#except one scorpion | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

supernatural-bias · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: billy butcher, hughie campbell, frenchie, mothers milk, kimiko, and soldier boy

↳ warnings: canon type violence and happenstances. hinted to take place during season three at some points.

↳ notes: sorry butcher is in here so much. he's the kind of guy that can't shut the fuck up, so i feel like he's always getting in everyone business no matter what

↳ song: rock me like a hurricane—scorpions

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

�� He has mixed feelings about you

• On one hand, you’re a great team player. Always making sure the job gets done, willing to put yourself on the line for the team, one of the most willing to kill a supe in a snap—second only to him—and always managing to make shit up on the fly whenever something inevitably goes wrong on a mission. Butcher has seen you fend off an entire team of armed Vought men before with nothing but a well timed lie and piece of pipe. That’s not something to scoff at, even if he does anyways

• But on the other hand, he has a feeling that you were just as much as an annoying shit as he acted sometimes

• “Sorry to say this guys—“ You said one night through the food in your mouth as Chinese takeout sat on a dirty table in front of you, curtesy of M.M and his pocketbook, “—but I think I’d betray you all for a fortune cookie. I’d betray my country for a fortune cookie.”

• "You say that like we ain’t already betrayin’ the cunts, sunshine.” Butcher eyed you from across the room as you nicked Frenchies own cookie from him while he was staring off at Kimiko for the tenth time that night

• “Too right, Butch.” You grinned like a shark at your idiotic nickname for him, and he ignored you as you did so; like he always did

• He definitely appreciates your enthusiasm behind his plans. Unlike Hughie or M.M, who despite working in the business of taking down supes seem to be hesitant about doing too much shit, you don’t seem to have a very strong moral code. That’s not necessarily a good thing in anyone’s eyes except for Butcher’s, who knows that he can always count on you to have his back in whatever situation he manages to squeeze himself into

• “Thanks for comin’.” He grunted at you while vomiting into a toilet, green bile spewing from his mouth. Butcher’s eyes burned with the urge to let out a laser beam, and he did so for a moment, splitting the porcelain throne we was leaning over in two

• “Want me to hold your hair back for you, honey?” You didn’t even miss a beat to start making fun of his situation, which made Butcher growl at you even from his current position. Despite your sarcastic demeanor in the moment, and the way he had just scorched an unexpected hole through the shitty bathroom, Butcher knew you’d help, no questions asked. And that’s exactly what you did, grabbing whatever he asked you to as he gave you a run down on the latest solo mission he had been attempting to get by with on his own

• “Jesus, poor Gunpowder huh?” You mused as you crossed your arms and leaned on the sink above him. For a moment Butcher thought you were granting the dead supe a bit of sympathy before he saw the glint in your eyes. “If the last thing I saw before I kicked it was your mug, I’d probably wanna get it over with yeah?”

• “Do me a favor. Go grab the toaster in the other room an’ take a nice bath with it, would ya?”

• “You first, Butcher.”

𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥

• The two of you are like peas in a pod. Two very weird, very cautious peas in a pod

• Even if Butcher is beside himself with annoyance at having another, as he put it, “soft cunt with a morality complex,” join the team, Hughie couldn’t be happier that someone seems to share his values on supes, on Vought; on the world, really

• In the first season or so, the two of you would probably spend a lot of time in between working with everyone else in the field to come up with a way to take Vought down the right way. Eventually,as we all know, that later falls apart, but it exhilarates Hughie to know that there’s people out there like him that want to try and put in the effort for things like that

• “Yeah, so if we can get one more witness about the Termite incident to come forward and testify—“ You bit your pen between your teeth and nodded as Hughie waved his hands over a stack of papers and talked at a million miles an hour, somehow understanding each and every word.

• “—then we could finally take a supe down legally. And that would make way for a whole round of others; Hughie you’re a genius.” You finished his sentence for him, slapping a hand down on the table with a grin as Hughie smiled. Somewhere in the distance someone snorted wryly, no doubt having heard the entire conversation. You had no doubt it was Butcher, but that didn’t matter to the either of you with how happy you were at the revelation. No matter how temporary it would turn out to be

• Hughie finds himself trusting you quite a bit. He can get attached pretty easily, so he finds himself willing to do anything to back you up—within reason of course. He still has some semblance of sanity left

• Listens to Billy Joel with you! Doesn’t matter if you all are coming back from a mission covered in blood—once it was whale guts—he will stick one earbud in and leave the other out for you as he presses play on a mix. More than once the others have found both of you passed out and snoring as the faint sound of Billy Joel plays through the headphones

• “Think we should wake them up, mon amie?” Frenchie tilts his head as he looks down on the both of you. Hughie chest rises and falls with a softness he couldn’t afford on the regular. You were positioned far away from him to have your back to him, somehow keeping your end of the earbud in as you drooled

• “Nah, let em sleep. God knows they need it.” M.M shook his head with crossed arms, the sight reminding him of better times

• “Oi! Stop ogling at the knackered sods and come help me with this, would ya?”

• “Fuck you, Butcher.” M.M said with a sigh, leaving the room to go and help anyway

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞

• He fucks with you so hard

• I mean, come on, someone that’s as excited about making bombs as he is? Someone that is willing to understand French? To shit talk everyone else to their face—especially Butcher?? He might have to marry you on the spot

• Please learn French. He will literally beg you to start. Conjugates, vocabulary, even a simple ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. Anything at all. Will absolutely not judge you for your horrific accent or pronunciation if you have any

• Bomb lessons on the side, too. If you already know the basics, or are a pro, it’ll be a lot more breezy, but he’s willing to start from scratch. It’ll be nice to have a partner to help him with his creations on the team for once, and even better since he likes you

• The two of you, and Kimiko obviously, are practically joined at the hip. What I said about the shit talking earlier was real, too. All of you use different languages or sign to voice whatever you’re thinking. It’s nice to be able to speak your mind freely, and there’s the added bonus of not having M.M give you that sharp look of his, or Butcher calling you names. Anymore than usual, that is

• “What do you reckon the three of ‘em are always on about?” Butcher took a swig from his drink. He was sitting next to Hughie with a beer on one of their down days as the younger man typed away on a computer. He was watching you Frenchie and Kimiko from across the room as you all signed at each other with giant smiles on your face. Frenchie would speak occasionally, but all that came out was his mother tongue, and your face would pause for a moment as you let your brain process what he was saying. Then all of you would break out into another round of grins, something that Butcher had to deadpan at

• “Probably planning a coup.” Hughie answered Butcher without even looking up from his screen. He knew who he was talking about anyways. It wasn’t hard to guess thanks, to the occasional loud exclamation from Frenchie as you signed something particularly risqué or funny

• Butcher flitted his eyes away in annoyance from you all after he recognized the word ‘cunt’ in the passing conversation, along with a sign that was clearly supposed to represent him

• “I think at this poin’ I’d prefer tha’.” He grumbled into his cup, and all of you laughed

• “Cheer up, Butcher. At least Frenchie isn’t teaching them how to make homemade cherry bombs again.”

• “Shut up.”

𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐤

• Finally. Someone other than him can be the voice of reason in the group

• It’s tiring being the one to hold everyone together all of the time. It might help if Butcher wasn’t so much of an ass, or if Hughie didn’t feel the need to derail every plan with thoughts of his own, but M.M knew that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. So he’d take any help he could get with reigning everyone in

• Definitely bonds with you over your shared habit of wearing band t-shirts to meetups or hideouts. I’d like to imagine that at one point the both of you show up wearing the exact same one, and it goes exactly how one would expect

• “Same shirt.” M.M notices one morning, pointing at your torso with the initials N.W.A written over it. He’s smiling, and so are you as what he’s wearing in turn dawns on you

• “Same shirt!! Hell yeah.”

• Fist bumps. Fist bumps galore, man. The two of you fist bump a lot. To punctuate sentences, drive a point home, agree on stuff—anything. It’s your own way of communicating with each other without having to bat an eye

• It’ll take M.M a while, but eventually he’ll start to really open up about missing his family to you. Beyond just showing you pictures of his daughter at soccer practice, I mean. If he trusts you enough to have his back in a shoot out, then he trusts you with this

• At one point, it goes farther than his (regrettably ex) wife and daughter, and eventually branches out into what he’s willing to tell about his dad and brothers. You feel like you know all of them by the time he’s done, and that only makes the typewriter story hit harder when he finally decides to reveal it

• Let’s just say you were pretty willing to jump Soldier Boy on M.M’s half the first time you were left in a room with them

• “Just one swing I swear—“

• “He will literally beat you into a pulp.” M.M deadpanned, doing his best to avoid looking at the other imposing figure in the room as he clasped two hands on either of your shoulders

• “Listen to your friend, sweetheart. Would hate to have to scrub my hands clean of any of your blood. Getting under the fingernails is always hard.”

• “See what I mean, just one punch that’s all—“

• “No.”

𝐊𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐨

• It’s honestly great for her to be able to hang around someone that feels the same way that she does. Maybe it’s how silent you are that really draws her attention at first, but Kimiko really grows to appreciate you as a member of the team

• Probably gets a lot of joy from having a friend like you. She constantly asks to do things like have you watch movies with her or to do ‘sleepovers,’ which are really just the two of you crashing on the main room couch together

• She never got a chance at a normal childhood or friends, so you and Frenchie are the closest she gets to a peace of mind

• Not even a question about it, she’s making you learn her sign language

• Will stare at you for days on end, saying nothing but everything at the same time until you agree to learn. Once you do, it’s all over. She gets the biggest most happiest look anyone ever seen, and there’s no turning back from that

• “Kimiko, what are you doing. It’s two in the morning.” You groan at her from under the thin covers of your bed, doing your best to ignore her hands as they fly about. It’s the childish equivalent of ‘if I can’t see you, you can’t see me’

• ‘No time to sleep. We have to go over stuff before the mission tomorrow. It will help us communicate.’ She was unnerved by your lack of enthusiasm. If anything it only spurred her on more, shaking your bed and pulling at your covers as you groaned. Even with the progress you had been making with signing over the past few weeks, your knowledge was still a bit shaky, and being half asleep didn’t help, so you only caught a few words. Enough to know what she wanted, however

• “Go away, Kimiko.” You whined. The shaking stopped, and for a moment you thought your request had worked. You were more than happy to fall back into whatever dream you had been having beforehand

• Then you heard the rushing of feet and a large weight slammed onto your legs

• “Goddamnit!—“

• Frenchie found the both of you the next morning; Kimiko looking bright eyed and bushy-tailed while you were practically falling asleep from where you sat. It was a teasing point for you over the next two weeks

• Between you, there’s moments like that where, despite Kimiko’s silence and your habit to keep your thoughts to yourself, nothing ever goes unseen or unsaid. The two of you know each other like the back of your hands, and sometimes you wonder if you’d even need her sign to communicate

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲

• If the saying ‘this town ain't big enough for the both of us’ could apply here, it absolutely would

• It’s almost ironic how bad Soldier Boy handles another version of himself. You’ve got just as much snark and anger as him, and it pisses him the hell off. Constantly.

• Maybe it’s because you didn’t fan boy over him as soon as he flashed a few cheesy lines that keeps his disdain for you boiling, or that you didn’t keep your distance when he threatened to eradicate your entire bloodline if you didn’t stop running your mouth at him

• “Need help with that?” He cocks a brow at you one day, watching with poorly hidden annoyance as you struggle to tie a knot in your shoes for the fifth time in a minute. The offer isn’t serious, and even if it was, he has no doubt you wouldn’t hesitate to kick him in the face if he bent down to tie your shoe for you

• “Need help taking my dick down your throat?” You parroted back at him while raising your voice in a false-happy tone. Finally you get the shoestrings to cooperate, completely missing the way Soldier Boy glows in a harsh warning at your attitude

• “Ladies, ladies, you’re both pretty.” Butcher calls from the room over, no doubt tired of the bickering between the two of you that had been nonstop for the past few days. “Let’s get a move on before one of you decides to claw the others bloody eyes out, yeah?”

• The fact that you’re not even a supe just ticks him off more. Only a few people have ever pushed his buttons like this, most of them being supes, and they always ended up being nothing but red paste in the next few minutes

• You make sure to point it out to him several times that you’re just acting like he always does, making sure to don a shit eating grin when he clenches his fist at your comment

• Please for the love of everything that’s holy tone it the fuck down. Some people may say that Soldier Boy has no self-control, but it sure is taking a whole lot of it not to kick you in the crotch as hard as possible

• “The feelings mutual.” You deadpan at him when he eventually shares that fantasy out loud. He knew full well that if you even so much as tried that, you’d end up with a broken ankle and your front pinned to the closest brick wall, but he had no doubts that you would go for it anyway

• Seriously. How has he not murdered you in your sleep yet

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inbabylontheywept · 2 months ago

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I went to summer camp as a kid. Six times, actually. I have many fond memories, and even more terrible ones. Here's one that's a mixture of both.

To set the stage, I had just spent the night in the infirmary due to a big fight I had with almost my entire tent. They never wanted to sleep, and were always obnoxiously loud with a lantern dubbed "the sun" that let me see movement around me with my eyes closed from the shadows passing over it. I was sleep-deprived, overstimulated, autistic-but-unaware-of-that, and twelve years old, and I already disliked these girls because they talked shit about me behind my back and took advantage of naivety. This unfortunate combination lead to a blowout meltdown in which I said some things I regret, so the counselors decided it'd be best if I spent some time away.

Now, this had the unforeseen consequence of putting me in a place with less supervision. This place also had some strange bugs. They were small, about the size of my pinky fingernail. Most of their bodies were in their tails, which curved downwards like a reverse scorpion. They were black and white, sort of striped, with six legs and no wings. Their fangs were very thin, but long, extending out from their faces like brownish parentheses. They had a propensity to bite.

Perhaps you can see where this is going.

While messing around with these bugs, I noticed that when they bit, they didn't just chomp and leave. They sunk their fangs in and they kept them there for a long time. Naturally, I decided to see what would happen if I let them, nay, encouraged them to bite me, as an experiment. When would they extricate their incisors from my flesh? Would my reaction to the bites vary depending on the amount of time each bite lasted?

I let these bugs bite me four times, once for about 13 minutes, once for about 5 minutes, once for about 1 minute, and once for 45 seconds (I didn't have a watch, so these are estimates). Then, I forged a peaceful resolution with my tentmates and we went to watch the beginning of Color War.

Except, turns out it's stupid to let unidentified insects taste your blood. The bites swelled up huge. I got chills. My stomach hurt intensely. My counselor took me back to the infirmary to get them checked out.

Needless to say, this was not easy to explain to the nurse on duty ("WHY" "For science!"). His first thought was we needed to figure out what bit me. If only it were that simple.

We combed through the databases for insects in the state. We expanded our search to arachnids, even, although it certainly wasn't one. I drew a little mock-up on a Post-It to show him. There was not a single match. To this day, I have no idea what it was that I let bite me. I was given orders to come back tomorrow to get them checked by a doctor, and also return every morning and night for a week to put warm compresses and medicinal ointments on the bites, and a strong directive to never do anything like that again, with a side of "What the hell were you thinking????"

A couple of months later, after camp, I went to my friend's bar mitzvah. The woman in the row behind me tapped my shoulder. She asked me how the bug bites were. It was the doctor from the infirmary.

-- @dr-robert-chase-apologist

That was a beautiful ending. I have a similar story, but less gruesome than letting bugs bite me. My family used to go up to trips to the Mogollon Mountains two or three times a year. The woods were where my dad always felt the most at peace.

My dad used that time to hike through the trees. And I grew into that eventually, but when I was very little, I felt a particular kinship to the small things of this world. Worms and beetles and woodlice and those peculiar Arizona grasshopers with wings the size of jellybeans and tummies the size of my thumb.

And on one trip, there was an incredible number of these beautiful, fuzzy caterpillars. Picture below.

I went a little crazy about them. They were fluffy, and they were had pretty colors, and they had the cutest, softest, stubbiest little suction cup feets that I'd ever seen. Watching them climb up stalks of grass or over fallen branches was enchanting.

So I caught, like, twenty of them, and most got put in a little terrarium where I could watch them do cute caterpillar things. Mostly eat fresh pine needles and wriggle gregariously. But some I kept out just to play with. I'd put them on my palm, and I'd watch them crawl all the way up to my neck, then I'd move them somewhere else. They tickled, and I was charmed to be their jungle gym.

But apparently, those little hairs break off like fiberglass, and they have some kind of venom on them, so I had these strange, wriggling, almost tattoo like rashes all over my arms up to my neck. Very embarrassing to explain to my parents.

There was an entomologist on the street that I grew up on named Freddie. And he wasn't just a bug expert, he was specifically a caterpillar expert. He had a garden in his backyard that was specifically tailored for butterflies, he'd always draw in clouds of Monarchs during their migration. My parents asked him about the mysterious itchy caterpillars, and he said they were lophocampa ingens, and that I was lucky that I didn't inhale those hairs. They can stick inside your throat and make it swell closed. Scary little bastards.

I'd still see them after that, but never in such numbers. And while I appreciated them, I always tried to keep a few feet of distance. Just to be safe.

(Also, just wanted to clarify that I didn't remember the name for 20 years, I googled "irticating caterpillar Mogollon", and saw the picture. It wasn't until I read the caption that I was like oh yeaaaaah, that's what he called them. But it was one of those memories I could never have pulled at will.)

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zephyrchama · 3 months ago

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(Based on that one scene from B99)

“Lucifer, your wrist looks kind of funny.”

All eyes turned to the Avatar of Pride when Leviathan pointed this out. They were supposed to be organizing the house library, but it was a long and boring task. One that everyone wanted to finish quickly, yet nobody could find the motivation to make any real progress.

“Oh no! What happened?” Asmodeus leaned over a table to try and steal a peek. Lucifer’s wrist was, indeed, bent in an odd manner. He used his non-dominant hand to shuffle some papers in order.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, Asmo!” Mammon jeered. “Back off, leave the guy alone.”

Lucifer ignored his brothers, icy gaze focused on the documents in hand. They were papers that had been misfiled and did not belong in the library. He reminded everyone in the room to “behave yourselves” before disappearing into his office.

Curious eyes followed him until he was truly out of sight. Then, the brothers exchanged fascinated looks. It’s not every day that Lucifer get injured.

“Alright, everybody bring it in. Huddle up.” Mammon ushered everyone to come close with a sweep of his hand. The boys reluctantly formed a loose circle.

“What are you up to now?” Belphegor asked with a sigh. “I want to finish this already.”

Mammon pretended not to hear as he whisper-shouted, “so, he wouldn’t say what happened, which can only mean one thing.”

”He’s in a fight club,” Beelzebub suggested.

“No. He did it doing something he’s embarrassed by.” Satan was quick to catch on to the truth.

Beelzebub followed up with, “oh. Could be a sports injury. I sprained my wrist playing fangol last year.”

“Really? I don’t remember that,” Belphegor said.

Leviathan asked, “you think Lucifer was playing fangol?”

A deep growl suddenly came from the doorway. There was no warning or indication that Lucifer would be back so quickly. Yet, the man in question had returned. His menacing quickly caused the group to shut up.

“I can hear you speculating about the nature and origin of my injury from my office, but I don’t think it’s relevant to your jobs. The jobs you should all be doing right now. Get to work.”

The brothers scattered like roaches back to their respective corners of the library. All except for Satan, who Lucifer beckoned over with his finger. Satan hesitated at first, but it was better to go along with Lucifer when his mood was sour. The two stepped out for a minute, far enough away that no one else would overhear.

“What?” Satan was fed up with this conversation and it hadn’t even started.

“Do you want to know how I actually hurt my wrist?

Satan’s eyebrows flew up and he took several seconds to think about the question. What an odd offer. There was nothing for Lucifer to gain by telling him this, was there? Though, if he spent too long thinking Lucifer might change his mind and leave his little brother wondering what happened forever. With an oddly docile tone of voice, Satan responded, “...Yes.”

While Satan was busy wondering how to respond, Lucifer had taken out his DDD. He was scrolling through a menu in search of something. “I was hula hooping. Diavolo and I attend a class for fitness and for fun.”

“No way.” Satan's true thoughts leaked out. It was so dumb, it couldn’t be true.

Lucifer raised his phone to Satan’s eye level. The proof was there. ”I’ve mastered all the moves. The pizza toss. The tornado. The scorpion, the oopsie doodle.”

With each and every silly name, Lucifer swiped to a new photo on his phone. There he was, doing the pizza toss. Showing Diavolo how to do the scorpion. Performing a flawless oopsie doodle. Satan was stupefied, his mouth ajar.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because no one…” Lucifer selected all of the images. He tapped on a trash can in the corner of the screen. The images, every last one, disappeared. “…will ever believe you.”

“No!” Satan lunged for the phone in vain. “You sick, twisted, son of a-”

“You got your answer," Lucifer told him. "Get back to work."

#this scenario has been in my head for months and once i told people about it I had to write it next #I was going to add the breast protection line but couldn't figure out a way for beel to say that naturally ghh #obey me #obey me!#omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me scenarios #obey me swd #obey me fanfic #obey me drabble #obey me brothers #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me fandom #obey me imagines #obey me fic #obey me writing #om lucifer #om satan

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saetoru · 1 year ago

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BEWARE OF PHAGOCYTIC RAIN — AL-HAITHAM.

kinktober day three — aphrodisiacs ; find masterlist here

synopsis. the akademiya textbook reads as follows: consecrated scorpion stings are not deadly, but it is advised to proceed with caution in the event of encountering one. possible side effects of stings include swelling, pain, nausea, and mild sexual arousal. except the textbook lied. it’s not mild. al-haitham and you might need to pause your desert trip for a moment

length. 4.3k words (omg this is the shortest one so far)

contents. minors do not interact, fem! reader, aphrodisiacs + dub con, mentions of injuries and blood (al-haitham gets stung by a consecrated scorpion), reader sits on his lap, hand jobs, unprotected sex, no prep, riding, creampie, implied (future) multiple orgasms, reader is mentioned to have a dendro vision + is a haravatat scholar

notes. i made this up. the new consecrated scorpions lore is that their venom can be a sex stimulant thanks

“haitham,” you complain—although, you probably really shouldn’t. in fact, you definitely should not complain. al-haitham has so graciously allowed you to accompany this trip to the desert, and you should not get in the way. still, your feet ache, and the sun is blaring, and god—would kill you both to have a break? “can’t we just stop for a bit?”

but with you, al-haitham is always patient. you can see him diligently take the time to be patient as he stills and sighs quietly, not letting himself ever get frustrated with you. “it’ll get cold if night falls,” he reasons, “c’mon, you’ll definitely want to rest inside the ruins instead of outside tonight.”

“but baby,” you protest, “my feet hurt.”

“i know,” he nods, like validating your feelings will make them any better, “but the safest option would be to camp inside the ruins instead of out here—”

“hey, haitham?” you cut him off, suddenly whispering quietly as you huddle closer, “what…what’s that?” he looks over his shoulder to where you point—and then he stiffens.

“oh, great,” he hisses, groaning under his breath, “seriously? now?”

what looks like a giant scorpion seems to be pacing in the distance, the large, sharp stinger on its tail clear as day, even from where you stand, a good range away. you’ve never seen one of these before, never even heard of giant scorpions that roam the desert. al-haitham has certainly never told you about seeing them, with all the times he visits the desert himself. he seems rather familiar with them, too, staring exasperatedly off at the beast as it circles the territory you absolutely have to pass.

“why is there a giant scorpion here? are there always these things in the desert? i’ve never heard of—wait,” you pause, “i have a textbook from the akademiya on desert exploration. i brought it just in case!”

“we don’t need that,” he insists, “i’ve dealt with these plenty of times. just leave it to me.”

you’ve never been to the desert—but al-haitham always mentions the ancient letters he sees in the ruins he explores. it’s tempting; being a scholar is always the never-ending temptation of knowledge—and you are both haravatat scholars, after all. studying an ancient alphabet is enough to make you plead with al-haitham to take you with him on his next trip.

he can’t say no to you, of course—he never can. but it’s your first time here, and evidently…it’s not going exactly as planned.

you open the book, skimming through the pages before your eyes land on a sketch that looks strikingly similar to the same beast you see in the distance. the textbook reads as follows: consecrated scorpion stings are not deadly, but it is advised to proceed with caution in the event of encountering one. that seems like complete and utter bullshit—this seems rather deadly.

“haitham,” you whisper, “i think we should leave. this doesn’t seem—”

“we can take it,” he argues, “i’ve taken them before on my own quite a lot in the past.”

“but baby, this one seems a bit big—”

“it’ll be fine,” he assures.

you sigh, looking back at the book and scanning over the section that goes into detail about its attack patterns. “okay, fine—let me just read over how they attack so i know what to expect.”

phagocytic form—beasts enter phagocytic form immediately when in combat, resulting in an increase in resistance to all elements. there is double the resistance to electro attacks. well, you think, it’s a good thing cyno isn’t the one fighting today—otherwise, you think you might be screwed.

this is fine. everything is fine. you and al-haitham both have dendro visions; this shouldn’t be too bad, right?

melee combo one—beasts perform a two-part combo with their claws. alright, not too bad. you can easily dodge that, you reason. melee combo two—beasts perform a three-part combo consisting of a single strike with both claws, a flurry of claw strikes while rushing forward, and a projectile fired from its stinger. now that seems a bit troublesome, but you’ve dealt with worse.

“i’ll take care of it,” al-haitham calls over his shoulder, catching your attention as he draws out his sword. you look up from the pages frantically.

“wait, i really think we should handle this together if we’re going to take this. just let me read on the attack patterns a bit more—”

he’s already made the first attack. you can hear the angry hiss of the scorpion, can practically see the fury in its beady eyes from behind the thick skull covering its head. al-haitham, to your slight comfort, dodges melee combos one and two expertly.

maybe he was right—maybe you’ve been panicking for nothing.

you look back at the book. dig—beasts dig into the ground and attack the target from below, staying within the range of a visible electro ring. alright, as long as you leave the ring before the scorpion pops out of the ground, you should be fine. nothing to worry about. spikes—beasts plug their tails into the ground and rapidly produce spikes around themselves to shock targets. another easy dodge—you just have to make sure you escape the vicinity.

you look up, and al-haitham has already easily leapt from the ring and landed himself on higher ground. he waits, watches as the beast emerges from underground, and plants its tail into the ground—this must be the spikes. al-haitham is rather excellent at fighting these things—you have to admit. as soon as the spikes are gone, he takes his chance to plunge down, perfectly landing a hard hit to its head with the edge of his sword, making its body slump to the ground.

he might just finish this alone like he said.

“there,” he nods, flashing you a smooth grin, “i told you i’d handle it. now then, let’s—”

the loud, sinister hiss from behind cuts him off—it makes you watch in abject horror as the scorpion rises and does a rapid spin.

you look over the pages as quickly as you can—is there more? there’s nothing else on the page, is there? you quickly flick your eyes to the next page and—oh.

oh no.

phagocytic rain—beasts rapidly spin and scatter many stingers into the air before slamming their claws and unleashing stingers down from above. these stingers, once pierced into the skin, can cause side effects as a result of consecrated venom.

“well, it’s never done that before,” al-haitham holds up his sword, getting ready to fight.

no. he has to get away—he needs to get away. the words don’t come quick enough from your throat as you scream, “haitham, no! you have to get away—”

it’s too late. you can hear him let out a strangled groan of pain, clutching his arm as his sword instantly falls to the floor, a gash already decorating his skin from a stinger he didn’t manage to dodge. before you can even think, you grab your weapon and run, leaping between al-haitham and the scorpion and landing another perfect blow to its head—just before that giant, deadly-looking stinger on its tail can plunge into him.

it goes limp, falling to the floor with a thud, the glow of its body dimming instantly.

“fuck,” he curses—al-haitham rarely curses. this is not a light sting. “since when do they do that?”

“since forever,” you hiss, grabbing the edge of his cape to press on his wound and stop the blood flow, “maybe if you’d just listened to me and read the attack patterns with me, you’d have known that.”

“i’ve fought these plenty of times,” he says indignantly, teeth still grit in pain, “they never do that.”

“maybe if you weren’t such a know it all,” you grumble—but then you gently reach over, cupping his cheek as you trace a thumb over the skin comfortingly, “is it too bad?” you ask, concern evident enough in your tone that he feels slightly bad.

al-haitham shakes his head, sighing quietly as you kiss his jaw. “i’ll be fine. i’ll just patch it up before we camp for the night.”

“are you sure? maybe we should—”

“it’ll be fine,” he hums, “their venom isn’t deadly anyway.”

—————

you and al-haitham manage to make it to the ruins by nightfall. somehow, miraculously, the two of you are able to trek towards the pyramid and seek shelter indoors for the night, right before it gets too dark and too cold.

al-haitham seems to act stranger and stranger as time goes on, quietly sitting in a corner against the wall and patching his arm up himself as you set up the fire by the tent. you look over at him and watch as he shudders and groans lightly.

“are you sure you’re alright?” you ask in concern, walking over and sitting as you curl up next to him, raising a brow as his body seems to stiffen at your touch, “baby, you seem…”

“i’m fine,” he says curtly.

you don’t seem to be convinced, furrowing your brows before pressing a palm to his forehead—hot. incredibly and unnaturally hot skin that’s flushed a shade of crimson you hardly see on al-haitham, even when you tease him in that cheeky, flirty little way of yours that dusts blush over his face every time.

“haitham,” you gasp, hand brushing back his bangs to feel more of his skin—it’s only then, do you realize just how sweaty his skin seems to be, too. “you’re burning up!”

“i’m okay—”

“maybe you should take your shirt off,” you say quickly, wiping the sweat from his forehead as you sit up straight, “it’s just the two of us here, anyway. it’ll be fine—”

“no,” he grits, voice strangled, “i’m—hah” he cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, “—i’m okay. just leave me alone, please. i’ll just go walk it off in a bit.”

he’s panting. you can hear the way his voice is strained and the way his chest rises and falls rather rapidly. you should check the book again, just to see if there’s anything about the side effects in the event you do happen to get stung.

“hmm, the textbook says—”

“do not read the textbook,” he practically begs.

you do anyway. “possible side effects of stings include swelling, pain, nausea,” you start, glancing up at him and eyeing his patched arm, “well, there was some swelling. are you nauseous?”

“no,” he almost wheezes out.

“let’s see, and it also says it can cause—oh.”

possible side effects of stings include swelling, pain, nausea—you pause and swallow thickly as you read over the final part—and mild sexual arousal. sexual arousal. well, that would explain the heated and flushed skin, you suppose. and the sweat. you glance up at al-haitham—he does anything but meet your eyes.

“i told you,” he says stiffly, muffling a groan as he crosses his arms and hunches forward, “i’ll be fine—”

“baby,” you hum, chuckling slightly as you run a hand through his hair—he gulps, still avoiding your gaze, “why didn’t you just tell me?”

“don’t,” he warns, jaw clenching as he looks up and stares at you with that same look of hunger you’ve seen so many times before. it’s clear al-haitham is trying to fight off whatever he’s feeling—but the reality is clear.

he’s very quickly losing himself to his desires.

“but it’s just us in here,” you insist, hand trailing down his chest slowly before settling on his thigh. his breath hitches, following your hand with his eyes as it rubs along slowly and moves closer and closer inwards. “these ruins have been abandoned for who knows how long—and we’re the only ones from the akademiya cleared to explore them.”

“don’t,” he says again—there’s a warning tone to his voice this time, slightly more raspy and entirely more breathless, “if…if i start, i don’t know if i’ll be able to stop.”

“oh, but haitham,” you pout, slinging a leg over his waist and seating yourself on his lap. you stare down at his crotch—wet. there’s a very noticeable wet patch over the bulge in his pants. you wonder how you didn’t notice it sooner. “who says i’d want you to stop?”

“love, i’m serious,” he closes his eyes and swallows, panting as a bead of sweat rolls down his temple, “you should sleep. i’ll be okay—o-oh, fuck,” he cuts himself off with a gasp, hissing as you reach past his waistband and free his strained cock from the confinements.

it’s thick, his erection—probably far more swollen than you’ve ever seen it before. it almost looks painful, with how red it is at the tip, with how it twitches from nothing else but the cool air hitting the heated skin. you think it might just be aching, in fact, from how he whimpers as you wrap a hand around it, just barely squeezing, just barely applying pressure to really relieve anything.

“hmm,” you look down, inspecting, “seems sensitive.” you give it a slow, experimental stroke, instantly making him groan loudly as his head falls back, a stream of pre cum leaking from the tip enough to coat his already slick cock.

“fuck, fuck—more,” he rasps, hand grabbing your thigh and squeezing hard to ground himself.

“okay,” you murmur, nodding to yourself, “very sensitive. guess we’ll just have to get this out of your system.”

you drag your hand over his length, slow at first, before building up a quick, steady rhythm—just the way he’s always liked it. you lean in, kissing along his jaw as he writhes under you while you squeeze around the base of his cock, rolling your palm over his tip before repeating the motion over and over and over again.

his mouth is parted, low groans and the occasional soft whine fall past his lips, making the ache between your own legs worsen as you watch him fall apart. there’s a dull throb in your core, and you can feel the fabric of your underwear dampen, but all you’re worried about for now is the man before you. any other time, you’d think it’s a bit shameless, doing something so dirty, so filthy, so inappropriate in the middle of the desert like this–especially while on a research expedition, no less. but you couldn’t just leave your boyfriend to suffer like this, could you? what kind of girlfriend would you be then? and you’re not so cruel as to leave al-haitham to suffer like this all night, or longer, even—who knows how long before the side effects wear off? it’s the wisest choice to just help him, to take care of him like he always takes care of you.

that’s right, you think to yourself—you’re helping him like any doting lover would. you’re not at all interested by this predicament of his…or aroused, for that matter. no, you’re simply worried for him, and it’s up to you to relieve him of the painfully frustrating tension he must be suffering through after he so graciously fought to protect you from the dangers of the desert.

“jus’ like that,” he gasps as you touch him, chest still rising and falling as quickly as before—his shirt is damp too, a noticeable wet patch forming over most of it as the sweat collects on the fabric, “d-don’t stop—fuck, feels so good.”

“c’mon, haitham,” you murmur, taking your other hand to tug at the end of his shirt, “take this off—i told you, you’ll feel better.”

he listens—whatever is in that venom must be something strong because al-haitham is the most stubborn individual you’ve ever met. under normal circumstances, he’d refuse to take his shirt off even if, deep down, he knew himself it’d help. but right now, he quickly reaches at the hem before pulling it off, tossing it to the side as his bare chest is exposed for you to admire. his usual pale skin is flushed, a soft pink that glistens from the sweat that he can’t seem to get rid of, even as you work his swollen cock with your fist.

it’s pretty, the way he sounds, the way he looks. you run a thumb over his slit, and he whimpers. not too often of times have you heard al-haitham whimper—but today, he seems to have lost any and all control, too busy thrusting his hips up to meet your strokes as he moans lowly.

“when’d you start to feel it?” you ask curiously, pecking his forehead as you leave scattered kisses along his face, “how long have you been trying to play it off?”

“s-since…” he starts, but he trails off as your thumb traces over a thick being along the underside of his length, letting out a soft whine at the feeling before bucking his hip into your hand more desperately. you don’t think you’ve ever seen al-haitham so worked up—so needy and riled up and painfully fucked out before he’s even cum yet. “since i f-first got stung,” he admits through labored breaths, “just got worse slowly.”

“you should’ve told me,” you coo, “not like i don’t see you like this anyway. poor thing,” you pout softly, eyeing the way his cock twitches in your hand, more beads of pre cum oozing from the tip and leaving a stream down his length, “looks like it hurts.”

“it does,” he rasps, “feels…feels like ‘m gonna pass out.”

“don’t worry,” you hum, squeezing tighter around him, working him quicker as your hand jerks his aching cock off with a tight fist, “i’ll help you cum. ‘s what you deserve for fighting that thing for me. my strong baby.”

“c-close,” he says through a cracked voice, like the praise is enough to send him hurtling over the edge, “‘m so close—sh-shit.”

“yeah?” you ask sweetly, pecking his forehead, “then cum, baby. think you’ll feel much better.”

you roll a thumb over his nipple, hard under the pad of your thumb, and enough to make him gasp loudly before he lets out a deep grunt, cum spilling from his sensitive tip. it’s more than you’ve ever seen from him—thick, endless ropes of hot, sticky cum coating your hand and his abs as you pump his cock through his orgasm. you’re glad you made him take his shirt off—this would’ve been an even more unpleasant trip if he’d had to walk around in a soiled shirt.

“fuck, f-fuck—so g-good,” he stutters, his head thrown back against the wall that supports his body, legs spreading apart to give you better access to working his cock through his high. one hand reaches to play with his balls as you milk his cock, squeezing as you stroke upwards and watch every thick drop of cum shoot past his tip.

it feels like forever, his orgasm. it’s long, and his voice is strained from calling your name over and over by the time he’s finished—but he’s still just as hard as before. no—in fact, you think he might be even harder.

“well…” you start, staring at his erection as it rests against his sculpted abs, “i don’t think that did much.”

“no,” he pants, staring at you through lust-hazed eyes, “it didn’t. but i have an idea that might help, though.”

“yeah? what is it, oh wise grand sage?”

al-haitham, for the first time ever, doesn’t correct you that he’s the acting grand sage. instead, he lifts you up slightly and pulls your pants down to pool at your ankles before lining your dripping cunt over his cock. you bite your lip, moving to ever so slightly drag his tip along your clit, making the both of you shiver with a desperate gasp at the ghost friction.

“i think,” he starts, finger circling your clit slowly as you whine before letting your head fall to the crook of his neck, “that perhaps fucking you might be the only way to get this out of my system. what do you say?”

“haitham, please,” you whine, fingers digging into his shoulders as you clutch onto him, “need you.”

“yeah?” he chuckles breathlessly, replacing his finger and teasing your folds with the tip of his cock, coating the head with the slick of your pussy as you quiver over him, “need me, huh? i thought i was the one who got stung. shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

you would scoff if you weren’t aching to feel the burning stretch of him intruding your neglected cunt—al-haitham always finds a way to be himself at the end of the day. always so frustratingly confident and painfully good at teasing.

“fuck me, haitham,” you plead, pushing your hips down until the first few inches of his length push past your entrance, dragging his tip along your folds and pulling a whine from you as he chokes on a low groan.

“f-fuck,” he grunts, “so tight—a-always so tight.”

his hands grasp at your hips, slowly guiding you to sink all the way down on his cock, taking it inch by inch until he’s buried all the way, his tip nudging perfectly against that sensitive spot in the back of your walls. al-haitham feels like he’s been made just for you like that—fitting you perfectly enough that he hits all the right spots without even trying, without even having to angle his hips in order to give you what you need from him.

you feel sweat collect on your own forehead, mirroring the same glistening of his own skin as you bite your lip and whimper out a pathetic, “h-haitham, more—please.”

“it’s a good thing i brought you with me,” he pants as he snaps his hips up, his hands still guiding your hips to bounce on his cock as you pull up before slamming back down, your walls hugging his thick girth tightly while his fat tip presses against your sweet spot. “imagine where i’d be if you weren’t here. j-jus’ wouldn’t feel the same if i was fucking my fist instead of this sweet cunt.”

the stretch is too good—the way he splits you open as he bullies into your pussy, pushing past your folds and dragging his thick veins along your walls, makes your head spin, pleasure burning up your nerves and spreading across your entire body. your lips attach themselves to his neck, kissing and sucking along the skin as he groans and tightens his bruising grip on your hips.

“b-baby—fuck, ‘s so good,” you mewl, “h-haitham—oh.”

“take me so well,” he says breathlessly, face falling slack as your walls flutter around his length and relieve the ache that was all too overwhelming just a few moments ago—being buried into your pussy is enough to turn the tight grit of his jaw into a loose, parted lips as he moans your name. “taking it so well, like the good girl you are. you—ngh, fuck—you want to make me feel better, don’t you?”

“i do,” you nod, sobbing as his thumb finds your clit and rubs harsh circles into the delicate bundle of nerves, “i do, i do—please, haitham. faster, need more.”

“yeah?” he lets out a strangled chuckle, biting his lip and groaning as you snap your hips down particularly rough, squeezing around him tightly, “you need more? i’d almost say you were stung instead of me.”

your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving angry, red marks in their wake as his fingers dig into the plush skin of your hips. you slam down on him with every roll of your hips, his own meeting you halfway as he bucks up, fucking into you—you can feel it, the impending high that you reach closer and closer to, every circle of his thumb on your clit and every brush of his cock against your walls bringing you close to falling off the edge.

“‘m…g-gonna cum, haitham—fuck, a-almost there, baby,” you pant, mewling as you throw your head back while he leans in to kiss your neck, biting hard enough that you almost wonder if there’s blood.

“me too,” he groans, “you…you’re so perfect,” you feel his head bury into your shoulder, his forehead digging into your shoulder as you cradle the back of his head with a hand and whine, “i’m bringing you to every trip—fuck you in every ruin i explore. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“yes, yes—please,” you babble, nodding as your back arches before you feel the coil snap—you gasp his name, a repeat of haitham, haitham, haitham, falling from your lips as he fucks into you through your high. the spasm of your walls around him sends him hurtling into his second orgasm—even more earth-shattering than the first.

“that’s it,” he moans, his voice deep and raspy as it cracks in the middle, “can’t even be mad i got stung—not when you let me fuck you l-like this. so…feels so good—’m c-cumming.”

it’s not the first time al-haitham has cum in you—but it’s never felt like this before. it’s hot, his cum—it spills into you and coats your walls in a sticky mess that forms a ring at the base of his cock as it pumps into you. the mess of his release and your arousal coats both of your thighs, leaking from your abused cunt and smearing along your skin. you can feel him twitch with every rope, can feel the way he throbs as he spills into you and paints your walls white with his release. it’s desperate—needy and so, so filthy, just like the sounds he makes into your ear, breathless pants that make your stomach do flips as you listen to him fall apart and break.

he slumps as he finishes, your body falling against him as you both pant harshly and catch your breaths. he kisses your neck delicately as you stroke his hair, admiring his spent form under you.

“as much as i hate that you got stung,” you mumble, “this…this might not have been the worst thing.”

“oh yeah?” he snorts, looking up and raising a brow—it’s only then that you feel it, the twitch of his still hard cock, still buried deep in your abused cunt, “are you sure? because we aren’t nearly finished yet—i really hope you’re prepared to take it.”

the textbook may have lied, you think—this is not mild at all. this might delay your trip quite a bit.

i would go with him hoping he gets stung every time so i could suck the soul out of him tbh

#🎃 — kinkteeber !!#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham smut #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x you #thirstee!#teepods.writings #fics.

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keferon · 1 month ago

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(Apocalyptic Ponyo Au)

I see your “Mer saves their humans from leviathan creature thing” and it’s good I enjoy, but now with the addition of poacher deadlock I raise you “mer being saved by human��

Deadlock in my mind has a modified tugboat. You ever watch timelapses of big cargo ships or ferries move around canals and ports and things? And sometimes they’re accompanied by little tiny boats? Those tiny boats are the tugboats. They are ridiculously strong for their size. (And also usually have firefighting capabilities, do with that information what you will)

Anyway where was I going with this. I’m just thinking of deadlock damn near single-handedly taking down one of those leviathan things using his boat. He’s a mer poacher too right? He’s used to big things recognising him as a threat and putting up a fight. His tugboat (built to push and pull around much larger ships) can take that strain

I don’t have a specific scene in my mind?? Nor do I have the skill to write it, but some (a lot) of my inspo is that scene from Avatar The Way of Water, where the humans hunt the tulkuun (big fucking armoured whale). It’s brutal, and downright cruel at times, and I wonder how ratchet and hotrod would react to seeing deadlock kill something in that manner with the amount of skill you only gain by immense practice.

Bonus bit of description of the boat that I couldn’t fit in anywhere is that the boat has these. Harpoon/ crossbow things. Idk how to describe them. Think the scorpion bolts from Game of Thrones except built to be used by only one person

This is all over the place and I apologise. Do you see the vision though

OH I SEE THE VISION I SEE IT YES 👁

Drift is a lot of things and one of them is being absolutely feral when it comes to battle. Doesn’t matter if he uses a regular gun or a harpoon gun. His aim is amazing and his strategy is “win or die but never surrender” (thinking about that idw moment when he got mind controlled and when he realised he couldn’t fight it his response was to. Uh. Let’s say put his sword through his own chest.)

So yeah! I can absolutely see him fighting a giant sea monster!

Imagine if Ratchet watches him taking down the beast and has this little moment of cold creepy shivers because HUH. That human is DANGEROUS despite being smaller and weaker physically. That human looks like a sad wet kitten half the time but he used to hunt creatures much bigger than him and was doing that regularly. Fighting monsters was a part of his job. Not an emergency only thing. A fucking routine.

#apocalyptic ponyo #………gosh that au name is so goofy AHAHA #merformers #drift #ratchet

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shadows-shells · 2 months ago

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liveblogging: 2k3 S6E23 'DNA Is Thicker Than Water'

(why did it take me half a lifetime to notice this visual parallel, diabolical)

The Dark Turtles make me so sad, seriously. It's an outright dystopic fate, living without safety or love under the cruel control of Darius Dunn. They don't even have names 💀 Less than 12 differences in their genomes between Leo and Dark Leo, the show makes a point of emphasising. Less than 12 - and where Leo is smug after gently pointing out that kindness comes around, Dark Leo is smugly anticipating them falling for his ruse and trap. That's a world of difference right there.

it surprises me on a rewatch how OBVIOUS Dark Leo's ruse is. The Dark Turtles were winning the fight - and then fled once Dark Leo is injured. Their objective was clearly to leave Dark Leo there to infiltrate/sabotage - but the narrative POV following the younger, naive Cody primes the audience to see Raphael's blunt skepticism as pure unsympathetic cynicism. They decide to give Dark Leo a chance, because his injuries require immediate medical treatment (Dark Don overdid it, probably).

at the 08:05 mark: Dark Leo and Leo consecutively saying "poison?" in offense but you can hear the slight difference, chef's kiss, ASMR, Michael Sinterniklaas SERVED the whole series 💯

The sheer offense in Raph's tone when told Dark Leo is almost a perfect genetic copy to his brother 🤣 "Leo's Leo, and THAT is a mess." Savage. The team discussion is an interesting look into Leo's leadership style behind-the-scenes/off the battlefield. Everyone sitting in a circle, Cody having been won over by the life-saving, Don willing to try this out...Raph thinks this direction of thinking is cray and he openly says so. But without directly attacking anyone, he instead takes this to Leo: "Leo, come on, you're not buying this, are ya?" That is admirable restraint right there, when older audiences know Raphael is 100% right and this is an important matter of their family's safety. i don't think it's a coincidence that they show that Leo barely spoke except when asking for opinions. It gives a more 'listener' and 'panel facilitator' vibe, a more collaborative atmosphere. The end of the discussion was not shown either (deciding to let Dark Leo join them at the family table) - probably mostly to maintain narrative suspense and pacing - but it also softens Leo, in leaving out the 'decision' and focusing on the 'discussion'. Right after the family breakfast test? Leo asks outright for everyone's evaluations. He's listening, encouraging discussion, compromising between standpoints and always making sure no one gets injured. The whole team is visibly used to brainstorming and collaborating, that the '87 team frustrated Raph enough to (re)raise the issue to Leo in 'Turtles Forever' ("Leo i TOLD ya you can't brainstorm with these bozos" 😂)

i love that Raph unhesitantly raises his objections to Leo and clearly expects a solution/direction. That is trust right there - given to a leader Raph has judged deserving. i will forever blame other incarnations for a less-wholesome and more-petty-rivalry dynamic between them. It can be a satisfyingly angsty dynamic for sure but it is not one that is faithful to the 2k3 canon.

Mikey losing appetite at Dark Leo's table manners 😂 you know it's bad when a teenaged athlete loses appetite LOL (4 meals+a snack everyday and yet i was STILL ALWAYS starving)

Don catches the inconsistency when Dark Leo was 'struggling' with the physical test; Raph steps in to rile Dark Leo up and force him to show his true strength. That's a nice bit of teamwork.

And Leo had his hand on his blade ready to draw, both times, when Don was first releasing Dark Leo for the physical test and when Dark Leo was getting into Raph's face. Yes, Leo wanted to give Dark Leo a chance, making the initial executive decision to take him in - but he is neither stupid nor naive, or careless.

Splinter's story about the scorpion and the frog is an unhappy cynical fable. i imagine Splinter told it as a cautionary tale to young reckless turtles to help keep them safe.

Leo presents the fable here as an opportunity and open question for his clone. Dark Leo seemed to waver, when Leo was still extending a second chance to him (saying that they can all still turn back and discuss options the next morning).

But i think Leo lost him, when Leo accurately pointed out that Dark Leo had inner conflict about what he is and who he wants to be. Leo did hit a nerve there, and Dark Leo doesn't want that vulnerability and intimacy with him.

Leo is disappointed, but also not surprised. The frog in Splinter's story was shocked, where Leo was not - but i do think the part of Leo that was hoping Dark Leo could someday become a fourth brother did die, too.

i think the most tragic part of it was that Dark Leo, in his 'reformed redeemed' act, did waver. He WAS almost there. And the whole act is basically improv - while the turtles' compassionate reactions and decisions can be predicted to some extent - i don't believe the clones knew the team+Splinter+Cody well enough to script the whole act.

On SOME level, Dark Leo could think up and deliver those redeeming thoughts and dialogue (only to reject them). The theming of Fast Forward was never going to deliver the creepy Gothic doppelganger atmosphere that teenaged me wanted, or go into existential horror like the Lovecraftian Volpehart episode did - but it stands up to scrutiny, beneath the bright colour palettes and narrative framing. The most dedicated and self-sacrificing brother we know, gone 'wrong'...that is an existential horror premise all on its own.

Dark Leo IS Leo gone wrong...but he did not have to be, and thankfully the ending shows that he won't always be. i do think it's worth noting that the voice direction and acting had Dark Leo upset when calling himself a scorpion - instead of gleeful or prideful or even just calm.

it is poignant that Leo in the end admits he hates that scorpion story, when Raphael mentions the fable. Leo, the most guarded and strategic brother by necessity - prefers to trust, wants to be optimistic...but life has made him a practical, paranoid man of contingencies and clear-eyed wariness.

S6 Leo was never going to be openly critical/blunt the way a righteously-angry Raph can be - but he did not shut Cody's naive optimism down, either, where he can and has shut down shenanigans from rowdier people. He had hoped Cody could be right.

People have betrayed and disappointed Leo before - most painfully of all, himself - and this won't be the last. It is still hopeful and heartening to think, that despite all of it, Leo will continue to extend the benefit of the doubt while keeping clear-eyed awareness.

This is a nice balance, between Don&Mike's relative idealism and Raph's decisive skepticism. It is so valuable to the team and as a leader, for Leo to be able to understand and reconcile the full spectrum of viewpoints.

This is a new maturity, that S1's too-trusting-too-inexperienced Leo and earlyS4's too-cynical-too-pessimistic Leo did not have. im happy for our boi!

The ending to this ep is open and hopeful. While the turtles never get to find out that their kindness and mercy DID make a difference - it DID make a difference, and i'm hopeful that things will gradually change. All those fics writing the dark turtles eventually spiralling upward and getting away from Darius are 100% canon in my book!

im SO glad they made this ep hahaha. for me at least this ep alone could justify the whole season ☺️

#tmnt 2003 #tmnt #tmnt 2k3 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt leonardo #meta #dark leo

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joelmillerssexyyounggirlfriend · 19 days ago

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Dust & Desire

You’re a lonely farm girl, alone and forgotten on your father's land. Though he promised to return, months had passed since you had seen another person. One day, a handsome and quite injured stranger breaks into your home. It doesn’t take long for him to win you over, despite the circumstances.

Disclaimer: Joel isn’t a great person in this story (very intentionally). Unreliable reader, coercion, etc. Word count: 7,874. Part of a three-part story (hopefully).

Warnings: 18+, explicit, coercion if you squint, MDNE!!

The crickets quickly became your closest companions, greeting you when you were alone at night. Just you, a garden, and a couple of cattle your father abandoned. You had counted every single day, etching a mark into the frame of your wooden bed. It had been 243 days - exactly eight months - since you had seen your father or anyone for that matter.

Your parents purposely created a farm hidden away from predators, human or animal alike. Growing up on the ranch had been divine; fields of flowers as far as the eye could see. Cleaning your horse, Daisy, once your father allowed you to ride. It was wonderful until it wasn’t.

Your older brother had gotten wrapped up with a gang of prospectors going to the Old West for gold. After hearing rumors that your brother had caught a ghastly illness, your father ran off on his own horse. He told you to take care of yourself until he returned and ensure you did your best.

It had been lonely, farming for a home that was missing two of its occupants. You regularly sat at the dinner table alone, with nobody except the old barn cat you had allowed to keep you company. You’d named him Boone. His dusty blond cheeks were fat from years of fighting, his ear clipped and whiskers scraggly.

You thought he looked absolutely perfect.

Boone was purring on your chest late one night, with you breathing in the earthy smell of his fur. The crickets kept you up, much louder than normal because of the hot summer air. You were thankful that your crops had grown so well since Spring, making you confident you'd have plenty of food once your brother and father returned.

The white cotton slip you were lying in stuck to the flesh of your body, sticky with sweat. Boone lying on you wasn’t helping with the heat you were feeling, but you felt too bad to move him. Instead, you prayed that a breeze would blow in from the open window. You had picked up a bad habit of leaving open windows since the hot days started. Your dad would’ve had a cow if he knew, claiming that the worst creatures come in at night.

“Ol’ rattlesnakes, scorpions, and much worse, bandits.”

You listened to him for the most part, but sometimes, the reminder slipped your mind. Plus, you'd survived alone for so long. You were safe.

Finally, you were drifting between a place of consciousness and sleep, a breeze rustling the fabric of your curtain. You had grown familiar with the feeling of sleeping alone. Having Boone made things a little easier.

In your sleep, you heard the sound of the floorboards shifting. The squeaking made you jump straight up in the mahogany bed. You sat with your sweaty palms pressed against your thin bed sheets, with Boone jumping off the bed, meowing in displeasure.

Boone's footsteps padded down the hall, the whispering wind harmonizing with his little steps. Maybe you had misheard the sound, the heat from the summer making your head a little bit lighter than usual.

But then you heard it again. What appeared to be the sound of a cabinet opening. You stepped out of the bed, carefully pressing your toes against the floor as you tiptoed over to your father's rifle. It was loaded since he made you promise to always keep it ready to go. You stepped outside of the room with the rifle held close to your chest, aimed forward to knock down any intruders.

You knew about the gunslingers and robbers. You didn’t usually get them around your parts, but you had heard about them. Rapists, murderers. The kind of people who lacked humanity.

When you walked down the hall, you noticed the flickering light of the candle near the bathroom. Could your father possibly be home?

Not dropping your guard until you were sure it was safe, you continued to step down the hall, stopping outside the cracked bathroom door. With the door shut, whoever was in the bathroom had to sit in the bathtub right behind the door.

You could only make out the sight of cowboy boots and blue jeans. A pile of medicinal items—your sewing kit, needles, and gauze—was nearby. The sounds of grunting could be heard, but the voice was deep and unfamiliar.

Standing tall, you pressed the barrel of your rifle to the door to open it, looking down at the man who was stitching his wound shut in your bathroom. The bathroom window was wide open, and you couldn’t help but curse yourself for your ignorance.

The dark-haired man eyed the gun first and you second, the hand that wasn’t piercing a needle into his skin raising in defense. He was shirtless, defenseless, and had no opportunity to take power over the situation.

“Hey now, firecracker. Why don’t you put that down for me?”

His voice was gruff and heavy, and all you could think about was how different he was. He definitely wasn’t from around here; his accent was much too deep, and his skin was much too tan.

His beard was dark and thick. And his chest, lord help you, was covered in dark hair that went all the way down to his happy trail. There was a deep gash on his stomach that he was stitching shut, a wound that matched the many other scars on his chest.

The sight of a shirtless, much older man, a handsome one, sitting in your bathroom made your neck warm. Your gun wavered slightly in fear, still pointed directly at him.

“What’re you doing in here?” you asked, your fingers clenching the trigger. You hadn’t practiced aiming, much more preferring to perfect your lavender tea recipe. You got the gist of it, having grown up watching your father shoot coyotes in the field.

The handsome stranger gave you a non-comforting grin that felt much too fake and mocking. “You even know how to use that thing, sweetheart?”

You raised it up higher. “Wanna find out? And I’m not your sweetheart.”

You were proud that your voice didn’t falter, and your threat was effective from how his face fell. He seemed surprised by your confidence, which probably also scared him.

He had a scar on the bridge of his nose, which seemed old and was caused by a deep gash. It was interesting how a simple scar on his face made him much more handsome.

You had never been around a man before, not since you were a little girl, and you were not entirely educated on what it meant to be a woman.

His very large palm was covered in blood, and you were finally noticing that the blood was running down from his stomach to his jeans. Whatever had happened looked serious.

“You’re losing a lot of blood,” you stated simply, gesturing at his injury. He laughed sarcastically, the mocking sound not even angering you. He was much too handsome, and even while losing consciousness, he could make your heart race.

“Yeah, I noticed that. You gonna put that gun down and let me finish, or are you gonna put me out of my misery?”

You both glared at each other, talking yourself through what you needed to do. You could kill him then and there, and you knew that you had it in you. But on the other hand, he was a person. You hadn’t seen a person in ages.

You lowered the gun, slowly. “Make me regret it, and I’ll shoot you dead. I mean it.”

Though your voice was soft and your cheeks were round, you knew that your words held a strong threat. The handsome intruder nodded.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You propped the gun next to the porcelain sink, in arms reach of you and out of the way for him. Taking the typical womanly role of aiding an injured man, you crouched before him. You plucked the needle out of his blood-soaked hand and started to work on cleaning his wound.

“What’d you do to get this?” It wasn’t a bullet wound but it definitely resembled something of a dagger stab. Jagged and small, silent but deadly. He was lucky it didn’t stab any major arteries.

“I’m afraid it’s too harsh for your pretty ears,” he brushed off. Flattery would get him nowhere, despite how much it made your gut twist.

You went a little heavier with the pressure of your sewing, making the stranger grunt in pain. “Don’t be a smartass when I’m sticking you with a needle,” you said.

He chuckled again, his dark eyes watching you. Growing up as the only woman around two men, you learned quickly how to assert yourself. They taught you how to be strong, how to bite back.

“Sorry. It’s just a real long story. If you let me rest here for the night, I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow. Promise.”

You sniffed, frowning at him. You finished stitching his wound, reaching over to grab a cloth to pour alcohol on. “I’m not sure I trust the word of a strange man who snuck into my home.”

He looked over to the open window. “I didn’t break anythin’, not that it makes it better. I’m not a bad man; I just got caught in a mighty awkward situation.”

He waited for you to respond, but your response was pressing the alcohol-soaked cloth into his wound. He hissed and watched you through clenched teeth.

“Name's Joel Miller,” he grunted out. “What’s yours?”

You sat back on your knees, a displeased look on your face. Though you weren’t entirely sure you could trust him, with the way his wound was looking, he didn’t seem to be much of a threat.

Muttering out your name, you finished patching him up, finishing it off with gauze wrapped around his stomach. Being so close to the warmth of his skin, the smell that could only be described as manly was fogging your brain. You wrapped him up as quickly as possible so you could get away from him.

You stood up, grabbing your rifle. “You can spend the night, but my Daddy and brother are returning tomorrow. You gotta be gone by then.”

Yeah, you were lying, but it was putting pressure on Joel. God only knew who this man truly was - he could be one of the ones your dad had warned you about.

But when you looked deep into Joel’s eyes while you tended to his wound, it made your brain a little fuzzy and your guard a little low.

“I’ll be out of here in no time, sweetheart, don’t you worry your pretty little head,” Joel said, trying very hard to keep up his cheeky grin. It was evident that the pain was taking a toll on him, and though you want to warn him that flattery will get him nowhere, you grant him grace.

“Come on. This is as good as it’s gonna get. I can show you the direction of the town in the morning.”

Joel nods, standing up from the tub. His massive size almost made you reconsider letting him stay the night - all muscles and legs. He was practically towering over you, making you fight the urge to shrink into yourself. Despite not being a visible coward and not running away in fear, Joel still looked at you in a way that felt like you were transparent.

His eyes softened in the reflection of the lamp light, and suddenly you could feel the pulse of your core in your throat. He was awfully handsome, a gruff man compared to the men in your life. They were always clean-shaven, well-groomed, but Joel on the other hand was all man. A thick beard and long hair that fell down and around the outline of his face. You wanted to run your fingers through it.

“Follow me,” you managed to say without stuttering, grabbing your gun and the bathroom lantern that Joel had lit to use as a guide. You glanced back at the mess in the bathroom - you’d clean it up in the morning.

Joel followed you and the lamp's light down the hall until you reached your brother's room. You gestured to the bed, showing Joel that he could sleep there. “I’ll change the sheets in the morning after you leave. Don’t worry about getting blood or anything on them. They’re old anyways.”

He nodded, not saying much in response. He was hiding his pain well, but not enough to where you didn’t notice it. You felt bad, but there wasn’t much you could do. Perhaps in the morning you could run out to the garden and make a salve for him to take on his way to town.

“Well. Goodnight then,” you said, moving out of the space. You didn’t feel entirely comfortable sleeping alone with a massive man in your house, so you’d probably hold on tight to your gun tonight. You were almost out of the room when he spoke.

“Thank you,” you heard Joel say, making you stop in your tracks. You turned to him, your body shifting. It was still a little warm in the house, the summer air stuffy and unforgiving. But somehow, under the gaze of Joel’s watchful eyes, you felt your nipples hardening. The thin material left nothing to the imagination, and you quickly could feel Joel’s eyes rest on your chest.

You sucked in a deep breath, unintentionally making your chest rise and fall in one swift motion. He was riling you up with zero effort; god, you were easy.

“You’re welcome,” you squeaked out, running out of the room before you could embarrass yourself any further.

You didn’t stop your rapid movements until you reached your room. Boone was back on your bed, stretched across the spot where the moonlight streamed through your window. You shut your bedroom door behind you, locking it.

How were you supposed to sleep? You had two things making your heart pound - a stranger sleeping in your home and a handsome one. It made you think about the temptations of the devil that your dad mentioned time and time again. Some things were natural, but some things were sinful. You were sure that thinking about the way Joel’s spit would taste in your mouth was a sin.

So, you didn’t sleep. You sat at the chair in the corner of your room, your gun nearby, and read by the lamp's light. After a while, you grew curious about what Joel was up to. If his pain had grown worse or better.

And you wound up standing next to his bedside, watching him sleep like some pervert. You were certainly going straight to hell.

He was sleeping heavily, likely due to the adrenaline from his wound. Joel’s chest would rise and fall rhythmically, only accentuating the stretch of muscles.

Your fingers were reaching out to ghost over his chest before you could stop it. Your fingertips ran through the hair sprinkled across his body, tracing a trail from his stomach to his chest. It was coarse, thick, catching on your fingernails.

They ran up his chest, to his neck, stopping when they hovered over his plush lips. You tried to talk yourself out of it, but you were soon touching the soft skin, using two fingers to run along the shape of his lips. The feeling of his breath fanning against your fingers made a chill rush down your spine.

It was like touching a sleeping beast. You were a strong woman, but he was a man. One who was used to being on his own. If he lunged at you, you were sure he would win.

You wondered what the heavy cock between his legs would feel like if you ran your fingers across it. You never felt like such a woman before, watching this sleeping giant stretched out under your roof.

You had never been intimate with a man, much less one of this stature. You were convinced that you would end up dying alone, thrust into the role of your mother. You were there to support your father and your brother. Your concerns did not matter.

But now, touching Joel proved you could dabble in the finer things. You’d only even orgasmed once, obviously by your own hand. You felt so guilty afterward that you prayed, unaware of the bliss you would reach when you played with yourself for the first time.

Your hand reached out to touch his hair, which was splayed against the pillow under his head. You could see the grays that started blooming from his temples and streaking through the rest of his hair. It was soft despite Joel's roughness. His hair was long and wavy, resting on his broad shoulders.

He had to know how attractive he was. You were sure he had mistresses in the towns he visited - saloon girls bickering on who would sleep with him next.

And then there was you, a shy, farm girl who hadn’t even ever kissed a man. But he was before you, exposed, and you couldn’t help when you reached down and touched the soft skin of his belly. Joel was hot to the touch, your hand snapping back just as quickly as you had touched him.

His eyelids fluttered in his sleep, making you step back quickly. Your wooden floor groaned beneath your bare feet, but luckily, Joel did not wake. You stood silent, watching this mysterious cowboy stretched across your absent brother's bed. It was odd, yet somehow comforting to know that you weren’t all alone.

After you made it back to your own bed, you prayed that God wouldn’t punish you for being somewhat of a pervert. You slept for a handful of hours before returning to Joel’s room once the morning sun had risen. He was awake, thankfully, but he looked intense. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead, making his hair stick up in odd places.

Joel noticed you walk in, planting a fake smile on his face as he tried to sit up. He choked back a deep groan of pain, holding the injury to his chest with his large palm. You rushed over, awkwardly standing near him, uncertain as to how to help.

“Good mornin’ to you too, sunshine,” Joel grunted, shooting up a toothy grin full of obvious pain. He appeared to have a fever; his wet hair stuck to his forehead. It was much different from the night before; his pain was a lot more developed.

“Stay here. I’ll go grab a few things from the garden to make a salve. You’re in no shape to walk to town right now,” you explained, your hand ghosting over his bare shoulder. You wanted to comfort him, but the thought of your hand pressed against his sweaty skin made you tremble.

He watched you, seeming as if he wanted to object but decided against it. “Okay. Thank you.”

You nodded simply before leaving him so you could grab everything. After feeding Boone a meal of leftover scraps, you grabbed some rosemary in the garden. You got to work mixing oil, herbs, and a few other materials that you had on hand before heading back to where Joel was lying.

Thanks to his fever, he seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. Growing up with men, you were used to nursing them back to health. There were countless times when your father had gotten injured on long supply runs to towns that were further out. It was a skill that you were grateful for.

You sat on the bed beside him, trying not to wake him. Once you began pulling back the fabric wrapped around his waist, he stirred, glancing up at you. You hadn’t seen the look yet - of anger, of power. It made you jump back, scared that maybe you had granted a dangerous person the opportunity to sleep in your home.

“Sorry, sweetheart. You just caught me off guard,” Joel apologized, shifting in the bed. “Met quite a lot of evil people out there. Not used to bein’ ‘round someone like you.”

You paused, eyeing him. He could’ve hurt you plenty of times the night before. You felt like you could trust him.

So you moved forward, pulling off the cloth and preparing it to be cleaned. You tried to avoid acting as concerned about Joel’s injury as you felt inside. It looked bad, but scaring Joel would do nothing. You might as well do all you can to make him feel better.

“And what exactly am I like?” you asked while you cleaned his wound with a wet rag, trying to distract him by talking. Plus, you liked the way he wanted to flatter you. It was cute.

Joel hissed at the feeling of you dabbing him but still spoke. “Someone who would let a stranger in their house. Someone kind.”

You tried not to let his words affect you. Instead, you cleaned his wound and rubbed a thick layer of salve over the injury. Even though he was flinching under your touch, you knew that in a couple of days, the wound would get better. Joel would have to rest, but you were sure he would pull through.

“I haven’t seen much of what’s out there,” you admit to Joel once you finish. “I grew up here with my dad and brother. My mom, she-“ You stopped, unsure if you were ready to share everything with Joel. Just because he was friendly didn’t mean that you could entirely divulge your life story to him.

“Well, anyway. I guess I haven’t had much opportunity to be anything but who I am.”

Joel nodded, reaching out to place his palm over yours. It made your thighs clench and your pulse stop, your eyes moving up to his. He noticed your hesitation, slipping his palm away as quickly as he had touched your hand.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah… maybe that’s a good thing.”

The room was silent for a moment before Joel spoke once more. “So, when is your daddy gettin’ back? Am I gonna have a shotgun pressed against my skull once he sees me in here?”

You blush, realizing that you can’t wiggle your way out of it. “Oh, did I say today? It should be by the end of the week. Enough time for you to heal up and head to town.”

You didn’t allow him to question anything by cleaning up when you finished talking. You were sure Joel saw through your lie but didn’t press into it. Truthfully, you were starting to worry that they weren’t returning. You’d never been left alone for so long…

“I’ll make breakfast. You need to regain your strength,” you said, smiling. The moment you left the room, you swallowed your tears, trying not to break down. Crying over it wasn’t going to make a difference. All you can do is be positive.

While making dinner and bringing it to Joel, you hear a voice from where Joel is lying. You checked to ensure nothing would burn while you quickly stepped away. You glanced through the crack of your brother's bedroom door, seeing what Joel was doing.

Boone was curled up next to Joel’s side, purring so loudly that you could hear him from where you were standing. Boone, the little cheater, meowed up at Joel, begging for affection. Joel took his large index finger and scratched under Boone’s chin, making the kitty meow in bliss.

You were slightly jealous of Joel, easily winning over Boone, but it took you three months to leave out meat and give belly rubs. You were also envious of Boone, receiving affection from a man you quickly grew enamored over.

The three of you fell into a routine. It had been four days since Joel had arrived at your home. You applied the salve every day, and you could already see an improvement in Joel. He wasn’t ready to go off alone and still needed your help.

Which led you to your next predicament. Joel’s sheets were still covered in blood; it was time to change them. And Joel desperately needed a bath - not a sponge bath in the bed, but a bath with soap and hot water. And you, the only one who could stand without falling over, would have to give it to him.

A man. A man who wasn’t your father or your brother. You weren’t going to make it.

But for whatever reason, you still helped him into the bathroom where you had already filled the tub. The room was becoming warm and steamy from the water, which was not helping. Your body was hot to the touch, and you were overly aware of how sweaty your hands probably were on Joel’s bare back.

He was still undressed waist up, but now you were tasked with removing his pants. You had grown familiar with seeing Joel’s upper half, toned, tanned, and covered in dark hair. You were moving into new territory, awkwardly assisting him with removing his pants. His buckle had been removed for a few days so he could be more comfortable in the bed, so it was easy to unzip his jeans.

“Careful there,” Joel said as you worked his jeans and boxers down his long legs. You had pressed into his side slightly, making him jump. You were trying to be careful but being face to face with Joel’s half-hard cock was making it hard to concentrate. He held onto the tub while he stepped out of his dirty clothes.

You stood back up to hold him, helping him into the hot bathtub. He groaned when he sat in the tub, his bones creaking from the lack of movement for days on end.

“You got it, cowboy. Just hold onto me,” you whispered, working him into the tub. Once he settled down, his large body filling up the porcelain tub, you did your best not to look at his naked frame. Instead, you grabbed some of the goat's milk soap you made, placing it into Joel’s palm.

“I’m going to change your sheets while you wash up. I’ll come back in a little bit.” You exited quickly, trying to escape the hell that was Joel Miller’s presence.

You used changing his sheets as a distraction, trying to extend it for as long as possible. You had just finished getting the last wrinkle from the bed sheets when you heard him call your name. Taking a deep breath, you followed his voice to the bathroom, avoiding eye contact when you stepped in.

“I need your help. I can’t really wash myself below the waist. It hurts to move too much,” Joel explained. You were silent, only nodding when you approached him. You were trying to be modest, to not complicate the situation, but to play the role of the caring woman. It’s what you have heard your entire life.

You knelt beside the tub, taking the soap and rag from him. You lathered the cloth before working on Joel’s calves and feet. They were tanned and strong, obviously used to strenuous labor. It reminded you just of how powerful Joel probably is when he’s healthy. All muscles and height, a cowboy that could scare any robber straight.

His legs were hairy and coarse, hard underneath your palm. You were getting the sleeves of your dress wet with how long you were stalling. The idea of moving up his body made you stop breathing, uncertain of how you were going to make it through cleaning all of him.

Joel noticed that you were stalling, easily reading through the shyness that you possessed. It was embarrassing that you could have an orgasm thinking of him, but actually touching him made you freeze up. He was much older than you - you could tell by the crinkles around his eyes and the gray patches in his beard. His age was intimidating, the thought of his experience making your toes curl beneath you.

“You can touch it, y’know. I don’t mind,” Joel whispered when you stalled by cleaning his upper thighs for way too long. You weren’t sure if the sexual innuendo behind his words were legit or completely in your head. You held your breath as you cleaned around the length of his cock and the bottom of his balls. You were doing your absolutely best to look away but were failing miserably.

He looked unbearably hard, red, and leaking at the top. Apparently, the feeling of you bathing him was too much to handle, and he hadn’t noticed how excited he had become. Your fingers trembled against the rag, your jaw becoming slack at the sight.

“You ever seen one, sweetheart?” Joel rasped, his cock flexing against the pressure of the rag. You tried not to jump as you shook your head no, unable to form a coherent sentence. All of your sexual fantasies felt like they were coming true, some filthy man here to ruin you and your body.

“Wrap your hand around it. See if you can fit your fingers all the way around.”

Your head snapped over to look at Joel’s eyes, to see if he was messing with you. You couldn’t imagine that he’d want someone like you - a quiet farm girl, young and inexperienced.

Joel’s eyes were hungry, pleading with you to try it; touch his dick. Find out how good he could make you feel.

You watch Joel, trying to build the courage to touch him. With a deep breath, you try to imagine that you’re dreaming, that there is no way that this is happening. When you finally wrap your fingers around him, not even able to close it entirely, you realize that it is very much real. The heat of his skin and the weight of his cock proves that it’s real. And if that’s not enough, the deep groan Joel exhales says everything. This was very much real.

“J-Joel,” you whisper, the velvety skin of his cock pulling back and forth on his tip. His foreskin swallows up the tip before you pull it back down, watching his pre cum escape his cock. You had never been so turned on in your life, the wet sleeves of your dress matching the wetness between your legs.

“You’re such a good girl, takin’ care of me like this. If you keep bein’ this good, I’m gonna have to make you mine. Make you my wife and then fill you up of me. Let everyone know that you belong to me.”

You were the one moaning now, gasping at his ridiculously filthy words. Your hand was moving up and down rapidly, jerking him off into your palm. His hips were matching the rhythm of your hand, hips stuttering when it got a little too sensitive.

You couldn’t imagine being married, much less pregnant. You always imagined that you’d stay home on the farm, taking care of your family. But then, you’d met Joel, and he’d given you a new sense of meaning. Of protecting.

“You don’t mean that,” you whimpered, running your thumb along the sensitive part of his tip. He grunted at the feeling, his hand that was able to touch you grabbing your back.

“Keep touchin’ me like that and you’ll find out real soon.”

Your mind was buzzing, wondering if maybe you’d gone crazy from being alone for so long. There was no way that you were actually touching a man double your age like this.

And suddenly, that was it. Your hand jerked back, prompting your entire body to move backward. You slammed into the wall behind you, the feeling of coming to your senses much too overwhelming.

Joel shot up in the tub, looking at you in concern. You were quite obviously a mess, sprawled out on the floor, your dress wet from the bath water, and your hand that was jerking him off extended into the air. It was as if you were trying to keep it away from you, in disbelief that it was just wrapped around his cock.

“W-we, we can’t do this. This is inappropriate,” you whined, quickly standing up and running out of the room. You felt like such a child, embarrassed and hiding in the comfort of your bedroom. But, you were also confused. Being left alone for so long, you had created this desire to feel wanted, cherished. Joel didn’t want to give you that, you weren’t stupid. He was trying to take advantage of you, trying to-

“Hey.. you alright?”

You jumped at the sound of Joel’s voice, noticing that he was standing in your doorway. He was wincing in pain, stupidly leaving the tub alone just to talk to you. You breathed in a shaky breath, glancing down anxiously.

“You shouldn’t have gotten out by yourself.”

Joel huffed, grunting as he used the door frame to support himself. “Yeah, well, wasn’t quite sure if you were even comin’ back.”

You crossed your wet sleeves across your chest. “I wouldn’t have left you there.”

The air was thick with tension, and it didn’t help that Joel was standing with only a towel around his hips. Your eyes kept drifting to his toned chest, and even with his injury, the sight of his body made your toes curl.

You wanted to explain yourself - to set clear boundaries. Joel couldn’t just control you, make you bow down to his every whim. But as soon as you opened your mouth to speak, you froze up, uncertain how to stand up to him.

“Do I make you nervous?” Joel asked plainly. The gruffness in his voice made you tremble, and you knew from how he spoke that he liked that he made you nervous. If he wasn’t injured, you’re sure he would’ve held much more intensity in his stance, but he could hardly stand on his own.

“Ask me when you can take a bath alone,” you said. “Let’s go get you dressed.”

Having to let him use you as a makeshift crutch wasn’t the ideal scenario after jerking him off in the tub. The close proximity of his wet chest pressed against the side of your face made things that much worse, but you managed. You helped him into the bed, grabbing some of your father’s clothes for Joel.

You were thankful he was silent when you dressed him, but you could still feel his eyes watching you. Even when the towel dropped and his semi-hard cock was revealed to you, he was silent but watching. Your hands trembled when you worked undergarments up his body, trapping his cock once more.

When he was finally fully clothed and lying back on the bed, it was as if a bomb had been diffused. You dressed his wound, which was healing nicely, thank the Lord. It made you proud to know that you could still provide, even if Joel wasn’t exactly who you anticipated taking care of.

When you stood and tried to quickly exit, Joel stopped you in your tracks.

“I’m sorry ‘bout earlier. You’re right, I took it too far. I just can’t help myself when I’m ‘round you.”

Your back was to Joel, allowing you the opportunity to get control of your emotions. This unknown, strong man practically begged you to make him feel good. You were a virgin, never exposed to this sort of pressure before.

“Why can’t you?”

Unable to resist, you looked back at him. The evening light was streaming through the sheer bedroom curtains, painting Joel like some ancient God. His tan skin, probably due to working hard in the desert, practically looked gold under the sun. He was entrancing, some awful temptation sent by Beelzebub himself to test you.

Joel’s Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, the look in his eyes making your legs feel like jelly. His voice was gruff when he finally spoke. “‘Cause you’re so damn tantalizin’. It’s hard to keep my eyes off of you.”

Good Lord.

“Stop saying stuff like that,” you ordered, tired of Joel’s relentless teasing. His expression darkened, almost as if he was offended that you would talk to him in such a way. The look made your palms shake, feeling like a gazelle being watched by a lion.

“Why? You stand there, actin’ like you’re all high and mighty, but darlin’, I see how you look at me. I can hear your heart beatin’ from all the way over here. All I want you to know is that if you want it, then don’t be scared to take it.”

You suddenly felt like you hated him, hated his heavy words and the way he could see right through you. You had been nice to Joel, helping him and tending to his wounds out of the kindness of your heart, and this is what you got in return? It wasn’t fair that this experienced, gorgeous, temping man was dropped into the palm of your hand.

“Goodnight, Joel. Get some rest. I think the pain is messing with your head.”

It was unnerving to talk back to Joel, but knowing that you could stand up to him felt good. The wooden floor in the hallway was warm against your feet, thanks to the evening sun heating up the house. All you wanted to do was finish the chores and read in the lamplight. You knew, though, that it would be absolutely impossible to focus. Not with Joel lying just down the hall.

After you finished rounding up the chickens into their pen and feeding Boone, you took a bath. Climbing into the tub after filling it with water made your face warm and thighs slick. You remembered how Joel looked in the tub, his long legs stretched out while your hand played with his cock.

“Jesus,” you whispered breathlessly, shifting in the water. It took everything in you not to reach in between your legs because doing so would be just the same as giving in. You wouldn’t let Joel control you, not without putting up a fight.

You were good. You didn’t touch yourself and made it out of the bathroom dressed and dry. And you were proud until you walked past Joel’s room. He was sitting in the bed, petting Boone with a small smile on his face. You knew he wasn’t a sweet, kind man who could be sweet to your cat. He had a dark and manipulative side, and even though it should have bothered you, it made your pulse quicken.

It was stupid, but you found yourself walking back into the room, this time in a nightgown and a book in your hand. You sat in the old rocker adjacent to the bed, reaching over to turn up the flame in the lantern. The book, L'Education Sentimentale, was heavy in your hands as you opened it, flipping to the first page.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a reader,” Joel said, looking over at you. He didn’t seem as unhinged as before; instead, he appeared worn out.

“Good thing I’m the one reading.”

You didn’t allow him to complain, immediately reading aloud. Even Boone’s ears twitched, his chunky face turning to look at you.

“On the 15th of September, 1840, about six o'clock in the morning, the Ville de Montereau, just on the point of starting, was sending forth great whirlwinds of smoke, in front of the Quai St. Bernard.” You paused, waiting to see if Joel would stop you. He didn’t.

“People came rushing on board in breathless haste. The traffic was obstructed by casks, cables, and baskets of linen. The sailors answered nobody. People jostled one another. Between the two paddle boxes was piled-”

Joel suddenly cleared his throat, making you stop reading to look up at him.

“What?” you asked, waiting for Joel to speak since he clearly had something on his mind. His lips were spread into a grin, and his sleepy eyes were full of amusement.

“Is this that book about the kid who tried to sleep with a woman twice his age?”

Your face was warm, and you did not notice your horrible choice in your book selection. You didn’t even know what it was about - your father collected most of the books you owned. The boredom of being alone motivated you to go through them individually.

“I thought you weren’t a reader?”

All Joel did was shrug, continuing to smile. You considered getting up and walking out, but Joel suddenly shifted on the bed, lying down with a groan. He moved to his side, saving plenty of space for Boone, and looked up at you.

“I wasn’t complainin’. Keep on, I like listenin’ to that pretty voice of yours.”

Your voice trembled when you started again, Joel’s compliment shaking you. He was just so smooth, full of confidence and ease.

“A-alright,” you stumbled. “At last, the vessel set out; and the two banks of the river, stocked with warehouses, timber-yards, and manufactories, opened out like two huge ribbons being unrolled.”

Reading to Joel was relaxing you, the once tense air dissipating the longer time passed. You had almost made it to chapter two once you noticed that he was snoring softly. You were reminded of the previous night when you watched him sleeping, so peaceful and seemingly harmless.

Standing quietly, you placed the book on the nightstand next to Joel. How beautiful he looked made no sense, his long lashes casting a shadow over his face. You wanted to reach out and touch him, touch this dangerous creature who could easily tear you apart.

Without thinking, you grabbed his arm, pulling it to you slowly. Boone glanced over at you, jumping off the bed and leaving the room thanks to your movement. Joel didn’t stir, worn out with the day's exertion, which motivated you to continue to raise his arm. Your palm wrapped around the back of his large hand, lacing through Joel’s fingers.

You hissed as you placed his hand against your breast, his hand flexing instinctively. Even in his sleep, he was a horny bastard, not helping your situation in the slightest.

Your nipple peaked against the inside of his palm, pressing on his skin when you dragged his hand down your breast. His fingers brushed against your chest, down further to your stomach, slipping across your bladder. It felt like a hole was being burned through the cotton of your nightgown, a trail of heat following his ascension.

You swallowed, watching Joel’s hand press against the top of your pubic area. You pressed his palm down, applying pressure that made you whimper in pleasure. What you were doing was wrong; you knew that, but you felt like you couldn’t control yourself around Joel either.

You turned his palm in your hand, slowly inching his fingers to the heat of your opening. The tips of his fingers brushed against the cotton of the underwear you had stitched together yourself.

“F-fuck,” you whispered, feeling his fingers move against your clit. Your hips bucked into his limp hand, pushing against his fingers. This was simply sinful, using a sleeping man to reach a climax you didn’t even earn.

But it felt so good. And when you looked up at Joel’s face, watching him sleep so peacefully, it made you feel a little less guilty. He wouldn’t know. You’d let yourself orgasm, get it all out of your system, and be on your way.

You could feel his fingers against the wet spot that was growing in your panties, a deep groan leaving your lips at the feeling. You glanced back up at Joel, knowing that seeing his handsome face would bring you to the edge. You didn’t expect to see Joel looking back at you, an expression of disbelief on his face.

“What a bad, bad little girl. Could take one look at you and know that you’re a whore.”

Now that he was conscious, he didn’t let you use him like a toy. Instead, he played with your clit himself, his two fingers brushing against your pussy relentlessly. He still had a tired look on his face, but he was very much awake.

“I’m not a whore,” you tried to explain, but Joel huffed, sitting up slightly.

“Is that so? Wanna explain why you got my fingers pressed against your wet cunt, or you got some sort of alibi there too?”

You didn’t even try explaining yourself; you couldn’t. Obviously, you were using Joel to get yourself off, and you just wished he’d shut up and do it.

“Be quiet,” you growled, rutting your hips against his hand. He chuckled but listened to your command, letting you use his fingers to pleasure yourself. You continued to roll your hips, even when he pulled your underwear to the side.

His index finger traced the outline of your opening, spreading the collected wetness around. You’d never had anything inside of you, much less a man’s fingers. You weren’t sure if you were ready, mouth about to open to explain to Joel that you were nervous.

It was too late, and soon Joel’s index finger was pressing into the wet heat of your pussy. You stretched around him, feeling his finger probing around inside of you. It was a distinct experience that made your jaw slack and eyes widen. You couldn’t pull your eyes away from the sight of Joel actually fingering you.

His finger curled slowly, going easy on you. The deep pressure inside you was already becoming too much, your toes curling against the wooden floor beneath you. You could feel the electric warmth spreading from your pussy, blooming throughout your entire body. You were buzzing from head to toe, ragged breaths leaving your mouth before you could even realize it.

“Just takes one finger to shut you up, huh? Why didn’t you tell me, pretty girl?”

And as much as you wanted to beg him to shut his mouth, you couldn’t. The pleasure was building, and your jaw was permanently slack. Your eyes were locked on the scene of Joel fingering you, obscene squelching noises coming from where you both connected. The moment that Joel slipped in another finger, you were finished.

“J-Joel,” you cried, reaching over to support yourself with the nightstand. Your body shook, threatening to collapse as lightning struck your entire being. You felt like you were on fire, unable to breathe or form logical thoughts. Joel didn’t stop, his fingers going in and out, in and out, until you had to pull his hand away from you physically.

Your hair hung around your face, much closer to Joel than you anticipated. Fuck, you wanted to kiss him so severely, taste the man that was Joel Miller.

But you were a coward. So instead, you breathed out a measly ‘sorry’ before running out of the room.

Joel was ruining you. You lay in bed, unable to sleep or think without his face flooding your thoughts. Everything about him was like a sickness, infecting you, rendering your body and mind useless.

Even though he hadn’t hurt you, you knew everything was bound to escalate.

Things had to stop.

#joel miller #joel tlou #the last of us #old west #wild west #isolation #coercion #soapyhandjobs #smut #tlou joel #slow burn #eventual smut #eventual romance #joel miller is bad at feelings

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