#au everyone lives happily ever after

[bucknastysbabe]

Oh Bucky you’re so fine <3

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Avenger!afab!reader, daddy kink, smooth talkin big lover boy era Bucky, banging in concerning places, confessions of feelings, pnv!sex, v!fingering, Big Dick Bucky Barnes, alcohol consumption, Thor’s Super Mead, the reader is IN THE TRENCHES down bad

A/N: Oh here we go again random Bucky smut aggressive as hell

Bucky was too hot for his own good. The idiot didn’t even realize he was sex on legs, hiding his beautiful body away under long sleeves and jeans at all times. You could appreciate the skinny jeans at least, often ogling his thick thighs around the tower.

You were down bad. Clint and Natasha thought it was hilarious how you watched him like a lovesick puppy. The archer would elbow you, teasing, “Careful someone might trip over your tongue hanging out.” They weren’t wrong.

Bucky was so oblivious though. He would play back with your flirting, shooting a million dollar smile and batting your shoulder but that was the extent. He had this five foot thick concrete wall around anything past flirty banter. You needed more, honest to god needed it. Your clit was raw from the amount of times you’d rubbed yourself to completion over the super soldier.

Currently your eyes were fixated on his thighs spread around a barstool. Barnes had been convinced by you to come out for once. Minus a couple of familiar faces, most of the Avengers were in this packed club. Thor was making Bucky take the rest of his Asgardian alcohol. Your lips quirked up— the shit had gotten Steve drunk as a skunk one time. He had the original serum too.

Maybe a little liquid courage would break down the brunettes barrier. You gulped down the rest of your own lemondrop and straightened your skirt. It was leather and way too short, but a girl has to get dick somewhere. Even though the puny men didn’t add up to Bucky in your mind. You knew he could put it down, there was no way the man didn’t have a huge dick. Two enhanced individuals in bed, the thought made your pussy throb.

Bucky’s delicate nose scrunched up as he chugged down the rest of the mead. Thor laughed maniacally, slapping the former assassin’s broad back. Bucky coughed, “Jesus Christ! The hell you make that with?”

Thor smiled enigmatically, “Tis’ a secret, soldier of winter!”

Clint’s annoying whine disrupted your watching.

“C’monnnn you can’t watch him all night! Take a shot and get after Barnes, sheesh!”

Bucky’s blue eyes flickered over to you and the bowman, a quizzical look on his flushed face. You turned to Clint, narrowing your eyes and hissing, “Shut the fuck up!” Barnes’ eyes made a scan over your body before he turned back to the blonde god. Clint guffawed and led you over to the opposite side of the bar, ordering vodka.

You whispered, “Does my hair look okay? I don’t look like too slutty right?”

Clint eyed you amusedly, deadpanning, “If you two don’t stop eye-fucking and do something about it I will. You look fine.”

You rolled your eyes, catching the shot slid over by Clint and downing it. You breathed out harshly at the burn, working yourself up to approach Bucky. Nodding at Clint, you walked over to him. As a former agent of SHIELD, you could do the deed. But the nerves were still there.

Bucky smiled down at you, cheeks pleasantly warm and his eyes slightly glossed. He must be tipsy. The brunette rumbled, “Whatcha’ been doing? Besides getting dragged around by asshole?” You blurted out, “Watching you.”

Oh Christ on a stick. Why did you do that?

Bucky’s wide smile fell a bit, his pupils darkening at your wide eyes. He raised a thick brow and intoned, “Is that right?” You stammered and blushed, looking down in embarrassment. “I-I oh god, y-yeah I’ve been staring you down.” A gloved hand tilted your chin up, Bucky gazing intensely. You fought to hide a whimper at the gentle touch.

He purred, “Been watching ya’ too, just begging to be looked at with those legs and that ass.” His other palm came down on your ass with a rough squeeze, pulling you into his broad chest. Bucky continued, “Been thinkin’ about sliding this skimpy shit up and seeing what little scrap you had on underneath.” His warm breath fanned over your gaping lips.

You were utterly struck, two seconds from getting down and worshipping Bucky’s cock under the bar. Whining softly you pressed your tits against him and pled, “Please! Want you to, got all dressed up for you Buck.” He smirked in that lopsided way of his and pressed full lips to yours. Faintly from afar it sounded as if Sam and Clint were cheering.

“Ya’ need it that bad huh? I oughta wine and dine my favorite baby avenger first,” he pecked your wet lips again, “But I don’t think I can wait, sweetheart.”

Your knees went weak at his pet name, the super soldier holding you upright with his grip on your cheek. Bucky chuckled softly, sharing more kisses with you. You lapped at his tongue, whimpering like the neediest slut. Smaller hands clenched into the leather of Bucky’s jacket, holding on for dear life. You couldn’t believe this was real life.

Was is that easy all along?

You blanched at realizing you spoke your thoughts aloud.

“Baby, I’ve been wanting you since your cute self walked into the compound,” Bucky admitted with a shy glance.

You suckled on his bottom lip and pulled back, frantically begging, “Bucky- shit! I need you to fuck me right now or I’m going to die!” He laughed again, eyes growing even darker with lust. He leaned down to nip your earlobe, purring in that old Brooklyn accent, “C’mon then sugar.” On shaky legs you gripped his hand and half-ran to the women’s bathroom. As horny as you were, the men’s was out of the equation.

Bucky slammed and locked the door behind you two. When he turned to you, you felt like a little bunny about to get eaten alive. No wonder people thought he was so scary. That glare was something else, thick brows furrowing, eyes penetrating your soul.

The former assassin grabbed you under the ass, slamming you on the counter, hungry lips sucking down your neck. Bucky hummed between marks, “Fuck you’re so hot, perfect angel.” You hiked up your skirt frantically, spreading your thighs to wrap around Buck. “No you,” you gushed. He moaned against your skin, peeling off his gloves in the process.

You ripped off your tight top, tits falling out under the fluorescent light. Bucky inhaled sharply, flesh fingers crawling under your thong. He snapped it against your hip, earning a pretty cry. The brunette rumbled, “You plan on wearing nothing hm baby?” You nodded and sloppily took Bucky’s mouth again, tongues intertwining. His cooler metallic hand pinched and twisted at one of your nipples, you whining and squirming in place.

With a tear, Bucky ripped off your slinky thong, stuffing the wet underwear in his pocket. Fucking menace. You complained, “Touch me p-please, m’so wet for you.” He smirked again, palming your sensitive breasts teasingly. Bucky murmured, “Yeah? I can smell it pretty girl, all soaked for me. Fuck!”

Your back arched painfully when fingers swiped through your copious slick. He drove two thick digits into your pussy, eliciting a loud squelch. He curled up into your g-spot, biting on his lip, eyes glossed over. You shook and chanted his name, fucking onto Buck’s perfect fingers. He groaned, “Yeah, that’s it, needy baby.”

“Fuck me, fuck me, c’mon Buck, please!”

Your frantic hands unbuckled him, almost crying from sheer need. Bucky shushed your carrying on, kisses driving you silly. You took his cock out and begged again, “Shit- Bucky, wan’ you to fuck me from behind, treat me rough da- Buck.” His blues almost rolled back from your near slip. You shoved your face into his thick neck to escape the embarrassment, leaking all over him.

Bucky growled, “Yeah? Need me to fuck you? Take you like a slut, Daddy’s girl want that?”

You cried out like a woman possessed, “Please! Please please please!” It was the only word you could utter at the moment. Bucky flipped you over, shoving you face down on the shitty countertop. The bulb above you blinked but shone on, bathing you two in a strange bluish light.

You gazed at yourself in the mirror, breath hitching at your debauched state. Smudged eyeliner, ruined lips, hair sticking up, and the dark bruises littering your neck. Bucky murmured nonsense into your cheek, rutting his thick cock against your slickened pussy. He was disheveled himself, muttering, “Fuck babydoll, gonna make me blow too fast.”

“C���mon daddy,” you whined.

Bucky’s gasped when he shoved his length into your cunt, both hands flying to your hips. You gripped onto the counter, eyes rolling up, moaning about ‘daddy’. He thrust into you in forceful movements, hips clapping into your ass. Someone knocked on the door, Bucky hollering, “Fuck off!”

You whimpered and shook under his assault, big cock splitting you wide open. Bucky panted, “S’good, babygirl is squeezin’ daddy s’good.” His big hands engulfed your waist, snapping your smaller frame onto his cock. You wailed, “Love your cock daddy, needed you s’bad!” He grinned and nuzzled into your sweaty nape, cock still pounding against your sweet spot and cervix.

“Yeah? You think my old crazy ass is hot?”

You babbled deliriously, breath hitching, “Uh! Huh! You’re so- god! Fucking hot! Not- ohmygodbuck! crazy.” Bucky kissed your shoulder, grunting, “But I’m still old.” You shook your head and continued, “Fuck daddy! Like you being older, s’good!” Your legs were shaking from his rough thrusts, pussy abnormally soaked.

Your eyes met his own in the mirror, you whining pathetic and desperate for the older man. Bucky wrapped a big hand around your neck and pulled you flush to his firm body. Still snapping his hips in debilitating jerks he rasped, “Such a dirty girl.” You agreed with him, succumbing to the mind boggling pleasure.

“You gonna cum on my cock babydoll?,” he cooed.

“Yes! Yes! Oh god yes!”

You cried and slammed your hands down on the counter, gushing on Bucky’s cock. He slurred out low curses, lashes fluttering. Meanwhile you spasmed and twitched around him, vision going dark for a second. You sobbed out Bucky and Daddy interchangeably, tears sliding down your cheeks. His cock was coaxing another out of you quickly.

Bucky begged, “One more, one more, c’mon sweetheart.”

His warmed metal fingers pinched and played with your clit, sending you up into another climax. You cried and seized up harder this time, hoarse guttural groans wracking your frame. Bucky’s hips jolted deep into your pussy, tip firmly nudging the bump. Your name left his swollen lips in a adorable whimper, nose scrunching up and mouth hanging wide open.

He gritted, “Can I come inside?”

You begged him to, feeling like you’d die if he didn’t.

Bucky’s baby blues rolled up.

You sucked in harsh breaths at Bucky’s hot cum painting your insides. He grunted and moaned softly through his climax, praising you so very sweet. He slipped out and turned your head to capture your bitten lips again. Both of you sensually kissed in slow, heady movements. He murmured, “S’pretty sweetheart. Think you wanna come snuggle with me after a shower or somethin’?”

You nodded dumbly, hand bracing itself on one of Bucky’s killer thighs. Lapping into his mouth another time you cradled a stubbled cheek. Satiation seeped out of your pores, picking up on Bucky’s saccharine emotions. “Yeah. I’d like that a lot. Can we get a shower first?”

He chuckled, “Careful whatcha’ wish for, babygirl.”

Oh you were downright ruined you were so down bad now. But now you could say Buck might feel the same, practically purring and rubbing against your sore body like a big cat. He murmured, “Pretty baby, good baby, what am I gonna do with you?”

[arttsuka]

jayvik but merman

🧜‍♂️

[tavina-writes]

thinking once again and briefly gnashing my teeth at the plague that plagues modern aus in mdzs fandom where everyone's family is more or less happy and has gone to therapy and whatever and yet poor A-Yuan's bioparents were probably still squashed by a bus and all his relatives do not appear to be able to give enough of a shit to raise him which is why wwx adopts him for wangxian's perfect modern family and just.

🙃

(this is not limited to modern aus.)

[cannibalisticwhale]

Mouthwashing.... :( ♡

[gun-roswell]

Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: Star Wars: The Bad Batch (Cartoon), Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: CT-9904 | Crosshair/CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo/Clone Troopers Hunter/Tech/Wrecker, Clone Force 99/Mayday, Clone Force 99/Fives, Lyana Hazard/Omega (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo/CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, CT-9904 | Crosshair/Clone Commander Mayday Characters: CT-9904 | Crosshair, CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, CT-9901 | Hunter, Clone Commander Mayday (Star Wars), CT-9902 | Tech, Omega (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), CT-9903 | Wrecker, Ahsoka Tano, Clone Trooper Vik (Star Wars), CC-5576-39 | Gregor, Other Clone Trooper Characters (Star Wars) Additional Tags: Post TBB S3, AU, Cloneshipping | Clone Trooper/Clone Trooper Relationships (Star Wars), polybatch, Polyamory, Established Relationship, Everyone lives, Clone Trooper Tech Lives (Star Wars), Clone Commander Mayday Lives (Star Wars), Happily Ever After?, mission fic (sort of), Family Dynamics, Light Angst, Fluff caring and love Series: Part 64 of TBB S3 Fixits, Missing Scenes and Speculation series, Part 14 of The Poly Batch/The Poly Conglomerate, Part 12 of Crosshair/Mayday, Part 29 of Echo/Fives, Part 1 of Omega/Lyana Summary:

Part three of the Happily ever after story on Pabu Island.

There are seven of them now, the clones family having come together forming a coherent unit - Crosshair, Echo, Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, Mayday and Fives. 
Omega and Lyana are building a life together as well. Kids, they do grow up so fast!

The mostly fluffy and domestic tales of the clones continued.

Part of TBB S3 Missing Scenes, Fixits and Speculation / Poly Batch / Omega/Lyana series


[ddeongies]

99.999999999999% sure choreo chae’s gf is lia. i could just imagine lia complaining to chae about yeji and ryu (and maybe vice versa). and then chae goes to ryu and is like get your shit together bc she’s done listening to lia complain and she’s done w ryeji’s bs :0

will neither confirm nor deny, but i will remind everyone that jisu asked yeji for ryeong’s number and then ryeong was listening to jisu’s music in the car (and damn if dealing with choreo ryeji’s shit isn’t enough to bring a couple together idk what is) :P

[redhoodie1723]

maria stark has been living in my head rent free recently

like i just KNOW she was an IT girl before H*ward

version without grain and inspo pic below cut:

[technoacidraveasgore]

"mari lives" aus are my least favorite kind of au bc 99.99999% of the time peeps either just recreate the story of the og game w the characters' roles swapped or let it devolve into happy funtimes glurge that completely shits all over the original point of the game

[munchbell45]

I saw this comic a while ago, before I made a tumblr account. I couldn't find it later, so I asked for help. It's the cutest thing ever.

It’s happy alternative reality that we deserved, guys :’’’3 There is also a bonus of how lil naruto sees all of his nee-chans and nii-chans ahaha

Keep reading

[outshinethestars]

On the subject of everybody* lives and nothing hurts Clone Wars aus, I headcanon that if Ahsoka lives with the clones or even just hangs out with them a lot, she habitually uses the force to put things on the top shelf, completely forgetting that the clones aren’t significantly taller than her anymore, and if she can’t reach something they can’t reach it.

[wintrwinchestr]

strangers | part 2

summary: nearly a month has passed since you agreed to go to california with joel, and you think you might love him. you trust him, and he makes you feel cared for and safe, but he hasn't been telling you the whole truth. eventually, you make a shocking discovery that makes him feel like a stranger to you all over again.

!!PLEASE READ WARNINGS, THIS IS A VERY DARK FIC!!

I've tried to label this fic as detailed and as boldly as possible. I will not be held responsible or bullied off the internet if you choose to read this potentially upsetting/triggering work of fiction anyway.

warnings: joel miller x f!reader, 18+, smut, age gap (reader is college-aged, joel is mid-50s), no outbreak au, serial killer!joel, dark!joel, DDDNE (graphic descriptions of blood, murder, and of captive/dead girls, non-con p-in-v sex (i'll say rape just in case but reader does not explicitly express non-consent), being held captive, degrading language toward victims/victim blaming, joel is implied to fantasize that you're dead while fucking you, kind of stockholm syndrome), non-con breathplay/choking, mommy & daddy issues, lying, gaslighting, coercion, manipulation, pet names (baby, darlin', sweetheart, babydoll, etc), no ellie/sarah but tommy has an unnamed daughter, somewhat inspired by "strangers" by ethel cain, vaguely set in the 70s/80s, please respectfully let me know if i missed anything and i will rectify the tags

word count: 8.1k

a/n: this is the second part. if the tags deter you from reading that's okay, just pretend joel and reader made it to california and they lived happily ever after. i understand i've written something dark and heavy and it isn't for everyone, you are welcome on my blog whether it's for you or not as long as everyone is respectful of each other <3

divider by @saradika

series masterlist/moodboard

read this chapter on ao3

part 3 (coming soon)

As the breeze begins to carry a chill that bites without the protection of a jacket or one of Joel’s flannels, the two of you have been spending the last month or so trying to outrun Autumn altogether as you make your way to California. You’ve crossed more state lines now than you ever could’ve imagined you would, and you and Joel have even made a game out of trying to spot the license plate of the farthest state away from wherever you are. He was impressed when you had recently managed to spot an Alaska plate in fucking Kansas, of all places. 

You spend your days visiting cheesy tourist traps and collecting cheap souvenirs from their gift shops, and your nights in motels or in his truck or in goddamn gas station bathrooms tangled up in each other’s bodies, unable to keep your hands off each other. The seal had finally broken just a few days after you had agreed to go to California with him, when he had laid his hand on your knee while he was driving, and you didn’t stop him from sliding it higher and higher, his fingers eventually making their way between your thighs and gently rubbing your clit through your shorts. Joel would’ve been content to play with your pussy just like that, pinching at your little nub and dipping his fingers into your drooling hole as he drove, but the noises you were making were driving him fucking insane. He had pulled off into a wooded area and instructed you to climb into the backseat, where he had shoved himself inside of you for the first time and fucked you until you saw stars. You never made it to wherever it was you were headed to that afternoon, deciding instead to just call it a day and spend the rest of it covered in each other’s sweat and come and breathing heavily into each other’s necks. 

You’ve seen new parts of Joel in other ways, too, in the time that you’ve been traveling with him. He’s been opening up to you, slowly but surely, as the weeks go on. You did eventually remember to ask him about that song you couldn’t quite make out at Moody’s, humming the bit of the chorus you could remember for him in hopes that he’d recognize it.

“I think I know the one, darlin’. Should have it on cassette somewhere here, ‘s called Alone and Forsaken, think it’s by Hank Williams. Hadn’t heard that one in a while, ‘s a winner, though,” he’d said.

You’d rifled through the contents of the glove box and pulled it out, excitedly swapping the tape with the one in the player and pressing the button on the dash to start the song. Joel’s fingers had begun to tap against the wheel immediately, and he seemed to relax at the sound of the guitar’s steady strumming. You had just watched him as the song played, admiring the subtle movements of the muscles in his face as he’d hummed along.

But he’d noticed your staring, after a while, and teased, “Y’know, really shouldn’t look at a man like that, babydoll. Might give ‘im some ideas.”

Babydoll. That was new, too. It had become his new favorite pet name for you, bestowed upon you when he had offered you another dress to wear from the stash of clothing belonging to Tommy’s daughter that he keeps under his backseat. Joel had told you eventually that he’d fibbed about his relationship with Tommy, just a little bit, and that he hasn’t actually seen him or his kid in quite some time. “Just kinda grew apart after a while, stopped keepin’ up with each other,” Joel had explained. “Jus’ never quite got around to gettin’ rid of all that stuff, I guess.”

You certainly didn’t mind having something new to wear, especially something as pretty as the little pink dress that got you your new name. Joel had looked at you hungrily when you’d first tried it on, raking his eyes up and down your form as you twirled for him.

“So pretty, sweetheart. Look just like a lil’ babydoll in that, don’t you?” Joel had complimented.

You’d giggled at the nickname, becoming shy as he’d stalked towards you and used a hooked finger to lift up your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his own. “Like that one, do ya? Like bein’ my babydoll, all mine?”

You’d sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, your brows peaked with need as your eyes had begun to glaze over from his gentle dominance. It had never taken much from him to make you start feeling a little floaty, even early on, ready to fall into his arms so he could make you gush onto his fingers or his cock or his tongue.

You’d nodded your head all syrupy and slow, making a little whimpering sound in affirmation.

“Say it,” he’d whispered, the hand propping up your chin slowly finding its way down to your neck, where it always seemed to land in your moments of intimacy. Joel had never really asked you if you liked it there or not, if you liked it when he squeezed your throat just right until your vision became spotty and your breath came out pinched and raspy, but you had learned to like it, to crave that guidance and control from him. He’d never taken it too far, just brought you teetering over the edge of unconsciousness, then allowed you to fill your lungs with air again. 

“I like it, Joel, like being yours…”

“Yeah… ‘n you’re gonna be mine forever, huh? Never gonna leave my side, always gonna belong to me, ain’t that right?” His grip on your windpipe had begun to tighten as he questioned you.

“Forever… ‘m yours, Joel…” you’d promised through a hoarse whisper.

A growl had rumbled from deep in Joel’s chest at your choked words, and he’d quickly let go of your throat to spin you around and shove you face-first into the creaking motel mattress, flipping up the skirt of your little babydoll dress and showing you just how pretty he thought you looked in it. “Mine, mine, mine,” he’d chanted as he caged you in with his heavy form, slamming inside of your aching cunt until you cried out, shuddering around him as he spilled inside of you. 

He calls you babydoll almost exclusively now, like it’s your actual name. Your everyday clothing consists almost entirely of frilly dresses and tiny tops and tight shorts from the supply in Joel’s truck, with maybe a few items he picks out for you at the occasional Goodwill mixed in. He’s made it so that you never have to think for yourself ever again, taking care of everything for you from picking out your outfits to ordering for you at the diners. All you have to worry about is being good, being his, his perfect little doll, and he says that you deserve a life as easy as this, that it’s the least he can do for you in exchange for your company, for being so good for him.

Joel does allow you to use your brain for some things, still, like bombarding him with the questions you’d begun stashing away in your mind all those weeks ago. Some of them he still answers vaguely, like where the scar on his nose came from, or if he’d been married before, or what his life was like before he met you. But sometimes you can get a story out of him, and it always feels like you’ve won the lottery when you’re able to get him talking. After the Hank Williams cassette had finished playing that day, you’d decided to ask him what he’d wanted to be when he grew up. 

He’d thought about it for a second, and then laughed at himself. “‘F I tell you, I don’t wanna hear any gigglin’ outta you over there, ‘s that clear?”

“I can’t promise you that if I don’t know what you’re gonna tell me. If you say, like, a rodeo clown or something, I’m gonna laugh.”

Joel had just glared at you, and you’d rolled your eyes.

“Fine, I won’t laugh, I promise. Just tell me.”

“Alright…” Joel had sighed. “I wanted to be a singer, actually. Believe it or not.”

You had almost started crying right then, the visual of a little Joel all those years ago wanting to grow up and become a singer being almost too much to bear. 

“Awe, Joel… You can sing? Can you—”

“No, I ain’t gonna sing for you. Don’t even ask, babydoll.”

Joel had seemed adamant about that at the time, but just a few days later when a violent thunderstorm was blowing through the town you’d stopped in for the night, you’d woken him up when you couldn’t fall asleep, and asked him in a trembling voice if he would sing for you. He’d just grunted and rolled back over at first, but you’d kept quietly begging him, and he eventually gave in to your little frightened sounding pleas. You’d rested your head against his chest as he stroked your hair and sang Alone and Forsaken for you a few times over, until the soothing sound of his voice and the quiet thumping of his heartbeat had lulled you back to sleep. The thunder had eventually retreated when it realized you weren’t scared of it anymore, now feeling safe and protected in Joel’s arms. 

He could only take so much more questioning from you after a while, though, until he decided it was about time for you to reveal more of yourself to him, and you’d thought that was fair. You’d spent a whole afternoon in the truck one day telling him about how your dad had passed away when you were still in high school, and how you’d always wished he could’ve seen you walk across the stage at graduation and go off to college. How he was the one who’d even encouraged you to go in the first place, when you hadn’t felt smart enough or good enough at anything to ever find the pursuit worthwhile. But he’d always been supportive of your artistic endeavors, the ones your mom had always called ‘useless’ and ‘a waste of time’ and ‘nothing that could ever amount to a real job’. Your dad had tried his best to make you believe otherwise, always proudly displaying your work around the house when your mother would allow it, and even framing some of it for his office. It was devastating when he had passed, but at least you felt you could make him proud in some way, by deciding to pursue a degree in art at the nearby state school. But then your mother had ruined your chances of ever finishing the program, and, well… here you are now. 

After you’d finished your story, Joel had comforted you just like he always did, promising to find you a sketchbook and some pencils at the next town you came across so you could keep nurturing your talents. He’d made good on his word, and now your time on the road is often spent sketching Joel, his cassettes, the mountains, anything you see that sparks inspiration and demands to be committed to paper.

Today, the two of you are on your way to see the world’s largest something or other in New Mexico, and you’ve become determined to etch a drawing onto every page of your book by the time you reach California. You’ve sketched just about everything in the truck at this point, and different tries at capturing Joel’s handsome side profile already take up more than half of the pages that you’ve filled out so far. You begin scouring the cabin of the truck, searching for something new you can draw. You eventually try bending forward to look under the bench seat, just in case you can find a crumpled up candy wrapper or something, but an even more interesting object catches your eye, tucked just behind Joel’s legs. It looks like an old shoebox, maybe containing some more tapes or things belonging to Tommy’s kid. You try to reach over to Joel’s side of the bench seat to grab it, and he almost swerves the truck off the road when he notices what you’re doing.

“What’re you…? Don’t touch that, babydoll, jus’ leave it alone,” he scolds.

You sit up straight again, taken aback by his tone. “Why? I was just looking for something new to draw, thought there might be something in there.”

“It’s just junk in there, baby, nothin’ you’d much be interested in,” Joel says, his grip on the steering wheel becoming more white-knuckled.

“So? I can’t draw some old junk?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Joel sighs in frustration. “‘Cause I said so, babydoll, Christ. Just leave it be, I’ll throw it out next time we stop. Find somethin’ else to draw.”

“Okay… ‘M sorry,” you respond timidly.

“‘S alright, sweet girl. ‘M sorry too, shouldn’ta yelled at you like that. Just… tryin’ to drive here, don’t want you reachin’ behind my legs and shit, ain’t safe.”

You just nod, popping open the glove compartment for the hundredth time in hopes that there could be something in there that you’d missed before. There isn’t, so you decide to pluck out that Hank Williams tape and sketch it again, humming the song to yourself in an attempt at self-soothing as you begin to outline the shape of it. It seems like a bad time to ask Joel to sing it for you again, but if you’re good for the rest of the day and make up for your earlier mistake, maybe you could hear it again tonight.

—

You’re just finishing up your sketch a half hour or so later, when Joel decides it’s time to stop for gas. You glance over at the fuel gauge on the dash, and it looks like the truck still has half a tank left, but you decide not to say anything about it. Just like he’d said when you had first reached for the shoebox, Joel swipes it from underneath the seat as he exits the truck, tossing it haphazardly into the trash can by the gas pump. 

“Dammit,” you hear him curse to himself, and you look out the window to see him staring angrily at the empty pocket inside of his wallet where cash should be. Joel opens up the passenger side door to explain, “Forgot I used up the last o’ my cash on dinner last night. Just… stay here, babydoll, gotta head inside ‘n use the ATM quick, alright?”

You nod obediently, and watch him take long strides toward the convenience store before disappearing inside. 

He’ll only be gone for a few minutes at the most, so you know that you have to make your move now. You’ve never had Joel bark at you before like he’d done when you had reached for that beat up cardboard box, and you still feel a little rattled by it. What could possibly have been in there that he didn’t want you to see? For the first time, you feel like you might not be able to trust him, and it makes you feel a little sick. You’ve started to feel like you might love Joel, and you think he probably feels the same way, even if you haven’t said those exact three words to each other yet. Someone who loves you wouldn’t hide things from you, would they? Especially not after you’ve already bared so much of your souls to each other, after you’ve decided that you belong to each other.

There’s only one way to find out, you decide.

You exit the truck quietly, swiftly closing the short distance between you and the trash can and peering into the black plastic bag that lines it. You fish out the shoebox from where it lays on top of other garbage, and crouch down in front of the gas pump to hide yourself from view. Taking a steadying breath, you carefully remove the weathered lid from the box and begin to examine its contents. At first glance, it seems to just be full of washed-out polaroids and a few random objects—a tarnished charm bracelet, a fraying ribbon, and a cracked pair of glasses among them. What is all this stuff? You think to yourself, Keepsakes from his former life, more of Tommy’s daughter’s things that he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of yet?

You pick up a photo laying face down on top of the pile and turn it over, almost immediately dropping it back into the box in favor of clapping your hand over your open mouth. You shut your eyes tightly as they begin to water, hoping that when you open them again, you’ll find that you were wrong about what you had just seen. That it was just a trick of the light, that it wasn’t what it seemed, that you had just imagined it.

But you aren’t so fortunate.

Your heart plummets into your stomach as you peer inside the box again, a sickly feeling of dread beginning to claw its way up the back of your neck. You examine the photo more closely, and it appears to be of a girl who looks about your age, bound at the hands, gagged, and naked. She’s kneeling on the damp forest floor, staring up at the photographer with a defeated, glazed-over expression. She’s bruised, bleeding from her nose, and filthy, with her hair tangled in knots and mascara-stained tears running down her cheeks. The photo looks to have captured her last moments alive. 

One by one, you quickly examine a dozen or so more photos as your pulse hammers hard in your throat. Each of them are nearly identical, all depicting a pretty early twenty-something, either restrained and begging for her life or already dead. They all have dates scribbled on the front that are spaced out a mere couple of weeks from each other, with the names of the girls written on the backs of them. To your horror, you notice that some of the polaroids even have bloody fingerprints staining their white frames. It seems impossible that Joel could be the one who took these photos, that he could be the one to reduce these young girls to nothing more than weak puddles of tears and blood. You begin desperately trying to convince yourself that this is all part of a fucked-up nightmare you’re moments away from waking up from, until a photo containing a bright flash of white catches your eye. You can’t help how your face contorts into a grimace when you examine the photo closer, your stomach lurching at the sight of the amount of blood spilling from the back of the girl’s head as she lays lifeless on a wooden floor. All that she’s wearing are her underwear and a white tank top, the ditsy floral pattern of which you could swear you’ve seen before.

You don’t understand why it looks so familiar to you until you spread around more of the polaroids in the box, and spot one capturing a girl tied up and gagged on a motel bed, wearing a baby pink dress that grotesquely juxtaposes the depravity of her situation. She has wide, pleading doe eyes and ribbons finishing the ends of each of her braids that kind of make her look like… a doll.

The realization hits you all at once, that nearly all of the clothes Joel has given you since the day you met him had never belonged to Tommy’s daughter at all, if he even has one, if Tommy even really exists. You’d been wearing Anna’s white tank top with the delicate floral print. Elizabeth’s pink babydoll dress. Even the clothes you have on now probably belonged to some of Joel’s victims, but you don’t think you can stand to find out which ones. 

Your thoughts begin to spiral out of control, an irrational part of your brain working overtime to come up with a million reasons why this can’t be true, that there has to be some other explanation for what you’re seeing, until you pick up a final photo, where the sleeve of Joel’s drab olive flannel is clearly visible in the corner. The shirt is tattered at the cuffs in the exact way that Joel’s is, and it has the same terracotta striping woven through the plaid pattern. Emerging from the bottom of the sleeve is a tanned, thick hand, wrapped tightly around a pale, fragile neck, with some of the girl’s blonde ringlet curls poking through the gaps between his fingers. When you flip over the photo, your blood runs cold when you read the name inscribed on the back—Ruby.

Your tears begin to fall then. How strange, how cruel, that fate has led you here, lured you straight to him. Someone that you thought you knew, trusted, loved, who’s suddenly a stranger to you all over again. You’ve just been doomed from the start, haven’t you? All along, it was Joel who had been responsible for building the trap you’ve found yourself ensnared in now. Ruby hadn’t run away at all that summer, hadn’t found a place she belonged, a place to start a real life for herself, a place to see her unlimited potential finally fulfilled. She’d met Joel, and he’d restricted her existence to nothing more than a polaroid that he keeps in a fucking shoebox under the seat of his truck. All along, this is where she’d been. 

You feel like throwing up. You’re reeling, completely horrified and sick to your stomach, your life as you had just come to know it having come crashing down around you in an instant. You quickly replace the lid on the box and throw it back into the trash can, hopefully never to be seen again. You scramble back inside the truck just in time for the convenience store door to swing open again, the little bell accompanying the movement sounding sharp and sinister as it announces Joel’s imminent arrival. Your pulse pounds erratically against your ribcage as you try to act as naturally as possible, forcing your shaking hands to look like they’re busy adding the finishing touches to your latest sketch. 

You don’t look at Joel as he approaches the truck, and he doesn’t seem to pay you much attention, either. He leans against the hood casually once he feeds the bills into the pump, letting the tank fill the rest of the way up with gas. You have to come up with an escape plan now, before your poorly disguised agitation gives you away and he figures out what you’ve seen. 

When his task is finished, Joel climbs back into the driver’s seat exhales a deep breath, like he feels relieved to have finally discarded the evidence so you’d never find out the truth about him. You’re determined to keep him clueless for as long as you can.

“Ready to keep goin’, babydoll? Should only be another hour or so ‘fore we get to the next stop,” he asks, reaching over to you to gently tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. You flinch away from his touch instinctually, then silently curse yourself for already doing such a shitty job at keeping up your facade.

“A-actually, um…” You swallow hard. “I’m kinda g-getting a headache, it really hurts. And I feel really s-sick. Is it okay if we just… go straight to a motel? I just wanna… lay down,” you lie, screwing up your face into a pained wince and wrapping your arms around your stomach in an effort to make it all more convincing.

“Oh, you poor thing…” Joel coos, placing the back of his hand against your forehead. “Y’ do feel kinda hot… Sure, darlin’. Think there’s a place not too much further down the road here, jus’ hang tight.”

“T-thank you,” you reply weakly. Your voice is coming out a little uneven, but you hope it just adds to the believability of your act instead of raising suspicion. You try to cover it up with a cough and a little pained groan, just for good measure.

Joel doesn’t waste any more time getting back on the road, and you stay quiet for the short ride to the nearest motel, doing your best to hold back your tears and even out your breathing. You’ll need to be calm and clear-headed in order to have any chance at escape, lest you want to meet the same fate as the dozens of other girls who were probably also blinded by Joel’s southern charm and good looks, who were manipulated by his lies and tricked into believing that he could give them a happy ending. Was he ever going to let you see California? Or had he been leading you to your death all along?

You’re going to be the one who lives. For Ruby, you have to be. For all of them.

—

Just like the first night you’d spent with him, Joel has you wait in the truck while he checks in at the counter and retrieves the keys to your room before coming back to get you. You fake a stumble when you step down from the truck, and Joel mumbles a ‘Jesus, babydoll’ before hoisting you into his arms and carrying you across the room’s threshold, setting you down softly onto the bed.

“Whaddya need, sweet girl? Water? Some crackers, or somethin’? Bet I could ask the front desk if they got some medicine or anythin’ like that,” Joel asks, sitting on the edge of the bed while you curl up and turn away from him. You do your best not to flinch this time when he decides to comfortingly massage the back of your neck.

“Can you ask, please? It hurts so bad,” you whine, unable to tamp down your shuddering sobs any longer.

“Sure I will, my poor lil’ girl… I’ll be right back, alright?”

Joel pets your hair for a moment, and the gesture would normally flood your belly with lovesick butterflies, but it only feels predatorial now, like a lion trying to convince its prey that it only wants to play, that it won’t be torn to pieces and eaten alive. 

Your body finally relaxes when Joel leaves the room, and you count out thirty seconds to hopefully allow him to reach the front office before you make your break. When you whisper the final ‘thirty’ to yourself, you spring out of bed and sprint out the door, almost tripping over your own feet in your race to reach the payphone you’d spotted earlier in the parking lot. You figured that trying to call for help would be a smarter move than running, and you’d never make it far on foot, anyway, not in the flimsy little dress and cheap canvas sneakers you’re wearing. You’d stolen a few quarters out of the truck’s center console while Joel was letting the gas pump, and you shakily deposit them into the slot, nearly dropping them. You punch the numbers 9-1-1 into the keypad, nearly ripping the phone clean off the hook as you bring it up to your ear.

“Come on, come on, come on…” You mutter to yourself, drumming your bitten fingernails against the hard plastic handset as the mocking dial tone trills in your ear.

“911, what is your emergency?” comes a voice on the other line, female. 

“Please, I need hel–” but before you can even finish the word, he’s on you, one large hand clapped over your mouth while the other rips the phone out of your hand and slams it back into the receiver. You kick and bite and thrash, but your pitiful attempts at escape do nothing to deter him. After all, his pickup is the only car in the lot, and your room is the only one with a light on. The clerk who checked him in could have never existed at all, for all you know. There’s not a soul around to hear you cry or beg or scream, except for him. You should have known that he would see straight through you, that he would’ve anticipated you getting curious and made sure he was always one step ahead of you. Joel drags you back to the room with a two-handed grasp on your upper arm, gripped onto you hard enough you’re sure his fingertips will leave bruises.

“No, no, no, please! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Joel!” You plead, using his first name in a pathetic effort to try to appeal to whatever morality he might have left.

“You stupid fuckin’ bitch…” he spits.

Joel kicks open the door to your room and flings it shut behind him so hard you’re surprised the wood doesn’t shatter, splintering into a million sharp little pieces. He throws you down onto the stained double bed you’ll be sharing tonight, if he doesn’t decide to use the yellowed comforter to wrap your lifeless corpse in later instead. You push yourself up into a sitting position and brace yourself for whatever he’ll do to you for disobeying him, for trying to escape. You’ve never seen this side of him before, never even come close to upsetting him like this in the time that you’ve known him. 

“Don’t know who the fuck you were tryin’ to call, but you better get it through that dumb fuckin’ brain of yours that nobody gives a fuck about you anymore except for me, you got that? Cops ain’t gonna do nothin’ about some fuckin’ runaway slut, ‘specially not one who’s got nobody to miss her in the first place. ‘S why you ran away, ‘s why I picked you up… ‘Cause we both know ain’t nobody gonna come lookin’ for you. Wouldn’t be able to find your body even if they did,” he barks at you, a huge paw wrapped in the hair at the base of your skull to keep your gaze trained on him.

“Please, please don’t hurt me! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I won’t ever do it again, I promise–”

“Y’ know… I saved you from that hell hole, I gave you everything, and this is the fuckin’ thanks I get?!” The low gravel of his voice seems to be coming from somewhere deep and cavernous inside of him. It fills the entire room with a black smoke that penetrates your eardrums and fills your mouth with something bitter.

“I know, I know, I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you–”

“Yeah, I know you weren’t fuckin thinkin’. Dumb fuckin’ cunt.” Joel releases your hair and you collapse in on yourself, beginning to sob all over again. You know it probably makes you look weak in front of him, but you can’t help it as the dread washes over you. You’re on the verge of hyperventilating, wondering if this will be the one mistake that seals your fate, if he’ll let you live long enough to see those aching little imprints on your arm from where he grabbed you bloom into purple-red blotches in the morning. With your eyes shut tight and hot tears streaming down your cheeks, you’re heaving, trying to catch your breath as you release broken little noises that sound like sorry, sorry, sorry. The repeated apology almost resembles some kind of prayer, as if that could save you now.

He lets you run the gamut of your terror for a minute before pinching the bridge of his nose, the calloused pads of his fingers squeezing that angry red scar that adorns it. He expels a heavy sigh and sits beside you on the bed, the springs of the old mattress screeching as they dip with his weight.

“C’mere, babydoll,” he says, quietly now, and you feel too weak to fight him as he pulls you into his lap and helps you to straddle your legs across his thick waist. You can feel his hardening bulge against your core through the thin material of your panties, exposed now by the skirt of your dress riding up and pooling at the creases of your thighs. 

“‘S okay, darlin’ I forgive you.” He lets you cry into his shoulder as he shushes you, rocking you side to side and petting the top of your head as if he were soothing a spooked little dog. When you’re able to take deep breaths again, your senses are flooded with his familiar comforting scent. The combination of his natural cologne and the softness of his voice reaches inside some deep corner of your brain that isn’t completely terrorized and disgusted by him, and it’s enough for you to lift your head up to face him again.

“Y-you do?” You squeak out as you sniffle, and Joel wipes away the last of your salty tears with one of his rough thumbs, sucking it into his mouth afterwards. He lets out a soft groan before gripping your jaw so that the fat of your cheeks makes your lips pucker.

“Yeah, babydoll… But why would you try to go off runnin’ like that, hm? Thought you were mine, my girl, thought we understood each other.”

His tone, the furrow in his brows and the slight pout of his lips make you feel guilty, somehow, upset with yourself for making him feel this way, for trying to run from his care and affection. “I-I thought so, too. But then… then I…” you stutter, finding it impossible to speak coherently anymore.

“Then what, babydoll?” Joel prompts calmly, stroking his thumb along your cheek as he squeezes it.

“T-the box… I saw—”

“Yeah… You saw my girls, didn’t you, baby? That’s why you tried to run, ain’t it? Look at me, babydoll.”

Joel jostles your face in his grip, and you obey his command, nodding slowly. When you look into his eyes, you finally notice how dark they’ve become, their usual warm amber color now appearing more red.

“You… you killed her. I-it was you.”

“Which one’re you talkin’ about, baby? Collected a lotta girls over the years, lose track of ‘em after a while.”

Your stomach churns at his callousness. “R-Ruby… I saw h-her. Y-you… you were…” You can’t bring yourself to finish your sentence, your words interrupted by your hiccuping breaths.

“Oh, Ruby…” Joel shifts his hips into yours, a growl rumbling from deep in his chest as he closes his eyes for a moment, turning over her name on his tongue. “Yeah… She was a pretty thing, wasn’t she? Feisty one, though. ‘Bout broke my goddamn nose. Wasn’t gonna be so rough with her, but… she practically asked for it.” He brushes his finger across the scar on his face, and your eyes well up again when you make the connection. “What else did you see, hm? Talk t’ me about it, babydoll.” Even through his jeans, you can feel that he’s fully hard now, turned on at the prospect of reliving those gruesome scenes.

Nauseating visions of the polaroids flash across your memory—the girl bleeding from the back of her head, the one with the cut throat, the one with her neck bent at an unnatural angle. “No, please don’t make me…” you shake your head at him, your bottom lip trembling as you fight back more stinging tears. 

Joel releases his hold on your face in favor of giving your cheek a harsh smack. “Wasn’t a fuckin’ question, girl.”

You use his loosened grip as an opportunity to try to scramble out of his lap, hitting your hands against his chest as you try to push off the bed and get back onto your feet.

“Nuh-uh, I don’t think so. Quit fuckin’ strugglin’.” 

He’s got you flipped onto your back in a second, with your legs dangling off the edge of the bed. He stands between your parted thighs, and you look up at him through blurred vision, one of his strong hands now attempting to cut off the blood supply to your brain as he uses the other to free his thick cock from his jeans. His teeth are bared, and the look in his eyes is faraway, as if the Joel you thought you knew is somewhere else entirely, miles away from this dingy motel room off the side of the freeway. He’s long gone now, replaced by this monstrous version of him that you don’t recognize.

“Keep fightin’, see what fuckin’ happens… I’d take the prettiest photos of you, y’ know that? Add you to my lil’ collection, have no choice but to be mine forever… You’d fit right in, babydoll, this perfect fuckin’ body.”

He slides a hand up and down his leaking shaft as he rambles, and it’s impossible to deny how much it excites him, talking about his killing, his ritual. 

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it, promised myself I’d be done after the last one but—fuck—just can’t fuckin’ stop myself. ‘S just so goddamn easy,” Joel hisses through his teeth. His hand never leaves your neck as he flips up the skirt of your dress and yanks your ashamedly damp panties down your trembling legs. He flings them haphazardly onto a discolored patch of carpet in the corner of the room, and it makes you wince, imagining how he must’ve disposed of so many other girls before you in the same careless manner.  

As hopeless as it seems now, you won’t be one of them. You don’t have any other choice, you have to make it out of this alive, you have to do something.

“W-what… what is?” You manage to choke out.

Joel looks down at you, almost startled, as if you’re an inanimate object speaking to him, like he didn’t expect you to have a voice.

“Huh?”

“Y-you said… it’s so easy. What’s easy?”

He licks his lips as he thinks on his response, a sickly smile tugging at the corners. “Pickin’ up a pretty slut nobody’s gonna miss, takin’ her home with me and turnin’ her fuckin’ lights out. They practically do it to themselves with all their strugglin’ and bitin’ and scratchin’, just want ‘em to fuckin’—unh—behave.”

You whine as he pushes his tip inside your little hole, but try to maintain your composure. You think you understand now, why he’s acting this way. He wants you to want to be with him, and it triggers some kind of deepset anger inside of him when you fight, when you run, when you throw his affection back in his face. Killing the girls might not even be his end goal, at least not when he first takes them, more like an inevitable side effect of what happens when they try to escape his captivity and he feels rejected, hurt, tossed aside. And then he lashes out. And then they die. And then the cycle repeats. You’d lasted this long because you’d been the first to not reject his advances, because he’d seen himself in you.

If you don’t fight, if you can keep him talking, if you can convince him that this is what you want, you might have a chance at survival. It’s not much of a strategy, but it’s something, and it’s better than giving up.

“How… how do you d-do it?” you ask, a little less rasp in your voice as his grip on your throat begins to loosen, but his hand never leaves it entirely. He slides the rest of his cock inside you as you stutter out your question, and he laughs.

“You sure you wanna hear it, babydoll? Might be a bit much for you.” He’s fully seated inside you now, and the stretch of him burns. Even though the two of you have been fucking like bunnies practically every day since you’ve met, you can only fight against your body so much, and the fear you’re trying desperately not to clue him into is making every one of your muscles tighten around him.

“No! No, I-I wanna know. Tell me, please…” You bat your eyelashes up at him for good measure, and his canine grin widens some more.

“God, y’ really are just as fucked up as I am, huh? ‘S why I kept you around, ‘cause you’re like me…” He begins to piston his thick length in and out of you, affectionately tucking a lock of hair behind your ear with his free hand as he does. The other one constricts your airflow once again, and you stifle a whimper, suppressing the urge to argue and spit back that you’re not like him. “Usually strangle ‘em, little throats always fit so perfectly in my hands, jus’ like this…”

His voice trails off as he shoves into you harder, picking up his pace. Your breathing becomes broken and frantic as you claw through the black cloud closing in on your vision in your effort to keep him talking. “And then what?” you squeak out.

“Squeeze ‘em, real hard and slow,” Joel growls. “Try not to come in my jeans just from the pathetic lil’ sounds they make when they’re prayin’ to God to save ‘em. Ain’t so gentle with ‘em if they put up too much of a fight, though. Jus’ gotta cut the shit sometimes, slice ‘em open or split their fuckin’ skulls just to make ‘em stop. God, you’d never believe the amount of blood a lil’ girl like you’s got in ‘em.” He’s slamming his hips into your sore cunt now, both hands wrapped tightly around your neck as he uses it for leverage. You feel your muscles begin to slacken, either from the lack of oxygen or from his just-right strokes against that little spot deep inside, you can’t be sure. It was just a survival instinct, you’ll tell yourself in the morning.

“Yeah? It’s… it’s a lot?” you prompt, skin feeling tingly and voice coming out hoarse, sounding like it had come from somewhere else other than your own body. It could’ve just been the wind, a tractor-trailer whistling by outside.

“Yeah, ‘s a lot. Bleed so fuckin’ much, y’ think it might never stop. Just keeps—fuck—comin’...”

Joel’s voice breaks on the telltale word, his thrusts becoming frenzied and disjointed as he nears his release. A few high-pitched moans manage to squeeze past your compressed vocal chords, and they’re half-genuine, half-forced as a means to spur him on and speed up the process. The stretches of skin between his thumbs and forefingers are pressing down, down, down against your windpipe, and you plead with him as coherently as possible in your race against that darkness threatening to swallow you whole. 

“C-come, Joel, p-please, want you to—”

“Shut up, babydoll. Fuck… Eyes on me, c’mon,” he orders, shaking you by the neck to wake you up a bit, prevent your eyes from closing all the way. “Look at me. Just… lay fuckin’ still, don’t make a sound. Hold your goddamn breath, okay? Don’t even fuckin’ blink.”

He’s never demanded something like this before, but you aren’t exactly in a position to disobey. You do as he asks, and some of it comes involuntarily, anyway. With your hands laid at your sides, eyes looking into Joel’s own but somehow past them, unblinking, your mouth slack and lungs paralyzed, you almost feel like…

Like one of them. 

“Tha’s it, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants to himself, rutting into your limp body with abandon as he chases his high. You can’t help but let another tear slip past your lashes, and he doesn’t wipe it away this time. 

A few more bruising pulses of his cock later, and all the blood rushes back into your head at once as Joel lets go of his vice grip around your neck, collapsing on top of your still form and breathing heavily into the damp skin of your neck where your wet tears have collected. He stays like that for a while, still slotted inside you, and you let him come back into himself for as long as he needs, not daring to move a muscle until he permits you to do so. 

Joel slides himself out of your leaking hole when he’s finally caught his breath, grunting as he pushes himself up off the bed and runs a hand through his sweat-damp hair. He studies your abused form, then tuts when he notices the marks he left around your throat.

“Better make sure you wear your hair down tomorrow, I reckon. Got a decent record of keepin��� the law off my ass, I’d rather keep it that way.” 

Tomorrow. He plans on letting you live. Until then, anyway. 

“Okay,” you agree quietly.

Joel doesn’t let you out of his sight again for the rest of the evening. He’d helped you up off the bed and into the shower, where he’d cleaned both of your bodies and scrubbed the dried tears and sweat from your skin. He’d sunk his claws into your scalp as he washed your hair under the scalding water, and you wondered if the suds could carry even the intangible filth down the drain with it—the guilt, the fear, the defeat, the violation. You almost wish you hadn’t looked in the box at all. What difference would it have made, if you’d stayed with him in ignorance? Those girls are still dead. It’s not like you can save them now. You couldn’t even save yourself.

Joel changes you into one of his large t-shirts for you to sleep in tonight, instead of a frilly nightgown or something else short and revealing that he’d usually pick out for you. You suppose that the choice of clothing acts as a more visible representation of his ownership over you. He’s marking his territory, scenting you like a dog. Like you’re his bitch.

Joel holds you suffocatingly close to him in bed that night, his arms wrapped around you so tightly that it’s difficult for your ribs to expand. He keeps one hand possessively wrapped around the column of your neck, not squeezing, just to remind you what he’s capable of. As if you could ever forget. 

“Y’know what, babydoll? I think we could be partners, you and I,” Joel says in a slow, gravelly voice, right next to your ear.

“W-what do you mean?” You whisper back into the darkness.

“I just… I tried to quit, y’ know, but I don’t think I can. I don’t want to. Too damn old and slow to keep chasin’ after ‘em anymore, but… ‘f I keep you around, you’d just make the perfect bait, wouldn’t you? That pretty face, sweet lil’ smile, you could lure ‘em straight to me, they’d never see it comin’.”

“See… what coming?”

“My hands. The knife. A fuckin’ rock. Whatever, ‘s up to them.”

His words linger in the air, and you know you should say something, but how could you possibly respond to what he’s asking of you?

“You want me to… to kill—”

“No, no, ‘course not, babydoll. Wouldn’t even have to be in the room while it’s happenin’, would never ask my sweet girl to get her hands dirty like that. Jus’ gotta bring ‘em to me, tha’s all. Maybe go after ‘em if they try to run. I mean… you’d rather it be them than you, wouldn’t you sweetheart?” Joel’s hand closes in around your throat, and you understand now what he’s offering you—a deal. Your life in exchange for helping him grow his collection of victims, helping him satisfy his urges. He’s made you feel indebted to him, like you owe him something in exchange for letting you live tonight. He thinks he’s found something special in you, a victim who finally can’t run away from him, who won’t, now. There’s enough of a connection still here, although held together by fear, that he knows you won’t try escaping again. Because he saved you, the first time from starving on the side of the road, the second time from himself. And you owe him your life, now, in some form or another. 

You only nod against the pillow, but it seems to be enough for him.

Joel kisses the back of your head, breathing in the smell of your hair. “I love you, babydoll.”

His fingers press harder against your arteries, making it clear that you have no choice but to respond with what he wants to hear.

“I love you too, Joel.”

The words are still true, you think, somehow. But it just feels like you’re saying them to a stranger now.

You wish you would’ve listened to the one useful thing your mother had ever told you—not to talk to strangers, or you might fall in love.

tag list: tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things @evolnoomym @annoyingmarvelreader @k1l4ni @joelsdagger @hjzghi-blog @natalieispunk (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

[icedbeverageenjoyer]

AU where everything's the same except only Jimmy dies and everyone lives happily ever after. (I recognize his well written realistic characterization and his importance to the narrative but it doesn't stop me from hating his fucking guts)

[i-like-writing-stuff]

the other five; part 2 [ five hargreeves x reader ]

okayyyy so it’s not my best work and i hope it is not too rushed or cheesy i have my best and i hope i didn’t crush y’all’s expectations 😭😭 writing this i literally gave no shit on the paradox psychosis, it’s also an AU where they did save the world, and not to mention again that everyone, including reader and five are around 32, basically the same age as the rest of the family

hope y’all still like it tho 🥹🥹🥹

part one

“I can’t believe how bad you suck at Scrabble in every single timeline, my love,” Five laughed, shaking his head in disbelief as you threw a wooden piece at him over the table, offended to say the least;

“I can’t believe what a piece of shit you are in every timeline!”

“Oh, she’s also a sore loser in every timeline!”

As you threw yet another wooden piece at the man before you, you couldn’t help but get infected with his contagious laugh and burst into giggles as well. Five was smiling from ear to ear, as he was heavily laughing, with a hand over his chest, as his other one was resting peacefully on top of yours on the table.

You were sitting on the rug, on each side of the coffee table in your living room. It was a peaceful Thursday night, and you didn’t really have anything planned. You worked all day, so you figured that a glass of wine and some chocolate to snack on while watching a movie would be a decent end of the day, but a couple knocks on your door changed that.

It had been a while since you met Five, a couple of weeks maybe. Nothing short of a miracle helped you save the world for good this time, but that’s a story for another time. Things were actually looking up for you, as the Hargreeves siblings were all safe in one piece, as well as your own parents. Viktor was visiting you in the States a lot more often, Allison, Klaus and Claire resumed their day to day lives, Luther was trying to reabilitate the old mansion for good this time and actually own it, Ben and Jennifer were happily together, as Diego and Lila were doing their best to save their marriage for the sake of their three children.

As for Five, last you heard he was still in the CIA, but that was about it.

The Five from your timeline, that was.

The Five standing in front of you, he was an entirely different story.

After he comforted you the day you and Five broke up, you tried to prioritize your interests and went back to help the family stop the apocalypse. In spite of how much you wanted to just lay in his arms until you went completely numb, you knew that if that’s where you were meant to be, you’d find your way back eventually.

And you did.

“Fuck me, that was draining,” You rubbed your face, falling onto the dusty leather couch with a loud thud, next to Allison.

“You’d think we would get the hang of it by now,” She sarcastically said, letting her head fall on your shoulder.

“If there’s a fifth apocalypse, let’s just let it happen,” Klaus suggested, as some of you couldn’t help but nod in agreement.

“At least this one wasn’t Viktor’s fault,” Luther pointed out, making Viktor waive his arms;

“Excuse me?”

“I’m swear I’m gonna kill myself,” Ben rolled his eyes bored as ever. On the surface, that was.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck?” Lila raised her brows at the man.

“Do it later, we literally just saved your sorry ass,” Five pointed out.

“And to think that after all this shit, on Monday I’m back to delivering packages…” Diego deeply sighed, as you all turned to judge him.

The nine of you were standing in the middle of the old mansion, trying to catch your breath after your hardest efforts yet to save the world. It was a mixture of everyone’s powers, a droplet of a miracle and lots of yelling around, but eventually you did it. You could finally breathe again and not worry that tomorrow may not come.

However, it didn’t mean that you weren’t suffering anymore. You tried your everything to keep your composure around the Five from your timeline and Lila, since apparently even Diego was willing to make amends. He loved his brother and his kids far too much, as well as his wife. He was willing to put it all behind, after all, you were given a second chance and he was not going to waste it.

“Am I going crazy or is that another Five?” Klaus pointed towards the main entrance to the living room, as your Five walked in with a slight smile across his lips and his hands in his pockets;

“I wouldn’t have bet my last two cents that you idiots would have actually managed to save the universe.”

“Asshole,” You giggled, getting up to run instantly into his arms.

Five was taken aback by your sudden excitement for a mere second, as he stumbled a step back, but not wasting another second to wrap his arms around your waist. He walked you back from the diner to the train station that would take you back to Five, and eventually back to your timeline a couple hours ago, but if you were to be honest it felt like forever since the last time you saw him. In spite of being literally yet not really the man who crushed your heart that day, you found such an intense comfort in him, it was stupid.

You were still grieving your old relationship, you were still heartbroken over what had happened. Six years with Five on your side were not that easy to get over, but this one truly helped you feel better. He was so thoughtful, so sweet and kind, yet sarcastic and sassy, he was totally your perfect match, which was insane since you thought that your ex-boyfriend of six years would be your soulmate.

“I hate you,” You declared, crossing your arms over your chest, “You have no business making fun of me- you’re like a hundred years old.”

“Don’t- Don’t go there and make it awkward,” Five instantly said, raising his hands in front of you, “You’re making me feel like a pervert.”

“As you should,” You lightly shrugged your shoulders, watching as he rolled his eyes playfully.

The two of you started spending a considerable amount of time together lately, as he managed to make himself comfortable in your timeline. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so happy, not only because he had lost his own Y/N, but he also hadn’t seen his siblings in such a long time. In his timeline, they didn’t manage to save themselves after Reggie reset the timeline at Hotel Oblivion, so getting his family back in a way was surreal to him as well.

Five felt alive again and it was all because of you.

All because he stumbled upon the love of his life that day in the subway system, the same woman who brought him back to his family. Maybe they weren’t actually the ones from his timeline, but they were his family nonetheless.

“Okay, one more round so I can shut your trash mouth again,” Five declared, straightening his jacket, as he leant over the table to rearrange the board.

“I can think of another way you can shut my trash mouth,” You smirked, leaning forward on the table as well, resting your weight on your elbows.

The two of you took things surprisingly slow. You couldn’t deny the instant connection, after all- you were a couple in every single timeline. But you couldn’t help the need to avoid the rush. Sure, you held hands sometimes and bump your knees under the table, or he would place wild strands of hair behind your ears and you would sometimes fix his tie for him. You also tended to share tight hugs that lasted maybe a second too long, or linger some touched here and there, but you neither of you ever had the courage to bring it up in a discussion.

You had never even kissed.

“My, my, is my little Y/N getting impatient?” Five mimicked your smirk, lightly grabbing your chin between his index and thumb.

One thing you knew for sure was that you didn’t have feelings anymore for your ex-boyfriend. There was no doubt about that. You just didn’t feel it would be wise to jump into another relationship so soon with his doppelgänger, but after these past few weeks you were so done waiting.

If there’s one thing you learned from saving the world one too many times it definitely was that you should not be wasting precious seconds.

“Aren’t you?” You asked, looking into his eyes, trying to figure out where he stood on all this.

“I’d wait for you decades, darling,” Five confessed, running his thumb across your bottom lip in a gentle manner.

He loved the feel of you, every square inch of your body- he couldn’t get enough of it. He would touch anywhere possible, he wanted to pepper kisses along every part of you, but he did mean every word he said. He did want to wait for you for as long as you needed until you were ready to be with him, truly.

“Promise?” You couldn’t help but wonder, as Five let go of your chin to put some fallen strands of hair behind your ears, “Would you actually wait for me?”

“It’s not even up for debate,” He nodded, getting up from the floor, straightening his three piece suit.

He offered you his hands, as he lifted you to your feet as well. You didn’t know exactly if your legs were numb because of how long you’d been sitting crisscrossed on the floor, or simply because the man before you made your knees weak with one smile, but you knew for certain that you never wanted this night to end.

Five cupped your cheeks in his hands, as you naturally rested your hands on his chest. You were so smitten by him, but in all fairness- how could you not be? He was doing everything right, giving you all the love he had and a bit more extra, while still being his true sassy self that you loved so much.

“Kiss me, please,” You whispered, looking into his beautiful eyes, feeling as you were slowly losing yourself into the moment.

Five smiled as he leaned in slowly to give your lips a light peck, as careful and attentive as possible. His long fingers found their way into your hair, as your own arms wrapped around his neck to pull him in closer. He took that as his cue to go in for a more passionate kiss, capturing your lips with his in just a matter of seconds, losing his whole being in that moment to wrap himself around your pinky finger.

Anything you wanted, he would go through the ends of the world to get it for you- and that was an understatement.

[super-cosmic-library]

I need more sex worker!Steve fics. I don’t care if he’s a porn star, only fans streamer, stripper, prostitute, alpha/omega companion, escort, etc. just make him a working boy. Maybe he got into it because he needed the money, but he stays in it because he genuinely enjoys it. It gives him confidence in his body and it’s something he’s good at, which he’d never thought he’d find a job like that because everyone around him (his parents, the kids, his exes, even Robin at times) always made comments about him being just a pretty face and not being smart enough. He finds fulfillment and financial freedom from his parents in his job.

Enter Eddie, who starts out as a client of Steve’s, but doesn’t treat him like the rest of his clients do. Who acts like he’s got a great brain, not just a great body. Who wants to chat with him and actually listens to his thoughts and feelings and makes them feel valid and worthy of voicing. Who’s pretty much gone for Steve the moment he opens his mouth as says something snarky to him.

Overtime, Eddie becomes one of Steve’s favorite regulars, and he knows it’s not a good idea to develop feelings for a client, but each time he sees him, his feelings get harder to deny. So, Steve wants to drop him as a client, but Eddie (who in this au is a rockstar) is his best paying client, and Steve really can’t afford to let him go. So, Steve just tries to be a professional and keep his feelings in check to the best of his ability.

Meanwhile, Eddie’s been trying to romance Steve. Sure, he knows that he pays for Steve’s affections, but he is so far gone enough to believe that what he and Steve have is different (and he’s right). He brings Steve gifts, writes him love letters, takes him on dates, and sometimes when they’re out together, they don’t even have sex. Eddie wants to prove to Steve that he cares about him for more that just his body.

And when they finally do get together, Eddie doesn’t want Steve to quit his job (which Steve had previously feared any partner he took would want him to) because he knows how much it makes him happy. Anyway, they live happily ever after.

[levemetal]

Ye old Shen twins au where they both become peak lords EXCEPT. Instead of making them twin peak lords or something, we pretend the evidence that the beast peak does likely not exist is lies, and Shen Yuan gets to become peak lord of the beast peak. Why? Because he would LOVE IT there. It's his territory. He gets to be unapologetically nerdy about beasts 24/7 and make it everyone's problem.

As he should.

And bonus! He can snatch LBH at the disciple hole digging. Plot solved! (Assuming the system wouldn't you know. Pull system stuff and force LBH to end up on Qing Jing or some shit.)

And everyone lived happily ever after or some bullshit idk. I reread the 79 extras as well as the TLJ & ZZL ones let me have fluffy AU thoughts goddamnit, my heart has been irreparably damaged-

[aflockofravens]

Ah fuck, I need a Parent Trap style SatoSugu fic now.

Please someone already have written this because I don't have the bandwidth for this in my brain and I can already feel it taking root

SatoSugu thoughts… probably done before but

What if right after Gojo adopts Megumi and Tsumiki. They end up meeting Mimiko and Nanako somehow, and they both end up figuring out that both their dads used to be in love with each other (and still are). So they come up with plans for them to end up seeing each other again like.

“Tell me why we have to go 3 hours into the city, just for… cream puffs?” Geto huffed, but he still let himself get dragged by Mimiko and Nanako anyway. Always giving into the whims of his daughter once they gang up on him with duel puppy dog eyes.

“Causeeeeeeee this shop is special!” Nanako puff her cheeks out, pulling on Geto’s wrist. Her twin sister just nods in agreement. Geto sighs once again but smiles at them. “Alright, alright, we buy two boxes and then we have to go, ok?”

The twins gave each other a look before looking back at Geto with grins plastered on both their faces. Geto knows that look, he know it means trouble but before he could say anything they reached the Cream Puff Shop and the girls ran off.

“Hey wait!”

Geto ran after them, not trusting the monkeys around here to not hurt his girls. That when he heard a familiar voice as a young dark hair boy ran past. “Megumi! Where are you goin!”

Crash

A body crashed into Geto, knocking him back but the stranger managed to catch him by the waist before he could fall. A scent waft pass his nose, minty and saccharine… He blinks his eyes open to find icy blue ones staring back.

“Suguru…”

“Satoru…”

Behind some bushes, the children were high-fiving each other and giggling.