it. Knows, too, why that little whine forms in the back of your throat.

He looks so proud of himself, like this has all been a game and suddenly the tides have changed and you’re the one on the losing team.

If only he knew the truth.

“Let me repay you,” you breathe out, grinding yourself against him. The rough denim feels harsh against your too-sensitive skin, yet somehow like relief. “For feeding me.” You shift your hips against him with more pressure this time and his lips part. “For putting clothes on my back.” Again. “For protecting me.”

Joel leans up so quickly it startles you. The look on his face is so devoid of emotion, you’re not sure if he wants to fuck you or kill you. He says, “Should be thanking my brother.”

You can’t help the sinful smirk that tugs at your lips. His words say one thing, but his hands find the swell of your ass and squeeze, pulling your forward, pushing you back, encouraging that sweet friction. Joel’s mouth is an inch from yours, so close you’re sharing the same breath as you tell him, “I owe you both.”

There’s a moment of hesitance. A second where he just stares at you, thoughts you wish he’d speak aloud running through his mind. But then he makes his decision, and he presses his mouth urgently to yours.

Every movement is rushed, hurried as if he worries he may change his mind at any moment. Joel’s lips move against yours, tongue slipping between them, tasting you, drinking you in like a man starved for it.

Despite how desolate he moves against you, he’s strangely affectionate. A perfect balance of coarse and soft, of harsh and tender. Your hips move on their own accord now, the apex of your thighs so wet and slippery you stain the denim beneath you.

He slides his fingers in the hair at the nape of your neck, crushing your mouth impossibly closer to his.

“Joel,” you pant, unable to catch your breath. He bucks his hips up against you and it makes you whimper. Again, a little stronger this time. “Joel.”

He stops kissing your swollen lips and starts biting gently at your collarbone instead. He doesn’t say it, but you know this is his way of giving you a chance to speak, to tell him what you need to say.

“My…my hands,” you say. “Please. Please, I won’t do anything. I just want to touch you. I want—oh, God.”

Joel smiles against your skin as he slips his free hand between your legs. You’re sure it pleases him to feel the mess he’s made of you, but you can’t think much of anything past the way the rough pads of his fingers feel as they circle your clit.

He sets a slow but consistent pace, desire steadily racking up higher and higher and higher. You can’t speak, can't breathe, can’t do anything but moan as he creates a bliss like you’ve never known.

This man’s a lot older than you, much more experienced, and it shows. The way he touches you is incomparable to the boys you’d been with back in the QZ, boys who liked you a whole lot more than the man beneath you but somehow knew so much less about how to touch you.

“If I knew playing with this sweet little pussy was the key to getting you to shut up, I’d have done it ages ago,” he says. But there’s no irritation in his voice. Instead, it’s filled with something that sounds a lot like admiration.

You breathe out his name, right on the precipice of an orgasm, when he pulls his hand away. It’s been so long, and you’d been so close, that pressure builds behind your eyes. Your shoulders drop, your head falls forward. “Please,” you say. “Please, Joel—I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I swear, just—!”

“Shh,” he coos, unbuttoning his jeans. “S’enough of that cryin,’ now.” He pulls down his zipper and shoves the denim down just enough to pull himself out. It surprises you, in truth, to see just how big he is.

Yet still, you find yourself lifting on your knees, making it easier for him to slip inside. You ease down onto him and the stretch is somehow both painful and delicious, the low groans Joel makes like music to your ears.

He reaches behind you and pulls at the flannel scrap that binds your hands together, freeing you from restraint. The blood flows back to your fingers, making them tingle. You place both hands on his shoulders and begin to move slowly, experimentally, easily finding a rhythm and an angle that has you hurtling toward euphoria once more.

He’s so big and warm beneath you, cock filling you so full, and you can’t hear anything but the sound of his voice as he begins to murmur such filthy things.

“Told Tommy to leave you alone,” he says. “Told him not to touch you…I can see why he’s been ignorin’ me now. He’s been blinded by all those pretty smiles you give him, all those nice little kisses. But it’s this he wants, ain’t it?”

Joel squeezes your hips tight in his hands, holding you still while he thrusts up into you. This feels impossibly better, his cock nudging the sweetest spot, and your heart hammers in your chest in response. “God, Joel, I—!”

“Wants this tight little pussy,” he continues. “Should be him fuckin’ you good like this, by all rights. But Tommy’s not home, an’ girls like you just need’ta be filled up, huh?” His pace quickens, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the empty cabin. You can feel him throb inside you, holding himself back. “Might be my brother you want, but it’s my cock you’re soakin,’ ain’t it?”

You think if your brain wasn’t scrambled, reduced to mush at the sultry cadence of Joel’s voice, that maybe you would’ve heard the creak of the door being open.

But you don’t, and neither does Joel. Not until Tommy’s voice cuts through the lusty fog. “What the fuck, Joel?! What happened to not fucking her?!”

You reached down to cover yourself, but Joel smacked your palms away, continuing the movement of his hips. “Christ, Tommy. We’re almost finished,” Joel growled, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you in place. His grip tightened the closer he got, exposing his neck to you after throwing his head back.

Tommy’s eyes were burning a hole into the side of your face, and you couldn’t help but look over at him. His brows were knitted together, a deep crease between them. His lips twitched as if he wanted to yell an objection, but he swallowed down the words.

You bat your eyes at Tommy, reaching down to trap your clit in between your nimble fingers. Every time Joel pushed up into you, his cock stretched you in the most perfect way.

Tommy couldn’t pull himself away, actively watching his brother fuck some girl that they’d both been holding hostage. Just the circumstances should’ve had your stomach churning, but instead, you felt another wave of wetness rush against Joel’s cock.

“Oh, God,” you whimpered, watching the way Tommy’s mouth was parted, frozen mid-breath. The muscles in his jaw tightened when he finally watched you orgasm, speared on Joel’s dick. A deep tremble in your thighs had you shaking in Joel’s grip, your entire body jerking at the feeling of Joel continuing to use you for his benefit.

Joel pulls your focus back into him by lightly slapping the side of your face and turning your head to look at his. The strained expression on his face, the veins bulging from his neck, the way his teeth were clenched in frustration showed you just how close he was.

“Bet you’d like it if I filled you up, huh?” Joel asked, not paying any attention to his brother, who was still stupidly watching. “You wouldn’t even be able to stop me. You’d just let me treat you like the little slut you are.”

You nodded your head desperately, trying to push him further and further until he was finally falling. Joel’s lips were parted slightly, stuck momentarily before quickly pulling out of you. Long ropes of his semen splattered across the skin of your thighs, warm and sticky against you.

The muscles in Joel’s face, which were usually tense and solid, suddenly melted into soft, languid lines. It was nice, looking at him for a moment, imagining what he would’ve been like before. Was he a nice man, who worked a usual 9 to 5, minimum wage job to keep the lights on? Or had he always had a darkness inside of him, one that existed before the world ended?

Just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

“Care to give me a goddamn explanation now, or do I have to wait another ten minutes?” Tommy said. Even though he looked incredibly intrigued not even a handful of minutes ago, he was back to the angry demeanor he had upon walking in.

Joel’s eyes watched yours momentarily, his cum drying on your thighs as you watched him back. You thought that you saw a sliver of something on his face; remorse? Tenderness? But it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.

Joel stood, his frame towering over yours. He tucked himself back into his jeans as if nothing had changed and explained, “Your little girlfriend made her grand escape while you were gone. Well—tried to, anyway. You should keep a better handle on her, teach her some discipline. ‘Cause next time I have to waste a bullet on her, it won’t be a graze.”

Tommy sputtered, glancing between Joel and you. You were desperately trying to cover yourself now, left grabbing for clothes while both Joel and Tommy stood over you.

“You tried to fuckin’ escape?” Tommy asked, but there was no malice behind his words. Instead, he seemed genuinely disappointed, and for a second, you actually felt bad for letting him down.

You looked over to Joel for help, for something, but his eyes were back to staring through you like you were a ghost. Like he hadn’t just fucked you senseless.

“Come on, go get cleaned up. I’ll deal with you later,” Tommy said, a hand on his hip as he shook his head at you. Why was it that you felt embarrassed for what you had done, your failed attempt at escaping the two men? You were embarrassed for trying to finally be free, yet you didn’t even regret letting Joel push himself inside of you.

“I’m sorry,” you began, standing and covering yourself with your hands. “You both have to understand my position. I know that you’re not bad people, I know that you don’t trust me, but keeping me here isn’t right.”

“I told you that she was just playin’ with your emotions. She doesn’t care about you, she just wants you to let your guard down,” Joel scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest.

You stepped closer to Tommy, needing to get your point across. “I do care about you, Tommy. I know that you’re a good person, just trying to survive. I’ve had to do the same.”

Joel moved towards you, trying to square you off from his brother. “You don’t know us, little girl. Just because you let us get between your legs doesn’t mean that you know either of us.”

Stiffening up, you squared your shoulders and stood as tall as you could. You locked your gaze on Joel’s, not allowing him to have the upper hand in this conversation.

“I’m not Sarah, Joel. You can’t control me, as much as you wish you could.”

The expression on Joel’s face was deadly, and if looks could kill, you would be lying in a pool of blood at his feet. He closes the short distance between you, his teeth clenched and fist balled tight.

“If you ever say her name again, it’ll be the last thing you say,” he hissed, his fist wavering by his side. “Do you understand?”

As much as you wanted to spout something back at him, you knew better. If you kept pushing him and pushing him, he would eventually bite you right back.

“Fine,” you spat, turning your head away from Joel. It made no sense, he had just given you the best orgasm of your life, but now you wanted to fucking kill him. You understood what it was like to lose someone, to have scars so deep that they never fully healed. It could turn you into a monster. Joel, unfortunately, had succumbed to the latter.

“Deal with your fuckin’ girlfriend. I need some air,” Joel said, grabbing his rifle before walking out of the cabin. The air in the cabin was still tense with the heat of Tommy’s eyes burning through you.

“I fucked up, Tommy, I know. I’m so sorry,” you begged. His mouth was a hard, narrow line, clearly trying to keep his fury at bay.

“The one thing I asked, the one thing, and you couldn’t do it.”

He scoffed, glancing down at your still half-naked body. “And then you tried to run away, brought up Sarah, and slept with him? Christ, what a fuckin’ mess.”

Tommy couldn’t even bring himself to look at you, and it made the pit in your stomach sink a few more inches down.

“I’m sorry Tommy. I care about both of you,” you tried to explain, but Tommy just shook his head.

“Go wash up. Should have some water in the tub,” Tommy said, dismissing you. You paused, hesitating to leave the conversation. You hadn’t gotten any resolution - it wasn’t fair. Joel and Tommy couldn’t just expect you not to retaliate.

Talking to Tommy wasn’t going to resolve anything. You’d have to gain their trust back again, slowly, and you would be lucky if you even got it back through just time. No, you would have to prove it to them.

Time passed since then. It was getting towards the end of winter, the snow less harsh and cold a little more bearable. With the way things were going, winter would be finished in just a few weeks. With winter being over, you could survive on your own again, you could take the risk to escape.

You just needed one distraction. Anything.

You did everything you could to regain Joel and Tommy’s trust. Preparing dinner, tagging along for any wood gathering; you had even cleaned the house when Joel complained about the dust lining the kitchen cabinets.

When Joel had returned home from patrolling the perimeter, the look of surprise to see a spotless cabin made you bite back your smile. Even though he didn’t say thank you, he gave you a bit more of his food in a silent reward.

He had even gone out of his way to search the basement for tampons for you after he heard you complaining to Tommy about it. Joel acted like he hated you, but something made him sleep with you. Something was there.

Though Tommy still didn’t let himself grow incredibly close to you, things did get somewhat better. He allowed you to spend time taking watch with him some nights, spending the night talking about whatever came to your mind first. Whether it be “What would be your dream job” or “if you could time travel, would you go to the past or the future” - the conversation always felt easy with Tommy.

It felt like he was trying so hard to not trust you, but the moment he sat down with you, he talked to you like an old friend. Maybe it was because he had been tied to Joel for so long, years of the same conversations over and over again. You were new to him, a new presence to absorb. You understood why it was so easy for Tommy to fall into old habits.

You were sitting up with Tommy when it happened. Joel was asleep in the bed, and you didn’t have it in you to lay with him. Sometimes you shared the bed with Tommy, and Joel would take the couch, but you had never laid with Joel. After what had happened, the intimacy you shared with him - sharing a full-sized mattress would feel like a prison sentence.

So, you stayed up on watch with Tommy while Joel slept. He had passed you the bottle of Jack one too many times, and you were buzzing a little bit in your seat.

“I hope the snow lets up before I gotta go out and do my rounds. I’m gonna end up freezin’ my dick off,” Tommy groaned, stretched out on the couch. The light from the lantern lit up the small space, casting shadows over Tommy’s face.

He was a handsome man, you had to admit that. Just like his brother, who was softly snoring a couple of meters away.

“You better make it quick. I’m not going out there to find your dick if it falls off,” you said back, making Tommy snort in amusement.

“Yeah, I bet you’d like that. Probably wouldn’t even give it back to me,” he said. His legs were stretched out, his knee pressing into the meat of your thigh. Tommy’s warmth comforted you, as much as it probably shouldn’t have.

“You’re sick,” you said back, trying to get a laugh out of Tommy, but he was suddenly shockingly serious. His eyes widened as he straightened up in his seat, hand reaching down to the revolver at his side.

You followed his eyes, turning your head until you finally saw it. Three people standing in the tight hallway, directly in front of Joel’s room. They must’ve snuck in from the cellar since you didn’t hear the sound of the window breaking.

Tommy’s hand lifts quickly, aiming the gun at the group. His free palm pulls at your arm, standing up to tug you behind him. He uses his back to shield you from the group. He’s protecting you.

“Y’all don’t have any business bein’ in here. I’d suggest you go back out the way you came from,” Tommy spoke, loudly, as if to wake Joel. They were blocking the door so neither of you could see if he was still asleep in the bed.

The group was made up of two men and a woman. They almost mirrored you, a short woman with two hulking men surrounding her. The way that they were dressed revealed that they were raiders, with one of the men wearing a necklace of teeth. A hum started buzzing through your brain at the situation - this was bad.

“Seems like it’s quite cozy in here. You wouldn’t believe how bad it’s snowing outside. You should let us stay,” the woman spoke, grinning up at Tommy. Her smile was sinister, laced with wickedness.

Tommy stiffened up, cocking his revolver before raising the gun directly at the woman. “I won’t ask again.”

Before anyone could even react, a gunshot rang out. The man with the teeth necklace had a bullet rush through his brain, gasping before dropping down to his knees.

“Johnny!” the woman shrieked, her other male partner swinging around to see where the shot came from. They finally parted from the front of the bedroom door, revealing Joel aiming his own rifle at the group.

The lantern that was sitting in the living room barely cast enough light to even see Joel, but you were able to see enough. He looked deadly, like death himself. You hadn’t seen him like this before; even with you, he had never come off that furious.

The man who was still standing lunged at Joel while he was attempting to reload, both men fighting over the gun.

Tommy spun to you, cradling the side of your face. “Stay back. We got it, okay?”

He turned back, approaching the woman who just unsheathed a machete. As soon as she lunged at Tommy, you heard the flash of a gunshot light up the room. The bullet swished past your face, a hair length away from touching your skin. You could feel the heat of the bullet.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” you heard Joel shout, jumping onto the man to rip his rifle out of his hands. Tommy had wrestled the machete out of the woman’s hands, but his own gun was a couple of meters away, tucked under the table in the corner of the room.

A loud clatter from the bedroom showed Joel and the man wrestling around on the ground, the rifle long forgotten about. The brothers were fighting for their lives, it was no longer up for debate.

You have to do something. You glanced over at the front door, unblocked and easy to access. You could leave. You could run out into the snow and run for your life, and let these two groups fight to the death.

It would be easy. Your jacket was right at the door, you could grab it on the way out. It could work.

But then you looked over at Joel, who was straddling the intruder. His biceps were bulging from how hard he was choking him, muscles flexing in the excitement of the kill.

Moving your frantic eyes back over to Tommy, you saw the woman lay a rough punch to the side of Tommy’s jaw. His head snapped to the side with a sickening crack that made her cackle in pleasure. Tommy was momentarily disoriented, which the woman took advantage of.

She turned to lunge at the machete while also ripping her own gun out and aiming it at Joel in an attempt to save her friend. You found yourself jumping on top of her before you could even throw one last look at the front door. She hadn’t even reached the machete yet, thank god, but you still had to rip the gun out of her hands so she wouldn’t be able to shoot Joel.

“Little bitch,” the woman hissed when you slipped your hands around her neck. She clawed at your palms, your wrists, leaving jagged nail marks embedded into your skin.

Your ears were ringing, your face hot and pulsing. It had been so long since you had killed anyone, it felt simply barbaric. To watch the life slowly drain from her eyes, empty and gray.

“P-please,” she gasped, punching her fists softly against your chest. Your head was pulled back high, glaring down at her without an ounce of remorse on your face. She had tried to rob you, to hurt Tommy, to hurt Joel. She deserves this.

After a couple more tight grips of your palms, she stopped struggling beneath you. Heavy, breathy gasps left your throat while a low gurgling sound left hers. The sound of death was never a comforting one, but you found yourself unable to release her throat. Long after she had taken her last breath, you still found yourself strangling her, your knuckles white from the pressure.

“Hey… kiddo,” graveled Joel from behind you. He pressed his palm against your shoulder, his hand heavy and distracting. You stop, glancing up around the room. All three of the intruders were now lifeless, lying haphazardly around the cabin. Thank god that there wasn’t too much blood.

“It’s over,” Joel whispered, rubbing his palm in circles against your shoulder. “Let her go.”

You didn’t even feel yourself release your iron grip - instead, you watched, like you were in an out-of-body experience.

Tommy’s hand is warm on the small of your back. He gently pulls you away from the woman, her body still warm under your palms. He holds you into his grip, trying to make you meet his eyes as he speaks. “Hey,” he says, voice filled with tenderness. “It’s okay. It was her or us, alright?”

He’s speaking to you as if you’re fragile, as if you’ll break. But your hands don’t shake, and even though her eyes are open and watching you lifelessly, you don’t feel any regret. Tommy’s warmth seeps beneath your skin as he attempts to comfort you, but it’s Joel who you look to for answers. “I did what I had to,” you say. “Right?”

Joel nods, eyes full of certainty. “You did what you had to.”

Tommy and Joel took care of the bodies, even leaving you alone while they did it. Killing her had gained their trust. She was the key.

But still, you didn’t leave while they were gone. You couldn’t bring yourself to. So, when they returned, they comforted you and allowed you the have the entire bed to yourself.

“Won’t be able to sleep now anyways,” Joel muttered.

You move through the next day in a thick fog. You’ve seen death your whole life, and have done your fair share of bloody deeds. But for some reason, this feels different. Weighted. Like maybe fleeing when the opportunity presented itself instead of killing them will have lasting effects.

When Tommy suggests that you get some rest early in the evening, you agree with him. He sees you safely to the bed, pulls the blankets over you, and urges you to sleep.

But you don’t, of course. And when the door creaks open again, Joel’s heavy footsteps enter the room. The mattress bows beneath his weight as he sits beside you. “What you…” He stops. Reaches up to squeeze the scruff along his jaw. “What you did today…I know it’s not easy. But…I want you to know, too that it’s…that I appreciate it. You saved Tommy. Saved me. So…you know. Thank you.”

Though you’re unsure what exactly possessed you to do it, you find Joel’s hand in the dark and slide your fingers through his. His grip is strong and his palm calloused, but there’s a gentleness in the way he cradles your small hand in his that surprises you. The urge rises in you to ask him again, to hear those reassuring words that the decision you made in killing someone with your bare hands was the correct one.

But you already know the answer he’ll give, because your brutality means he gets to see another day. What you don’t know, however, is why he leans over and softly presses a kiss to your forehead. You don’t know why it ignites a fire in your chest, either. Something akin to desire but not quite.

“Dinner’s ready,” he says. “Tommy fixed you a plate.”

And for the first time, it’s a dinner without the weight of Joel’s glare from across the table. His stare is now filled with something different, something that feels a whole lot like adoration. Like he was truly grateful for what you did.

You help Tommy with the dishes, and when you tell him you’re ready for bed he wraps an arm around your shoulders and promises to fend off nightmares, promises you only good dreams.

But you realize as he wraps himself around you, smothering you in the masculine, pine scent of him, that it’s not just good dreams you want.

You want him.

Tommy leads you back to the bedroom, and on the way you pass the bloodstain on the floorboards. A stark reminder of what had happened, of what you’d done for them.

For both of them.

You can feel Tommy’s gaze on the side of your face as the two of you linger in the doorway of the bedroom. Joel sits on the couch, whittling knife in hand, permanent crease between his brows. He’s so handsome, so dark and brooding and mysterious in a way that keeps you on your toes, a way that draws you in like a moth to a flame.

It isn’t just Tommy you want. When you look back at him, you think the yearning must be written on your face.

Because he doesn’t even ask the question, doesn’t even seem surprised by it. Tommy just nods once and says, “Go on, then. Ask him.”

You swallow, taking a deep breath to prepare yourself for what is about to happen. For what you wanted to happen.

“Joel?”

He raises his head to look up at you. There’s a moment of hesitation as he stares down your outstretched hand that reaches for him, but then he’s setting his knife down on the table and wrapping his calloused palm around your fingers instead.

Tommy crawls into the bed and lifts the blanket for you, a beacon of warmth, of familiarity, of kindness. You melt against him, and it feels good, but when Joel toes off his boots and you can feel him at your back it’s different. Better than good. It’s…perfect. Satisfying. Wedged between them, a soft center to all their strength, you wonder how this sick desire that rumbles low in your belly has managed to go undetected for so long.

You turn between them, facing Joel instead. Tommy’s hands find your waist, dipping beneath your shirt, the tips of his fingers brushing against the bare skin just above the hem of your jeans. Joel’s eyes are heated and intense, drinking you in, swallowing you whole.

He brushes a stray piece of your hair behind your ear at the same time that Tommy’s hand dips beneath your waistband.

Silently, you wonder if they can hear the way your heart beats behind your ribcage. A loud, incessant hum that reverberates in your ears.

Tommy’s hand sinks lower, wriggling in the small space between your skin and the denim. He slides his fingers gently over your clit, and when your lips part in a gasp Joel traces over your mouth with his thumb. You can feel Tommy at your back, cock hardening as he presses it against your ass. He kisses your shoulder over the fabric of your shirt and says, “Wet already, filthy little girl.”

There’s no sense in denying it. No sense in fighting it off, not when your desire has overcome all sense, drowned out by nothing other than the aching need for them. For both of them.

Joel slips the pad of his thumb into your mouth, rubbing it against the tip of your tongue. “Suck it. Put that mouth to good use.” You nod, obeying his command before hollowing out your cheeks to suck on his thumb. You whimper around it at the feeling of Tommy’s middle finger rubbing tight circles into your clit. His pointer finger spreads your folds, working at the wetness pooling in your panties.

“You always get this wet?” Tommy asked, finally pushing his finger into your throbbing heat. You gasp, looking up at Joel through a hazy gaze, watching the dark expression on his face. “Or is it just because of us?”

You nod your head, rocking your hips against Tommy’s palm. “Fuck, yes,” you moan into Joel’s thumb, not even properly answering the question but neither of them seem to mind. Tommy’s finger still works through your pussy, curling around in your tight, wet heat.

“Playin’ with her pussy shuts her up quick. We should've done it together weeks ago,” Joel teases before reaching down to unbuckle his pants. The sound of the metal belt clanging and his zipper being pulled down makes you shudder into Tommy’s body.

Should you feel guilty for how much you enjoy this? Feeling worshipped? Feeling wanted. For so long you had drifted, never truly having a place. After the death of your father, it was solidified, that you weren’t important to anyone. Nobody had come to your defense, nobody had tried to protect you.

But Joel did, and so did Tommy. And even though the situation was a little fucked up, you couldn’t help the way your hips stuttered when Joel pressed his cock against your lips. Without hesitating, you wrapped your tight mouth around his girthy length, humming pleasure at the feeling of his dick stretching out your throat.

“You belong to us, don’t you?” Tommy asked, playing with your clit as he continued to finger you. The combined sound of Tommy’s fingers slamming into your cunt and your mouth sucking Joel off had your head spinning. It was overstimulation of the best kind, Tommy’s cock hard and chasing relief by rutting into your ass.

You nodded, watering eyes still glued to Joel’s face. The look of pure pleasure on his face was enough to tip you closer to the edge, a ragged whimper moaned into Joel’s cock. His neck was flushed, knuckles white, and clenched into a fist. It was empowering, having this big, brooding man at your mercy.

They’re both so stubborn and strong but for you, they break. It’s this thought, combined with the fullness in your mouth and the feel of Tommy’s fingers working between your thighs that sends you reeling, an orgasm wrenching through you mercilessly.

Within seconds, before you even get a chance to come down from the height of it, Tommy’s dragging your jeans down your legs and unbuttoning his own. “S’only fair I get you first, sweetheart,” he says. He wraps his hand around your knee and drapes your thigh over his hip, positioning himself behind you.

And you want him, you do, but every nerve ending flares on edge. Every inch of your skin feels too sensitive, too tender. You pull your head back, making just enough room in your mouth to mutter around Joel’s cock, “Tommy, slow down, wait-”

“Nah, baby,” he says. “Wanna show you what you’ve been missin’. Waited too fuckin’ long to spread these legs of yours to wait anymore.” And then he’s pushing into you, the sticky remnants of your orgasm smoothing out any resistance he encounters.

Joel takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, a strangely gentle touch, and says softly, “Mouth open, little girl.”

You look only at Joel as Tommy grips your hip and begins to rock slowly into you, breath hitching in your throat as the head of his cock nudges against the deepest parts of you. You part your lips, and Joel slides himself back into your mouth, down your throat.

Tommy’s heat behind you blankets you in a sweet warmth, and despite his eagerness, you’re delighted to hear the groans that leave his mouth. You like that this is making him happy, you like that you’re making him feel good. “So tight,” he murmurs against your shoulder. “Always knew this pussy would be good. From the moment I saw you, baby, I knew it. Can feel her squeezin’ me, wanna feel how wet she gets when I make her cum a second time.”

The thought of it makes you whimper around Joel’s cock. He laughs, thumb stroking lightly over your cheekbone. “Think she’d like that, Tommy,” he says.

It’s so strange to see him like this. Scowling, uptight Joel-soft and delicate as he cherishes you, as he worships you as if you’re something holy. As if killing for him has altered his brain chemistry, flipped a switch, and made him see you in a brand new light.

Joel reaches between your legs and presses the tip of his middle finger against your clit. It aches beneath his touch, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. “Wouldn’t you? Hm?”

You can’t speak, but you moan around his cock and hollow out your cheeks, sucking him harder. A flush creeps up Joel’s neck and he lets out a low groan in response.

Tommy thrusts his cock into you at a steady pace, pawing at your hip. You clench your walls around him and his rhythm falters. “Oh, she likes that, Joel,” he says. “S’that feel good, baby?”

It’s all too much-the filthy words, the pressure on your clit, the fullness in your belly, the ache that settles in your jaw. And then there’s the way Joel looks at you, and before you realize it you’re shuddering, your second orgasm ripping apart what remains of your defenses.

You may have stolen from them but the two brothers have stolen from you, too. Stolen connection and fondness and sentiment—things you’d sworn off long ago.

But as Joel strokes your clit sloppily, attention faltering as he chases his release with you, how can you keep yourself from feeling something for him? How can you see this big, brooding man become delicate for you only, and keep yourself from the edge of devotion?

“Yeah, there you go,” Tommy whispers. “Cum for us. Soakin’ my fuckin’ cock, little girl. That’s it. That’s it, baby.”

Joel’s release is salty as it hits the back of your tongue, but you swallow it down, taking him into your mouth as far as you can.

“Goddamn,” he hisses, and it’s like music to your ears. A crude praise. His hands tremble as he slowly descends, that permanent crease between his brows finally smoothing over.

Tommy’s hips stutter. You reach your hand back and thread your fingers through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp. His grunts fill the room and you can feel his cock as it twitches inside you. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby.”

You don’t register the fact that he already is until it’s too late, until the stickiness spills out of you, coating the inside of your thighs. There’s so much, and you’d be angry about it if it didn’t make your skin ignite with desire, another fresh wave of arousal.

Because as stupid as it is, as irresponsible as it is for him to cum inside you, you like that for once, he didn’t ask—he just takes. As if you belong to him, as if you always have.

He sighs contentedly, and slowly pulls himself out of you. “Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had, sweetheart,” he says, falling back against the pillows.

Joel tucks himself back into his jeans and crawls onto the mattress beside you, stroking your hair as you lay your head on his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, a soothing beat.

“Which was the best dick, little girl?” There’s a little bit of amusement in Tommy’s tone as he asks it. “Which brother was better?”

Joel leans up just enough to scowl at Tommy. “That’s enough,” he says firmly, leaving no room for argument. “Let it go.”

Tommy laughs, and you fight off the smile that threatens to form on your face as the three of you settle back into the sheets. “Alright, fine,” he says. “Joel, you take watch. I’m exhausted.”

Within moments, Tommy’s soft snores fill the room. You lay there in silence, your head on Joel’s chest, for so long you think he may have fallen asleep, too. But after some time, his chest rises as he inhales a deep breath.

He says, “I always plan for the worst. Don’t like surprises. But…I’ll admit, I didn’t plan for you. Kinda blindsided me.”

Joel’s words blindside you. This had always been the plan, to gain their trust just enough to escape, to be successful your second time around. But you’re not sure why it hurts, or why his dance around an admission makes your chest pull tight. But maybe you’re taking it out of context, maybe you're assuming too much. “What do you mean?”

For a moment he just stares at you, eyes roaming over every minute detail of your face, pupils blown wide. Finally, he says, “Nothin.’ I’ll explain another time.” And before you can change his mind, he’s shifting out from under you and lacing up his boots. “I’ll go and do the rounds. Get some rest, alright?”

Joel glances down at you, his eyes still full of contemplation and something else that you couldn’t quite read. He leaned down quickly, pressing a heavy kiss against your lips, taking your breath away. The rough hair of his beard scratched your face in the most delicious way, but the kiss also felt heavy. Like Joel had something on his mind but could only bring himself to express it by tasting your tongue.

His forehead pressed against your own momentarily before he raised back up. Joel’s large palm held your face gently, his touch completely different from the Joel you’d known so far. The man who had shot you, who had fucked you into submission. You knew that there was something in him that was soft and malleable. You had finally found it.

“Sleep,” Joel said, pulling his fingers away from your face. The tips of his fingers left goosebumps in their trace, and you felt the weight of the situation set in. This was it. The moment Joel left to do his regular route, you could go the opposite way. Joel’s route was one that you had memorized because you went on the same one with Tommy. It would be easy to avoid him. It would be easy to leave.

Joel left the room quietly, cracking the door closed behind him. It only took him a couple of minutes to shrug on his jacket, grab his rifle, and head out of the front door. If you timed it right, in ten minutes he should reach the east corner of the cabin’s perimeter, which would give you enough time to leave before he is even near the cabin.

Sitting up slowly, you glanced over at Tommy, who was still softly snoring. You slide off of the bed, rifling through the side drawer to grab Tommy’s pocket knife. Quietly, you go through one of the unused canvas bags, pilling up the same supplies you had stolen so long ago. Food, ammo, batteries - anything that could help you survive on your own.

You stood at the doorway of the bedroom, watching the lantern light wash across Tommy’s face. After being with him for so long, it hurt to walk away. Even though it was a sticky situation, quite literally, you still found yourself caring for the brothers.

‘Goodbye, Tommy,’ you thought to yourself before leaving the bedroom. Striding across the living room, you could feel your heart thump in your throat at the sweet taste of freedom. You grabbed Joel’s spare jacket, tugging it over your shoulders.

This is it. You don’t have to stay here.

You remembered the feeling of Joel’s lips on your lips, the way Tommy rutted against your hips. The feeling of being wanted. The feeling of being protected.

You were scared to leave. But you had to.

The snow crunched under your feet when you walked out of the cabin’s front door. It was late in the night, the air crisp and heavy in your lungs. You saw your feet running before you actually processed that you were sprinting through the woods. The more you ran, the deeper the snow got, the icy slush melting into the bottom of your jeans.

You didn’t run into Joel, or Tommy, or anyone else for that matter. You couldn’t remember how long you ran for, or how far you had gotten, but your legs continued to stomp into the wet ground beneath your feet. The heat from the morning sun warming up your face was enough to let you know that you were finally free.

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miley1442111 · 8 months ago

Text

(part 3) choices and meetings- a.donaldson

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a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)

i'll probably do a few more parts of this because it's just so cute and sad :(

summary: the first conversation you two have after the break-up.

pairing: art donaldson x reader

warnings: angst, feelings of disappointment, hurt, allusions to an eating disorder, depression, etc. +

PART 3 of 12

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It had been 4 weeks since the break up. Both of you were miserable but you wouldn’t tell the other. There was no ‘hot guy from your science class’ that you were fucking, you just wanted to make him jealous.

It did make him jealous. Very jealous. Just the idea of you being with someone else made his skin crawl. He’d essentially gone to every guy in that class to threaten to kill them if they even looked at you, he didn’t care if you weren’t his girlfriend anymore, he just needed some more time. He just needed you.

The only time you two interacted was during tennis sessions. You were being coached by the same person, so he made you do matches against each other. The last 4 weeks had been full of electrifying matches, often ending in Art smashing a racket or you stalking off in anger.

But you were both playing so well. So, so well.

The matches were difficult and finally challenging. Art had never played so well, he was almost at your level, and even beat you a few times. Though, you were usually better.

Once the rackets were packed away and you both left the court, it was like a scene in a romcom. Both of you wishing for the other, crying alone over one another, and wanting everything to be different. You regretted breaking up with him, but you knew you couldn’t take it anymore. His forgetfulness, his carelessness, his choices. He regretted breaking your heart. He missed you, your smile, your jokes, your laughs, your pretty face, your cute habits, your hands on his skin, the way you loved him, how he felt loved and wanted. Some things he’d never felt before. You were his first serious relationship, his first love, his first everything.

It came to the day of your final match against Serena O’Brien, an English tennis player. You were ready, you felt good.

Then you looked into the crowd and saw Art, and everything went to shit. Your mind was clouded, you felt sick, you felt betrayed. Seeing him at school was one thing, that was controlled, you knew you’d see him at school. Seeing him here? Uncontrolled, unknown, and unfair.

You set your sights on the ball. The match started.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ “That was some real tennis!” Your coach shouted, ecstatic at your win. The match was hard fought but she didn’t exactly have a chance, not when you were imagining the ball as Art’s face.

“Thanks,” you smiled, though there was no happiness behind it, no pride in your win. Art walked onto the court behind him, an apologetic smile on his face. Art had noticed your changing habits in recent weeks as he tried to win you back. You were more irritable, less ‘there’, you ate less, you trained more, you stopped doing some of the things you actually enjoyed, like the literature class you just sat in on every Tuesday afternoon, or the cat nursery you used to volunteer at.

But today, today he had a plan. He would speak to you, tell you he loved you and that he was sorry, then let you go. It’s what you deserved. You deserved someone who didn’t pick anyone else over you. You deserved someone as smart as you. You deserved someone as beautiful as you. You deserved someone as kind as you. You deserved someone as caring as you. You deserved an equal. Art did not see himself as equal to you.

“That was amazing,” he smiled at you, walking onto the court. “You’re incredible.”

Your face fell. You didn’t want him to think your tennis was ‘incredible’, you wanted him to think you were incredible. “Thank you.”

“Can we talk?” He asked, itching the back of his neck and looking down.

“Sure,” you shrugged. All your anger had left the second you shut the door in his face. It was replaced by hurt and sadness. Feeling like you’re not your boyfriend’s priority is awful. Knowing who his priority actually is was worse.

Art took your hand tentatively, and led you to the room you’d sat in before the match. He sat on a stack of boxes as you leant against the door beside him. His hand in yours made both of you reminiscent, electrified, and sad, all at the same time. His soft hands felt comfortable, familiar, right.

Your hand in his felt blasphemous. You were so… perfect, he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve this conservation, he didn’t deserve a moment of your time, yet you gave him it. He didn’t want to ruin it,

There was a long moment of silence.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered as he held your hand. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s ok Art, people break up-”

“We don’t. We shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have let it happen, I love you too much for that,” he sniffled and your heart broke in two. Your boy, your sweet, kind Art was crying.

“I’m such an idiot,” he whispered, looking down at the ground. He was trying to keep it together, but he’d never been good at hiding things when it came to you. Your thumb brushed back and forth on his skin, calming him. It made him cry all the harder, you were so caring, he’d hurt you so much, so deeply. And yet, you showed him a kindness he didn’t believe he deserved. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Art it just wasn’t working,” you sighed. “It’s alright. It’s no one’s fault.”

“It’s my fault,” He looked up at you with red-rimmed eyes, tears spilling from them. You took your hand and cupped his cheek, wiping them away. He leaned into your touch as if he'd missed it for an eternity. As if he’d missed you for an eternity. Your hand on his cheek burned straight to his heart. Subconsciously he tried to commit the feeling to memory, in case this was the last time. “It’s all my fault.”

“You can’t beat yourself up about it. What we had was so good for so long. It just… there was too much going on, something had to give,” You bit your bottom lip to try and stop the tears falling from your eyes. The devastated expression on his face broke you. “I love you so much Art, but I’m hurt. So are you. You’ll be alright.”

Art looked at you again and he started sobbing into your side, wrapping his arms around your waist. You looked up, attempting to preserve your composure. “I’m so sorry,” he cried into your side. “I love you so much. I love you so, so much.”

“I love you too much,” you croaked out. “You’re such a good person.”

That made Art cry harder. You still thought he was a good person after he hurt you. You still thought he deserved your love. You still loved him. You were comforting him, telling him it wasn’t his fault. It was all his fault. He was horrible to you, he was a bad boyfriend.

“I miss you,” you whispered and his heart stopped. His plan was going awfully. You were too kind, too good for him. You should’ve hated him, yet you didn’t.

“I miss you too,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your hip.

“This sucks,” you sadly chuckled as you allowed the tears to roll down your face.

“It does,” he whispered against you. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s alright Art. We’re still friends, we’ll take care of each other, yeah?” You looked down at him and made eye contact.

“Promise?” He whispered, holding his pinky finger up.

“Promise,” You whispered, interlocking your fingers. “I’m always here for you.”

“I love you,” he stood up beside you, closer than he probably should’ve been. His hands wrapped around your waist and out of pure instinct, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. He tasted like salty tears. You wiped his face again, a sad smile on your face.

“We’re here for each other,” you swore.

“Always.”

You opened the door behind you and walked out, making it the second hardest thing you’d even done, right after breaking up with him.

He fell back into his seat, crying silently into his hands, chest heaving, eyes spilling, throat drying.

He just made it 1000 times worse for himself, and you.

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art donaldson masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

#art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #challengers #art challenge #zendaya #zenday coleman #josh oconnor #mike faist x reader #mike faist #x reader #x you angst #x you #x you fluff #fem reader #x gn reader #x female reader #reader insert #fluff #angst

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mehiwilldoitlater · 3 months ago

Note

Now hear me out,what if. What if we did get Sent back to our world. But. Our monke was sent with us. Pretty please 👉👈🥺 We gotta fuel the shenanigans of things somehow. I wanna see him get whiplash from both technology and culture shock. We've been nice to our boi for a good while,it's time to bully him finally.

When you both wake up in the middle of the city, with people standing, asking if there was a con around or something, you know that you both are in something big.

You needed to find a good hiding place, but you knew what was happening: you and the Destined One were now in your own world.

The buzzling city, the cars, the technology—everything made his poor brain scrumble. You cane from this?! This chaos?!

The smell for him is difficult to handle, the absence of trees, and the strange behavior of the people...

///

"This is...your home?"

"Yup."

Hiding in a tree, the two of you admired the small portion of the city that the park hallowed you to observe. While you remembered what it feels like to breathe the same air where you were born, Yuán Fèn couldn't take his eyes off the palace in the distance.

"Are those... pagodas?"

"Oh no, those are skycrapers. People live and work there."

"Oh..."

Everything was out standing. And the mortal did it without the help of gods or others! They did it themselves! He gasped again, his tail swaving excited.

"We should go now! ...Maybe you can finally meet my family!"

///

That's your plan...until you find out what's really happened to you.

You were wondering if the car that had crashed into you was some sort of allucination or something like that, but when you reached your home, you could feel all the pain that you hadn't felt the day of the accident.

When you knocked at your door, you guessed that your mother could feel dizzy. After your disappearance of months, what you didn't expect was her tò Just faint on your porch, right in front of you and Yuán Fèn. You both were able to bring her into her room, and after that, you started to notice a pattern that scared you.

While Yuán Fèn tried to make her come back from the world of the living, you noticed the door of your room locked; many of your photos were missing from the usual spot. And there, in the living room, a photo of you at your prom, in an intricate frame. Written in silver ink, the lines "in loving memory.".

You really wanted to faint at that moment.

///

It feels so strange looking at your own grave. You guessed that they would you in this one particular spot. It was a family place there.

"I told them that I wanted to be cremated."

Yuán Fèn was more interested in trying to decipher your mental state. You were just there, watching at your own photo. He felt so strange... so that was what Mitraya meant when he said you were rebuking everything in your real world by choosing him. He looked again at that stone block, your name carved in there... then moved away.

"Okay, I think I'm in need of... What are you doing?!"

You spotted him taking a few flowers from one spot to another.

"Playing respect!"

"To Who?!"

Then, with the small bouquet in his hand, he put the flowers in the small pot near your photo.

"..oh ..." That was the only word that you said after that.

///

Three things were clear to you:

1) Going back to Mount Huaguo was the priority;

2) You needed to find some money since you were basically broke;

3) Need to keep the monkey away from every electrical device.

The first one was based more on a sense of morality. After all, you made a choice, and that was the choice to stay in that world full of magic because you fell in love with the destined one and a simple cane back home wasn't enough to move you.

Not to mention that you have nothing that came back anymore, so...

The second, hard but not that much. You have nowhere to go, so you were forced to stay in a cheap and very not so sanitary motel that you both found.

Luck were your side because that place needed someone that could clean or fix staff and you two? We're the masters at fixing staff...sorta.

But the third one...oooh boy...

///

You were drinking coffee, how much did you miss it, trying to schedule the next day of work for you and Yuán Fèn. You could clearly hear him doing something in the small kitchenette, moving staff, putting them somewhere, opening things, cutting them...

Then you heard the roar of that old blender that you both found around.

" DARLING?" You used your very sweet tone, a sign that you were expecting the worst for him. "What are you doing?!"

"Nothing."

"That doesn't sound like a -"

And there, in front of you, he putted a very strangely colored liquid, viscous, and with some strange objects floating here and there.

"What Is It?"

"A bunch of staff!"

"I know that; it's clearly a bunch of different staff."

"You should try it, then talk!"

"I genuinely want it five meters away from me."

"Suit yourself!" And then, in your horror, he proceeded to drink the staff.

///

After days of adjusting and trying to get used back to the modern world, when you both got inside your shared room and found no one but Maitreya himself, you both got a huge shock. You don't know what was the most unrecognizable scene—the actual boy in the room or the fact that he was reading a comic book that talked about the Monkey King or the Yankees cap in his head.

And he just waved! Like nothing!

He decided to give some explanation, but the most important was why you were sent there and how to. come back.

The first was more for the two of you. After your decision, you decided to leave your world behind, but you did know what that really meant? He wanted to know that and gave you a free way out, a small taste of your original world, and the thought that even this could sway you away from the destined one, and he received a slap on his head by you, and he admitted he deserved it. Another test of loyalty? They really believed you were so easy?!

Well, many were before you...

As for coming back, it was easy, of course! Did he not do it himself right now?

When you and Yuán Fèn looked at each other, Happy Tò was able to finally come back to Mount Huaguo, but you were stopped by the kid.

"You have to finish your schedule this week! And, oh, won't it be better if you gave a notice?"

How the heck did he know these things?!

"Aaand," he continued, holding an old toaster, "explain to me this little miracle."

@sun-jglim @crimsonflameproxy

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@miraclecherryblossomsblog @sleepingdramaqueen

@certifiedsimpinggalore @cromboloni

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@riolu4 @angryvampire

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onlyseokmins · 4 months ago

Text

mischief maker • y.j.h.

Pairing: yoon jeonghan x fem!reader Genres: smut (minors dni!), angst, priestess!au, fantasy!au, gods/goddesses!au Warnings: magic, mentions of blood, war, cruelty, tyranny - all that good stuff, mentions of religion (au-specific), violence (i.e. suggestion of murder), (death) threats, and possible gaslighting 💃🏻 jeonghan is an absolute FILTHY menace, light slapping, uh I wrote this so long ago and just finished it so lmk if i forgot anything?? WC: 4.2k A/N: also another thing rotting in my drafts </3 anyways kinda proud of this one but it's also obscene and hard to follow so sorry </3 let me know if you have any theories hahah!!! this goes hand-in-hand with Ashes and Cinders, so definitely recommend to read that one if you haven't already

"Look at how heavenly you are. The lengths you'd go, so dedicated to prove your servitude."

Droplets of perspiration turn into diamonds, littering the bare skin of your back that's exposed more than usual due to the disheveled state of your robes. Neither the dewy sheen coating your skin nor the cold stone you're pressed against causes the chill that sets off tiny bumps decorating your sweat-soaked figure. It is from the sensation of a plethora of tiny gems crystalizing against your heated body before they slide to the floor.

Each precious jewel that falls creates a tinkling melody. Echoing the sound of the ones wrapped around your neck and sewn into the fabrics that were once draped elegantly over your curves as you moved through the temple.

It's difficult to focus when your eyes are nearly crossed. Your elegant, upright visage is beyond recognition. Instead, a depraved image is reflected in the pristine water of the blessed fountain that flows out into a shimmering pool encased by polished marble. You were always quite meticulous about upholding the beauty of the temple you oversee.

Yet, who's the one sullying all the hard labor the maidens endure under your watchful guidance?

Drool dribbles past your lips, sore and swollen from how many times teeth have bitten into and at them. Now, they have no choice but to stay open and release a series of successive, sultry moans being drawn out of you and resonating throughout the chamber. Head lolling and vision starting to swim, losing count of how many times you've been brought to and over the overwhelming peak of pleasure.

"How does it feel?" Sweeping back long, flaxen bangs out of his glowing gaze with the finesse a mortal man could only dream to possess after hours upon hours of fucking, Jeonghan smirks. Miniscule encrusted diamonds grow, glisten, and gleam, bestowing a dazzling glitter on his forehead before they drop. "How does it feel for your god to bury his cock inside this tiny blessed cunt, my precious priestess?"

If a verbal answer was needed, the both of you would be shit out of luck. Fortunately, as a sentient being, he can hear the innermost thoughts of many. Usually a low murmur in the back of his mind unless he focuses on them or they are an extremely devout believer in prayer.

And you just happen to be the high priestess of Yoon. The model of devotion. Possibly the only mortal capable of handling the god of the temple in his true, divine form.

By now, he has to chuckle at how your little head is only full of nonsensical thoughts. More, more, more, and Jeonghan, god, Jeonghan are the only comprehensive things that cry out to him. Even within the physical tremor of your body beneath him and the fluttering squeezes of your pussy. So much pleasure writhes throughout your very being that it races like electricity in a wire and surges inside his own, erupting into unadulterated waves of even more bliss for the both of you.

He leers in victory. Bringing you to your knees was a lot harder than expected, especially for someone who was supposed to serve the people in his name. To be completely honest, he was the one who ended up on his knees first — cleaning up the tantalizing slick gathered between your legs with his tongue. It was after you had spread them teasingly upon his arrival, accidentally summoned to your bedchambers at the seductive cry of his name. Cock-throbbing whimpers that had fallen from your lips while pleasurably climaxing from your fingers dipping in and out of the wet warmth between your legs. Eager to let go after playing for quite some time with such sweet, pooling arousal.

That was the day he found out just how much more delicious you were than the frothy nectar of the gods overflowing from their goblets during festivities.

And he had become addicted.

But now, look at you.

Your saintly garments are an unholy mess. Saturated by a mixture of both of your releases, the pure white colors practically become transparent. Especially following an… unfortunate tumble into the holy spring.

Normally, it would be a punishable offense to defile the holy waters. But when it's a priestess capable of the most powerful purification skills being encouraged to ride the cock of the temple's worshiped being who very much doesn't give a damn — well…

It's why you're splayed across the pool's ledge, lower body on full display for the god to use. Not entirely the most comfortable of positions. But it's somewhat of a respite for your tender breasts that are littered with sore bites and nips from Jeonghan while he muttered praises bards might be inspired to repeat as songs if they weren't so filthy.

You're unable to think a single thought in that pretty head of yours. His hips snap rapidly at such a pace to bully his dick deep within your cunt and with the force that would've broken a human of the same stature's bones otherwise. Lanky, sinewy muscles buzz with a faint glow to match the radiance of his irises.

"What would the maidens that look up to you in awe think if they saw you like this? Your loyal priestesses that respect you? The followers that worship the ground you tread on almost more than how strongly they pray to me?"

You were an influential figurehead of society. Ever since you walked in the steps fate laid out for you by a grand oracle's prophecy, you became the pinnacle of holiness in the surrounding lands. Virginity as a requirement was only practiced in the days of the old texts, and though your romps with the handsome and beautiful people of the citadel were not fully behind you, Jeonghan would make sure no one else could ever satisfy you like he can.

Besides, who could ever fuck a human as well as only a god can?

His stamina is on a whole other level. Unthinkable for a divine being well known for his laziness in the so-called dignified parables spun by the mortal tongue for generations. Maybe it's fueled by the intricate bond formed between the two of you, but it would be a lie to say it wasn't by far the best dicking down you have ever received. Jeonghan's not the thickest cock you've taken, but he sure is the longest and knows exactly how to use it.

"Dirty little priestess, the way this sopping pussy clings around me like a vice." He scoffs at the realization. "No wonder even the mightiest of gods bows down and lays with his mortal queen every chance he gets."

The distraught huff torn from your lungs paired with filthy wet noises when he pulls out of your sloppy hole is music to his ears. Akin to the harps and flutes the muses and their delicate fingers pluck and play to grace the court of deities present among the clouds.

His palm splays out, flying across your ass cheeks with a resounding crack visually reflected by the responsive jiggle and wiggle of your hips following the cruel motion. Scratch that. He bites his bottom lip with glee, the same hand fingering your cunt to scoop up the mixtures of his multiple releases and yours from earlier. The delightful squelching is much better than the heavenly harps of the gods.

Jeonghan figures that's where you'll end up one day, sitting all pretty. Whether or not you'll be a divine being — he refuses to use his wily brain to think harder about that. Though with the way the two of you continue to defile one another, a trip to the underworld may be in your future cards instead.

He reckons you'd love the delightful heat of the lava baths and the cute little boiling bubbles that pop at the surface. Especially if you decided to sink down on his cock… the god shivers delightfully at the thought.

"Vices. How fitting for you mortals."

Tugging the back of your ear with his unsoiled hand so you can turn your head, squishing a cheek against the marble and blearily struggle to look at him through unfocused pupils. Still, you're able to make out the v-shape of his pointer and middle finger — and even the clear strands of arousal stretched between them — before he sticks his tongue out to lick up. All while maintaining eye contact with a smirk, continuing his venomous words.

"Silly brother of mine, wasting time to concoct a drink for the gods who have no need for refreshments. Stupid humans who attempt to brew it with their measly tools as an homage." His thumb returns to circle your sore clit, drawing out more garbled moans. "All those efforts when this," another swipe and he's slurping it up again and tossing his head back with a throaty groan of pleasure, "this is the real ambrosia."

Jeonghan, Jeonghan, Jeonghan, cries your body, your mind, and your soul.

So much that your very being resonates and calls out his true name, causing the god's aura to glow brighter. Dozens of rubies, crystals, jades, and emeralds spill out from his pores at the effort and exertion of his dick slamming back inside of you. It's more thrilling and stimulating than participating in the senseless wars his brothers like to lure him into.

Strength fills him like never before. No one would think the god of mischief would have many believers but humans were petty. They may pretend to walk the righteous path yet they thrive on the downfall of even those close to them. You delivered messages from the god with little thought, for greater forces spiraled his playfulness into much more ominous threats if they chose to — swallowing up his domain for their own brutal goals.

"Why do you not wish for more power?" you'd dared to ask him on the rare days he appeared at the temple. Lounging about on the architecture's high peaks without a care in the world. "Surely you could have greater control."

"My dear high priestess," Jeonghan chides. He's not completely unaware of the effect his acknowledgment of your existence and title has. "The strenuous move of my pinky finger is enough effort asked of me for the next millennium. That alone could cause a child's village to go up in flames just because of a little prank gone wrong."

Your posture remains as refined and poised as always, yet your eyes wistfully trace his features — wishing it could be your hands instead. "I see."

"I imagine the creator molded me the way I am for the benefit of the world. Think of the havoc I could wreak if I was motivated to do so?"

Unbeknownst, the creator did take it into account. Though they made no concerted effort to intervene in the consensual exploitation the mischievous god took of the beautiful priestess. Or maybe it was the other way around? Fully aware of the unspoken thread weaving through the temple of Yoon, content to watch the god become more interested in life as he whispered in your ear. This time, bold words that were definitely not meant to be relayed to his followers.

The creator let fate be, for the current gods can only fall for a new world to rise.

"Ambrosia that would bring a transgressor due enlightenment and a savior," Jeonghan continues with a dark chuckle, "or a god to their knees. All for this sinful, perfect little cunt."

Moan after moan leaves your mouth, shamefulness long gone the minute the god saw your spread legs, and his azure eyes were immediately drawn to what was in between them. His cock continued its brutal assault, pistoning in and out of what he deemed the world's finest treasure.

"But no one will ever get a taste of this one. It's mine. Mine!"

His slender fingers wrap around the back of your neck. Surprisingly, he lifts your head up gently — just enough for you to nod your head at his growl of "Isn't that right?", though when only more drool drips out of your mouth, Jeonghan shakes your head roughly in a "yes" motion.

"I could break you," he hisses as if he hasn't already nearly done so. "You are as fragile as a blade of grass in my hands." Another harsh slap lands on your backside. "Yet so resilient to my wrath, this hole of yours is always so welcoming. Why?"

Yours, yours, yours.

Jeonghan agrees with a feral growl, one not of this realm. Like a sounding bell and beckoning call from the vast unknown, it sends a vision flashing across your eyes. The sun freezes in the sky with its brilliant, harsh glow yet the world turns eerily cold and not into dust and ashes as expected. Then the sky turns black, a terrifying darkness, and a howling moan of despair.

The moon joins its counterpart like two eyes glaring at the universe. They shudder in tandem, vibrating at a shaking frequency until you realize. They are staring right at you, unwavering. Like a face. Like a reflection.

A crash and a boom and a roar — then you're coming undone on Jeonghan's cock for an unbelievable amount and length of time. Shuddering as the world falls apart inside your brain, screaming and writhing though not quite in actual pain as the god kindly fucks you through your climax.

"Turn you into one of us, then you would no longer have such a weak mortal body. But even that's not possible… unless it's the creator. Perhaps even then…"

You don't register his words and maybe it's good you don't. He refuses to bare the heart he doesn't have. An ultimate weakness. Not like his foolish brothers.

And yet…

While waiting for the shaking of your body to subside, his hands ghost over your form as if to ease the trembling. Listening to your heart rate until it no longer beats as crazily as you find rest in lean arms that cradle your body without sexual intention for the first time since the god's descent. After placing your weary body in the fountain, you're soon lulled into a dreamless doze by the soothing lap of the tiniest of waves against your skin and Jeonghan's gentle caresses.

You awaken much later. Feeling a lot more refreshed by some well-deserved rest and your innate healing powers aided by the holy spring's rejuvenation. Flowers in varying shades matching the luminescent color of Jeonghan's eyes litter the bed. Surrounding you with the same sweet scent when in his embrace. Picking one up, you thumb at glossy petals that remind you of the god's silken hair and smooth skin.

Truly a symbol of his likeness.

"Priestess."

Your head jerks up when the subject of your thoughts silently materializes. A scratchy throat turns even drier and makes it hard to swallow upon spying a glint of silver pinning up Jeonghan's long locks. Another symbol — this one of the god's chilling wrath — is a spear disguised as a fragile hairpin.

Carved from the bones of an ancient beast slayed by a hero of legends, the shining spear was crafted and embellished by the hands of a talented blacksmith gifted it in the name of his fellow brother and deity. The one that stands before you now, Jeonghan, the god of mischief.

Tales of the legendary weapon thrown from his slender fingers and whistling through the battlefields to mercilessly strike down foes and enemies alike are documented on ancient scrolls in the oracle's grand library. As the only other one with access to such rare treasures, you'd poured over the delicate artifacts for days to learn more about the god you serve, eyeing the tiny circlet that hangs around his neck, certain it's the powerful aegis that supposedly wields the ability to turn those into stone.

"Drink." A chalice disrupts your view of the god and you take it, grateful at least for something to soothe how parched you feel. If he even notices your anxiety, he stays quiet and sits on the edge of the bed. Playing with a flower stem until you finish, the representative plant somehow looks both foreign yet perfect in his hands. "You saw something, didn't you?"

"Some sort of vision. One that was quite… frightening."

"Describe it to me."

"Th-the gods. I think, my goodness, I am certain that they were at war."

As you explain in greater detail, weaving your tale of the bleak sun into it, Jeonghan's sapphire irises grow darker. Colder. By the time you've finished, the stem he'd been twirling in his hands has snapped in half and you no longer dare to look him in the eye even when he hums.

"The sun… hm? How interesting."

"Yes."

You nod knowingly, and he lets out a dramatic sigh. There's a shing! noise and the god stands, a visible aura radiating around his form as the fearful spear elongates, revealing itself. It looks less deadly than described in stories, though you suppose no one who has been pierced by its shaft has lived to tell the story of its killing nature. Delicate and thin with a beautiful glow around it in this peaceful moment. But you know better than to trust what the eye — even one as perceptive as yours — can see and shudder.

"Is it the holy war you fear? Doubt that you'll receive a divine blessing of protection?"

A wry smile graces your lips. "I don't need to worry about being protected. It is my duty to defend the temple no matter what."

Jeonghan snickers, remembering the sharpened tip that almost grazed him. Caught off guard on his first visit when a priestess greeted him with a nocked arrow rather than a subservient bow of respect. And who knew he'd end up bedding that very same priestess, addicted to your body and all that it offered him.

"Nothing will strip away the divine barrier encasing us so easily," you also point out and he nods, eyes lifting to the sky displayed through the high, open arches of your sleeping quarters.

"I suppose you're correct. Though I do not know if you'd be able to fend off all my brothers…" The god lets out an undignified snort. "I do not believe they are planning an uprising so I must see what this vision of yours could be about." Jeonghan stretches, sending a lazy grin your way. "Do you trust me?"

You think back to gentle touches after a rough session. Whispers of sweet nothings and meaningless pledges when he thought you had drifted asleep. Waking up clothed in gossamer silk — a gift each time — and various reminders of his touch in the aches of your body that had yet to recover, visual ones scattered about the bed you rested upon each time.

You recall what your purpose is. The oath you must uphold is proven by your namesake. Your destiny. And more. It is something you cannot forget. Ever.

"Of course," you assure him and Jeonghan laughs carefreely. Like he can't believe your faith in him himself. Neither can you.

He shakes his head, strands of hair shining like gold threads. Taking the chalice from you and lifting your freed hand to place a chaste yet flirty kiss to your knuckles. "Don't forget about me, my priestess. I'll return soon."

Another empty promise. Though you don't refute, playing along with his teasing remarks of you welcoming him back with open legs. Bidding the god a rather casual farewell before he disappears — but not with a wink followed by a bright flash and loud thunderclap.

Once you've sensed his presence is truly gone, you rise from the bed. A lyre sits in the corner and you run your fingers melodically across the taut strings while refining your appearance. You have a job to do after all.

The shrill cry of a raven draws your gaze to the open window where the black bird lands. It hops around, tilting its head curiously and rustling feathers expectantly. You smile, laying out a collection of gems on the ledge for it to inspect and play with. Summoning the maidens of Yoon, you speak to your confidante, stroking its midnight plumage while waiting for them to make the journey up to your chambers.

"Foolish gods, always underestimating. Jeonghan may have forgotten… everyone must have cast it from their minds." Your avian companion lets out a low croaking noise, nuzzling your palm with its beak as if to comfort. "But I… I will never forget."

Do not. Forget.

Don't you. Dare. Forget

"I won't. I can't."

The voices in your head would never let you. And they will only get louder as time marches on, especially without Jeonghan by your side. But that is neither here nor there. You can't do anything about it except the one thing you — and only you — can do.

By the time the eldest maiden has ascended the steps, you are alone again. Dressed in the purest of white robes and not a hair, jewel, or garment out of place. There are no black feathers, radiant jewels, or azure petals found in the humble and barren chambers of the high priestess. Just you, with your hands clasped together, and a fixed smile on your face.

"It is time." None of them notice the empty look in your eyes as they bow before you, heeding the declaration that comes from your lips. "It is time to spread the prophecy to the world. The real one."

"Yes, Mother," comes the obedient chorus.

The young women's eyes remain cast downward out of respect and the ambience of power emanating from you. For though they loyally represent the god of mischief, there could be no higher honor than serving a greater goddess such as yourself.

Jeonghan is clever. Wily. Smarter than he lets on which can be a true asset to those unsuspecting. But by no means is he ambitious. He is young too, and though the shell you reside in was destined to be his high priestess, the ancient bind to your soul has a stronger pull.

"He is coming," you murmur to yourself as the maidens set about the command you've ordered.

There's a warm glow bursting from the horizon, a fiery heat swathed in a tender caress making those erratic flames calmer. Softer. You're accustomed to what should be a sweltering wrath full of rage and the indicative hint to the tempered nature makes you smile. But the fuzzy feelings are tainted by a bitter tang of what is to come after the god of the sun's visit.

And so you prepare yourself for Seokmin to bring his eager request in your private chambers, stroking the head of your elusive feathered companion at your side while you wait. Watching as the sun rises higher and higher and an auburn-haired figure makes his way closer and closer.

Meanwhile, a flaxen-haired god's grip might nearly snap the spear he's holding in half. He stares at his eldest brother, aghast.

"You're lying."

"I am many things, Han, but I am not a liar."

"Brother —"

The king of the gods holds up a hand. "You don't have to believe me but it is the truth."

And though Jeonghan wants to fervently deny it, the dragged-down weight of his mortal shell's bones fight against what his godly head refuses to acknowledge.

He's brought back to what he was envisioning while bored out of his mind at his brother's lengthy counsel session. You — touching yourself, needy and forlorn without him there to fill you up — and him — returning to find such a scene and punishing you in the most salacious way possible.

But it's warped by his prophetic powers, proving his brother to be correct. Instead, you call him to bed and of course he follows, seduced by the way your body moves and everything else he wouldn't dare admit. And just as he finishes painting the inside of your cunt with all that he's worth and more, heavily spent from the throes of passion — you strike. Like a cobra lying in wait for its prey.

"Why?" is what he pathetically says as golden ichor drips from the corner of his mouth. The dagger you'd struck into his chest hurting a lot less than the actual damage truly dealt to what no human should ever be able to touch — his heart.

Blinking out of the painful vision, Jeonghan scowls at his brother. "You didn't know we've had an enraged primordial goddess on our hands?"

"Don't turn this on me when you've been fraternizing with said goddess."

Just as he's about to retort, the sudden darkness below the heaven's distracts both gods. The sun slips from the skies and a wail of grief so loud and chilling echoes, the harkening sign to the beginning of an apocalypse. The end. And for the first time ever, they feel a rush of emotion they've never felt in their whole immortal lifespan.

Fear.

As if that's not the worst of it all, he hears your voice. You're slyly drawing on that mental connection between the two of you, so that the phrase can be heard so crystal clear that his knees almost give out at the damnation you've orchestrated.

"And so… let the gods pay as they fall."

onlyseokmins: September 2024 ©

#ez.creates #svthub #svt.smut #smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #kpop smut #jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan smut

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snowmeow03 · 4 months ago

Text

I suddenly realized that as a pegasister, I have never formally drawn ponyplates (hoofplates??) in my way, so suddenly (literally 3am in my time zone) I wanna give it a shot.

I thought about Gaster's cutting, and in theory, since he's not a skeleton anymore, shearing his fur is obviously the best choice. But I feel that it doesn't capture the vibe of him “ripping apart his own body", so in the end, I chose to let him cut his horn. Hmm, maybe the body part full of magic is a must to create baby ponies.

Theoretically speaking, it's more reasonable for both of the brothers to be unicorns, but when I pictured Papyrus, I see him more as a pegasus. Well perhaps there're some pegasus in pony Gaster's family tree. But there's kind of a problem that Pegasus can already fly, how can I show the "special" of Papyrus? So, like, why not make Papyrus only have one wing! Perhaps another one was chopped off by Gaster to prevent him from escaping or something. Sans, I really can't imagine any way to disguise his blind eyes as well as showing his unique eye sockets, I mean, since he's not a skeleton anymore (again). In the end, I chose the latter between fidelity to the character and making sense, although this made them a bit less recognizable (sadly)

I hesitated for a long time about the cutie mark. Gaster’s was more straightforward, I needed to came up with something that is related to science but can also reflect the fate of "doing experiments", so I settled on this thing (funny enough, I still don’t know what it’s called, even though it’s probably common knowledge...?). In fact, I also want to express an abstract concept of "recording", including recording the timeline, "recording" the changes in Dreemurrs' and the underground world, and "recording" Radic's actions? Unfortunately, I really can't find a way to reflect the fate of falling into the core on it! The cutie marks of the brothers is much more difficult because they do not have a very specific hobby/lifestyle (like science for Gaster) to represent themselves, which is complicate - if I have to pick, I think their representative items are scarves and socks (...!) - although Papyrus loves puzzles, using puzzles as cutie mark cannot reflect his most important principles and personality, and Sans is even more difficult to handle. In short, their representatives are very abstract, and I find it so hard to summarize their very selves with a single mark on their flank! At last I tried to consider after combining the characteristic of "brothers", positive and negative. I always feel that Gaster's red scarf represents his kind heart, inherited by Papyrus along with the scarf itself, so it naturally occupies a place in his mark (unlike socks to Sans, lol). Sans' mark is more abstract, those things can actually be seen as dissipating dust or as a part of lost head, representing, uh, some obvious things...I guess? I actually even considered using the shapes of the souls Gaster gave them, representing Gaster himself who plays a huge part in their lives, but well it's a little bit tragic if you think about that, their lives should be less of him (in the sense of experiments), so I didn't do that in the end.

I also considered about the clothes. Well...Different from monsters, ponies normally don't wear clothes, in this situation it'll be weird if Gaster specially made lab clothes for the brothers to wear, so I l just let them go naked. Once again, the recognizability has unfortunately decreased...! (also about Sans' clothes, I don't think ponies actually "need" pockets...right?)

Yeah and about the plates, I literally cannot figure out where the plates should go, Gaster was trying to make sure the brothers suffer as he wanted to cut ties with them (at least that's what I thought), so they can't be anything like horseshoes. Tags on the ears are great, but still a little bit off, and I can't think of any "plates" fits both settings of pony and handplates... So I ended up going with brand marks (actually I set this for Dreemurrs in alterplates as well). As for the placement? I think they shall be the lower half and it'll be too screwed up if they were on the cutie marks, so hind legs it is. I don't think ponies wear pants, so I made the brothers wear leggings.

btw I think the brothers got the cutie marks right after Sans yeeted Gaster into the core (welp)

#what on earth am i drawing #undertale #gaster #handplates #papyrus #sans #my little pony #it's SO horrible for a non-English speaker to write these #I'm REALLY SORRY if anything is hard to be understood or grammar mistakes

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daytaker · 1 year ago

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The Gang React to You Saying You Hate Them

As a disclaimer, I'm going to say that these are reactions to you saying it and meaning it, not just being silly or dramatic. However, I'm also kind of assuming in most cases that this is NOT you saying "I am terminating our relationship entirely and this hate thing is a permanent situation."

The rest of the characters are below the cut.

Lucifer

"Very well. You're entitled to your opinion."

Depending on the situation, he might just shrug it off. It isn't like he hasn't dealt with his fair share of unfair whining from people who are upset with him. It would probably take a pretty emotionally charged situation for him to actually take you seriously.

In that case, he probably wouldn't quite know what would be best to do. He'd give you your space, but generally speaking, his demeanor wouldn't be significantly different. If things remain tense for more than a few days, he'll probably attempt to do the mature thing and sit down with you for a conversation to talk through your differences.

Mammon

"Pfft! No ya don't!"

Stage 1. Denial. You're so full of it. You couldn't possibly hate him, the Great Mammon, the first demon you ever made a pact with. You're just blowing off some steam. You'll get over it in a minute or two.

Stage 2. Anger. It's been a minute or two. You aren't backing down. Well, whatever! He isn't gonna sit around and let some whiny human talk shit about him! So he's going to maturely stomp to his room and maturely slam the door and maturely turn up some music obnoxiously loud.

Stage 3. Bargaining. Brooding has done whatever good it might have done, so he'll start to think of ways to change your mind about hating him. He's really an awesome guy, so it shouldn't be that hard. Obviously, the best way to let someone know you care is by spending money on them. So he'll go out on the town with a credit card and max it out on objects that are very pretty and shiny but really aren't your taste. (The fact that Mammon's taste is not the same as everyone else's taste mystifies him.)

Stage 4. Depression. The shopping trip having earned him nothing but abuse from Lucifer, he'll spend some time cooped up in his room and mope and sulk but definitely not cry, because how pathetic do you think he is? He ain't cryin' over one puny human!

Stage 5. Acceptance? Wait just a minute. You're so full of it. You couldn't possibly hate him, the Great Mammon, the first demon you ever made a pact with. He should stop sulking and go talk to you. Definitely not to beg you to forgive him or anything, but maybe if you squinted, it might look like that. Please don't hate him. Please?

Leviathan

"...I guess I should have known."

This is one of the choices that leads you straight to a bad ending. Ignoring him is one thing. Teasing him is another thing. Snapping at him when you're annoyed hurts, but he can justify it. But if you tell Levi you hate him, it will take a monumental amount of effort to undo that damage.

He'll probably assume you've always hated him, and that your friendliness was all an act. He won't be willing to take you at your word if you if you try and tell him that you didn't mean it, because how is he supposed to know that you aren't lying this time?

Satan

If he's (relatively) calm:

"You don't actually mean that. You sound like a child."

His reaction is a little bit like Lucifer's in this case; he'll leave you alone for awhile and not try to keep up the conversation. He won't really believe you actually hate him either. But he is a lot more insecure than Lucifer, so there's a part of him that nags at him... What if they actually hate you? He'll probably be irritable and difficult to approach when those thoughts are especially prevalent. Unfortunately, this is the sort of situation where Satan is immobilized by conflicting thoughts on what's going on, so it will probably be up to you to start a conversation and talk about whatever happened.

If he's very angry:

"Get out of here if you don't want to get hurt."

Whether that's a threat or a warning can be up to interpretation. I imagine that, as the Avatar of Wrath, there's a part of him that feeds on hate, so if Satan was a different sort of character, he'd say something like 'You fool! You're only increasing my power level!' But Satan being Satan, he'll spend some time in whatever room you've left him in and trash it before he calms down, feels extremely ashamed, sulks and/or broods for awhile at a complete loss for how to fix things without rolling over and looking completely pathetic, and, quite possibly, works himself up into another burst of rage from sheer frustration.

Ultimately, he'll probably be more comfortable talking things out through texts than in person (or starting the conversation with a text, then speaking face to face).

Asmodeus

"Hahaha... What...?"

He won't believe you for a second! Partly because, silly, of course you don't hate him, but also because his worldview does not allow for the possibility that someone he cares about might hate him. If he even considers the possibility that you might possibly, hypothetically mean it, he's in for an entire, earth-shattering identity crisis.

If you don't apologize pretty quickly or at least amend the statement to something he can accept, Asmo will head up to his room and hole up in there for awhile, obsessively tracking his social media accounts and pampering himself in the bathroom. You're lying, though. Look at this face! It's impossible to truly hate a face as beautiful as his.

Beelzebub

"Oh... Sorry..."

First he'll look like a deer in the headlights, and then he'll look like a kicked puppy. If he understands what led you to say this, he'll try and fix it, but if he doesn't, he will... (Select an answer below.)

A) Play video games with Levi. B) Go clubbing with Asmo. C) Eat. D) Learn to break dance.

If you guessed C) Eat, then you've been paying attention during your Obey Me! lessons.

And honestly. Honestly! Why would you say something like that? Maybe he's not your favorite brother, but we all know it's simply not possible to actually hate Beel. We all know you're full of it. So knock it off.

Belphie

"...Beel, did you hear something?"

Yep, Belphie is going to pull out all the pettiness he can scrounge up. He believes that the best defense is a good offense, and he's a pro. He'll act haughty and unbothered, ignoring you and looking entirely unbothered between sulking sessions under the covers.

Pettiness aside, you have, knowingly or otherwise, tapped into a source of deep anxiety in your relationship with Belphie. He has not forgotten the whole...incident that took place when you freed him from the attic. He knows that, reasonably, you probably should hate him, and it's amazing to him that you don't seem like you do.

Once tempers have cooled, it might be worthwhile to talk over what happened back then, just the two of you. It was pushed aside too quickly, and you both probably have things you wish you'd said.

Diavolo

"It seems I've upset you. Please know that I never meant to offend you."

He'll see that you're angry with him and give you your space, but he won't be as torn up about this as some of the others. Why? He simply won't believe you.

He has seen your soul, and it is not the soul of a hater.

Barbatos

"Oh?"

Yeah, get in line. Considering the amount of time travel shenanigans this guy has probably pulled, I have no doubt he has amassed more than his fair share of enemies. More than that, he already knows this is just you blowing off steam. Like Diavolo and Lucifer, this is just water off a duck's back.

Although, depending on how irritated he's feeling at the time of the incident, he may or may not wear a smirk as he gives his noncommittal response. Barbatos might be the man with the multiverse in the palm of his hand, but he is not above being petty. Watch your back for a few days.

Solomon

"Ah... It seems I've hit a nerve! I think I'll give you some time to cool down."

He'll back off and leave you to manage your anger in peace. Then he'll settle in to focus on some project or another that requires his undivided attention. He doesn't want to deal with all the unpleasantness that your words stirred up. Honestly, didn't he get past this sort of thing a few centuries ago? What's a little spat between friends? You don't actually hate him; not after all he's done for you. He can't possibly be feeling insecure...?

Nope, all he's feeling is itchy because of the toxic gas that's starting to pour out of his cauldron. He should open a window.

The Angels

I can't even do Simeon and Luke, because they'd both just be so confused and sad that I'm not sure where I'd go with it besides scolding you for being a bully. You don't just say "I hate you" to angels who are either extremely sweet and attractive or actual children.

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repulsive-manwhore · 2 months ago

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THE 10 BEST VIOLENT JAMES DEEN PORN SCENES (in my opinion)

when it comes to male porn actors, there's none i look up to or attempt to mimic more in the bedroom than James Deen. he is simply porn's "golden boy." the way he talks, acts, carries himself, and (of course) fucks in every rough scene he stars in is what i aspire to be. picking only 10 of his craziest documented sexual endeavors was difficult, but i think i've got a good list here. so without further ado, here it is, the 10 best JD scenes, in my humble opinion. go on, google is free, have some fun while you read. ❤️

Whore Wife (Cherry Torn, Kink™) - classic gangbang scene which is conveniently also where my header image is from.

Extreme Anal Queen (Adriana Chechik, ANALIZED.COM™) - rough bathroom anal scene. doggy over the sink is my favorite part. there's also a toilet involved. nasty stuff.

Pornoromance (Lia Lor, James Deen Productions™) - this scene has it all. any scene fully produced/released by the man himself is a good choice, this one is a cut above though.

Pornstar Punishment (Ashli Orion, Brazzers™) - schoolgirl scene. you'll notice there's a "fuckpig" element in most or all of these but this one especially, so much at times that some versions cut out some of the facial play/humiliation. i guess Brazzers wasn't rocking with it lol. if you can find one with the full footage, save that shit for real, cuz i ain't giving you it lmao.

Ravished By The Wrong Man (Lia Lor, Kink™) - second entry in this list with Lia Lor, this time with bondage. if that's your thing, then just like the last one, this too has it all. ropes, ball gags, i think a taser gets pulled out at some point? yeah.

BANG! Casting (Yhivi, BANG!™) - god, where do i even begin? the best chemistry on this list. Yhivi is absolutely adorable and she's having the time of her life in this scene getting used like a ragdoll. just violence, a couch and smiles. my personal fav.

Casey Calvert: Show Me Rough (ANALIZED.COM) - shifting over to the reality aspect now, from staged scenes and radical angles to camcorder vlogs and single recording positions. still hot as fuck. starts out with a great convo, then goes 0 to 100 seemingly almost out of nowhere.

James Deen's 7 Sins: WRATH (Carmen Caliente, Carmen Callaway, Dani Daniels, Delilah Davis, Janice Griffith, Jessica Ryan, Sadie Santana, Shay Ryan, Trinity St. Clair, Vyxen Steel) - i mean, i think the title and the cast list explains enough.

The Slutmother (Kelly Divine, Brazzers™) - another classic scene from the days of old. Deen really laid the hammer down with the face slapping in this one, which is funny bc it's a Godfather parody. don't know why he went so hard for something so comedic, but i love it.

BANG! Casting (Abella Danger, BANG!™) - struggled with this last slot but had to throw in another casting couch banger. this one is a doozy. i like the Yhivi one more because she's much more submissive/less aggressive than Abella is here but i mean jesus, this bitch gets trashed and thrashed in this one. there's a part where he chucks her into the wall and i laughed the first time i watched it. nasty, just nasty.

HOPE Y'ALL GET A KICK OUT OF THIS ONE YOU SICK FUCKS. ENJOY.

#cnc k!nk #cnc free use #r@pe fantasy #r@pe b@it #r@pe kink #r@pe k1nk #r@pe play #r4p3 kink #r@pe #r@pe k!nk #r4pepl4y #r4p3 m3 #cnc rough #r@pe threats #r@pedoll #r@pesleeve #r@peslut #r@petoy #rough cnc

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le-chevalier-au-lion · 7 days ago

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the game lasts 14 hours: rosquez [e], part 1

Marc had been dreaming—yes, dreaming is a good word for it. One minute, he’d been upright on the bike, panting like a dog inside his sweat-damp helmet, Pecco half a heartbeat behind, the grandstands around Sepang a blur of color and heat-fuzzy people. The next, he thinks he’d been down, or dead.

Now there’s someone hammering on his door. Hard enough he can feel it pulse on his teeth, on the tips of his fingers that are cold and numb.

His eyes are gritty. Everything about his body moves a heartbeat too slow, unresponsive. It takes Marc a moment to drag himself upright, to convince his legs to move. Dead fits better, he is sure of it.

The pounding becomes deafening. Marc forces air into his lungs once, twice—and off he goes. He swings the door open, almost closes it again once he sees who’s there. He could be dreaming, still. Or very high on the good painkillers.

“Marc,” Valentino croaks.

He’s panicking—maybe. Probably. It’s there in his wide, watery eyes, in his hands, wobbly and clammy. He jitters, looms on Marc’s doorway shaking worse than an addict.

“You have to believe me,” Valentino spits once it becomes clear Marc won’t speak. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, his fingers tap on the wall. His mouth pulls to the side, like he sucked on something sour. “I’m in a time loop, it’s—”

“Alright,” Marc cuts him, “do you want to come in?”

Valentino blinks. His shoulders jump, grow stiff, and he sways a step back before he remembers himself.

“You always say that.”

There’s a strain in Valentino’s voice, a knot unswallowed. Marc wonders if he should bring that up, decides against it. It’s easier to move to the side, invite Valentino in wordlessly. He should ask how he got his room number, how he bribed the staff to let him come up.

Or not. It wouldn’t be that surprising.

Valentino stumbles like a baby deer, all long, uncooperative legs. Sweat prickles on his throat, on his forehead. His gray shirt is fucking soaked with it. He looks—it must be said—like shit.

“You look like shit,” Marc decides to inform him. It’s a little—mostly—because he can’t think of anything else to fill the silence. He never can.

“You always say that too,” he scoffs.

Offense is better than panic—Marc hates when people panic around him. And it makes Valentino suck in a breath, convulsive, short, and then another, one more after that, each one easier. The minutes tickle by until he collapses into a plush arm chair, a puppet with his strings cut, sleeplessness carved into the bags under his eyes, into the gray sallowness of his face.

Marc checks the clock on the wall, the aggressive, bleeding red of the numbers. 05:13 AM. It’s early, still, but he needs to go on a run, have breakfast with Álex, sit down with his crew to smooth out his tire choice. Five points between him and Pecco, he can’t afford to make a mistake.

He doesn’t have time for Valentino going on a full freak-out, and yet—

“You believe me.”

Marc sighs, gets around brewing himself a mug of coffee. Only one, he isn’t sure if Valentino should be taking any caffeine when he’s this close to a heart attack. It’d be funny, for this to be a loop where he dies so early, doesn’t learn anything from it.

“You don’t contradict senile people.” He’s smiling, a little, a sharp grin tucked on the corner of his mouth.

Ha ha, Valentino barks. He’s clinging to the armchair so hard the fake leather creaks under his bitten bloody nails. “You believe me. I know you do.”

It isn’t usually this difficult to not be an asshole before 7 in the morning.

Marc could be cruel—it’s not often he gets to catch Valentino wrong-footed, genuine. His anger is so mirror smooth, an opaque, enchanting thing. Few people can dig into him and make it hurt. He could be much kinder, too. Say something like you’re obviously afraid, it’s not the time to question anything, of course I’d help.

Not a good idea. There’s a timeline where Valentino punches him for that, he thinks.

Marc is also very tired of offering kindness to Valentino.

He swallows. “Let’s say I do.”

Valentino lets out this noise—like Marc stabbed him right between the ribs, right where it hurts. It’s the thing about him, one of the worst ones. Doesn’t he know that a good third of Marc’s life has been spent dealing with what he says? Rolling with those wild fairytales, bracing for the next hit.

It sticks to the roof of his mouth. I believe you believe that, soothing in the same twist where it’s mocking, an oystershell of the unkindness that Marc has been rehearsing once he stopped showing his soft underbelly.

“Is this the first time you’re coming to me?” He asks, raises an eyebrow.

“No.”

“Really?”

Valentino hums an unwilling assent, kisses his teeth. The sharp tsk sound is so familiar that Marc feels like he was plucked from his body, tossed ten, eleven years ago. The sense of vertigo has him braced against the narrow, non-descript counter, watching out for the trickle of coffee that will—maybe—ground him. He’s an optimist.

“Twenty-six,” he huffs out, scowls. It sounds like it was pried from him laboriously.

The coffee machine beeps. Marc does the unwise thing and turns his back on Valentino, fiddles with the buttons. He will take it with sugar today. He fucking deserves a spoon or two, something sweet to soften the blows.

“I’m guessing I’m not exactly helpful.”

Marc feels a hand pressed between his shoulder blades, hot as a brand, that touch raking over his nerve endings even through the protection of a shirt. It’s proprietary, tugs on his guts like a fishhook. His insides might as well spill out, redredred and so overly honest it hurts. He flinches, remembers he shouldn’t have. His mouth twists, lips pressed together.

Everything suddenly aches.

“Are you ever,” Valentino breathes out because he never had a problem with being cruel.

It’s easier to hold on to that—it’s the gentleness that has Marc grinding his teeth, dull pulses of pain settling in his jaw.

He closes his eyes, then forces them open—you can’t run from a tricky corner, or from Valentino. “Any reason in particular you’re messi—”

“I’m not messing up with your weekend,” Valentino hisses. Time loop, right. Marc is still annoyed at being interrupted.

But his face is so close, Marc can spot each new wrinkle, the skin of his earlobe sagging under the weight of his earring, the patchy, half-shaved stubble on his oddly cadaveric cheeks. He forgets to not be charmed, forgets how abrasive Valentino can be.

“In my experience, you typically are,” he counters, mostly to be difficult.

Valentino’s face spasms. Marc counts down the seconds until he hardens, becomes a naked blade under sunlight. His expression crystalizes into his usual mask, except for his bottom lip wobbling, the manic glint in his horribly blue eyes.

“Allora, it’s always a fight with you.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Marc curls his hand around his mug, sinks into the heat radiating against his palm. Valentino tightens his grip on his shirt, turns him around. He has to look up—if it’s through his lashes, well, it’s so very early, and he hasn’t taken his coffee yet, and he’s bleary and good as dead.

Neither of them speak.

It’s 05:28 AM, the clock cheerfully informs him. He needs to get going, or he won’t have time to go on his run.

Marc doesn’t move. Valentino keeps him boxed against the counter, gripping his arms. It’ll bruise. His bones creak under that hold, but it’s the closest to tethered he’s felt in a while. He lulls himself into that false security, knowing it’ll bite, knowing he’ll take the bite anyway.

“So why come to me?” He asks, once the silence grows boring, once it starts gnawing on his sanity.

Valentino lets out this laugh—a little hysterical, choked. “It’s not my first choice. Uccio tries to give me Alprazolam and Luca tells me to go back to bed.”

Marc hums, faux-commiserating. “It’s good advice, have you tried it?”

“Right?” He keeps laughing or making that noise that looks like a laugh and sounds like it’s tearing him apart stitch by stitch. Marc could try looking into it, divining the omens of his day on his spilled guts.

Or—

“What happens next?”

He wants to know what Valentino will say today—it’s his favorite part of any game they play, getting roped into those stories. Falling for Valentino’s deranged Cesar on death row charm.

This time, Valentino skips the charm. Marc wishes he weren’t so disappointed.

“You’re going to die.” He nods, yes and?

Valentino grows stiff, death-serious, mouth wrenched in a snarl that bares his sharp canines. The press of his fingers goes from settling to a permanent ache, right over the place where he broke and didn’t heal right. It’s good, the kind of pain Marc can sink into and enjoy, constant, so dear by now.

“You can’t not care. You believe me.”

He smiles—bland, strained around the edges. His face feels like clay. “There’s always tomorrow, no?”

It’s a joke. Almost one. Marc has barely spoken when he notices how flat it falls, how he misses the apex of comedic timing by a mile.

There’s barely enough time to set his coffee on the counter. Valentino crowds into him, or wrenches him closer. They’re chest to chest like this. Blurring into each other, Valentino’s thumb splayed over the longest scar on his arm, Marc panting hotly over his protruding collarbone.

“You just don’t—”

“Valentino,” he sighs.

Marc has—they’re both bleeding, the walls of his hotel room pressing into him grimy and suffocating like a slaughterhouse floor. It’s too much blood, too much history, too much. Marc has made him angry. The ugly anger. A knotted mess Valentino can’t smoke-and-mirrors his way through, that pours out of his flashing eyes, his grinding teeth, his hands digging into Marc like he’ll crack open his ribs.

He doesn’t remember how many times he’s seen it before. Not many. Valentino is pathologically non-confrontational, his smiles slick and meaningless right as he lines a shot. Maybe he’s losing his mind, fraying, shattering.;

And maybe Marc is losing his mind too. I got you, he thinks, triumphant—the poisonous, acrid triumph of racing even when his arm twists like it’s trying to kill him. He still can make Valentino lose his footing. No one else but him.

“You’re going to die,” Valentino repeats, takes a step away from Marc like he’s scalding. He starts pacing, a caged thing, a Russian doll of nervous ticks. “It’s going to be—it’s going to be fucking terrible. It’s going to hurt. Why isn’t that enough for you?”

Marc looks—briefly—heavenward. Valentino scoffs.

And that’s it. Another one.

“How many times have you gone over today?” He asks, hopeful and hating himself for that hope.

Valentino smirks—like he has a knife tucked between his lips, joylessly, scraped raw. “Once or twice. It’s not like you ever take it seriously.”

The sound of the door slamming closed echoes in his chest. Marc tries to breathe, fails. Has to bend over the counter, the cold marble a blessing against his overheated skin. The chilly shock hoists back to his own body, but the nausea remains, a mouthful of thorns and bile he can’t swallow.

He wishes that Valentino would answer once—just once—how long he’s been on a time loop.

But he can’t linger too long on that. Marc has to go out now, go on a run, have breakfast with Álex, talk with his crew about his tires, die on T5 of lap 12.

Ater sixty-two runs, he’s pretty damn good at it.

#rosquez #motogp #motogp rpf #rpf #marc marquez #valentino rossi #time loop fic #chev fics #hahaha delirious time loop fic in which no one communicates #also don't trust marc's pov he IS lying to you #and to himself #and to valentino #manic pixie dream boy #i don't know what came over me but i'm glad it did

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lyriumcoloredskies · 1 year ago

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Overdrive ft. (Law, Sanji, Zoro, Kid, Nami)

Pairing: Multi-character pairings ft. Law x Reader, Sanji x Reader, Zoro x Reader, Kid x Reader, Nami x Reader WC: 1.2k Summary: Things that drive the OP characters wild. CW: 18+ MDNI Suggestive but no smut, teasing, mild not very descriptive violence in Kid's, food and eating mention in Sanji's, swearing, reader is described with breasts, no beta. AN: I've gotten way sicker and I feel like a small sickly victorian child, hoping that the country air will help my ailment. D:

Trafalgar D. Water Law

"Let me whisper in your ear, tell you something you might like to hear"

It’s been hours since Law decided to hole up in his office, sinking all his attention into a thick medical textbook. He’s halfway through a page when he feels a pair of soft warm lips press onto his neck. Instantly he feels his body erupt into gooseflesh.

His breath catches in his throat when he feels your warm hands make their way across his sides, lifting his shirt, before caressing his bare chest. Your lips work their way up his neck, stamping his skin with searing hot kisses, the slight smacking noise sending tingles down the base of his spine. As you grow closer to his ear, Law can hear your soft breathing, the sound going straight to his groin. Law stifles a moan that threatens to escape his lips as your feverish tongue makes contact with his ear lobe, slowly trailing its way up the shell of his ear. The obscene wet noises near his ear sends static through his brain, down his spine, and straight to his cock which continues to grow hard at your teasing. “How about you take a break?” you whisper before pinching his left nipple with one of your roaming hands, the other finding its way down his happy trail. Law quickly realizes he has no choice but to oblige.

Vinsmoke Sanji

"With the taste of a poison paradise, I'm addicted to you"

For the last few weeks, dinner has proven to be a difficult time for Sanji. It isn’t because he’s hit a creative slump with recipes or because he has to fight off a hungry Luffy from sneaking snacks. His troubles all stem from a certain other crew member – you. Sanji’s grip on his cutlery tightens as you let out a practically pornographic moan the moment a bite of his Poulet a la Provencal hits your tongue. You let out a few more obscene noises as you chew. Sanji swears the room is spinning. “Sanji~ this tastes divine, the chicken is so moist! And this sauce is just orgasmic~” you sigh out before dipping your finger in said sauce. Sanji nearly drops his fork as he watches your pink tongue dart out to lick off some of the sauce from the digit before you suckle it clean. Sanji thickly swallows at the sight, “A-ah thank you for the compliment y/n-swan!”. You let out a giggle before returning your attention back to your plate. Sanji is suddenly aware of how hot the room is and how tight his pants feel. Sanji tries to compose himself, taking a few deep breaths before returning to his own plate in front of him. He gets a few bites in before he nearly chokes on a piece of chicken when he feels a roaming foot caressing his inner thigh, he looks up only to catch your seductive gaze, a teasing smile plastered on your lips. Dinner would be another torturous affair.

Roronoa Zoro

"Girl you look so good, won't you back that ass up?"

Zoro loses count of his reps for the third time this workout. It’s been this way for the last few months. He would start his workouts with the full intent of giving everything he had, only for his eyes to wander, watching as the sweat traces a path down your body. Today was no different. His eyes graze over the curves of your butt as you work on your squats in front of him. Your muscles shake in effort as you let out several loud breaths. The entire thing turns Zoro on, his grey sweatpants no longer doing a good job at hiding his erection. He watches for a few more moments, carefully palming his length over his sweatpants. That’s when he sees you stutter a little bit in your last set. His body moves instinctively, stepping closer to you, your body only a few inches from pressing into his as he hovers his arms near the barbell bar. “Here, let me spot you” Zoro grumbles out. You give him a nod, adjusting your stance and grip. Zoro dutifully watches as you go in for another squat, only for your tight ass to brush Zoro’s erection as you went down and came back up. The pressure causes a filthy moan to rip out of Zoro’s mouth. In his embarrassment he can see you look back at him, a knowing smirk on your face. He had fallen right into your trap.

Eustass Kid

"She's hatin' 'cause I'm up and you can tell on her face"

Kid sits sprawled out in a booth with Killer on his right. His crew sits around him, everyone occupying nearby tables with a plethora of drinks flowing between them. He’s only half paying attention to Killer before their conversation is interrupted by a woman sliding up on his left side. He doesn’t bother to pay her any attention as she presses her hand to his chest and whispers in his ear asking if he would like some company. He waits patiently, secretly growing excited for what was to come. That’s when he hears you slam two mugs of beer on the table, liquid sloshing out everywhere. You were back from your run to the bartender. “Get the fuck off of my man you fucking whore!” you snarl out as you reach for the woman, grabbing her by the hair as you rip her off of Kid. There it was. Kid feels the first rush of blood to his cock as the atmosphere becomes fueled by adrenaline. The woman screams obscenities at you, flailing helplessly, while the crew eggs you on by yelling out vulgar encouragement. The whole scene turns him on, and he soon finds himself rock hard as he watches you throw the woman out the bar door. Your face is thunderous as you stomp back, gnashing out the crudest angry words at the woman’s gall. You don’t skip a beat as you down whatever was left in both the beer mugs before sliding into your rightful spot next to him, smashing your lips into his in a forceful hungry kiss. Fuck, Kid loved when you got possessive.

Nami

"I'm the First Lady of Juicy Couture, got a little cash now so the skirt is Dior"

Nami’s smile hasn’t left her face since she ushered you into the women’s dormitory, her arms overflowing with her latest clothing haul. “Y/n-chan~ you have to try these on! I picked them out just for you!” she says, pushing the bags into your arms. She relishes in the way heat takes over your cheeks as your eyes widen at the amount of shopping bags, clearly flattered at Nami's generous gesture. Despite your bashful look, you don’t say no to Nami’s demands, quickly stepping behind the changing screen in the corner of the room. Nami’s eyes trace over your shadowed figure behind the screen as you peel off every bit of your clothing, heat rushes to her core. “N-Nami? A-are you sure you handed me the right bag?” you ask, your voice full of anxiety. Nami is patient, flooding you with words of encouragement. She’s rewarded when you step out from the screen. Your body barely covered by the most vulgar bikini money could buy. Nami’s eyes greedily soak up the sight of your breasts, spilling out over the small triangle top, your hard nipples barely covered. You’re so cute as you fidget in the bikini, your face red in embarrassment. “D-does it look g-good Nami?” “Hmm it looks okay, but I bet it looks better on the floor.” One outfit down, 26 more to go.

#fanfic #one piece #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #trafalgar law #law x reader #eustass kid #kid x reader #nami #nami x reader

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gale-dekarios · 6 months ago

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Favorite thing about Gale Dekarios?

it's embarrassing how long i spent sitting with this trying to think about my all time favourite thing about gale, because there's so much. i like that he's a dork, and sickeningly sincere, and i like that he's a cook, that he loves his not-a-cat, and that all he'd need to complete the ultimate wizard stereotype is a pointy hat and long grey beard.

but when it all boils down to it, i love that he's willing to try, after all of it. he, out of all the companions, probably fucked up the most. and i dont necessarily mean hes in the most fucked up position, i dont think you can really compare what the companions are going through as individuals like that, what i mean is that to go from the lover of mystra, an archmage, quite possibly one of the most powerful people in the sword coast if not the whole of toril, to a dude you have to pull out of a malfunctioning portal, an embarrassing footnote in a goddess's history, about to die, from the orb, or ceremorphosis, or just generally being out in the wilderness as a level one wizard likely for the first time in his life ever, well, it's a lot isn't it?

the only person who could come close to understanding that level of a drop is perhaps wyll, but then again, wyll didn't so much as fall as he took a leap that he knew would end poorly for him, not to mention that wyll was seventeen. not that he'd likely make another choice now that he's older bc he's wyll, but gale, at least from his perspective, can't hide behind the greater good, or youth, from what he did.

gale's at rock bottom, and he doesn't have karlach's cheer to make up for the fact that he's dying, tadpole or no.

there's no way i would be able to keep going after all of that. id find a large field in the middle of nowhere and wait until the end comes for me. but gale doesn't. he keeps going, even though he's pretty sure he's going to die and it's all futile anyway, he keeps going. and he makes connections, despite the fact it could all be snuffed out in an instant. he goes through what's possibly the world's most messiest break up, one that quite literally is going to kill him, and yet when he's told he can redeem himself, to make the embarrassing footnote into a noble one, all it takes is you asking him to live for him to throw all of that aside, his entire past, everything he ever worked for, for the idea of a future that might not ever come. and he doesn't even need to be in love with you for him to agree to that.

he wants to live anyway. no matter how much more difficult is. no matter how unsure he is that he's actually got anything to go back to. he has a tara, and wine, and food, and books, and quite possibly the weirdest band of people he's ever met, and he decides THAT'S enough. sure, the ideas of something greater never fully leave the edge of his psyche, but again, if you ask him to, if you show him life's worth living, he'll then give up actual godhood just so he can keep tara curled in his lap, the taste of good food and wine in his mouth, the feeling of paper under his fingertips, and a room full of love and laughter, in whatever capacity that may be.

it's hard to condense all of that into one word, into one attribute, so i guess what i'm trying to say is that my favourite thing about gale is that he's alive.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #the tomes #baldurs gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #bg3 gale of waterdeep #gale bg3 #bg3 gale dekarios #baldurs gate #baldurs gate gale #baldurs gate iii #bg3 meta #answered #anonymous

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candycandy00 · 7 months ago

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The Maiden’s Voyage - A Sukuna x Reader Fanfic Part 2

You’re a passenger on a ship attacked by pirates. The pirate captain Sukuna chooses you to be his entertainment for the voyage.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. AU. Sukuna as a Pirate Captain. Noncon/Rape! Very rough sex! Bondage. Violence. Blood. Sukuna is a cruel, sadistic monster here! You’ve been warned!

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers Event! There will be multiple parts because I got really attached to this idea and it was getting too long. Any feedback, comments, reblogs, etc. will make my day sunny and bright! 💖 Dividers by @benkeibear!

Your body was not made to stretch this far, to bend this much to another’s whims, so he will break you. He’s already broken you a dozen times by now.

Captain Sukuna has spent the past four days using you as his plaything, his toy to have fun with and then smash on the floor when he’s done. Your skin is covered in bruises from being thrown around the room, shoved into any position he wants you in. There’s a constellation of bloody marks all over you, from being bitten or pinched too hard. Your entire body is sore.

Right now, he’s fucking you against the wall of his cabin, the soft skin of your bare back scraping over the hard wood as he repeatedly slams you back into it. Your legs dangle on either side of him, his firm body pressed into you as his cock roughly assaults your aching pussy. Your hands weakly clutch his strong shoulders, your eyes full of tears. In this position, face to face, you have no choice but to look into his gleaming ruby eyes as he abuses you.

It hurts. It always hurts. He makes sure of that.

You’ve given up trying to be strong, trying to hold back your tears or your screams. He’ll tear them out of you one way or another. So you shake with sobs as you drop your head, your face buried in his neck.

He seems to like this, to like how pitiful and broken you are, because you feel his enormous cock twitch within you, and seconds later he’s shooting his seed directly into your deepest parts.

After he completely empties himself, he pulls out and then unceremoniously drops you onto the floor. You wince at the impact on your bruised flesh, then scurry over to the tattered, shabby dress he gave you to wear when you’re not being fucked by him. You quickly pull it over your head, eager to cover yourself up.

Sukuna sits on his bed, his legs spread, totally confident and comfortable in his nakedness. Even now, despite how cruelly he treats you, you find it difficult not to look at him. He draws your eyes to him at all times, with his perfectly sculpted body.

He notices your gaze and smirks at you. “You like my tattoos, don’t you?” he asks.

You pry your eyes away, feeling heat rush to your face. “No,” you say.

“Lying little cunt,” he says, though his tone is more playful than angry. “You’re practically salivating. Come here.”

You know better than to keep him waiting, so you step over to him. He reaches out and grabs one of your hands, pulling it to his chest. “Touch them,” he says, looking at you with an expression that makes your knees wobble. You relax your clenched fingers, lightly pressing them to one of the black lines of ink. They feel the same as the rest of his skin, but there’s something lurid about having your fingertips on them.

Your heart races, your breaths come faster, and you slide your fingers down, tracing the tattooed lines. He’s not even gripping your hand anymore.

“Most women find them frightening,” he says, his voice slightly softer than usual as he watches you. “But they turn you on, don’t they?”

You nod, still distracted. Your fingers keep moving down, to his lower abdomen, feeling the taut muscles there, following the lines lower, over the thin patch of soft pink hair that trails down to his hardening cock. You pause, pulling your hand away.

He takes hold of it again, pulling it back to his groin. “Don’t stop now. Touch me as you please,” he says huskily, his face close to yours.

You slowly return your hand, sliding it down until your fingertips graze over his shaft. Gently, hesitantly, you wrap your fingers around the base of it, where the tattoos are.

Sukuna reaches out and pulls your tattered dress up to your waist, then pulls you into his lap, forcing you to straddle his large thigh. Your bare pussy rests right where the black lines circle him. You’re a wet, sticky mess from just being fucked, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Gradually, you begin moving, rubbing yourself up and down his thigh, enjoying the friction of his muscles against your clit.

He’s made you cum over and over again these past four days. Even though you find it humiliating, you’ve begun to crave the feeling, because it’s the only thing that feels good in a sea of pain.

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

Sukuna watches his toy grind on his thigh, relishing the feeling of her soft, wet pussy pressing onto him. Her hand, looking so small wrapped around his massive shaft, begins to move up and down, stroking him with careful, uncertain motions. He’ll have to teach her how to properly jack him off, but for now her nervous, shy little actions are cute enough to rile him up.

She has such a beautiful face, even more beautiful when her eyes are glazed over and she’s panting, on the edge of climax. Even the dirty, hideous dress he gave her does nothing to disguise her loveliness. It doesn’t fit her well, the loose collar slipping off one of her shoulders as she continues moving, breathing hard, her body beginning to shudder.

Her lips part, her face flushes, her hand is silky and warm on his cock. And he realizes something.

“Have you ever been kissed?” he asks her, staring at her lips.

She looks away, so bashful even while she’s chasing her own orgasm. “N-no, I haven’t,” she says.

Such a cute, innocent little thing.

He leans forward, pressing his lips to hers, kissing her gently before slipping his tongue into her mouth. She tastes so sweet, just like he imagined. When he pulls back, she’s looking at him as if she’s never seen him before, her hand grasping his cock a little tighter, her hips grinding on him a little faster.

He watches her face while she cums, tears in her eyes, her breaths shallow and rapid. Such a pretty pretty face, all blissed out from her climax. She looks so precious, it makes him feel his own release approaching.

So he shoves her off him, onto her knees on the floor, and points his cock at that beautiful face before covering it in cum. Ahh, this is how he likes her best, how she’s loveliest: when he’s dirtied and defiled her.

She blinks rapidly, trying to wipe the cum off her long dainty eyelashes with her shaking hands. She sniffles as if she’s going to cry again. He decides to have pity on her.

“Go into the washroom and clean yourself up,” he tells her. Two days ago he didn’t let her wash her face for hours, so she seems relieved as she gets to her feet. “Oh, and make yourself presentable,” he adds. “You’ll be joining me on the deck tonight.”

She pauses, looking surprised, but he gives no explanation. She heads into his private washroom and emerges later, looking clean and fresh despite the ragged dress. She’s tied it in places and done her best to make it at least look neat, but there’s very little she can do for it. He finds the effort charming.

“Let’s go then,” he says, and opens the door. She looks at him as if she’s suspicious, as if this is some trick. He’s never allowed her out of his quarters before. He laughs. “We’re just going to enjoy some entertainment out in the open sea air. No need to worry.”

A look of terror passes over her face. She’s probably imagining something heinous. Maybe she thinks he’s going to strip her and rape her in front of his crew, or hand her over to them to enjoy. Perhaps she thinks he’s going to murder her, or someone else. He finds her fear amusing, so he does nothing more to calm it. He simply steps out of the room and gestures for her to follow.

She only hesitates a moment, then she joins him. He holds out his arm to her, as the rich nobles do when escorting a lady. She takes it, but her eyes remain downcast, full of dread.

When they reach the upper deck, the festivities are just getting started. Several men among the crew are talented musicians, and they’re merrily playing their favored instruments, creating a lively, energetic song. Torches are lit everywhere, and some men have set up small booths where they’re handing out food they’ve made for the occasion or serving drinks.

The maiden on his arm looks around in wonder, the fear that had haunted her pretty face now gone. “What is all this?” she asks, so surprised by the sight that she spoke to him like a normal person rather than a terrified captive.

He grins down at her. “We sold off the haul we got from the ship you were on. Whenever we end up with more gold than we expected, we like to throw a party to celebrate.”

Her eyes dart around, as if she’s searching for something. “Where are the other women?”

“In the brig, I assume,” he says as he leads her toward his reserved spot in the middle of the deck.

This seems to bother her, but she doesn’t say anymore about it. Sukuna sits on the plush cushion laid out for him, then pulls her into his lap.

“Just for tonight, enjoy yourself. If there’s anything you want to eat or drink, say so. Just don’t leave my side.”

She nods, looking shy again. She spends the next couple hours sampling the foods he has brought over, but only taking a few sips of the rum. Sukuna himself drinks several mugs of it, enjoying the buzz and heat of the alcohol.

The music continues to play, and many of the pirates begin dancing. The maiden watches them with warm eyes. Sukuna watches them too, then turns to her. “Do you want to dance?”

She looks away, flustered. “No, I… I don’t even know how.”

Sukuna downs another mug of rum. He’s never truly been drunk, but drinking this much does make him a little freer with his thoughts and words, putting him in a slightly better mood. He stands up, pulling her with him. “Anyone can dance,” he tells her. “You think these riffraff ever had lessons?”

She glances around at the dancing pirates, all of them moving however they please, no coordination. Sukuna pulls her against him and swings around, moving both their bodies across the deck as the music plays.

The look of surprise on her face makes him grin. The light of the stars above their heads is reflected in her glass-like eyes. He spins her around, thinking that even the ugly dress she’s wearing looks stunning while flowing around her.

He can’t wait to take her back to his quarters and fuck her again, to feel her writhing beneath him, begging him for mercy as he takes her by force.

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

You’re not sure how you feel as Sukuna pulls you into the dance, swaying you in time with the cheerful music. He seems to be in good spirits tonight, and his laugh is infectious. Is it the rum? Or the overall happy and excited feel of the evening? Either way, you feel a bit of relief. Perhaps he won’t be so harsh with you tonight.

At some point, as he twirls you around and then pulls you back into his arms, you feel your own mood becoming brighter. You’re still a captive, still being hurt by him all the time, but your bruised body and aching heart demand that you allow yourself just this moment to feel something other than pain and sorrow.

The dance ends. The music finally stops, and the pirates begin clearing the deck. You feel the brief flash of joy instantly fade away as Sukuna takes your hand and leads you back toward his cabin. He grabs another mug of rum on his way and drains it quickly.

Back in his room, he barely shuts the door before his hands are on you, sliding under the collar of your dress to squeeze your breasts. He’s standing behind you, his mouth on your neck.

“So beautiful,” he mutters, and you freeze. Did he just call you beautiful? The rum must be affecting him.

You can’t stop yourself from asking, “Me?”

He’s still kissing your neck, his hands still groping your flesh. “I’ve been to many lands,” he says, his voice deep and breathy, “I’ve sailed every sea. But I’ve never seen a woman more beautiful than you.”

You feel your heart beating faster. Why does hearing that make you feel this way? He’s a monster! He’s-

“You’re attracted to me, aren’t you?” he asks.

“I… I’m…”

His hand moves down, pulling up the skirt of your dress and settling between your legs, his fingers probing, making your knees buckle.

“Your body is honest. Why can’t you be?”

You shudder from the pleasure, leaning back against his chest. “Yes… I’m attracted to you.”

“Then don’t hold back,” he whispers into your ear. “I told you, touch me as you please.”

You look up at his face. Somehow it seems softer than before. You realize you do want to touch him, but you don’t want him to hurt you. Maybe… if you please him in your own way, would he be satisfied?

Looking away from his eyes, you say shyly in a small voice, “Can you sit on the bed?”

He withdraws from you, and you hate to admit that you immediately miss his fingers. He moves over to the bed and sits down, his legs spread wide. He gives you a smug look. Of course he does.

You step over and lower yourself to your knees, then begin unbuckling his belt and opening his pants. Your fingers shake and your heart pounds, but you manage to free his already hard cock from his clothes. You look at it for a moment, still marveled by its sheer size, then you look up into his eyes as you run your tongue from the base to the tip, along the underside. At the tip, you gently press your tongue in, tasting him thoroughly, before taking him into your mouth.

This is so much more pleasant than the way he roughly fucks your mouth, with you being able to control how deep and how fast he goes. As you swirl your tongue around, coating him in saliva before easing him partway down your throat, you hear him draw in a sharp breath. He’s looking at you with those intense eyes, seeming slightly surprised. Perhaps he’s been so used to being forceful, he didn’t realize how good a slow, wet, adoring blowjob could feel.

So you continue, treating his cock like it’s something precious, beloved. His hand falls on your head, his finger gently threading through your hair. His breaths sound deeper as you lightly suck on his tip before taking him down your throat again. When you feel him twitching, his grip on your hair tightening slightly, you pull away and hold your mouth open, extending your tongue.

It’s an invitation, and he happily accepts, shooting his thick cum onto your waiting tongue. You pull it into your mouth, savoring the taste, letting him see it pooling inside before slowly swallowing it.

A wide smile spreads over his face, and you feel a bizarre sense of pride that you pleased him. He stands up and pulls you to your feet, then quickly pulls your dress over your head, leaving you completely naked. He scoops you up into his arms and carries you bridal style to his bed, where he spreads you out like a meal.

You watch him, breathless, as he climbs onto the bed, between your thighs, and buries his face in your pussy. You can’t suppress a moan when you feel his tongue slip between your folds and lick a stripe up to your clit. Your back arches as his fingers plunge in and out of you while his lips close around your sensitive and swollen nub.

Your hands clench the sheets, your mouth falling open as he devours you. His tongue expertly dances over your flesh, making you scream out his name in ecstasy. Your legs begin to tremble, and his strong hands move to hold them down.

Nothing has ever felt so good, and you have to fight back your own emotions. You can’t fall for him, for this beast who forces himself on you every day, who enjoys your suffering. But your body is singing to his tune, your heart fluttering at even the memory of the dance you shared. What is wrong with you?

Finally you reach release, your hand flying over to bury itself in his hair. He draws back to look at you as you pant to regain your breath. Then, all at once, he jerks your legs up, folding you in half.

“W-wait!” you cry. You don’t think you could handle it if he hurt you now, when you’re so emotionally fragile. “Please, Sukuna, don’t hurt me. Not tonight.”

He bends down and kisses your neck. “Every night,” he murmurs against your skin, “all night. Now scream for me.” Then he rams his cock all the way inside you, fucking you harder than ever before. He’s positively ruthless, ignoring your pleas and cries. In the end your emotions are left frayed and burned, your body battered and bloody.

The next day, you’re covered in fresh bruises, sitting on the floor of his cabin, when another pirate comes in.

“We miscalculated a bit, Capn’. We’re gonna pass awfully close by the island.”

Sukuna frowns. “How close?”

The pirate hesitates, glances at you, then answers. “Close enough for cannon fire to hit us. But I don’t think there’s a strong military presence there. We should be able to squeak by without much trouble.”

“How soon?” Sukuna asks.

“We can already see land, sir.”

Sukuna scoffs and the two men leave the cabin. You sit there replaying their conversation in your mind.

Passing by an island? Close? You’ve always been a very good swimmer. Could you jump ship and swim to shore? Could you finally be free of this torment?

You stand up and pace around the room. You go to the door twice but don’t open it. Why are you hesitating? Because you’re afraid? Or because your confused, broken heart has convinced you that you feel something for the brutal captain?

Minutes pass by as you agonize over what to do. Part of you is ready to run out that door right now. But some tiny part is pulling you back to the captain’s bed.

Finally, you snap back to your senses and run over to the door, easing it open and running outside. At first, the bright sun of the afternoon blinds you, but then you look from side to side. Where is the island?!

With a sense of horror, you realize there is no island. There’s only ocean as far as you can see in every direction. A few feet away, Sukuna is looking at you with a wicked grin.

“You sure took your time,” he says in a cruel, mocking tone. “Most captives make a run for it within seconds. Don’t tell me you were thinking about staying?”

You open your mouth to reply, but no words come out. The sea wind whips around your face as tears flood your eyes. Sukuna walks over to you and grabs your limp arm. “But since you did eventually take the bait and try to escape, you’ll have to be punished. Severely.”

And then he drags you back to his quarters.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #x reader #candys2kevent

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