#just left out there on a tree stump

[bixels]

I'm not getting into The Giving Tree discourse...

[blueautumngrave]

I’m officially declaring futct the “I miss you album” because whenever my sister’s family leaves or I look at pictures of me and my friends who moved away for college I get really fuckin upset and depressed for a few days and only listen to futct during that time period. This declaration is not up for debate, I will be taking no arguments.

[science-hoes]

Your twin boys are identical, and they look just like Jack. It’s kinda disrespectful considering that you were the one who carried them around for eight months and damn near went into heart failure because they were nearly crushing your chest, leading to an early induction for your own safety. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The messy auburn curls, their cheeks and noses littered with freckles, eyes that are light brown in normal lighting but hazel in the sunshine, and toothy grins. (<— click on this)

When they’re still infants, Jack wears them in a front and back baby sack while he cleans the house for you as you get some much needed rest. He keeps one in each muscled arm as they watch the Steelers lose yet another game, imparting wisdom to their tiny brains on how he would coach the team better.

As they grow older, the twins follow him around the house, bound and determined to assist with whatever project he was working on. Replacing a lightbulb in the ceiling? They’re handing him the new bulb and putting the old one away. Mowing the backyard? They’re inspecting every blade of grass that he missed and pointing it out. Installing the new porch swing for the backyard? They’re sorting out every screw and washer to make it easier.

When they know Jack’s stump has been hurting him and he hasn’t been wearing his prosthetic at home, even as toddlers, they each grab a crutch and deliver it to him to make his life easier. That’s the act of service that really brings Jack to tears.

When the twins spend all day in the backyard playing in the dirt and rolling around in the grass, covered in filth, your life flashes before your eyes when you see your sons storming towards the front door, ready to destroy your freshly cleaned house. But Jack sees you tense. He gives you a quick kiss before slapping your ass playfully as you cook dinner. “I’ve got it, honey.”

Jack quickly exits the door to the backyard, stopping your sons from entering the house. There’s laughing and playful scolding when he snatches one boy into each arm, dragging them back to the backyard. Through the window, you see the boys run away from their father when he charges at them with the water hose. Their legs are still so little, and he douses them with the jet-spray setting, washing away every spot of dirt. The giggles and screams warm your heart, until you see that the boys have tackled Jack to the ground, getting their revenge. One holds his legs while the other shoots him point blank in the chest with the water hose. “Mission failed.” You think to yourself.

By the time dinner is finished, you peer out the window again to find the loves of your life all dirtied up with grass stains and mud. You fish a few towels out of the hall closet and step outside. Jack has a sheepish grin, the same one your twins replicate when they see you coming towards them.

“Alright, soldiers. Strip down to your underwear.” You playfully command, grabbing the water hose.

They do as you say, tossing wet fabric onto the ground, awaiting their fate. You spray your sons down first, handing them each a towel before sending them off inside. When your eyes meet Jack’s, he’s got that asshole grin on his face.

“You were supposed to fix this.” You scold with a smile, stepping closer to him.

Jack laughs as you spray him off, the mud clearing from his face and silvered curls. “Hey, you ended up getting a free viewing of the gun show.” He teases, effortlessly flexing his upper body for your viewing pleasure.

As much as you wanted to climb him like a tree at the enticing sight, you couldn’t give him the satisficstion. Instead, you snatched the waistband of his boxers and sprayed the water hose where he was most sensitive. A surprised yelp left his throat as he snatched the towel from you, running away before he lost any more dignity.

[baby-yongbok]

Run

Bang Chan x afab!Reader x Hwang Hyunjin

⤷ Genre - Smut | friends to lovers | MDNI

⤷ WC - 7.5k

⤷ Summary - You walked right into it - the thrill, the desire, their twisted idea of a game in the middle of nowhere. You gave yourself over, let them take control. Now all that’s left is to run. But the real fantasy? It begins when they catch you.

⤷ Content warning - primal play, psychological play, mxm, oral (f&m rec.), unprotected sex, choking, slight dumbifictation, spit (for like 10 seconds), anal sex - double penetration, public sex, humiliation, overstimulation (m rec.), Mention of & light use of substances, Dom/sub dynamics (let me know if I missed anything!)

⊳ Masterlist ⊲

The sky is burning, orange into pink as it fades by the second. The clouds drag like your feet through the fallen leaves. The woods are quiet, too quiet for what the boys promised you but you keep going.

You follow the trees, look out for the red marks that Chan put there just for you. To lure you closer and closer until you stumble into the clearing. 

Chan is there - back against a tree, cigarette hanging off his lips, eyes dragging across you slow like molasses. The glow of the lighter catches his cheekbones, and you can feel the heat from where you stand.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” he says, voice low, lazy. But his fingers twitch. You notice.

Then - Hyunjin. Loud, chaotic, all limbs and a toothy smile as he appears from the dark, shirt half unbuttoned and wild in every sense of the word.

“There you are,” he purrs. “Took you long enough.”

“I’d be here quicker if we met at normal places. What do you guys have against a park?” Hyunjin laughs, something that almost sounds crazed and Chan pushes himself off of the tree, letting one foot fall in front of the other lazily - closing in.

“What? You afraid of some woods?” The corner of his mouth ticks up into a smile, his dark eyes study yours and you look away. 

There’s an aura to Chan - there always has been. It’s something that neither of you have put a name to, something that you’ve only known him to have with Hyunjin. The two came as a pair. Attached at the hip as something more than friends but you’ve never seen it. Not really. You just know.

“Don’t you like the way this sounds?” Hyunjin cuts in, throwing an arm around your shoulder, he whispers, “Silent, free. Listen.” You do, you listen and you're met with nothing but the faint sound of a cricket and the rustling of leaves in the wind. 

Chan watches the two of you, studying the way Hyunjin touches you so comfortably - studying the way that you let him. “Thought you might like an escape but you’re free to leave.” he breaks the silence, taking his cigarette between two fingers and turning to face the small fire flickering in a makeshift bonfire. 

Hyunjin follows, sparing you a single glance before plucking the cigarette from Chan’s lips and wedging it between his own. Your feet bring you closer, ignoring Chan’s words and taking the open bottle of liquor from the tree stump next to them. You fist the neck of the bottle, taking a swig that’s too long, too bitter, but you need it. 

“Atta girl.” Hyunjin coos but Chan just watches, studies. A silence falls over the space, the crackling of fire is all you have to remind you that you’re not alone in the eerie dark. You’ve come here with them before. You’ve smoked here. Drank here. Laughed here. But tonight - tonight feels different. Like the air’s been wired to snap. Like they’ve brought you here for something else entirely.

“Hyunjin…” Chan exhales slow, smoke curling from his lips. “Tell her what we talked about.”

Your pulse thrums, the looming nerves that buzzed in your background move forward and spread. Hyunjin hums, it almost sounds like a moan and he looks over at Chan, just a bit. “You don’t think it’ll scare her away?”

You can hear the smile in his voice and then you look over, catching the dare in Chan’s gaze. It’s subtle but you could never miss it. “It might.” His voice is clear but his lips just barely move. “But I’ve got faith in her.” A pause. Then, soft and sharp: “She hasn’t gone weak on us… right?”

He’s talking to you, you know that he’s talking to you.

Hyunjin turns to you, his lips twitch, barely a smile, as he leans in closer - close enough that you can feel the heat of his body against yours. 

His fingers barely brush your arm. A fleeting touch that makes your breath catch, but before you can pull away, it’s gone. He’s teasing, not letting you settle.

“Why the hell are you two acting like that?” The waver in your voice betrays you but you keep your spine straight, you give the illusion of security just as they give the promise of danger. 

“Shh,” Hyunjin breathes and your eyes meet his, “You feel that?” he whispers, his voice dripping with something hungry. “The pull? The way the air's gotten thick?”

His eyes flick to Chan, who watches the entire exchange with quiet intensity. “It’s not the woods making it heavy, sweetheart,” Hyunjin continues, voice laced with amusement, like he knows something you don’t. “It’s us.”

Then Chan’s gaze sharpens, and just like that, the atmosphere shifts. His next words come with purpose. Quiet but decisive.

“Run.” 

His voice is so smooth, like it’s part of the air, but the weight behind it is undeniable.

“Hide.”

And then, his lips curve up in a ghost of a smile. “Let’s see how well you can stay hidden.”

You stare at him and then Hyunjin, your eyes move back and forth and your head spins with pressure. What the fuck? You want to say it, but your mouth just opens, lips parting just enough for your breath to cloud in the cold. 

“Told you it would scare her away.” Hyunjin is laughing again, smiling like a taunt but Chan is still, staring, daring. “You’ve played hide and seek before, haven’t you, doll?”

Your gaze breaks to him. “What the hell are you two getting at? You want to play a stupid game?” Chan tsks and Hyunjin looks at him with a knowing glint that you wished you possessed. 

“When’s the last time you just… ran?” Chan takes a languid step forward, his heavy boots thudding softly in the leaves. “Like a wolf on a full moon. Free, unchained from responsibility.”

Hyunjin’s gaze never leaves you, his eyes simmering with an intensity that seems to press against your skin. As Chan speaks, Hyunjin takes a languid step forward, moving in a slow circle around you. His boots don’t make a sound as he shifts in the darkness, a shadow slinking in and out of your peripheral vision.

You can feel the subtle shift in the air as he moves, his proximity so close that your body instinctively pulls tighter, almost as if anticipating something - but you can’t predict his next move. His presence is undeniable, suffocating in the way it hovers, waiting.

His voice cuts through the tense silence, too smooth, too close. “Run,” Hyunjin echoes, a low hum in his chest as his eyes never leave yours. “But you’ll never outrun us.”

Hyunjin keeps circling, never touching but always near - like a predator closing in on its prey. Naturally, you bare teeth, resisting. “Why the hell would I let you two chase me through the woods? What’s so freeing about that?” Your eyes stay on Chan’s and he fucking smirks.

“Don’t you trust us?” He murmurs, head tilting to the side in mock curiosity. He knows the answer. He knows that you do. If you didn’t you would’ve never come here. 

You know the answer too, but for a different reason. Because you’ve hooked up before. Kisses in shadows, hands under clothes, fast and desperate. That time one shot turned into nine and Hyunjin mentioned how he wanted your thighs on his shoulders in the back of Chan’s car. You trust them, but not like a friend.

“You’re going to run,” Hyunjin murmurs, his voice like a warning. “Or you’ll stay. And if you stay, you’ll belong to us.” He stops, standing behind you with just a breath of space between you. You can feel his heat on your back, a blazing contrast to the chill between the three of you.

“And if I do run?“ You ask, half out of curiosity, but there’s a weight behind it now, a recognition of the game you're caught in. You think you already know that answer. Hyunjin smiles, leaning in to just barely whisper. “You’ll still belong to us.” 

Your heart skips. You knew it.

Chan watches, studying yet again but this time he learns something new. “You like that, don’t you?” your eyes flick to his, “The idea of us having you in such a primal way.” 

Your throat feels dry, your tongue too heavy. “You two are drunk or something.” Chan doesn’t respond, he only closes in. “I didn’t come here for you two to be acting all fucking weird and - and …” the words die in your throat.

You try to swallow but your throat stays dry. Chan is too close now, and Hyunjin hasn’t moved from behind you. You’re boxed in, heat at your back, fire in front. Still, you square your shoulders, even if your legs feel like they’re humming with anticipation.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter, but there’s no bite. Just breath.

Chan tips his head, mock confusion curling at the corner of his mouth. “Like what?” He asks, but he knows. He always knows.

“Like you’re waiting for me to break.”

Hyunjin lets out a low, dangerous sound behind you - like a laugh dragged through a growl. “You already did,” he murmurs, voice close to your ear. “You just forgot.”

Something flashes in Chan’s eyes - recognition - and then, slowly, deliberately, he says, “You remember that night on the roof?”

Your stomach drops.

You know exactly which one.

You’d been too high, toes curled over the ledge, stoned on something you didn’t question because Chan passed it to you with that look in his eyes. Hyunjin was sprawled out nearby, shirtless and golden in the moonlight. That was the night you’d said too much. That was the night you told them how you wanted it - chased, caught, pinned. Like prey. Like a fucking animal.

“I remember what you said,” Chan continues, voice lower now, like he’s slipping under your skin. “You said you wanted to be hunted. Wanted to feel teeth at your neck. Wanted to run until your legs gave out, and then be taken.”

Your breath hitches, body going still.

“You didn’t mean it?” Hyunjin asks, tone playful but tight with something else. “Because it sounded real to me.”

You shake your head, but even you don’t know what you’re denying. Your heart pounds too loud, too fast. The fire’s crackle feels like it’s inside you now, licking at your spine.

“You’ve thought about it since then,” Chan says, stepping even closer. “That feeling of being chased… like the world falls away and it’s just us. The dark. The dirt. The trees. Need.”

And maybe you have. Maybe that night etched something into you that you never let yourself revisit - until now. Because your body? It’s already leaning in. Your thighs press together without you realizing, your breath turns shallow.

Hyunjin catches it, sharp and smug. “There she is,” he whispers. “You want it. Say it.”

You don’t speak, can’t. But you don’t need to. You take a step back - toward the trees.

Chan’s grin is slow, dark, knowing. “Run.”

Your breathing picks up. Your fingers twitch at your side and you can feel your resolve stretching thin over your desire. Hyunjin brings his hands up, gently peeling your jacket from your shoulders and down your arms, he whispers, “What’re you fighting it for? Run.” 

Your eyelids flutter, you can hear him too clearly - like he’s settled in your brain. Chan just watches, hands in his pockets like he isn’t trying to rope you into a game of manhunt. You take another step back and then another. 

Hyunjin moves next to Chan, watching with phlegmatic anticipation.

“Go,” he says. “You’ve got a head start.”

Silence again.

Not empty.

Not safe.

Crackling. Loaded. Breathless.

You turn your back on them.

And run.

Leaves crack underfoot, branches whip at your clothes, and your breath comes fast. You’re running blind, high and aroused and absolutely feral. Every step is a pulse, every heartbeat another second closer to being caught. You can feel them - as if there are chains connecting you all, leading them to you through the dark, stalking you just like they wanted - and now you want it too. 

You don’t know who will find you first.

That’s part of the thrill.

You crouch behind a tree, trying not to breathe too loud. You have no idea how long you’ve been running. You have no idea how far you’ve gotten or if you ran in circles. You have no idea where they are. 

Your senses sharpen and it’s like you can smell them before you hear them, a strong musk - honey, cigarettes and liquor. 

Snap. 

A branch, somewhere behind you. Closer now. Then silence.

You freeze, hand over your mouth. Another sound. Breathing? A footstep?

Nothing.

And then - “Found you.”

Hyunjin’s voice in your ear, hands on your waist. But you twist, dart away, laughing as he curses.

“Fuck- she’s quick-”

The game is on.

Chan’s voice floats through the dark, smooth and sharp. “Don’t let her think she’s winning, Hyune.”

“Let me have my fun, hyung.”

They split up, lingering far but still too close. Chan watches, slow and calculating, you vault over a log and stumble. “That tree again?” Chan calls out, amused. “You’re going in circles.”

Fuck.

You are.

Or are you?

“You think we don’t know this forest?” Hyunjin pants. His voice comes from the left… no, right… no, “We own it.”

Panic flares in your chest, but it’s the wrong kind. It’s not fear - it’s the thrill. Your pulse spikes like a live wire and you feel alive. This isn’t about getting away. Not really.

You keep going.

Until you hear Chan again, this time closer - too close:

 “Left foot’s dragging. Getting tired?”

You bolt, cleaning up your rhythm like your life is on the line. You forget about being quick and focus on being neat.

You could handle Hyunjin catching you. You could fight him off, something wild and rough, but Chan, he’s worse - because you know he’s calculating. Quiet. Waiting for you to zig when you should zag. He’s not chasing you to catch you. He’s chasing you to learn you. Like a predator with patience. 

You press your back to a tree, chest heaving. You don’t know how long you’ve been running, how far you've gotten - but it’s silent. That’s what matters. You’ve lost Chan.

A grin breaks across your face, shaky with adrenaline. This is fun.

You listen again, it’s silent, right? The forest pulses with your heartbeat. You wait. One second. Two. Ten. Nothing.

No voice. No footsteps.

No Chan.

No Hyunjin.

It’s worse than being chased.

Your thighs press together, your spit is thick in your mouth and you listen. You try to listen but the thought of what’s to come, the image of them catching you clouds your vision. Will they take you? Right here? Wild and primal - or will they make you run again? Hunt you over and over like a game of cat and mouse.

You want both. You want it all. 

Crack. 

What was that? Who was that?

The air in your lungs thins, your thighs press tighter and you fight the urge to peek. Don’t you dare fucking peek. 

You hear it again, the direction is unclear like they’re everywhere and nowhere all at once. 

Fuck it.

You hold your breath, leaning forward ever so slightly just to take a glimpse, something quick. Nothing. You pull back even quicker and that’s when you hear it, a whisper.

 “Boo.”

You scream, Hyunjin tackles you into the leaves, laughing wicked and full. “You’re so fucking loud,” he purrs against your neck. “You want him to hear you?”

“Chan-” you gasp.

Hyunjin grins. “Yeah, call for him. Bet he’ll lose his shit.”

You breathe out his name again, softer this time. “Chan…”

Hyunjin hums, pressing his nose into the curve of your throat. “Thought so,” His hands settle on your hips like he’s trying to calm you, soothe you, even as he straddles you like prey. “Let me help you up.” he murmurs, voice lower, tender in a way that feels wrong.

And you believe it - stupidly, you believe it - because Hyunjin feels like warmth, like comfort, like that sliver of reprieve before the slaughter.

He pulls you to your feet, hands brushing dirt off your arms like a lover would. “Shhh,” he whispers, lips barely grazing your cheek. “Stay quiet. Follow me.”

So you do.

The woods swallow your footsteps. You trail behind him, heart still skittering, adrenaline crashing into lust and confusion and something dangerous.

Then-

“Where do you think you’re going?”  The voice doesn’t come from behind you. No.

It comes in front.

Too late.

Before you can even react, Chan’s hand is around Hyunjin’s throat, slamming him back against a tree so hard the bark cracks under his spine. The impact shudders through the ground. You gasp, instinctively reaching forward - but Chan doesn’t even look at you.

Hyunjin’s laughing. Laughing.

“Found me,” he rasps, grin splitting his face like an axe to wood.

“You always were the easy one,” Chan growls, voice as rough as the hand still pinning Hyunjin.

“You said don’t let her win,” Hyunjin manages, eyes flicking toward you with a wild glint. “Didn’t say I couldn’t guide her.”

Chan doesn’t smile. Not fully. Just the ghost of it - mean and knowing.

“She didn’t win.” His eyes meet yours. “She walked straight into the wolf’s den.”

Your breath stutters. You take a step back - but he doesn’t come for you. Not yet.

Instead, he leans in toward Hyunjin. Fist still on his collar, other hand sliding up his side. And Hyunjin - Hyunjin fucking melts, head tilting, throat offered like he’s been waiting for this.

“Chan,” he murmurs, breathless and sweet.

You can’t look away.

Chan’s mouth brushes the hinge of Hyunjin’s jaw. Lower. Down his neck. Slow, deliberate. You watch his lips part, his tongue trace the line of a tendon, right there - where you were aching for it. Where you still are.

Hyunjin gasps, eyes fluttering shut, mouth slack with need.

It should be obscene. It is obscene. But it’s not for you.

It’s a lesson.

Your stomach flips. The air feels too tight to breathe. You want to move, say something, but your body’s locked in place, the ache in your core twisting into something uglier.

Then Hyunjin moans. Soft and bitten-back. And Chan just smiles.

Like he knows.

Like he planned it.

Like this was always meant for you to see.

And that’s when it hits you: this isn’t over. It’s barely even begun.

You bolt.

Leaves whip your legs. Branches claw at your arms. You don’t even think, just run, throat tight with humiliation and arousal and rage.

Behind you, laughter cracks through the trees.

Hyunjin’s first - breathy, wrecked, gleeful.

Then Chan’s - low and cruel and thrilled.

“Didn’t even touch her,” Hyunjin pants, already moving.

“She’ll beg next time,” Chan replies, and you can hear it: the grin in his voice. The certainty. “We’ll take our time.”

And just like that - The hunt is on again.

You sprint, branches slapping at your arms, lungs burning. But even with the blood pounding in your ears, you hear him.

Chan doesn’t shout - he calls, like a song. Like a spell.

“Where are you running, sweetheart?”

You stumble. Just a beat. Just enough.

“I wasn’t even touching you.”

The words slice. You blink hard, try to focus. Keep moving.

“But you wanted it, didn’t you?”

Your breath catches. You nearly trip.

“You watched my mouth on him like it was your fucking salvation.”

A whimper breaks out of your throat. You push faster. Leaves blur. The forest bends.

“You thought you’d be the one I’d ruin first.”

You’re shaking now, not just from exertion-shame, heat, frustration-all crawling under your skin like fire ants.

“And you still want it. Even now.”

The last one hits like a hammer. You don’t want to believe it. But it’s true. It’s so fucking true.

You can feel it-between your legs, in your teeth, under your skin. A thread you can't snap. You want to go back. You want to keep running. You want to scream.

Then you hear Hyunjin’s voice, somewhere behind you, breathless and laughing.

“She’s gonna break soon.”

Chan’s reply is velvet and final.

“Let her.”

You veer off the path, heart clawing at your ribs. It’s a gamble, doubling back, but it feels smart. The boys had split up-Hyunjin darting deeper into the trees, Chan trailing behind like a shadow. You could feel them peeling off you. You could breathe again.

So you circle. Slipping through brush, feet light on damp ground. Smiling now-just a twitch of lips. You might win this. You might actually-

You break through a clearing and freeze.

The bonfire is there, dimly lit.

This is exactly where you started, and even worse,

Chan is already there.

Leaning against a tree like he’s been waiting for hours. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, collar crooked, chest rising slowly like the night has bored him. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just looks at you, eyes shining like he never chased you at all.

You stop breathing.

“I was hoping you’d come back,” he says, voice low. Calm. Like this is a date. Like this isn’t war.

Behind you, twigs snap. Leaves rustle. Not far now - Hyunjin.

Trapped.

Chan pushes off the tree, saunters forward, slow and deliberate.

“You really think you’re hard to catch?”

You shake your head but you don’t run. You can’t. You don’t know why.

He tilts his head, a smile cutting deep.

“Then why are you still playing?”

His fingers brush your jaw before you flinch back, but it’s too late. You’re rooted. Trembling.

“You could’ve let me wreck you back there. Let me use him to pull every sound out of you. But no,” he whispers, stepping closer. “You just had to make it harder.”

Hyunjin finally appears behind you, wild and flushed, eyes burning with something unhinged.

Chan doesn’t take his eyes off you. “Now, you’re ours. Properly.”

Hyunjin presses his chest to your back but you feel something more, you nearly moan. “Tell me you weren’t thinking about it.” his voice is breathy in your ear. “Our hands on you. Breath on your neck. Fingers in your hair. You wanted to be the one under Chan’s grip, didn’t you?”

You laugh - but it’s shaky, more like a shudder. They caught you.

“Tell me,” Chan murmurs, “You didn’t picture it when I licked him.” You still don’t speak. But your silence is louder than a scream. “You want a turn, baby?”

Hyunjin’s hand is on one hip, Chan’s is on the other. They’re everywhere. “Say it,” Hyunjin whispers, smiling against your skin. You inhale with every intention of speaking but none of the execution. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Chan coos, too calm, too sure “Say it.”

Snap.

“I want it.” Your voice is strained, your throat is dry and then Hyunjin is on you. His lips latch to the soft spot of your neck, kissing and nibbling like a dog with a damn bone. His touch turns bruising, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hip but then, suddenly, it’s gone.

Chan’s hand wraps around Hyunjin’s throat again, slower this time, like he’s savoring the feel of his pulse under his palm. He pushes him back, his voice slips out, lower now - cracked and frayed at the edges for the first time all night.

 “Control yourself.”

Hyunjin groans, the sound deep and simmering, more animal than man. He tilts his head toward Chan’s touch, eyes flicking to you as his lips curl.

“How about you control me?”

Something changes.

It’s not a switch, it’s a crack - splitting down the middle of Chan’s restraint. His jaw clenches, tongue pressed hard behind his teeth like he’s holding something back, barely. And then he’s not.

He surges forward, catching Hyunjin’s mouth in a kiss that’s rougher than it should be, open-mouthed and teeth first, like he wants to devour him. You feel it like a shock in your chest.

Then Chan’s hand finds you, fingers fisting your shirt, pulling you in until your breath is trapped between both of theirs. You can smell the kiss on them, feel the heat pouring off their skin.

Chan pulls back just enough to look at you. His voice is hoarse when it lands.

“Kiss him,” he says, eyes dark. “I wanna taste you.”

Hyunjin’s lips find yours with his eyes closed, yours shut too, a moan breaks through and Chan slots himself behind you - trapping you yet again.

Chan pushes your chest against Hyunjin’s, his lips on your neck while Hyunjin slips his tongue into your mouth with a groan. You don’t know what to do with your hands, you don’t know who to touch but Chan solves that problem for you. He takes one of your wrists and brings your hand back, placing it over the bulge in his jeans, you moan.

“That’s it, baby,”  His voice is the one that’s wild now, his breathing ragged. “Use both of us, don’t make me show you how.” You break the kiss, panting against Hyunjin’s spit slick lips. His hand slips under your shirt, nearly clawing at your skin. 

“Look at me while you touch him.” You manage, finding Hyunjin’s shining eyes in the dim light. “That’s my girl.”

Chan’s mouth ghosts along your neck, teeth scraping over your pulse like he’s deciding whether to bite down. He hums, low and approving, when you squeeze him through his jeans, your other hand is still tangled in Hyunjin’s shirt like you’re holding on for balance - like you need to.

Hyunjin’s grip tightens on your waist, his fingers branding your skin as he buries his face in your throat. He bites harder than he should. You gasp, your hips jerking back into Chan’s.

“Oh, she likes that,” Hyunjin breathes, drunk on your reaction.

Chan’s hand closes over your throat, not squeezing, just holding, a reminder of who’s in control. “Of course she does,” he growls. “She wants to be ruined.”

You whimper, and it earns you a hard roll of Chan’s hips, the pressure making your knees buckle. He doesn’t let you fall-he never does, he never would-but he wants you unstable, trembling, caught between them.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Hyunjin says again, rougher now. “Let him feel how wet you are, but don’t come,” he whispers. “You come, we start over.”

“You come when I say.” Chan leans in close, turning your head so that his hot breath fans over your lips, “You’re mine when you come. Say it.”

Hyunjin groans against your stomach, sliding down, already tugging at the waistband of your jeans with frantic fingers. You feel his teeth drag across your skin.

Chan watches you fall apart from behind, his voice the only tether left.

“Say it, or I’ll stop him.”

Chan’s fingers tighten on your throat, enough to make your breath hitch but not enough to choke. You feel your heart race, your body trembling, and you know it's not from fear. It’s desire - frenzied desire.

"Say it," he growls, his voice so low it vibrates through your bones. "Say you belong to me."

Hyunjin pulls your shirt up roughly, his hands clawing at your skin as if he wants to tear you open. “Say it, baby,” he sounds like he moans, he probably does. His lips are dragging across your chest, nipping and marking your skin. His voice is a little more frantic now, as if he's barely hanging onto control, too.

“I belong to you, both of you. I’m yours.” Your words are dizzy just like you are. They’re the only thing in your head that makes sense besides them.

You gasp as Hyunjin’s hand slides lower, finding its way past the waistband of your jeans and into your underwear. He groans when he feels how wet you are, running his finger through the slick slowly. “Fuck... she’s dripping, Chan.”

Chan growls, leaning in to bite your ear, his teeth sharp enough to make you cry out. “Don’t move,” he commands, his voice like a whip cracking in the still air. You want to obey, but it’s getting harder with every stroke of Hyunjin’s fingers, the teasing pressure making your legs quake.

Hyunjin fights your pants down your thighs, getting them off completely and tossing them to the side. You shiver as the cold air hits you mixed with the static of lust pulsing around the three of you.

Instinctively, you close in on yourself, pressing your thighs together just for Hyunjin to pry them open again. Chan moves his hand from your throat and grabs at your hips. His tongue moves past his lips with purpose, licking up the side of your throat and sucking a bruise into the flesh before he whispers, 

“Open wider. Let him eat.” Hyunjin’s mouth is between your legs, obscene and skilled, moaning into your skin while Chan bites your shoulder, hissing filth into your ear.

Hyunjin’s tongue dips up and slowly swipes at your folds. You moan. He growls. He does it again and again and again and then he latches to your clit with a flat lick that ends with the tip of his tongue circling and teasing your sensitive bud. Your arousal drips down his chin and it sets something off in him.

He grabs your thighs, nails in your flesh before giving you some shallow tongue fucking that makes you tilt your head back on Chan’s shoulder.

“See what happens when you let us win?” Chan coos, sliding a hand under your shirt to cup your breast. He pinches your nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he watches Hyunjin in the moonlight. He can make out the glisten on his chin when he pulls away. He can see the bliss in his eyes. 

“She’s so wet, you gotta fucking taste her.”

They trade. They take turns. Fingers, mouths, teasing each other while teasing you. 

Chan latches onto your clit and you palm Hyunjin through his jeans. That’s enough to have him stripping himself to feel you - to really feel you. He guides your hand back, wrapping it around his cock and spitting down to give you something to work with. 

“That’s what you’ve wanted, isn’t it, baby.” It’s barely a question but you nod anyway. You jerk his cock and he holds your thighs apart from behind you, keeping you open for Chan to continue tongue fucking you. “You sound so fucking gone.” 

You can’t even find the words to respond, not with Chan’s tongue flicking and teasing, not with Hyunjin’s cock pulsing in your hand. Hyunjin pulls you back toward him abruptly, making you switch positions, turning you to face him. His lips crash into yours like he needs to taste how wrecked you are. Possessive fingers lace through your hair and you feel lightheaded, like all the heat in your body has gone to your core. 

You moan, it’s all you can manage.

You feel stretched thin - nerves burning, mind blank, every inch of you hypersensitive and strung up between them. It's like your body is working faster than your brain, need overriding thought, pleasure overriding shame. You're not even sure where you end and they begin anymore. You just want more. More mouth, more hands, more everything.

Chan is still kneeling behind you, kneading the plush flesh of your ass in his big hands until he spreads your cheeks and rims your tight hole.

You gasp into Hyunjin’s mouth and he takes the opportunity to press his mouth into you further. He groans at the taste, sucking on your tongue before letting go and whispering. "I have to be inside,"

Chan stands, there’s a rustle of clothing and then skin - his skin - against your shirt, pressing against you. He grabs Hyunjin’s jaw, hard, steering him to his lips. You don’t miss the way they groan, the way Hyunjin’s hips stutter against you. They’re as drunk on each other as they are on you, lost in this fever heat.  Hyunjin trails kisses along Chan’s jaw before he pulls back, panting heavily.

“Hold her open for me,” Chan tells Hyunjin.  There’s a glint in his eyes where the light hits. Hyunjin obeys, bringing you back with him until his back hits a tree. He presses you into him, bucking his bare cock against your back while Chan stocks forward, admiring the two of you. 

Chan hooks an arm under one knee and then the other, he hoists you up, positioning you right above his cock with a growl so raw you’d thought it came from Hyunjin. Chan rubs his cock through your drenched folds, barely teasing at your entrance before he pushes in.

You howl.

You claw and keen.

“Ah, fuck, baby - you’re tight. So fucking tight.” Chan praises you through gritted teeth and a wild look in his eyes. Hyunjin moans at the description, breaking a bit and lining himself up behind you.

“Hyune,” You whimper, less like a warning and more like a plea. He shushes you, using the dripping slick from your cunt to lube your ass. “Breathe,” He presses in and your eyes roll back. “Take it, angel. Breathe.”

Chan slows his pace in your cunt while Hyunjin eases his way into your ass. He gives you a few shallow thrusts, bottoming out slowly and letting you adjust to how full you are. The stretch has you gasping for air, every inch of space claimed with them - just them - until they start moving. 

It’s slow at first. Every thrust is perfectly timed like they can feel each other's rhythm. It’s slow until Chan can’t help himself and starts bucking up like an animal. You groan, Hyunjin moans. 

“Hyung, fuck, I can feel you.” The words sound wild from Hyunjin's pretty mouth, wilder when Chan slams into you harder and he starts to melt into a broken mess. “Fuck, fuck - keep going.” He pleads, his grip on your thighs is like iron but you’re too far gone to feel the sting.

“Please don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.” You whimper, just as fucked out as they are - hell, maybe more. You’re drooling now, your tongue can’t stay in your mouth like a wolf in heat being bred and marked by rabid alpha’s 

Just then, Hyunjin bites your shoulder, a warning before he grabs your jaw with one hand and turns your head forcing your mouth open. He spits into it once, twice, messy and obscene.

“Swallow.” You do. 

“Fuck-” They choke out the curse in unison when you clench around them, they press into you at the same time, their cocks rubbing against each other with only the pulsing wet walls of you to keep them apart. 

“This pussy is gonna fucking empty me.” Chan grunts, looking you in the eyes and you clench, keening loud and lewd.

You jolt with every thrust, a ragdoll between them while they use you, praise you, break you down. “She’s gonna fucking come,” Hyunjin moans, “I can feel it.”

“Do it,” Chan grunts, glancing at where you’re connected. He can see everything, how full you are with him and Hyunjin. “Fucking do it.”

They pump into you at a rhythm that syncs so well you can only call it wicked. Hyunjin is groaning, growling in your ear. While Chan is grunting, moaning, struggling to keep his control right in front of your eyes.  You cry out as they pound into you hard enough to shatter the stars overhead. You shatter too. 

“H-hyune- Cha- Channie, I’m fucking - fuck!” You quake, thighs trembling, cunt gushing and clenching while you see stars. They don’t stop, they only cry out, howling like wolves who need to let the world know who just ruined you. 

“Holy shit, baby, I wan’ your mouth.” Hyunjin is panting, slowing as he nearly reaches his peak. Chan does the same, slowing as you ride out your high and then they both pull out. Chan peels off his jacket, laying it on the ground for you to kneel on.

You’re still shaking. Your body limp and slick with sweat, barely able to hold yourself upright. Chan’s jacket is soft under your knees, but nothing about this moment feels gentle.

Hyunjin’s cock is in your hand before you even register it. It’s still wet from your cunt, flushed and pulsing, and he’s staring down at you like you’re something holy. Ruined and holy.

“Open your mouth,” he commands - soft but not sweet. His hand tangles in your hair, pulling tight enough to arch your throat. “Be a good girl and show me.”

You part your lips, tongue out, obedient and dazed.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, stroking himself slow just inches from your face. “You look so fucking desperate like that.”

Chan crouches behind you again, running his hands down your back, trailing over the bruises he left, the fingerprints painted into your skin.

“Look at her,” he murmurs to Hyunjin, voice dark with wonder. “So ready to be used. Fucking perfect.”

Hyunjin leans in, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “This what you wanted, angel? To get ruined twice and still beg for cock down your throat? To gag on it like a whore?”

You whimper - barely a sound - and Chan coos.

“She can’t even speak anymore. Drunk off the come we let her have.”

Hyunjin’s cock slides against your tongue - wet, warm, heavy - and he groans like it’s the first time. “God, yes... that mouth. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

You hollow your cheeks, tongue working instinctively. Chan watches over your shoulder, one hand gripping your ass, the other threading into your hair beside Hyunjin’s.

“Take him,” he says. “Deeper.”

Hyunjin's hips buck forward and you gag but hold him, eyes watering, throat burning in the best fucking way.

“That’s it,” Chan growls. “Choke on it. Be good and take it.”

Hyunjin shudders above you, voice raw. “She’s fucking moaning on it, hyung. You hear that?”

Chan grins like the devil himself. “I hear it, baby. She just loves being a slut for us.”

You try to nod, but your throat is full and your jaw is straining, and that’s answer enough.

Chan drags his hand from your hair to your mouth, wiping the spit from your chin, then pushing it back between your lips around Hyunjin’s cock.

“You drool on his cock, I’ll make you lick it back up. Clean him like you’re starved.”

You gag again, loud this time, and Hyunjin moans - deep and broken. He pulls out for a breath, watching your spit stretch from your lips to his tip.

“I’m gonna come down your throat if you keep doing that,” he pants. “Fuck, you want that?”

You gasp, eyes wide and glassy, tongue still out.

Chan grabs your jaw, tilting your face to look at him. “Swallow all of it. Don’t fucking waste a drop.”

Hyunjin thrusts forward again - shallow, controlled, but shaking at the edges. You take him, take it all, gagging and drooling as Chan whispers in your ear “Hold still. Take it. You’re doing so good, baby. So fucking good.”

Hyunjin’s breath shudders. His grip in your hair tightens, and his hips stutter forward with a desperate sound that’s half a sob, half a snarl.

“Ah - shit, fuck, I’m-”

You feel it before you taste it - thick, hot, spilling over your tongue as Hyunjin groans like the weight of it knocks the air from his lungs. “Hold still. Open wider - yeah, just like that. You’re doing so fucking well, sweetheart.”  Chan watches you swallow with heat in his eyes. You choke slightly, tears leaking from your eyes as you gulp around him. He holds you there, buried to the hilt, trembling.

“Don’t rush. I wanna watch it all go down that pretty throat. Wanna hear you whimper with a mouth full of him.”

Hyunjin pulls back slowly, his cock slipping from your mouth with a wet pop. He’s still panting, flushed and wide-eyed like he’s just seen God, and maybe he has. “Fuck, that’s it. That’s our girl,” He’s cupping your face now, gentle - contradicting everything he just did. “You did so fucking well, baby.”

Chan doesn't give you a second to breathe.

His hand threads into your hair, firm but not cruel, guiding Hyunjin’s cock from your lips only to replace it with his own - thicker, heavier, the taste of salt and skin overwhelming your senses.

“Didn’t think I was done with you, did you, doll?” he growls, already pushing past your lips, taking advantage of how loose your throat is now, wrecked from Hyunjin. “Open wide. Let me use that pretty mouth.”

You hum a moan but you’re not the only one. Hyunjin groans above you, breath catching as Chan’s hand slides around his waist and grips his cock again - still flushed, still twitching, too sensitive to be touched but not able to pull away.

“Fuck, hyung, baby…” Hyunjin’s hips jerk forward into Chan’s hand, legs shaking.

“She’s already a mess, ruined from both ends,” Chan huffs, mouth curled in something cruel. “And you’re still leaking like a whore, Hyune.”

He pumps Hyunjin slow and tight, fingers teasing the head where your slick still clings, smearing it over the shaft. Hyunjin shudders, his hands on your shoulders now for balance, head tipped back, lips parted in a silent moan.

“Th-there - fuck-” Hyunjin’s voice cracks. “That’s too - too…”

“You’ll take it,” Chan grits out, cock fucking deep into your throat, your gag swallowed by the sound of Hyunjin’s desperate sob. “Just like her. Just like the little mess you are.”

You can barely breathe - tears stream down your face again, spit slicking your chin, drooling down to Chan’s balls. But you don’t stop. Can’t. The taste of him makes your brain short-circuit, and the way he jerks Hyunjin off like he owns him? It has you dripping again, even as your knees shake under you.

Hyunjin leans forward, bracing himself, eyes glassy. Then he kisses Chan.

Hard. Mouths crashing together over your head, messy and hot, all teeth and tongue and groaned curses.

Chan growls into the kiss, fucking your mouth harder, and jacking Hyunjin faster now, just to feel him shake.

“You’re so close again,” Chan mutters into Hyunjin’s mouth, their foreheads pressed together. “Gonna come all over my hand while she chokes on me?”

Hyunjin nods, desperate and ruined. “I - I can’t-”

Chan bites his lip and grips his cock tighter. “Yes, you can. You’ll come again just like this - watching her.”

He leans back just enough to see you.

Your eyes flutter open to meet his - blown wide, desperate - and he groans low in his chest.

“There’s our perfect fucking girl,” Chan says, thumb brushing the edge of your lip as you gag on him again. “Taking my cock like a good little hole while I milk Hyune dry.”

And then it happens

Hyunjin breaks with a sound that’s feral. His cock pulses in Chan’s grip, spurting hot over Chan’s fist, some of it landing on your shoulder, your chest, dripping down to stain Chan’s jacket beneath you.

You moan around Chan’s cock - eyes rolling back, the whole thing too much and not enough.

Chan laughs low, cock twitching deep in your throat. “She liked that. Fuck, look at her.”

He doesn’t last long after that. He pulls out just to come all over your tongue, your lips, mixing with Hyunjin’s cum on your skin. They both watch you swallow, licking your lips like it’s your last meal.

Hyunjin collapses beside you, spent, and Chan leans down, cupping your jaw, thumbing away your tears with the same hand slick from Hyunjin’s come.

“Still want more, sweetheart?” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Or did we fulfill your fantasy?”

Hyunjin’s hands, once relentless, now gently trace your cheek, pulling your attention his way. There’s still that burning intensity in his eyes, but it’s paired with something else - care, tenderness, as if he's remembering what it means to be gentle. "You okay?" His voice is softer, different, like he’s come back to the moment with you.

Chan, standing in front of you, kneels and runs a hand up your thigh. His touch is a stark contrast to the roughness from earlier. His fingers move with intent, slow and deliberate, tracing the outline of your body as if memorizing it. "You did so well," he murmurs, his voice hoarse but sincere. His lips brush your neck, soft, as though he’s afraid of breaking something fragile.

You feel them, both of them, pressing close, not in a demanding way, but in a way that feels... protective. Hyunjin nudges his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply. "That’s all you, baby," he whispers. "You’ve got us wrapped around your finger, you know that?"

Chan chuckles just barely, a small smirk on his lips as he presses his forehead to yours. “It’s more than that, it’s like we’re chained.” Hyunjin hums, acknowledging, agreeing.

You take a breath, finally remembering how to use your voice. “You’ve got me.” They both pull back, looking at you with eyes too wide, too wild, too vulnerable. 

“Good.” Chan sighs and Hyunjin leans in putting his forehead together with the two of you, he whispers.

“We’ll keep being each other's escape.”

⤷ a/n - This is my first long fic since I've had writers block. I hope that you enjoyed! I was really excited for this fic and I've been hard on myself about it. If you enjoyed it then feedback and a reblog will actually make my day. Thank You!

❥ Wanna Be On My Taglist? Click here for the Taglist Form!

All Content Tag list: @wealwayskeepfighting @whokno-ows @stay-tiny-things @yaorzu-blog @krayzieestay @nxtt2-u  @armystay89 @kayleefriedchicken @compersian  @kibs-and-bits @whokno-ows @poppet05 @estella-novella @unbel1ve4ble @pixie-felix @catsforlife6864 @lisaskz @chloe-elise-2000 @jaeminie-cricket @gingerrracha @wickedbutlovely @lolareadsimagines @h00d-tr4sh @felixleftchickennugget @jeyelleohe @hanjiyunho @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @iminc0gnito - @dreamingaboutjisung @lixiluvs @lghtdarling @teddy-stay , @baconcupcakes123,, @soulsbbg , @stay-bi , @yzsqu , @lghtdarling @joonkki @my_neurodivergent_world @tricky-ritz Written Fics ONLY (including series) tag list: @moonchild9350 @daveah @bangchanslvt  Written Fics ONLY (no series): @dollxkill [Red names are tags that seem broken]

[tsuutarr]

Yandere!Hero (Chosen One) x Saint!Reader

Being the Hero – the Chosen One – means that the world’s fate is on Elias’ shoulders. He’s long since forgotten how to live for himself, his life belonging to everyone but him. He’s merely a puppet that’s being strung along by the world for the sole purpose of saving it.

At first, he was honored to be chosen as the Hero – it’s a privilege most don’t get. But everyone expects too much – everything – from him. His life is carefully shaped into what others want of him, people only looking at his role and not him as a person.

Now, he fights and saves people due to duty, not desire. There is no sparkle of pride when he helps villagers. Instead, all that is left is another thing checked off of his mental checklist. Now, he just wants to rest. He just wants things to be over.

So that’s why he despised the idea that some Saint from the Church would be his “helper.” Traveling with someone else is only going to slow him down. Not to mention the fact that he doubts the Saint has ever seen bloodshed and disease like he has.

But when he actually meets and travels with you, the Saint, he realizes that you’re actually not that bad. You’re actually kind of nice. He’d expected you to turn your nose at the commoner population, refusing to heal them, but you actively seek them out to help. You’re kind and gentle, but headstrong. Even when you’re visibly exhausted, you do your best to keep going. 

It’s… kind of impressive, actually. He had misjudged you, perhaps.

Even now, you’re helping the knights that were attacked by bandits (which Elias had vanquished), healing not only their bodies but their souls, too. He can’t help but look at you, a raw beacon of kindness that he hasn’t seen before in his travels. 

Once you’re done healing the knights, you look up at him, before a gasp escapes your lips. “Elias!”

He blinks at you, curiously.

“You’re bleeding!”

“Ah.” Elias looks down at his hand, blood dripping down his fingers. He had instinctively grabbed a knife by the blade earlier because he wouldn’t have been able to dodge it in time. “This is nothing.”

“Oh, shush!” you say, approaching him. You push him towards a tree stump, forcing him to sit, which he allows. Carefully, you take his hand in yours, frown deep set on your mouth. Your hand is so warm that it makes his heart burn.

“You’re tired,” he states, bluntly. He doesn’t tug his hand out of yours. “You’ve healed too many people.”

“I can–”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Rest for now, Saint. I am fine.” And he’s right – he’s the Hero, after all. His wounds heal much faster and better than a normal human being. He doesn’t necessarily need your healing.

“Still,” you murmur, looking up at him. “Can I at least clean and bandage it?”

It’s pointless, really, but Elias says, “Do what you want.”

So you do. You disinfect and clean his wound, before carefully wrapping his hand with bandages. For some reason, his heart squeezes painfully as he watches you tend to him so gently. He doesn’t remember if anyone’s ever treated him this kindly.

“There.” You look proud of yourself. It’s kind of cute.

“You didn’t have to,” he mutters without really thinking about it.

You give him a smile that makes his brain stop. “I wanted to. I want to support you.”

For some reason, your words almost make him want to cry. He’s not sure why – he’s seen so much death and destruction to the point that his emotions have become numb. Yet, you bring flickers of his feelings back to him – happiness, sadness, anger, love. 

You make him feel like he has an existence beyond just being the Hero. You make him feel human.

So, how can he let you go? He can’t – and he’ll do everything he can to make you his. Even if it means he has to destroy the world.

[sluttyten]

Finding Home

Kinktober Day 5 | Jaehyun Masterlist | Member Masterlist

tags: zombie apocalypse au, shower sex, thigh riding, handjob, choking, daddy kink, penetration

length: 7242

You’ve been on your own for too long.

Too long you’ve been your own source of survival against the zombies. Too long you’ve been hungry and thirsty.

But tonight, as you settle in to sleep in your chosen tree for the night, you spot a fire glow in the distance. Fire means people, people means food, and fire and people means that they’re fools that are going to draw zombies right to them. 

You slip quietly from the tree, making sure that your blades are secure before you set off towards the fire. 

You hear zombies moving through the trees, moaning and shuffling as they make for the firelight as well, but as you approach the site, you see why the people that set the fire are so confident. They’ve set up a barricade of stakes jutting outwards. Already a few zombies are caught in the trap, and as you hang back a safe distance, you watch one of the people inside the barrier walk around, knifing each captured zombie to end them.

Quietly, you scale a tree, perch yourself on a branch, and observe the camp below. 

There’s one central fire, two men, a horse and wagon loaded down with items. The one man continues walking around the perimeter, killing zombies when they throw themselves on the stakes. The other man sits at the fire, cooking their dinner, and the scent of sizzling sausages wafts up to you on the breeze, setting your stomach growling.

You wait, watching as the man at the perimeter returns to the fire. You watch them eat their fill, reminding you how empty your own belly is. They drink from their canteens, and you’re reminded how dry your mouth is. You wait, observing one man recline beside the fire, his head pillowed on his bag. The other walks away from the fire, taking a seat on a tree stump, and he looks out at the perimeter, occasionally getting up to kill a newly arrived zombie, which doesn’t happen nearly as often once the fire begins to die.

You wait until the one on guard slouches forward, his head propped up by his elbow on his knee. You wait until the faint sound of snoring carries up to you, and then you make your move. 

You have practice with stealth, and your feet are silent on the forest floor. You slip over the wall of stakes easily, and then you make for the glowing remains of the fire. They’d left half a sausage in the pan, and you’d seen one of them pull a bit of bread or something out of a box sitting a few feet from the fire.

Hunger runs deep into your bones, making you desperate enough to do this.

You first go to the box, quietly lifting the lid. There is a loaf of dry bread sitting right there beside two small apples. You grab the bread, tear off a chunk, and devour it, licking the crumbs from your filthy fingers as you pick up the canteen left by the one on guard duty. You drink a few mouthfuls of clean water, and then you tiptoe back to the fireside, searching the dark ground for the pan with the half sausage. 

You crouch, hands brushing in front of you. The dim glow of the fire isn’t enough to help you distinguish the pan from the ground, but it is enough that when you come face to face with the man sleeping beside the fire, you startle. 

He’s not asleep anymore.

You yelp as he lunges. One of you kicks something metallic with a loud clang, probably the pan, but you don’t have the chance to mourn the potential loss of your dinner because the man is wrestling you, trying to get his hands on you, to pin you down, to wrap his hands around your throat. You struggle, hitting and kicking, rolling over him just to have him flip you over again.

He pins you to the ground, hands firm on you, body heavy.

You’ve been on your own for too long. You haven’t felt the touch of another person in two years.

Your arms are caught above your head, his hips weigh yours down. Is it any wonder that you moan a little? You don’t even mind the sharp prick as he suddenly pulls a knife, pressing it threateningly beneath your chin.

“Jaehyun?” The perimeter guard runs up, and a moment later, the light of the fire grows again. You twist your head towards it, just able to make out the sight of the perimeter guard crouched beside the fire, blowing on the growing flames, a flint in one hand. 

He’s handsome, you realize, now that you’re this close. His hair is grown down to his chin, dark black. He’s younger than you’d thought he’d be. For some reason you were picturing these two being older men in their forties maybe, but he can’t be any older than thirty years old, if even that.

And then you turn your wide-eyed gaze to the man that has you pinned. 

God, he’s possibly even more handsome. 

“Johnny, we have a thief on our hands,” the man above you says. “She was eating our bread, drinking our water.”

You whine. “I just wanted your sausage.”

Johnny over by the fire laughs. “Couldn’t think to ask nicely, dear? Jaehyun pulled a knife on you and everything.”

His hand on the knife twitches, he shifts his weight above you, and this time you whimper – not out of fear or pain, but purely out of arousal. The last time you felt a man’s touch was over two years ago, a night with your boyfriend about a week before the zombie virus hit. 

Jaehyun scoffs above you. “I could be wrong, Johnny, but I think she’s enjoying this.”

“Sorry,” you hiss, ��it’s just been a while since a man’s had me in this position.”

Jaehyun smirks. “With a knife to your throat?”

You tilt your chin up a little. “No, with his dick digging into my belly. Get off.”

“Promise you won’t kill us if I let you up?” Jaehyun asks. “We’ll share our sausage with you.”

Again, Johnny laughs. 

A zombie snarls from the perimeter, and you look in that direction, twisting your head in time to see a large zombie collide with a stake, pushing himself halfway along it in his determination to reach the fire and the three of you. Johnny curses and gets to his feet, jogging over to drive his knife into the zombie’s skull.

Jaehyun rolls off of you and sits up, running his fingers through his hair. 

You wait a moment, keeping your eyes fixed on the gleam of his knife. He looks over at you again, then says, “You can sit up. I’m not going to hurt you. Here.” He reaches over, locating the pan with the half a sausage in it, luckily not overturned in the dirt. He passes it over to you. “Eat.”

You snatch it from him, quickly gobbling down the spicy, greasy cold sausage. It’s the best thing you’ve eaten in ages.

“Where did you come from?” Jaehyun asks, looking around the perimeter until he locates Johnny. “Are you by yourself?”

You nod, chewing the lump of sausage in your mouth. “About a year,” you say, and then you swallow and continue, “I’ve been on my own about a year. Bounced around a few groups there for a while in the beginning of all of this, but about a year ago I was separated from the rest when a fire broke out overnight. I’ve been on my own since then, making my way, looking for somewhere safe.”

Jaehyun stares at you for a long moment, and then says, “We’ve got somewhere safe. That’s where we’re heading, if you want to tag along.” He gestures at the wagon and the horse sleeping nearby. “We have supplies. You wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.”

“I’d like that.” You inhale the last bite of sausage. 

Johnny and Jaehyun switch after that. Jaehyun takes watch and Johnny dozes beside the fire. You occupy Jaehyun’s attention for a little while, answering his questions and asking some of your own about the experiences you’ve lived through since the start of the zombie virus. He tells you that he and Johnny have been friends for years, and they actually were separated when it all started, but found each other about five months in.

“I was shocked when I saw him sitting in the dining hall of our community. It was my first week there, and I couldn’t believe my eyes,” Jaehyun laughs softly, “I thought I had to be imagining him since I’d not see him at all in the past few days, but he’d been out on a scavenging mission all week. He and I make a great team, so we come out on scavenging missions together frequently.”

After a while, you doze off beside the fire.

When the first rays of morning light reach you, you jolt awake, fearing that it was all a dream or that worse yet they’ll have packed up and left you here alone. But Jaehyun’s standing a few feet away, fastening the harness on the horse. Johnny is waking up, walking off to piss near the edge of their campsite. 

And then you leave with them. 

It takes most of the day to travel to their community, and when you see the border fence and the guard tower of a prison, you begin to feel excited. This place looks safe. And it must be because there are a dozen guards that greet the three of you at the gate, and you’re not even mad when they separate you from Johnny and Jaehyun so you can be interrogated by the leader.

Their leader is a grizzly older man who looks like he’s definitely seen some shit. He asks you a million questions, and your answers must satisfy because before the sun sets, you’re being shown through the prison by an excited young man named Mark.

He shows you the dining hall, the gardens in the former recreation yard, the men's showers, the women's showers, the armory, and then Cell Blocks A-F where everyone sleeps. There are sixteen cells per block, eight on each of the two levels, plus they’ve managed to make bunk beds in the open area on the ground floor of each cell block. 

“But the last three Blocks, don’t go near them,” Mark warns you. “Zombies got through and they’ve infested them. We’ve done a few recovery missions in there to scavenge the bunks for the ground floors and some other stuff, but it’s way too dangerous for us to try to completely clear them out and live in them. There’s no way for us to refortify where they broke through. And stay away from the silo. No one goes there.”

Noted. 

Don’t go past Cell Block F, which should be easy since they’re all in a row. Don’t go to the silo, wherever that is. You don’t even see anything that looks like a silo when Mark takes you through the yard, which is just the big grassy area between the prison buildings and the border fence.

Mark shows you the laundry, where the women working push a set of clean linens and clean clothes into your arms, and then Mark finally shows you back through it all, taking you to Cell Block C, to an open bunk on the floor. 

It’s not much, but it’s better than anything you’ve had in a long time. It’s home.

You grow accustomed to the place over the next few days, learning the layout of the prison, learning names and faces of your new community. You’re given the job of helping out in the infirmary since you’d told the community leader that you’d been in nursing school when the world went to shit. Mostly, working in the infirmary means that you’re the back-up for the doctor this community’s lucky enough to have. You clean up scrapes, deliver medicine around the compound, watch the infirmary when the doctor is otherwise occupied.

You’re happy here.

You get to see Jaehyun a few more times in those early days, spotting him in the dining hall or in the mornings as you pass through Cell Block B, the one occupied exclusively by the guard, including those who run scavenging missions. He and Johnny have a cell up on the second level, and some mornings on your way to the infirmary, you catch sight of Jaehyun pushing back the curtain that covers the bars. 

“Jae and Johnny are great guys,” Mark tells you one afternoon. 

You don’t know if Mark just decided that the two of you would be friends or if the leader assigned him to keep an eye on you, but you’ve been hanging out with him pretty often lately. This afternoon, you’re sitting together on the roof of Block E, looking out at the guards doing drills in the yard. You’ve been watching the two handsome men that brought you here, the way they’re practicing hand-to-hand combat. 

“They’re gone a lot,” Mark continues, “Out traveling the countryside searching for supplies. But when they’re here, we see a lot of Johnny in the rec room, entertaining everyone. Jaehyun keeps a little more to himself though, reading in the prison’s library, running laps around the yard, or just in their cell, listening to music. Ten told me that Jaehyun found an old CD player on one of their trips, and now he just collects CDs when they’re out and gets batteries anywhere he can find them to keep it going.”

You sit up there on the roof a while longer, admiringly watching the men move down below you.

It’s a few days later when you wake at dawn. 

You change into the shorts and tank top you’d gotten from the community’s clothing bank, and you head out for the main entrance. Coincidentally, you reach it right as Jaehyun arrives; it’s definitely not because you’d been asking around for the past couple days, trying to figure out from others when exactly Jaehyun went on runs around the prison yard. 

“Hey,” Jaehyun grins, “What are you doing here?”

“I was thinking of going for a run this morning. What about you?” You start stretching your legs.

Jaehyun watches you, his smile remaining bright. “I take a few laps around the yard every morning. You’re welcome to run with me, if you want, if you think you can keep up.”

“I’ll have you know,” you say, “I have great stamina. I’ll be running laps around you.”

He laughs.

And he’s probably right to laugh. You’ve done plenty of running in the last two years, but not like getting up and jogging four miles every morning. 

That being said, you think you do a pretty good job of keeping up with Jaehyun. Several laps around the prison yard before you’re collapsing down into the grass, sweaty and out of breath. Jaehyun stretches out in the grass beside you, his shirtless chest gleaming in the bright morning light, his shirt dangling from one hand. 

You want to roll over, to put yourself closer to him, to lick at the sweat on his chest, to press your body against his. God. You’re horny and generally deprived of human contact; you feel like you might cum if he so much as brushes his fingers against yours right now.

You resist your urges, but only barely. And you manage to not cream your panties when Jaehyun offers you his hand to pull you up to your feet. You just walk alongside him on the way to the dining hall for breakfast, then spend your entire eight minute shower fantasizing about his muscles.

Each dawn after that, you find yourself at the main entrance, meeting Jaehyun to go for a run. Each morning, you feel your ability to resist your urges growing smaller and smaller. 

One evening while you’re finishing up in the infirmary, there’s a knock on the open doorway, and you turn to see Jaehyun standing there. His hair is pushed back from his handsome face. He’s wearing a leather jacket that really just reminds you of motorcycle-riding bad boy fantasies you had when you were younger, and you want to just grab him by the front of that jacket and drag him against you. 

But you don’t because there’s a patient sitting in one of the three infirmary beds, and she might not appreciate the show. 

“Hey, Johnny and I are leaving again in the morning,” Jaehyun says, leaning against the doorway. “I just figured I should let you know so you’re not waiting for me in the morning.”

Your heart sinks in your chest. 

“We’ll be gone just two days. Tomorrow, then back the night after,” he says quickly. “Don’t wander off, and try not to miss me too much.”

You immediately roll your eyes. “You? No. Johnny? Absolutely, I’m going to miss him so much. Who else is going to harass me about practicing my knife skills?”

The past few evenings, you’ve stood in the recreation yard with Mark, Johnny, and Jaehyun learning knife-throwing and hand-to-hand combat. You blame Mark because he’d helpfully told them about how you’d been intently watching their training in the yard that day, and you’d made the excuse of just wanting to learn combat yourself.

“Ah, well, I’m gonna miss you,” Jaehyun says. “Goodnight.”

And then he’s stepped out of the doorway, and by the time you get around the doctor’s desk and to the door, Jaehyun has disappeared down the hallway, out of sight.

Those two days are nerve-wracking. It doesn’t help that the doctor gave you the second day off because you’d been so uselessly distracted the first day they were gone. You walk around the compound on that second day after breakfast. You find the prison library, which you’d not really visited before. You take a stroll through the administration building of the prison, which mostly sits unused now even though it was one of the first buildings they cleared out when the community settled in the prison.

You walk and explore all day until you find yourself late in the afternoon entering a section of the prison that you don’t recognize. It’s a large compound, so that’s not really all that strange to find somewhere you don’t know. 

You don’t think anything of it as you brush aside debris on your way down a hallway, as you reach a doorway that’s locked from your side. You flip the lock, open the door, and step inside. There’s nothing special about this place, you think, as you walk in. You can’t quite tell what it is. It’s got rounded walls, no windows. There are overturned chairs and metal tables, and as you start walking along the left-hand curve of the room, you realize that the ceiling in the center of the space is caving in a little, allowing in some sunlight and dripping from the brief rainshow that happened earlier in the day.

The holes in the middle of the ceiling provide just enough light that you can see there’s a railing to your right as you move around the room, and you walk towards it, trying to look over the edge to see what this place is. 

To your surprise, the floor just keeps going. Down and down and down, so far down you can’t see the bottom. And you realize that the floor you’re standing on slopes gently downwards, and as you follow along the path with your eyes, it spirals downward with dark squares set along the path. 

Suddenly you realize where you must be.

The tall cylindrical shape of this place burrows underground, which is why you’d never seen it when you looked around the compound. But the shape of it, the lack of windows….

You shuffle away from the edge, backing towards the door, but you don’t see the chair tipped over on the ground behind you until it’s too late.

You crash over it, falling backwards. The sound echoes, magnified tenfold in the space with its thick metal walls built to hold maximum security prisoners.

You’re in the silo. 

The shuffling, dragging footsteps sound suddenly too loud and too close when they start up. You hear moans and clamor from down below as well. 

What was it that Mark said about this place on your first day? 

“No one goes there.” He’d grimaced when he said it, you remember that now. 

You try to push to your feet, but your foot is tangled in the legs of the chair, and a dark shadow is looming above you, the reek of rot hanging around it.

You scream, tearing your foot free, and in the same move you kick the chair forward, shoving it into the legs of the zombie above you. You hear it collapse as you roll onto your hands and knees, pushing yourself upright and ignoring the ache in your ankle. Another zombie emerges out of the shadow, and you reach for the knife you always keep sheathed at your waist. You swing, connecting with soft flesh, and the creature dies with a low groan.

Squishy hands grasp your wrist. The sweet stench of rot fills your nose, and you scream again, kicking out at the zombie that has hold of you. 

You need some light. You can’t see them, can’t see where they’re coming from. You keep trying to move backwards, but you bump into something, hear the ragged, garbled sounds of something trying to make noise that no longer has the ability to vocalize. You swing your knife again, feel the blade sink into soft flesh, past bone. 

They keep coming, and the light coming in through the caving in roof isn’t really enough. You can only just make out the hulking, limping shapes of the zombies as they move towards you, as you scramble backwards toward the door that you’d left open. You pray that none of them have passed through the door, that they’ve been too preoccupied with their chase of you to notice that their escape to the all-you-can-eat buffet in the rest of the prison is open.

Again and again you swing your knife, slashing through the air at anything that gets close, anything that touches you.

You feel the spray of zombie gore, the disgusting dribble of them on your skin, on your clothes. You can’t think too hard about it, though, too focused on trying to make it to the door, which you can no longer really see, only heading towards where you remember it being.

And then there’s a voice distantly, frantically calling your name.

“I’m here!” You yell back, shoving your elbow into the face of a zombie, taking a stab at another that leers at you through the darkness, its half-rotted teeth catching just faintly the light from the holes in the ceiling. Your knife sinks into its eye, and you shove it away with your foot. 

Behind you, the door into the silo bangs open. Maybe it had swung back shut after you came through.

Light floods into the room, revealing the horde of zombies trying to push their way up the narrow spiral path. Arms are outstretched, faces rotting off. Some of them wear the uniforms of prison guards, others the tattered remnants of the prisoners' jumpsuits. It doesn’t matter what they look like or what they’re wearing to you as you kick one in the face as it crawls along the floor; your foot goes through his face, coming out slimy, and you slide as you take a step back. 

Jaehyun’s voice fills your ears, shouting your name as he races into the room. 

He’s brought a spear with him, and he lunges forward, kebabing three zombies at once. You stab another. Jaehyun pulls the spear back, swinging it around and smashing the butt of the spear into the head of a prison guard zombie. It stumbles backwards, knocking down a few behind it.

“Come on!” Jaehyun barks, and then he’s grabbing your hand, running for the door as it slowly swings back shut.

Jaehyun catches it just before it closes, throwing it back open to push you through ahead of him, and then he’s coming through, grabbing the handle of the door to slam it shut. He flips the lock into place, and it’s only now that you see the keycard pads beside the door marked with SILO - Restricted Access.

A zombie slams into the other side of the door. 

You take a step back.

Another bang from the door. 

“Is that going to hold them now?” You ask.

Jaehyun turns to you, his face so full of emotion that you can’t separate exactly which emotions he’s feeling. “Who knows, but let’s go. We at least need to get out of this building.” He takes your hand again, and drags you back along the hallway that led here. He curses as he goes, spitting out a complex series of curse words followed by, “What the hell were you thinking going in there?”

Does he really think you went in there on purpose? “I was just looking around! I didn’t know where I was.”

Your foot is still covered in gore from kicking in that zombie’s head, and your gait is lopsided because of it. Your foot slides each time it hits the ground running, and you hold tighter to Jaehyun’s hand because of it. You want to stop, just for a second, long enough to kick off your shoe so you can run properly.

Far behind you, you still hear the banging on the door, the groan of metal. Neither you or Jaehyun says a thing as you make your way to the heavy duty door that had been propped open on your way in. You didn’t do that, and honestly, it kinda seems like maybe if they don’t want people going in the SILO, then they should leave the heavy duty security door at the entrance of the SILO’s attached building permanently shut. 

As you run through it, Jaehyun pauses only long enough to shove it shut, and you’re already on your way, running across the stretch of the yard that runs between the SILO’s building and the rest of the compound. You’ve got a stitch growing in your side, making it hard to breathe. Your ankle is throbbing, your fingers tingle from how tightly Jaehyun is holding your hand, pulling you along the buildings aiming for Cell Block F, which is the closest.

“I told you not to wander off!” Jaehyun yells, still running, still halfway dragging you. “Shit!”

“Sorry, Dad!” You snap at him, lacing your fingers tighter through his and putting on a burst of speed to keep up with him. “Next time I’ll ask your permission before I leave the cell block, if you want to act like my parent.”

Jaehyun spins around, pushing you back up against the wall of the building. “This was exactly what I was worried about! I told Johnny that I had a feeling you would get into trouble while we were away. And looks like I was right.”

“You’re so wise, Jaehyun. So smart and better than me. Gosh, Dad, maybe you should hire a babysitter next time you leave,” you spit the words out, laying the sarcasm on thick.

Jaehyun presses you harder into the wall. “I didn’t say that.”

You attempt to push him back, and when that doesn’t work, you snarl. “Get off of me! I can take care of myself. I had that handled until you burst in. I don’t need you ranting at me all pissed off, acting like I’m a kid, like I need you to take care of me. Newsflash! I was doing just fine for a year and a half before I met you. So thanks, Dad, but no thanks.”

This time, Jaehyun’s hand flies to your throat, pushing your head back against the wall too. You’re pinned between him and the wall completely as he growls, “Call me Dad one more time. I dare you.”

“Oh, sorry,” you put on a sweet tone, cooing, “Daddy.”

Jaehyun snaps, his mouth crushing against yours between one breath and the next. 

You rejoice in the last of his restraint melting away, as he kisses you, his mouth working against yours, tongue teasing the split in your lips until you’re opening up for him. You whimper when your tongues touch, when Jaehyun shifts his hand on your throat to angle your head for him. His other hand slides up into your hair.

He pauses, lips freezing against yours.

“No,” you whine as he pulls back. “Jaehyun.”

He’s looking at his hand in your hair when you open your eyes, and the look on his face has your stomach sinking. He looks disgusted, and you wonder if reality caught up with him and he realized he didn’t want to be kissing you, if he’s disgusted by you.

“You have a little bit of zombie in your hair,” Jaehyun mumbles, pulling his hand out of your hair and flicking it to dislodge the gunk on his fingers. “As much as I would love to continue making out with you against this wall uninterrupted, maybe you should shower first.”

Oddly, a wave of relief passes through you. You laugh. “You know, typically, if a guy stopped kissing me to tell me to take a shower, I’d be super offended.”

“Oh, shit,” Jaehyun laughs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You shrug. “It’s understandable. But, Jaehyun, about what we were arguing about, I know I shouldn’t have wandered off to a place I didn’t know what it was. That’s my mistake, I wasn’t thinking. But shouldn’t there be a little more security around the place? I didn’t even realize that was the SILO Mark warned me away from until it was too late.” 

He nods. “You’re right. I’ll talk to our leader about it tomorrow. Come on, let’s get you in the shower.”

The guards at the entrance give you a weird look when you and Jaehyun walk inside. Jaehyun doesn’t let go of your hand when he stops to talk with the guards, when he explains to them that you’d accidentally entered the SILO, that you’d stirred up the horde inside. His thumb brushes continuously over your knuckles while he talks with them, and when he’s finally done with that, he leads you along to the showers.

The showers are typical prison showers – one big room with showerheads protruding from the wall, drains in the floor. No privacy. 

“You can wait outside, you know.” You say as Jaehyun stands just inside the women’s shower room. “I don’t think there are any zombies in here.” 

“No, but who knows what trouble you might find if I don’t keep an eye on you.” Jaehyun folds his arms and rests back against the wall. “Go on.”

You maintain eye contact with Jaehyun as you unbutton your pants, as you push them down your legs and leave them piled on the floor. You hold his gaze as you reach for the hem of your shirt, as you drag it up your body, tugging it over your head. It hits the floor too. You back away, still staring at Jaehyun, loving the way that he’s not looking away either. You turn away only when you reach the wall to turn on the shower, keeping your back to him as you unfasten your bra, tossing it back towards your clothes. And then you shimmy your panties down, kicking them away once they fall to the floor.

You glance back over your shoulder at Jaehyun.

He’s blushing adorably there beside the doorway, but still he can’t take his eyes off of you. 

“Fuck, don’t move. Hold on.” Jaehyun turns, quickly slipping out through the doorway. You hear his footsteps racing down the hallway outside the shower room. 

“What the hell?” You groan, slumping against the wall. “Why’d he have to leave?”

You reach for the shampoo dispenser set in the wall, and while he’s gone you work on washing your hair, rinsing and scrubbing out whatever the fuck piece of zombie was in your hair. You’ve just finished with that when you hear racing footsteps returning. You look back towards the doorway over your shoulder, watching the way Jaehyun skids into view.

He’s holding a change of clothes for you in his hands, and when he walks inside the room now he doesn’t stop there at the doorway. He walks in, dropping the clothes on a bench against the wall, and he keeps coming. You turn towards him, facing him for the first time like this, showing him every part of you.

Jaehyun sheds his jacket as he comes towards you, drags his shirt over his head, and he doesn’t quite get around to pushing his pants down before he’s right there in front of you. He presses you back against the wall, the spray of the shower pouring over both of you as he reconnects his lips with yours, picking up where you’d left off outside.

The rub of his wet jeans against your skin is oddly arousing, but not as much as the feel of his hand sliding up your side, his palm reaching your breast, his thumb passing over your nipple. You moan into the kiss, bringing both of your hands up to his shoulders. 

“Jaehyun,” you sigh, pulling back to breathe, but his teeth catch your bottom lip, and you sink back in. 

His thigh presses between yours, the rough denim sliding against your skin, nudging up against your pussy. “Say it for me again, baby.” He kisses you, sucks on your bottom lip. 

You don’t have to wonder what he means, you somehow just know. “Daddy,” you whimper, digging your nails in against his shoulders. “Oh, daddy.” 

You roll your hips against his thigh, thrilling at the buzz that spreads through you when you glide your clit over the denim. Jaehyun’s thumb draws circles around your sensitive nipple, and finally his other hand rises to your neglected breast. He teases both nipples while you grind against his thigh.

“That’s right, baby,” Jaehyun presses his forehead to yours, “This is what you wanted, right? You wanted to rile me up, to get me to push you up against a wall, maybe treat you a little rough?” He pinches your nipples right then, twisting them too. “Ever since that night we met, when you were squirming and whining while I had you pinned to the ground, this is what you wanted?”

You jolt forward to kiss him again, but Jaehyun pulls his head back.

“Ah, ah. This is something you should’ve learned that first night, baby. You need to learn to ask nicely for what you want.” Jaehyun brings one hand up from your chest, curling it against your throat to keep your head pinned as he leans in, hovering his lips tantalizingly above yours. “Ask daddy nicely for a kiss.”

You circle your hips against his thigh, gasping sharply. “Daddy, please. Kiss me?”

He presses his lips to yours only briefly, and then leans back again, his hand still on your throat to keep you from following. To make matters worse, he drops his other hand from your tit, dropping it to your hip.

You moan desperately, wanting him back. Needing his touch, more than just his thigh between your legs.

“Baby, if you don’t use your words, how do I know what you want?” Jaehyun pats your hip lightly. “And if you just keep rubbing yourself on my thigh like this, am I supposed to think that you want anything else?”

You whine, rocking your hips forward right as Jaehyun grinds his thigh up between your legs. His thumb presses just right against your throat too, and you see stars in the most delightful way. 

“Let’s see how long you can last, baby,” Jaehyun leans close, running his lips along your jaw, tongue flicking out to lick up the water beading down your face from the shower’s spray. “Can you cum from just riding my thigh? Or can you wait for daddy’s cock?”

“Yes, daddy,” you gasp, “I can last.”

He looks doubtful, but you’ve told him before, you have great stamina. Although, this is your first sexual contact since before the apocalypse happened, so who knows, you might snap in a second and cum on his jeans.

Your hands slide against Jaehyun’s damp skin, the shower sending rivulets of water down his chest, soaking into the waistband of his underwear and jeans. “I want to touch you, too, Jaehyun. Let me help you feel good, too, daddy.”

You graze your mouth against his, leaning as much into his hand at your throat as you dare. Jaehyun smiles, pressing you back against the wall, but he does nothing to stop you from sliding your hand over his abdomen, down into his pants. 

Jaehyun’s eyes simply flutter shut, a pink blush growing high in his cheeks and his ears as you wrap your fingers around his half-hard cock, and you ease his growing erection free of his pants. It seems ridiculous that he’s still half clothed, but you can’t be too irritated by that development since it truly feels so good to grind against the denim, that buzz inside your belly increasing with each pass of your hips. 

He kisses you again, crushing his lips to yours, tongue sliding against yours as you both moan while you ride his thigh and jerk your hand along his length. His hand flexes on your hip. You dig your nails into his back, tightening your hand on his cock on the upstroke. Jaehyun is filling out in your hand, cock swelling and lengthening as all his blood flows south. 

The shower is tapering off, the timer that allows only fifteen minutes at a time running out. 

Neither of you pays the water much attention, too lost in each other. Although, without the water, the sounds of your gasping breaths, Jaehyun’s low moans, the slick movement of your hand along his cock, all those sounds are extra-loud in the tile room.

“Oh, fuck,” Jaehyun moans when you bring your hand to just massage the tip of his cock. His mouth drops down to your shoulder, pinching your skin between his teeth, and his hand tightens against your throat. You want to moan, loving the way that that feels, but you can’t get the sound out, too busy rocking your hips desperately against Jaehyun’s thigh, chasing the feeling that’s brimming in your belly.

Jaehyun falls back, pulling his hands and his thigh away, putting a couple feet’s distance between you and him. 

Your legs feel like they can barely hold you, and just as you’re about to give in to the wobbly feeling of your knees, Jaehyun throws himself back at you. You welcome his mouth on yours again, his hands reattaching to your body, pulling you against him instead of pushing you into the wall. His hands slide along your back, your ass, back up to your shoulders, diving into your hair. He kisses you frantically, hungrily, groaning into the kiss as he grinds his erection against your belly. 

“Jaehyun, Jaehyun,” you sing praises of his name, kissing him right back, running your hands along his chest and his neck, brushing your fingers over the blushing hot tips of his ears. “Daddy, please, I need you inside me.”

He ruts against your belly a few more times, and then Jaehyun releases you again only long enough to spin you around, long enough to shove his pants down, and he drags you right back in against him.

His arms wrap around your belly, hands rising to your tits. Jaehyun’s mouth fits against your throat, kissing the places where his hand had squeezed earlier, and he thrusts forward against your ass, between your thighs, sliding through your wetness until finally his cock curves up and slides home, sinking into your pussy like it’s right where he belongs.

“Ah, Jae,” you sigh, dropping your head back against his shoulder. He presses you forward against the tile wall, your chest and his hands trapped there as he fucks into you. Your moans echo loudly around the room, the wet sound of your bodies connecting, and Jaehyun’s sounds of pleasure too. “Jaehyun, yes, yes!”

“What’s that, baby? Whose cock is making you feel so good?” Jaehyun’s lips are against your ear, breaths coming out sharp and broken, moans and grunts rumbling from deep in his chest as he thrusts into you repeatedly, hurriedly, chasing after his pleasure.

You know he’s almost there, and you’re not far behind. “You, daddy! Yes, your cock is amazing. I’m gonna cum, daddy.” 

Jaehyun bites down on your shoulder as he cums, rolling his hips forward so deep as he shoots into you, filling you with his white-hot seed. Hips twitching, grinding into you, Jaehyun slides one of his hands up to your chin, turning your head to the side, and his other hand moves down from your chest to your belly, lower still until he reaches your clit. He rocks shallowly into you, stroking his fingers over your clit, and in the moment before he kisses you, Jaehyun murmurs in a breathy voice, “Come on, baby, cum for me.”

That’s all it takes.

Jaehyun holds you through your orgasm, fingers on your clit, his cock still pulsing inside you, rocking into you while you tremble in his arms. He kisses you softly, carrying you both through the high of your first real, amazing orgasm in two goddamned years.

You stay like that, kissing softly, bodies moving together slowly for quite a while until things slow down even more, and then stop. Your heart is still racing when Jaehyun pulls out of you, and you’re so satisfied and loose-limbed right now that you don’t think you’d be able to do a damned thing even if a whole horde of zombies burst into the room right now. 

“I told you I had good stamina,” you gasp, tilting your forehead against the wall. “Better than you.”

Jaehyun scoffs, planting a kiss on your shoulder. “We’ll test out one of your kinks next time, see which of us lasts longer then.”

You smile, twisting around to face him, and you twine your arms over his shoulders. “Bet it’s still me, daddy.”

Jaehyun pulls back, lifting his lips just out of your reach. “Being a little bratty, aren’t you?” His hand slides down to your ass, and he spanks you lightly. “Don’t make me send you to bed tonight without any dinner.”

You grin. “Oh, please, daddy, send me to bed early. I’d rather eat your sausage than anything else, anyway.”

Jaehyun throws his head back, laughing with his whole chest, his nose crinkling, dimples showing. He laughs until he’s wiping away tears from his eyes, and the whole time all you can do is smile at him and think that you’re ridiculously and completely in love with him. You can’t remember the last time you were as happy as you are right now, here with Jaehyun.

A month ago, you’d just been looking for dinner when you snuck into a stranger’s campsite, and instead you’d found Jaehyun, found love, found home.

a/n: this is like the fifth draft of jaehyun zombie au which is why it's going out so late today. I couldn't decide on the plot until rather late in the day unfortunately. But I really enjoyed writing this one, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it!

I hope you enjoyed! Reblogs are deserving of my eternal gratitude, likes are greatly appreciated, and your thoughts and comments are always welcome !

[thecloudsaremyhome]

naga parents!! naga parents who finds reader and (forcibly) adopts them!!

☆Platonic yandere naga fathers x reader☆

Summary: you’ve heard the rumors of naga receding in the forest. But that doesn’t stop you from entering with the goal of providing food for your so called family. Unknowingly you resign your fate of never coming out. Because to particular nagas take interest in you and plan on never letting you go.

Tw: (I am not apart of the hindisum culture this was purly make for fanfiction only this was not to depict real life hinidiusm so please be respectful of the religion! Thank you! ) panic attack, exhaustion, neglect, gambling, obsessive behavior, Yandere behavior, infantization, Restraining, reader’s parents suck.

Word count: 4k

How the hell did you end up in a situation like this? You were just out hunting today for some wild deer to help feed your poor family.

You’d been walking all day following the tracts of a nearby heard the scurried off hours ago.

But you were determined to find them and be able to provide for your family with something to eat.

Because your afraid that youll end up more than slapped for not providing your parents dinner.

Clearly, they should be the ones to do it, but instead, they gamble away any of their earnings that are left from the money that you collect to sell the meat you catch.

It's tiring it really is but you can’t give up now. It's still mid-afternoon and you need to atleast find some source of food by midnight.

So with tha,t you continue to make your way depper into the large forest surrounding your small village.

before you were about to make your trek into the forest you overheard some of the villagers discussing about the sighting of a nagas nest in the large forest by one of your village hunters who barley made it out alive, this, of course, made your town tense especially the elders.

Mystical creatures arent very common in your world they are considered valuable especially nagas for their scaly skin that can be used as armor or for other benefits.

But you’ve never heard or come across a naga since you first started hunting.

They are considered extremly dangerous and only a very skilled hunter can successfully defeat one. But thats even more rare.

With a nagas long dangerous tail that could squeeze you to death. With fangs as sharp as butcher knives and venom that could instantly kill a person. Nagas were very dangerous.

Especially a royal naga, they arent to be messed with, from the tales of one royal naga slaughtering a whole village has kept humans from daring to face them.

knowing the consequences of messing with their kin.

So thats why some worship them like gods and other like your village choose to avoid interacting with the naga kind as a whole, because they know it could be a death sentance.

But what you heard didnt stop you from entering the forest, because maybe it would be better to be food for a naga than live with your parents.

It may be sad buts its true all the same. And you've come to accept that fact.

But now your unfortunately lost, after hours of trying to hunt for any source of meat, you come to a rest against a tree stump.

Unfortunately you fell asleep, exhausted from your long walk and sore legs.

You slowly drift off into a blissful sleep having not felt any source of warmth from this past winter and with the fall breeze tingling against your bruised skin it feels like heaven.

So with that you finally close your eyes and make your way into dreamland.

But when you woke up instead of it being mid-afternoon, it was night time from the bright stars you can barley make out through the trees.

Well your screwed, your father sternly drilled into you that you must bring dinner home before night time.

or you’ll be sleeping outside again of course not wanting to slee outside you took his demand to heart.

Why the hell did you have to fall asleep at the worst times!

Now you dont even know if you actually want to go back home not wanting to face the wraith of your angry father.

But you know you cant stay here forever so with a heavy heart you make your way to what you hope could be the direction of where you came. Unknowingly your making your way depper into the sacred forest.

You sigh shakily as you continue to walk darting your eyes around for any semblance of something familiar something you recognize to get you back to what you call home.

But their is no sigh all their is, is the occasional chirping of birds or the howling of a wolf in the distance but thats it.

Stuck in the semi silence with only your thoughts to ocpany you and the dragging of your feet on the dirt texture of the forest.

Its unnerving not once have you actually stayed in the forest at night, having been wanted against it for the dangers that unfold at night.

So of course this brings a sense of fear a dread to your very being. You never liked going out at night.

So maybe thats why you obliviously ran through the darkening forest in hopes of finding your way home, that you didnt even notice the sound of a slithering tail following close behind you.

Nor did you notice the sudden silence from the animals occupying in the forest like they are holding their breaths themselves knowing something horrible will occur. You are oblivious to it all.

Finally after exhausting yourself with your frantic running, you come face to face with a temple. Wait a temple?

The temple has a rugged appearance to it looking like it hasnt had inhabitants in years from the breaking of the walls on the side to the moss starting to surround the temple as a whole to the trees curling in on its rugged textures.

With a small opening no door in place only cement stairs leading to the entrance.

but whats even more strange is the snake like statues surrounding the temple thats also strangely next to a lake.

The snake statues look like the person who made it put alot of effort into it from the every detail perfectly persisted on the statues.

You think it's very interesting, but shrug it off. You don't need to take in every single detail here, after all.

With moss and leaves surrounding what looks to be a pathway, you have no choice but to reluctantly step inside.

Having no where else to stay for the night, maybe you can stay here?

From the large trees curling around the large temple, you can't help but be breathtaking by how beautiful it is despite its rugged appearance.

You can feel the rocks and twigs being crushed under your torn shoes, you grimace at the feeling but continue down the path and up the cement stairs towards the entrance of the temple.

But you hesitated staring at its ominous structure, not knowing if its a good idea to go inside at all.

Well might as well whats the worst that could happen?

Ciarán has never been fond of humans, even when he was just a young nestling learning the ways of the naga world he still held some contempt for them.

Because hes learned that all humans do is take and destroy not having any remorse for those around them not even their own kind.

They truly are sickening beings who deserve to be wiped off the earth. But he has so intention of doing so because thats not one of his priorities right now.

His priority is to protect the new hatchlings that his mate is keeping safe inside the very same temple you are going into. This of course has him growling in anxiety.

When he first saw you wondering into the woods calling out to someone in your native language, he considered leaving you alone not wanting to bother with something as significant as a human.

But when he saw the hopeless look on your adorable face he couldnt help himself but to frown in sadness.

That expression doesnt suit you not at all.

So he decided maybe he would follow you just to make sure your safe yeah thats. which leads to this now-dreaded situation.

He knows his mate has been in a very protective mood lately especiassly with kepping the hatchlings safe so he knows without a doubt his mate will instantly attack you once he see’s you. But why should his worry him?

He has no emotional connection to you? So why does the very thought of you getting hurt sends anger courcing through his very veins.

Maybe its because of how young you look, you look no older than maybe 2?

Nagas live very long so years are longer for them and your the size of a young hatchling. So this of course worries him.

How were you able to survive out in this harsh forest for so long?

Humans are known to be very fragile compared to naga. Did your kin abandon you?

He knows your human, but he can't help the worry coursing through him. He knows he should be hating you as well, but he can't get himself to.

Not when you look so pitiful yet adorable at the same time. It's a miracle you werent able to detect his presence yet.

But with a heavy heart he decides to put these feelings to the side as he notices you walking into the temple he calls home.

He slithers after you quietly, hoping and praying his mate won't kill you on sight.

Because as much as he wouldn't like to admit it he has grown fond of you while watching you and he wouldn't mind you staying. He just hopes his mate will agree.

This temple isn’t that bad actually. once you stepped inside you expected half of it to be in ruins barley eligible to stay the night in but to your surprise its quite the opposite, it looks pretty clean with more statue’s lined up.

They clearly look polished, like some has been manually polishing and taking care of them.

Which is strange shouldnt this temple be abandoned if its all the way out here?

Wait…you think to yourself as you stop to examine more of the surrounding hallway you've been walking down.

You feel a shiver go down your spine as the very feeling of being watched sets in. Why haven't you noticed before?

You're supposed to be a very skilled hunter for your age, but you guess the person who has been watching you is more experienced than you anticipated.

This is bad you think to yourself, either you can be a coward and get out of this temple as fast as you can, resulting in you having no shelter for the night. Or you could just stay……

Reluctantly you choose the second option not wanting to risk yourself getting even more lost.

But what if the person whose watchung you is dangerous? Well guess thats a future you problem.

You sigh as you decide to continue walking down the narrow hallway.

You hoep if you just keep walking that maybe you can find at least somewhere to rest.

This has to be a fucking joke. How can a small ass temple have an entire maze of hallways inside of it!

Whats even worse is that everything looks the same no matter how many times you try to retrace your steps and go into a different direction you always end up back exactly where you were.

You sigh in annoyance feeling a headache start to set in. This really isn't your day.

Your legs are aching, your starving literally. And now your fucking lost inside this temple!

You knew it wasnt a good idea to come in here but you dumbass did it anyways!

You feel fat tears picking at your eyes daring to falll from you cheeks, you make out a choked sob as you curl in on yourself.

You know crying will do you no good but you cant help it.

The pain is just to much to handle, its weighing on you like a dam waiting just to break open and spill out everywhere.

But before you could let the tears finally fall, you noticed a light in the corridor from the hall.

You snapped out of your self-pitying thoughts, slowly stood up, and walked towards the open corridor.

You hesitantly stepped inside, but you stopped yourself before you could fully check out what was inside. Is this really a good idea?

You decide to just check it out hoping it will give you some sort of clue as to how to get out of here.

once you enter the room you notice the sudden shift in atmosphere as well as a strange smell, you also notice that this rooms is a large narrow hallway that has a faint candles illuminating it.

Of course this shocks you, because how could candles be lit in a so called abandoned temple.

So you decide to walk down the hallway and follow the candles.

You continue like this for a few minutes until you notice the faint sent of musk getting stronger and stronger, like an intoxicating drug.

You start to feel very dissy but contiue on until you reach a sppacious cave like room with various ornaments and jewels hung around with an animal like rug, you then notice the lifelike skeletons. Sitting in the far corner of the room.

You then hear a hiss like noise and look forward to be faced with a humongous snake like creature slither out of the make shift nest, thats make of some type of wood.

Never mind that what your really focused on is this humogues snake if you can even call it that with a lower half of a snake and a uper half of a man.

you notice his mid length pure white hair that looks like snow, and you take notice of his glaring deep red eyes that look like rubys.

You take note of his physical structure. hes more on the leaner side but much noticeable muscle that leaves fear that he could probably crush you.

Which he probably could from the sneer plastered on his face.

this makes you unintentionally flinch as you back up to a stone wall completely cornered

You take notice of his extremely long white scaly tail taht could represent pearls themselves. Your breathing quickens as comes even closer to you.

but before you could react at all you feel his tail curl around your upper body and yank you towards him.

Having you in some sort of cocoon like death grip with his tail. He hisses at you with what could only be as a death glare.

This causes you to flinch and let out an involuntary whimper.

He starters to hiss more and it seems like hes talking in his foreign language?

But before you could question it even more you feel his tail constrict around you tightly to the point that it feels hes trying to break your very own bones.

You let out a cry of pain, not able to take the pain anymore you feel small tears pass by your eyelids down your already puffy cheeks.

This causes the snake like creature to pause in its movements, having inspecting you as it takes more of a closer look at your form.

you notice it widening his eyes and what could only be a whimper escaping his mouth.

You of course still in flight or fight mode dont notice this, to intent on surviving from this beast like creature.

But you can feel his tail slowly loosen its grip before your released from its hold as you land on the floor.

still momlentairly surprised you dont notice a scaly finger wipe away a fresh tear from your face nor do you not notice the guilt ridden expression on the creatures face.

All you can feel is exhaustion momentarily catch up to you before you finally pass out.

The next time you regain consciousness you feel like your body is wrapped in the most comfyess blanket you have ever felt.

your so called blankets you had at home where torn and almost rags at this point.

But this is different the way it feels on your skin feels like your in heaven and you dont want to wake up to escape the illusion of comfort.

but eventually you slowly open your eyes to find yourself wrapped in a silk like blanket that seems to be made of the finess textures. Which is a surprise to you.

But before you could mull over it you then take notice of your surroundings and to your surprise your in the nest that was in the center of the room you entered before you passed out.

This of course surprises you because you clearly thought that, that monster was going to eat you…wait that monster fuck you need to get out and now.

But before you could even get yourself out of the blanket you notice a loud coo and turn around to be faced with the same snake like creature you encountered before you passed out.

you can not depicte his face more easily as it seems he was structured like a god.

with beautiful long white lashes and a mole under his eye with a slim upturned nose,and with slight white patches of scales on his neck down to his chest area.

You can tell by the golden jewerly hes wearing that it must have cost a fortune.

You feel him take off the blanket that was wrapped around you and notice that your clothes are all gone, your fully naked.

Of course this causes panic to rise as you back away and try to cover yourself to the best of your ability.

Which is useless as he holds your hands and brings you closer to him, seeming to coo at you.

But what catches your attention now is the pure black long scaly tail wrapped around the nest almost like it is meant as a barrier or a prsion where no one can get in or out.

You look past the snake man to be met with someone similar.

Your eyes meet his crystal blue eyes that represent diamonds at its finest.

you take note of his long silky black hair and his more taller frame clearly he towers over you by at least a great amount of feet.

you take note of his silver like jewlery adoring his tone muscular body.

You can tell by his intimidating structure that hes not someone to be messed with.

this of course causes you to curl in on yourself further as you try to struggle out of the white snakes hold which catches him by surprise and your able to free yourself from his hold.

Only momentarily before the black haired snake like man slithers over and picks you up like you weigh nothing. And you hear him finally speak.

“Calm down little one we will not hurt you so stop struggling” he says sternly in a soft like tone used with toddlers.

This makes you feel insulted since your clearly not a toddler and dont need to be treated as such, so with your pride in the way you bite down on his forearm and successfully escape out of his hold.

You grunt as you stand up and decide to make a break for it but not before the white man snake uses his coils to wrapp around your lower body successfully restraining your frantic movements as you hear the black haired man tutt in annoyance.

“अस्माभिः तान् निद्रां कर्तुं आवश्यकम्, स्पष्टतया तेषां दुराचारस्य दण्डस्य आवश्यकता वर्तते। Edelweiss.”

the black haired snake man says to the white snake man as Edelweiss.

Edelweiss sighs and nods in reluctant agreement having no other way than to put you to sleep to calm you down.

“केवलं मृदु भवितुं सुनिश्चितं कुरुत वयं अस्माकं लघुं क्षतिं कर्तुम् न इच्छामः किं वा Ciarán”

Edelweiss says in a soft loving tone to his mate which makes Ciarán nod in agreement.

You struggle to escape the coils wrapped around your ankles you fail to notice Ciarán approaching you before its to late.

he picks you up carrying you on his hip but before you could register what is happening you feel a sharp pain in your neck which makes you whimper out in pain.

Then you start to slowly feel your limbs start to numb.

you feel exhausted and its getting hard to keep your eyes open as you try to struggle the best you can.

But your body fails you. You cant stop your eyes from slowly closing as you feel Ciarán slowly rhythmic heartbeat.

When did you get this close? But that doesnt matter you feel at peace.

whatever they gave you must have worked because you can feel your mind start to shut down but before you could let yourself succumb to exhaustion you hear them speak.

“It's okay, little one. Go to sleep. We will be here when you wake up again, and we will keep you here forever and never let you go.”

You succumb to exhaustion, and when you wake up your life will drastically change.

You should've never went into the woods.

Authors note: thank you all so much for 400 followers! Pls comment and let me know what you think about this oneshot!! I worked very hard on it! So I hope you enjoyed!

[toxicanonymity]

The Spread 2: The Window

THOMAS HEWITT X F!READER

WORD COUNT: 3.8k | IN THE SPREAD UNIVERSE SUMMARY: Tommy takes care of you, his captive. He wants you to be okay, but he also has primal needs. WARNINGS: I8+ Dubcon (captivity/Stockholm) unsafe P in V, mild injuries from prior restraints, fingering, cum eating, thumb sucking. See also masterlist. SIZE & HAND KINK - Tommy is much larger than reader, can lift/maneuver her. He is canonically 6'5" and thicc. A/N: divider by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Tommy kept you in the shed. It was a humbling, being at his mercy for your survival, but he attended to your basic needs better than you might have thought. He even unboarded a damaged window to let in some sunlight. From the inside of the shed, he nailed a sheet over the window frame so you could peek out without being seen. Through the old, dirty glass, you could see a tree stump, some logs, and in the distance, the garage where you had been laid out shackled to the table. 

—-

In the yard, Tommy chopped wood on the tree stump. It was something to behold – his hulking body bending and flexing with each swing of the ax. His sheer mass. Watching him work, a tingle grew between your legs, and as soon as you felt it, your face heated up. You tried not to watch, instead inspecting the sheet's frayed bottom edge. After the echoes of wood-splitting stopped, you peeked out to see if he was coming your way, but he wasn’t. 

He was removing his button-down shirt, a scene that stirred the heat of your core. His upper body was left in a stained white tee that stretched obscenely over his middle, his biceps, and his herculean back. 

He resumed splitting the firewood. His weight would jiggle with each impact of the blade. You found yourself hoping his shirt would ride up so you could see just a little more of him, but the shirt was too long. You weren’t even sure if he wore boxers or briefs. What did it matter to you? It was a curiosity, really. All of him was. Such a man, a big, burly man, and something so primal about him. 

The memory was hazy — your first physical experience with Tommy, when you were shackled to the big table. You had been delirious with fear and confusion. But you vividly recalled his head between your legs and the way he feasted on you, intruding his tongue, searching for more to drink. And you remembered how hard you came, even if you didn’t really want to. 

You could have tried not to think about this. But the alternative was thinking about whether and how you’d ever get out of there. The world outside the shack was terrifying-–the strange, faded world you and your friends had stumbled into. 

The property was full of hazardous scrap metal, broken glass, and barbed wire. You didn’t have any shoes. It crossed your mind to push out the window—another hazard in itself—-but the shed was a safe haven in the middle of an apocalyptic hellscape. If you could teleport home, sure, you would, but the thought of what lay outside the shed made you content to stay put for the time being. You had a feeling Tommy wouldn’t let you go anyway. He didn't say so. He didn't say anything at all. But it was the way he had yanked you back to him when you merely crawled toward the garage door. There was no way he would let you go, as long as he noticed you leaving. 

You told yourself the danger outside was the only thing keeping you there. You told yourself Tommy was a bad man, or at best, a dangerous man. It was certainly safer to have him on your side. It was safer to have his protection. You tried to ignore the throb between your legs when you watched him. But you couldn't stop yourself from conjuring the sensation of his massive hands wrangling you to your feet, hauling you over his shoulder, gently nestling you into the wheelbarrow, covering you with blankets. It made your chest flutter to think about. With fear or desire, you couldn't be sure. 

A while after Tommy finished his chore, the squeak of the wheelbarrow approached the shed. He unlocked it and pushed it open. The rays of light that poured in were full of dust. He froze for a moment, squinting at the sight of you in his shirt, huddled in the corner. You squinted back at the way his torso stretched his stained t-shirt. Finally, he nodded at you with a soft grunt and began to bring in the freshly chopped wood. 

Each piece of wood looked like a twig, the way his hand wrapped around it. As he stacked the logs, the sweet stench of his sweat began to reach you. You felt very aware of your lack of panties and the way every scent hung in the air in this small space – Tommy’s sweat, the wood, the char on his apron.  

When he was finished with the wood, Tommy lingered in the shed, wiping his hands off on his pants and looking at the stacks he made. 

“Good job, Tommy,” you told him and watched his face soften. 

The floor quivered under each step as he thudded toward you. He faced you and cautiously squatted, still looming over you even in his more compact state. You watched his eyes as they scanned your body. When his gaze lingered on your ankle, you realized you were idly caressing skin that had been rubbed raw from the metal cuff he shackled you with in the garage. 

You withdrew your hand from the injury and pushed the shirt tail down between your legs, covering yourself as you reflexively tugged your knees closer to your chest. He gave a dissatisfied frown – you couldn’t see much of his mouth through his partial mask, but it colored the rest of his face. He held his enormous hand near your ankle, then glanced up at you hesitantly. 

You nodded, and he grazed you so lightly you could barely feel it at first. Your foot looked so small and delicate, framed by Tommy’s hand. His thumb brushed over the discoloration. You winced, not in pain but Tommy huffed. His brows knitted together as he looked up to study your face. Only a moment after your eyes met, he looked down and shook his head at himself, then hesitantly brushed your ankle again, but not directly on the bruise.    

“It’s okay,” you offered. “You didn’t mean to.”

He slowly nodded, but didn’t meet your eyes again. He lowered his knees to the floor, kneeling at your feet to inspect the rest of your body. 

The other ankle wasn’t as bad, only a small mark. Then he looked at your arms. He took your hand in his and his eyes almost seemed to smile at the contrast of your delicate fingers in the cradle of his palm. He caressed his way up your wrist and arm, looking for damage. Your heart raced, and your insides swelled with need. No damage on that side.

He moved to the other side. He held your hand for a moment, but started at your shoulder this time. His fingers were feather-light on their way down your arm and made your hair stand on end. The exploratory caress drew a soft sigh out of you. Tommy glanced at your face when he heard it. You cleared your throat and looked away, throbbing as his fingers continued their path. His hand froze when he found a small but pronounced scrape on your wrist. He exhaled sharply through his nose, then his eyes weakened. 

“It’s okay,” you reassured him,adjusting the shirt tail between your legs with your free hand as you felt yourself getting wet.

He held your wrist and gently caressed it, then let you have your hand back. You put your hands together and rested them between your legs, holding down the shirt tail. His gaze followed your hands, and his eyes narrowed. He looked at you for a second then tugged at the shirttail (his shirttail) that was providing what little modesty you were allowed. 

Your heart skipped a beat and you moved your hands out of the way a little too fast, offering him access between your legs. He adjusted himself, and you ached at the thought of his cock. His breathing was shallow under the leather that covered his nose. He slowly, gently lifted the shirt, occasionally glancing at you for permission. He unbuttoned the bottom two buttons and you marveled at how those huge fingers made quick work of it. He pushed the shirt open at the bottom and out of the way. 

He scooted back without taking his eyes away, and bent forward to inspect you. A lock of curls fell in front of his eye and he brushed it back, securing it under the tie of his mask. His head was now between your legs, and he braced an elbow on the hay-covered floor.  His thumb brushed your inner thigh where it met your torso and you twitched in anticipation of his tongue lapping at your folds. How ravenous he was the day before. But Tommy took his time. He gently caressed your outer lips, one at a time. He lay his hand gently on your mound. He traced your inner thigh creases, eyes studious, concerned. 

Then he nudged your legs further apart to make room for himself and braced both elbows on the floor. He used his thumbs to gently spread your outer lips. You held your breath as he simply gazed into his feast. He grunted and his face flushed. You let out a tiny shiver of pleasure and his eyes lept to yours with concern. You felt your face heat up. 

He was worried he had hurt you there, too? You were moved by his apparent concern. You felt bad that he felt bad—for putting you in a sleeper hold, shackling you to a table, and having his way with you. Your face bristled when you thought of it that way.

Why did you feel sorry for him? You were just a toy he didn't want to break. 

Still, you reassured him, “I’m fine.” He studied your face and nodded, then sniffed.

You should have been relieved when Tommy didn’t force his mouth on you again, but your heart fell when he sat up on his knees. 

Tommy hesitantly approached your neck with one hand, and you nodded. He traced your vein. His thumb brushed over the front of your throat, and his fingers lingered where your neck met your shoulder. Then, his other hand came to your shirt, and he unbuttoned the rest of it. His fat fingers were so nimble. 

Your nipples sharpened as the last button came undone. He looked at your face again, and this time it felt like more of a warning than an ask. He nudged the fabric apart, over your breasts. He inhaled sharply at the sight of them, but he didn’t let his eyes linger for long until they were pouring over your torso looking for other signs of damage from his ravishing. He ran his fingers and palms over your chest, your tummy, your sides, making your flesh erupt with goosebumps as his eyes scanned each area. Then he inhaled slow and deep as his attention returned to your breasts. 

Without looking up, he cradled one breast. He closed his eyes for a moment as he felt the shape of it in his hand. He gently kneaded it. You bit your lip and closed your eyes. Then you felt his hot breath on your tit. You opened your eyes to see his pupils blown out under heavy eyelids as his lips approached. He took your nipple into his mouth and let his eyes close again as he tongued, then sucked it. He seemed to suck as much of your breast into his mouth as he could, grunting softly, before focusing back on your nipple, and suckling at it. 

The mask made it hard to breathe through his nose, so he would break the seal of his mouth every couple of seconds before latching on again. He couldn’t seem to get enough, but his mouth was gentle. The pleasure zapped through your chest, down your torso to the floor, where you knew you were making a mess by now. He sucked, and tongued, and moaned, “Mm,” at a pitch that told you his voice must be sexy if he ever spoke. “Mmm,” he moaned into your breast again,and then a moan slipped out of you. 

When he opened his eyes, he glanced up at you before releasing your tit. His mouth hung slightly open. He adjusted himself and inhaled a big chest full of air. Your thighs opened slightly, and it didn’t go unnoticed. He palmed himself over his pants and when he took his hand away, your breath hitched at the thick, curved shape sitting on his enormous thigh. 

—--

Tommy looked around for a moment, seeming to consider the situation, which was that your legs were spread with him between them. 

He reached between your thighs and gently caressed your folds with the backs of two fingers.. The quietest growl escaped his chest. He rubbed himself once over his pants, then he straddled your leg and approached your cunt palm-up. His thick, dark eyelashes fluttered as he looked down at his hand engulfing your pussy. His four fingers barely fit between your thighs. A finger prodded ever so slightly at your entrance, and your hole fluttered needily, making him grunt. You tensed as he wriggled his ring finger inside to the first knuckle. How did you feel so full already? He braced one hand on the wall behind you, and slid his digit further into you with a barely audible gasp. He held his finger there for a moment, enveloped in your snug, throbbing warmth,with you melting under his touch, fully relaxing back against the wall.  

Tommy loomed over you on his knees. As he fucked you with his finger, your half-lidded eyes were fixed on the massive erection on his thigh. He prodded your hole with another finger and his hips pushed forward as he tried to wedge it inside with the other. You gasped as the second finger stretched you wide. You whimpered and he withdrew the second digit. He didn’t have to, but it wasn’t what you really wanted anyway.

You found your hand reaching for his thigh. And at first contact, your chest opened up, flooding you with desire. You traced the hard shape in his pants, and the stiff warmth under your palm made you twitch and swoon. It made you needy and sleepy. He moaned, then shuddered and slid his wet fingers out of your cunt. 

He glanced behind himself at the door, then unbuttoned  his pants and pulled down his underwear. 

With you slumped down against the wall, and Tommy on his knees, his massive cock was almost at eye level and you couldn’t look away from it. He held it in a loose fist, and looked you over. He tilted his head, then let go of his cock, letting it bob heavily as he leaned forward and scooped you up with his hands under your arms.  He brought you into straddling his folded knees. His cock brushed your folds as his arm wrapped around you, and he held you close. He smelled like fire and man. 

He clumsily tried to pull you down without taking care to make sure it was lined up just right. 

“Wait,” you whispered. “Just a second,” and you made a move to try to help him find the right place. 

But he grumbled and held you tighter. He reached under you with one hand, still holding you with the other. He got his tip into place, then with his massive arm around you, he forced you down on his cock, dividing your walls which were still a little tender from the first time. He groaned as he bottomed out as deep as he could be. You whimpered with the burn and were grateful for the prelude – his painstakingly light touch and feral suckling had made you so wet.

Your body adapted, and soon, the overwhelming feeling was one of being occupied, your insides perfectly rearranged to fit him just right. He held your hips, dwarfing your torso with his massive hands. He held you all the way on his cock, his chest expanding with deep breaths. His cock twitched as your walls slowly welcomed his monstrous girth. 

After holding you impaled on his cock for a minute, you briefly spasmed around it. He took a deep breath through his mouth, letting it out as a growl. He began to move you up and down on his shaft, using his hands. It felt like you were split in two. He moved you faster and faster and you whimpered as he bounced you like a rag doll on his massive cock, making your gut dizzy with pleasure the faster he went. You held on tight, gripping his tight t-shirt, then putting your hands around his neck, nestled under his dampening hair, against the cool sweat of his skin. 

He got up on his knees and braced a hand against the wall behind you, holding you steady with his other arm. You held on tighter. He thrust into you as he held you steady. He used you as a sleeve for his pleasure. As his massive length pummeled into you, he grunted and sighed. His muffled, feral sounds touched something deep in your core and lit it on fire. The sweat of his shirt wafted into your nostrils. His hair grazed your head as he pounded you. 

He stopped, fully seated within your warmth, and nudged his shirt off your shoulders so you were totally nude. Then he began moving you slower, up and down his length. You could feel each vein of his cock as it dragged heavily, pushing itself through your soft, snug channel with each stroke. Your hips moved, grinding you against the softness of his pelvic area. You wedged your hand between the two of you and he flinched at the feeling of your knuckles digging into his belly. He snatched your hand and moved it. 

His grip became bruising as he took back control. He moved you at a jackhammer pace and your chest opened up with butterflies as you got closer and closer. He grunted and snarled and you hung onto the edge of bliss until you couldn’t, and you fully unraveled around his cock, whimpering and moaning with each contraction. He fucked you through it until you finally whimpered, “Tommy.” He growled and held you still. He tilted his head at you. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the strong musk, the sweat, the char, the wood, as your body drew itself back together. 

With you still on his cock, Tommy bent forward and laid you down on the hay-covered floor. It scratched your back, but your body was buzzing so warmly you didn’t mind.  

—

He slowly withdrew his length, then he held it in his hand, and you marveled at it-–thick, veiny, dripping. Wild, dark hair wet with a faintly white blend of his precum and you.

He hadn’t cum yet. You wanted him to. You wanted so badly to see him cum. You could smell it, practically taste it.

He braced one hand on his knee and with a barely audible groan, he stood up, pants still undone. You felt a sense of loss as he moved away.  

Tommy glanced toward the window, then turned away from you. He squeezed his cock and pulled his underwear up over it. 

“No,” you protested. “No, you don’t have to—come back,” you pleaded. “It’s okay.” You got up on your knees. He watched you skeptically, chest heaving. You wondered if he hadn’t cum in front of anyone before. “I would like to,” you started, then cleared your throat. “Please put it in my mouth, I’d really like that.”

He looked at you, frozen.

“Please,” you repeated, then wet your lips and stared at his cock. 

He slowly made his way back to you, and you opened your mouth. “I can–” you offered, but he didn’t let you suck it. He brought the tip to your lips, but kept his fist around his length, pumping it slowly. It squelched obscenely with each stroke. 

When precum beaded at his tip, your tongue darted out to collect it. He growled, and his free hand seized your jaw, holding your mouth still and open as he continued pumping his cock. Then, when he could hang on no longer, he pointed it into your mouth. He came with a rumble in his chest and a low groan from his throat. The first, thick rope hit the roof of your mouth. The next went directly to your throat. And by the sixth ribbon or so, it was dribbling onto your tongue, thick, salty, and heady. You were salivating and could hardly wait to swallow. 

He dropped his tip onto your tongue and it sat there heavily for a moment while he breathed. You dared to wrap your lips around it until he quickly backed up, taking it away, with a thick string of drool connecting you for a moment. You swallowed and wiped your mouth with the back of your wrist. His face was pink as he composed himself and stuffed it back in his pants. 

You sat back on the floor, and he did a double take. He knelt down again and laid his hand on your mound. He scanned your body like he had hurt you all over again.  

“Tommy, I’m fine,” you assured him. “I promise, I’m good.” He squinted at you. “That felt good,” you repeated, nodding, face burning. “Good, Tommy,” you whispered.  

He nodded back hesitantly. 

He left and didn’t lock the door. While he was gone, you put his shirt back on, didn’t button it, but wrapped it around you. He returned with a few more blankets. He picked you up and laid one down under you. He folded one under your head, and used the last one to cover you.  

As he finished tucking you in, a drop of sweat fell from his hair onto your neck. He brushed it off with his thumb. And as he began to take his hand away, you reached for it. You brought his hand to your mouth and wrapped your lips around his thumb. Your tongue collected the salty drop of perspiration. And as you swallowed it, you sucked his thumb more into your mouth. As you gently sucked his massive thumb, your eyes closed, and when you opened them again, he was looking at you softly. You released his thumb, and he gently cradled your jaw in his hand. Then he slid his fingers down to your neck. He could have squeezed or snapped the life out of you with no effort at all, but you knew he wouldn't. All he did was admire you, softly stroking your delicate skin for a moment. Then, when he took his hand off your neck, he brushed his thumb down your chin. 

He braced his hands on his hefty thighs and stood up. He adjusted his mask as he slowly left the shed. Once he was outside, you heard the padlock click into place, and then the squeak of his wheelbarrow fading into the distance.

Thank you for reading!

Your engagement helps a lot in motivating me and letting me know what you enjoyed so you might see more of it.

[ddejavvu]

grumpy beefy mando falling for soft!reader in her “grandma era” - all she wants to do is crochet, bake and frolic around the galaxy with mando and grogu 🫶🏽

"He doesn't like hats."

You glance up at Din from where you're testing a length of crocheted stitches beneath Grogu's chin, ensuring that the hat inspired by the local flora of the forest planet you've found shelter on won't fall off if he gets too rigorous in his play.

Grogu coos beneath the flower hat, but whether it's in agreement or protest you can't tell.

"He likes this one," You decide, when the little green terror before you doesn't fight as you maneuver his ears through their designated slots, "And he doesn't have to wear it if he doesn't want to."

Your fingers slip the little white button through the slot you've left in the band, and the hat is secured around Grogu's chin; the cutest little flower you ever did see.

"Oh, honey," You gush, scooping the child up and tucking him into your arms, "You wanna see your hat? C'mere, let's look."

You crouch in front of the tree stump that Din has settled on, holding Grogu up to the man's beskar chest plate. It's freshly polished, but not completely reflective, so at the right angle, Grogu catches a blurry, slightly distorted version of himself in a very pink hat.

His legs are still too small to kick in excitement, but his arms pick up the slack, flapping about while copious amounts of baby babble streams from his mouth. Evidently he's pleased with your handiwork.

Din stays silent while he offers his armor up for Grogu's viewing pleasure, but the child's hands soon find the soft strap beneath his chin and tug.

"I told you he didn't like hats..." Din murmurs, not to be cruel, but to fill empty space in the air when your shoulders deflate slightly.

"I thought he'd like it if it was softer," You hum sadly, helping Grogu take the button out of its clasp so that he can tug the hat off of his head, "I just figured he didn't like the helmet you gave him because it was uncomfortable."

As soon as you've freed Grogu from the confines of his flowery prison his hands slap against the shiny metal of Din's armor. He takes the child out of your hands but Grogu keeps his hat tightly clutched in his fist, and, with valiant effort, pushes the hat into Din's helmet, insistently cooing something that sounds suspiciously like buir.

Your giddiness returns, and you circle Din like a hawk, "Oh, you want your buir to wear it? Let's see," Amidst Din's protests you balance the too-small cap on his helmet, and he stills if only to save the hat from slipping and dying a muddy death on the ground below.

"It doesn't fit me." He grumbles, body stiff as he keeps it balanced on his head. Grogu seems pleased with his buir's new headpiece, squealing and showing off his newly-emerged teeth in a grin.

"I'll make you a matching one!" You declare, snatching the hat off of his helmet to give him the freedom of movement again, "Grogu, baby, what color should Din's be?"

"Bah!" Grogu decides, and your steps still where you're racing back towards your shelter.

"Uh... how about purple?" You suggest, and another resounding 'Bah.' is all the encouragement you need.

[rayraelleaizawa]

They're going hard on you

TW: none i think

gn!reader

Short stories of when OP men go hard on you out of worry

Characters: Shanks, Trafalgar Law

Shanks

You sat in the captains office and looked at Shanks who was unusally quiet. You had an anxious feeling in your guts. You knew you had fucked up, but you didnt think he would be that mad.

The red hair pirates docked at some uninhabited island, and you were assigned to not leave the ship since Shanks wasnt sure how dangerous the island would be. But when you saw a strange animal falling from a tree and into a river, trying desperately not to drown and reach the shore again but couldnt make it, you left the ship and jumped into the river and helped the animal out of there. The scared animal didnt realice you only wanted to help him, and trashed around in your grip and scratched and bit you.

When Shanks and a part of his crew came back from exploring the island, and he saw that you were standing on deck, soaked from head to toe and trying to clean up your bloody injuries, his usually carefree face fell. He wore an unreadable expression as he told you to come into his cabin when Hongo was done treating your wounds.

Now, half an hour later and bandaged up, you sat in Shanks office and looked at your lap. He still had that unreadable expression on his face and you werent sure in what kind of trouble you were right now. You had breaken the rules before, nothing too bad, but he never acted like that because of you. You thought that he'd understand why you left, everyone knew that you had a soft spot for animals.

You anxiously waited for him to start talking, but he didnt even look at you. After another silent ten minutes, he finally said something.

"What did Hongo say?"

"He said that it is nothing too bad, just some scratches. I need to go check up regulary tho in case of infection and if I feel weird I am supposed to go to him instantly. Hongo checks the books right now if the animal that bit me is poisenous or not."

You gladly would have left out the last part, but you knew you shouldnt do that right now. He would talk with Hongo and find out anyway.

There was another short silence before he spoke again.

"What did I tell you to do? No, what did I order you to do?"

"To stay on the ship" you quietly said.

"And what did you do?"

"I...left the ship."

"You disobeyed my orders. That's what you did. No matter what relationship we two have, I am your captain and you have to follow my orders like everyone else on this ship."

You were quiet for some time. You didnt mean to disappoint him, but you didnt think about his orders when you saw that helpless animal fighting for its life.

"I'm sorry. I only wanted to help the-"

"I dont care what you wanted to do. You had clear orders. Orders, which were meant to protect you. Protect you from exactly those animals that hurt you. We have no idea if they are venomous, or aggresive, or a religious species for any natives that live here."

You stayed silent. The uneasy feeling in your stomach growing by the second. Sadness and fear joined that feeling too. You thought he'd understand you, but in the end you just disrespected him infront of his crew with ignoring his orders.

"I'm sorry for messing up" was all you could get out in that moment, and you heard Shanks sigh. He stood up from behind his desk and walked over to you.

"What am I supposed to do with you? Even when i try to protect you you still seem to find a way to end up in Hongos medical office. Why cant you just listen to me?"

His tone was softer than before, and you finally dared to look up at him. He had a worried expression on his face.

"I- I didnt think in that moment" you admitted as he bend his tall frame down to you, looking at your bandaged hand where that animal bit you.

"You have no idea how it felt to see you all bloody on deck. How it feels to know that you could die if that animal was highly venomous" he said, gently touching your arm.

You avoided his eyes and looked at the stump of his left arm.

"Yes I do know how that feels. I didnt want to make you experience this too. I'm sorry."

He sighed again, moving his hand under your chin and forced you gently to look him in the face.

"Never do that again. I love you too much for that."

Trafalgar D Water Law

You didn't look at him as he walked past you. You both ignored each other since the argument you had. You felt frustrated and angry at him, but mostly because he was right.

There was an emergency at the submarine, something about the boiler malfunctioning in the middle of the night. You were the closest to it so you tried to fix it, but you werent an engineer - you weren't sure what to do so you just improvised and tried your best until the persons who knew what to do came. Before that happened, hot water splashed onto your arm leaving a nasty burn on it.

Law had bandaged you up, but you noticed something wasn't right with him so you asked him. Which resulted in a heated argument between you two which ended with him snapping at you.

"If you have no idea of something then why do you even try? You're no help here, we just have more work now because of you."

Your eyes got teary when you thought back to his words, but it hurts even more knowing he was right. He had more work because he had to bandage you up, while your crewmembers probably had to fix the boiler more because you damaged it even more with your improvised actions.

You self doubted your worth on this crew now. Sure, you knew how to fight, but that was it. You could bandage up small injuries and cook, but in the end everyone knew how to do that. You had no specialty like the others.

With frustration bubbling up inside you that your captain and lover thought of you as an useless inconvinience, you started working even more. You didn't take a break, you just cleaned the Polar Tank or trained. The burn on your arm hurt most of the time, but you didn't care. You wanted to prove yourself that you weren't just on this crew because you and the Captain were dating.

You asked Shachi if he could explain to you how the boiler and stuff worked. He was perplexed as why you wanted to know that, but you convinced him with saying that next time an emergency happend you could actually help. He agreed, tho he knew that Law wouldn't be so happy about you working when you're already injured.

He explained stuff to you in the engine room and of course, no other than Trafalgar D. Water Law walked in on you two while you were trying to name some parts of the enginge. He looked displeased and coldly said your name and then just walked off.

You didn't want to follow him, but knew that he would be even more pissed if you ignored him. He led you two to the infirmary and told you to sit on the exam table. He then grabbed your hand and unwrapped your bandanges.

"What do you think you're doing, y/n-ya?" he spoke calmly, but you immediately noticed that he was holding back.

"Learning new stuff so next time i can actually help" you answered in a snippy tone.

"You won't do anything next time. I don't allow you to" he said while turning around.

You started to argue back that you just tried to be a help when he interupted you mid-sentence.

"How do you want to be of help when you cant even look after your own wound!"

"You were the one who told me I wasnt capable of anything, and now it's wrong when i try to become usefull!" you almost yelled back, tears of frustration and hurt in your voice.

"I never said you weren't capable of anything, I simply stated that-"

"You said I am no help, that I have no idea what I'm doing and that you all have more work because of me!"

A tear rolled down your face and you started shaking slightly as Law looked at you with widend eyes. He grabbed his hat and pulled it over his eyes as he looked down.

"That wasn't what I meant. I just...you got hurt on my submarine while I was present. I- you shouldn't have gotten hurt when I'm there to protect you."

You looked at him with wide eyes, the tears now streaming down your face.

"You are more than capable of sorting stuff out on your own, you are a big help to everyone on this crew. I didn't mean to insult you or tell you you aren't worthy to be here. It's just...this could have ended up bad. And now I see you working in there again. I can't have you getting injured when I'm just a few feet away" he added as he walked towards you and grabbed your face so you'd look him in the eye.

"I want you to be safe, y/n-ya. And i failed to do that. You and this crew, you're everything I have. I'm a doctor but I can't heal everything. I'm sorry for insulting you, my heart."

Your eyes softend at the last nickname he called you. It wasn't often that he used it, which made it even more special when he did. He is a big softy and constantly worried about you. You laid your head to his chest and murmured an apology, while he leaned down and kissed your hair.

[theveryworstthing]

time to learn a little bit about the Yells. i've been writing a few lore posts for a while and instead of continuing to let they grow and fretting over them, i think i'm just going to throw a few out there and try to finish up the rest this week.

The Yells

Despite their imposing size, strange behaviors, and mysterious keepers, the Signallusc (or The Yells as most rabbits call them) are considered just another part of the island landscape. These towering faux trees serve as the island version of radio towers, and make all radio communication above and below ground possible.

Though the 2 largest of the naturally formed Yells are still upright and active (and heavily protected so that their natural life cycle can be properly studied), these days rabbits prefer to cultivate the towers so that they don’t grow in problematic areas or do…other things.

Wild or free growth Yells make their homes in dead rotting wood as natural decomposers, and many live out their lives as simple slime molds (or as simple as any slime mold can be). Certain conditions must be met to trigger the drastic color change and vertical growth that make them viable for communication use, and so wild Yells are usually found growing in small clusters in or around the resources they need to sustain their new forms. Dead trees or stumps with roots still in the ground are prime hosts for these slime molds and they’re actually seen as beneficial since they stabilize potentially dangerous dead trees and kill diseases or especially destructive insects that might harm surrounding living trees. Once inside these dead trees the slime mold eats them from the inside out, taking the branches first, and then devouring the mass from the top down.

Compared to other slime molds they can handle direct sunlight quite well, but wild yells still tend to favor hosts in shady areas and from the way these trees are devoured they seem to try and keep some sort of shell around them for as long as possible. This wooden shell not only serves as food, but also gives the growing Yell a moist, dark, home until its outer membrane is thick and strong enough to handle being constantly exposed. When wild Yells “die”, it’s usually because they’ve run out of host tree long ago, and have stiffened into a rigid structure that eventually cracks (usually due to being struck by lightning) and crumbles, releasing clouds of spores. The remains of a Yell dissolve in the first rain after they fall and tend to leave the area around the strange lotus pod-ish pit in the ground where “roots” used to be spotless, but smelling very metallic with a hint of foulness. Almost like not so fresh blood.

Through the observations recorded by island botanists and the specific botanical sect known as the Antenna, rabbits (and hares, as they were the first to investigate and made great strides in understanding the process before they left the island en masse) have learned exactly what triggers Yell vertical growth and have used this knowledge to cultivate Yells quite successfully. A combination of owl feathers, metal ore (mainly bog iron), charcoal sticks and or ash (best if created by lightning strike, wood preferred but animal remains like burned out hawks are perfectly acceptable), and a little starter wood are fed to the slime mold, and after it’s broken everything down it begins its transformation. It is then introduced to a host plant sprout, a type of fast growing, woody, creeping vine in the Grasp family bred specifically for this purpose (wild cultivars work fine but they’re half as hardy and the bond has a greater chance of triggering very upsetting mutations. These are different from the upsetting mutations, which are fine and harmless). From then on the slime mold seems to guide the host plant’s growth, forming a shell from the vines that is constantly growing and shedding. This serves as both a home and an ample food source.

The botany world is torn on whether this forms a mutualistic symbiotic relationship or whether it’s straight up parasitism. And yes, plant nerd blood has been spilled over this argument. Not a ton of blood, it’s not like this is the great lichen wars, but still.

The Antenna

All yell care-taking is done by the Antenna sect. This is a mysterious group of witchy botanists and engineers who, like the previously referred to upsetting mutations, are harmless despite their entire vibe. Well. Harmless enough for botanists anyway.

Not a lot is known about them by the general public but they keep things working smoothly and show up quickly when something isn’t.

Members of this sect haven’t had a set “look” or uniform for about a generation and a half due to the ending of a lot of the the founding member’s bloodlines, but each Yell site has it’s own culture that attracts certain kinds of people. Despite their differences, there are a few things that make Antennae easier to pick out of a crowd if you know what to look for. The skin of their inner ears develop thin branching markings or wave-like ripples depending on how they interact with Yells. Some have obvious hare ancestry and sport roughly branching horns that grow quite long and shed every year (these shed horns are fed to the Yells). Newer members wear a lot of lightweight ear jewelry to help pick up important signals and behavioral quirks from the Yells, but the longer they stay in the Antenna the less tolerant they are of this. Things get…loud. Behind their eyes. Inside their teeth. Seasoned members usually can’t stand wearing any metal jewelry at all. The head botanist of one of the most remote Yells wears ear plugs almost 24/7 because of left behind shrapnel from an accident in his youth.

He is deaf.

He says he’s not really blocking anything out, just sorting it properly.

No one really knows what he means. It’s fine.

[luckypunklemonade]

Temptation Greets You

| Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back. Stiles comes across a small dosage of pollen out in the woods.

[smut MDNI 18+; sex pollen; 3k words] Stiles Stilinski

This work belongs to me, luckypunklemonade (Minte_Condition on AO3). I do not give anyone permission to distribute or share my work without consent.

He was so fucking stupid. “You are so fucking stupid.”

Going out into the Beacon Hills Wildlife Preserve was a regular occurrence for Stiles, but you always expected him to be at least a little bit careful. You’d have thought that he’d turn back and plan for more research when Stiles stumbled upon a freshly abandoned coven ritual ground with suspicions of black magic. No, he needed to poke around and take notes without checking his surroundings or prioritizing his own safety. Stiles picked up a mortar and pestle, underestimating the powdery substance left inside, and brought it up to look closer. The wind picked up the powder, blowing it into Stiles’s face. After the initial panic, he called to tell you. The threat of a powdered drug was skeptical as the powder was a deep blue. You rambled off a thousand excuses or hopes of what it could be. Less harmful things like spirulina or a kind of dried starch, something weird but harmless that witches use. Stiles had only inhaled a small amount, but you knew that amount of a particular drug could kill in minutes. You didn’t want to risk it.

Your car was haphazardly parked halfway off of the trail. Your coat was halfway on as you rushed over the uneven ground, imagining the grief tonight would be with a broken or sprained ankle. Stiles was sitting on a tree stump, elbows resting on his knees. You step closer to get a good look at Stiles. It had been 20 minutes. That’s how long it took for you to get to the wildlife reserve in your car. He looked fine. A little tired, but he rolled his eyes as you rotated his head in your hands. “I’m okay. I feel fine. You were probably right.”

“We have to get you to a hospital. It could be-“

“It was probably that stuff you said.”

“Spirulina.”

“Yeah, witches use stuff like that all the time.”

You tried to get a better look into his eyes, but he pulled away from your touch. You thought his pupils looked blown. You fussed over him to get him up and walking. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“No-“

You grabbed his keys from his pocket before he could finish and herded him out of the woods toward the trail. Stiles went silent, walking in front of you awkwardly. He really did look fine. 

He only started having trouble breathing when you were on the trail back to the main road. You cursed and sped up, headed to the hospital, grabbing your phone to call Melissa when his hand grabbed your wrist.

“Pull over.” 

“We’re going to the hospital, it’s—“

“Pull over.”

“No, you could be-“

“It’s not a drug, not like that. I knew it wasn’t- I shouldn’t have let you- I didn’t think it was enough.”

“Stiles, if it wasn’t a drug, what the hell was it?”

“Please just pull over.”

“It’s not fatal? Will it hurt you?”

“Please.”

The crack in his voice and the way he pushed his head against the headrest and squeezed his eyes closed shifted your attitude from panicked to empathetic. You pulled the jeep off the trail and parked it, still buzzing with anxiety as his breath came out almost violently. He breathed like that in between fragments of his thoughts.

“I did some research about the coven.”

He kept his eyes closed, and his hand gripped the Jeep’s door handle tight.

“The blue powder wasn’t a drug. It- I couldn’t tell….”

He seemed beyond embarrassed; his ears were red. “It’s an aphrodisiac derived from a mix of herbs and flowers. Pollen. The members of the coven use it for various holistic purposes but mostly in rituals to gods of fertility or prosperity. They mix it with water to create a paste and-“ 

He winces, leaning forward and harshly thumping his head against the dash and resting it there. You reach forward out of pity. 

“Please don’t.” He takes a deep breath and continues, “They make markings, they…fuck, whatever. You need to- I should…” 

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He opens the Jeep door and stumbles out. You yell his name, but he turns around. “Just leave the woods for a few hours. Come back at dusk. I should be better.” 

“Stiles, if it’s an aphrodisiac, why is it hurting you?”

“This- God, it’s not- aphrodisiac is a simplification; if I don’t get some sort of…of release, it’s gonna keep hurting. It’s gonna get worse. I’m not gonna be in my right mind. I need you to just go home and come back in a few hours, okay?”

“I’m not gonna leave you out here, hurting in the cold woods for a few hours, Stiles.”

Stiles actually whimpers. It’s like the sound of you saying his name hurts. Or something else. 

“I won’t be able to think straight, just drive. I’ll be okay. Don’t call anyone. Don’t tell Scott or Isaac. I’ll figure it out. Just go.” The words are starting to seem taxing, hard even to say. He begins to walk into the trees. You think about how hard it’ll be to find him in the huge wildlife preserve. For a minute, you consider leaving him. He’s done the research; he’s been out in these woods alone before and gotten home okay, but he wasn’t under the influence of anything then.

You get out of the Jeep and walk around to the passenger side, where he had walked off the trail. As soon as he hears the door shut, he turns, the sight of you out of the vehicle making him throw his head back in frustration. He yells, and it stops you in your tracks. “Get back in the Jeep, just get back in the fucking Jeep!”

And he’s walking toward you. He’s almost scary, his voice a little unrecognizable in such a low register. You do; you get back in and yelp a little as he reaches the passenger door. He presses his palm to it, almost hitting the metal. He looks utterly desperate, upset, frustrated—scared, even. “Please, just…just stay inside. Just..”

Stiles leans his forehead against the door, shoulders heaving up and down. His pleas fade. Before they become silent, though, his tone shifts from “Please stay inside” to “Please help me.” He mutters softly, no longer even speaking to himself and, if you weren’t listening hard enough, to no one. “I need..” he says breathily, pathetically. 

He moves to lean against the front bumper, resting his forehead against the cold metal. You crank the window down just slightly and speak in a small voice, “Stiles?” 

He doesn’t move. He just keeps sucking in air and huffing it out. You’re worried now. It’s not what you thought. He looked like he couldn’t breathe, and his fists were clenched, his head buried in his arms on the cold hood of his Jeep. 

“It’s cold, Stiles. I can’t leave you, just…just get in, okay?”

“I can’t- not you.”

“What? Stiles, if you need help, we can figure it out. I’ll find a witch or something, just-“

“You can’t help me. The only thing…”

You remember his words. He needs some kind of release, aphrodisiac, understatement, et cetera. “Stiles. Let me help you figure this out. I understand. Please get back in the Jeep.” 

And then, you unlock the vehicle and pop the door open. It swings wide, and he looks up. He looks a little scared, a little worried. His eyebrows are knitted together painfully, his shoulders heaving up and down, hot breath leaving his airways visibly in the cold. Stiles shakes his head.

“I understand. Let me…let me help. I can-“

He’s slowly walking around the door, hands still in clenched fists and breath labored. “I can’t.”

“It’s okay, I can help. I know what you need, and I know it hurts. Just let me help you.”

“Not you…Not like this.”

“Come here.”

His eyes flutter, and he takes a few steps toward the car, toward you. Your hand touches his shoulder, and he whimpers. His hands moved quickly, grabbing the seat lever and pulling it back. The back of the seat fell, lying flat, catching your attention until you looked back at Stiles. He was hefting himself up into the Jeep toward you. You didn’t realize he was herding you into the back until you were sitting on the reclined back of the passenger seat. His arms, after reaching to shut the door, spanned wide. One hand was on the driver's seat headrest, the other bracing himself against the interior. It made him look bigger. He looked hesitant. “You don’t know what you’re doing…I don’t even-”

“It’s okay. I can…help. I can help.” Your hand reached up to bring his down from the headrest.

“I can’t…not to you.”

“Well, I’m not leaving you, and I want to help.”

His eyes scanned the Jeep, taking in the cramped space. His eyes seemed unfocused, the effects worsening. He didn’t speak as he pushed your shoulders down, cradling your head as you lowered. He planted his knees on the sides of the seat, hooked his arms around your thighs, and pulled you down by your hips. He looked desperately up at you, trying to convey an ask but failing and giving you the most pleading look you’d ever seen. You breathlessly nodded, and he dramatically dropped his head onto your chest in relief. His hands immediately gripped your hips, but they were restless and curious, and needy. He watched as his own hand relaxed and kneaded the denim-trapped skin of your hips as if he didn’t know what his perverted hands would do next. His other palm leveled, and his fingers parted, relaxed from fists, and moved slowly, experimentally up your ribcage under your shirt. The entire time, his face looked guilty—upset, even.

“I should’a brought you.” His voice is distracted, but he means it. “You’re so careful.” His eyes are glued to the way his hands line your curves, up and down, but his words are genuine. When his short-lived need to just touch you was gone, he closed his eyes in shame. He needed more. 

He presses himself against you, eyes hardening in intense and conflicted emotions, and his hands squeezing and grabbing at you mindlessly. It would be pathetic if he weren’t so completely driven. He still wasn’t saying much, kneeling between your legs as he bent them at the knees and pushed them up and out wide to make room for himself. Once he does, he’s pressed into you again. You think the warmth between you is only something you notice, but Stiles groans and rests his forehead back against your chest again, even if it takes some craning of his neck downward. His forehead was burning up, and the sheen of sweat, while thin, made him almost glow in the early-setting winter sun. You can feel him hardening in his jeans. It was impossible to ignore, especially when he started rocking against you.

His hands retreated from your hip, from the seat beneath you, holding him up, to unzip his jeans. His mind is foggy, you can tell because his hands shake and struggle between his zipper and yours, not knowing which to focus on first. You softly reach down and unzip his jeans. His hands pause, and you look up, making debilitating eye contact, and you think he might pass out. He’s sweating, shaking, silent. All things your Stiles isn’t usually—or at least not all at once. Of course, he’s never seen you like this, conversely. Underneath him and willing to let him—rather—wanting him to touch you. 

You jumped when he scrambled to get your jeans undone and yanked down—or up. Up your legs in your position. Everything about this made Stiles want to whine. You, how close you are, how long he’s wanted you, the position he’s got you in, what you’re gonna let him do, where you’re letting him do it. In his Jeep, out in the woods off a secluded trail. He wanted to speak, to make this perfect like he wanted. How he imagined when he was in his room mumbling your name and pumping his hand as if it was yours. But he was so damn impatient and it hurt and you were so willing. He spoke softly and barely intelligibly as he pulled his jeans and boxers down just enough and your underwear to the side, “M’gonna make it up to you, ‘kay? When I don’t need it so bad, I’ll make it good.”

You couldn’t respond before he’s got his tip pressed against you, and he’s pushing forward. It’s too late to stop him to ask for the mercy of preparation or caution and the sound you let out is proof. It’s an open-mouthed, guttural gasp as if he knocked the wind out of you. He stops once he can feel you completely envelop him, and he almost collapses on top of you. He felt a sense of relief, a scratch to the itch of the substance, but he could feel the discomfort of it saturating again. Two times worse now that the release was wrapped warmly around him. He was still, though. He stopped as soon as you made a noise of pain, even though his hips twitched. He looked up after telling himself that if you looked the least bit upset when your eyes found him, he’d stop even if it killed him.

But before he could find your pretty eyes, you clenched around him. It was an encouragement. More so torture when he was so sensitive. He moaned and resorted to broken rambles, some of which were not even audible. “Please-‘

You told him to move and he didn’t rock back as you had expected, only forward more, burying himself fully into you. His breath fanned across your ear as he was so close on top of you, the sound of his breathing laced with whines and moans as you satisfied the twinge in his stomach. Then, he set a slow pace. Somewhere, his need to be close intensified, and he looped his arm around your head, ushering your face softly into his shoulder as he pushed his hips into yours, trying not to focus on how quickly the release would come if he didn’t care about hurting you. Eventually, he couldn’t stop himself from speeding up, his other hand holding your hip down. The hand cradling your head held you tighter, more secure as if you’d break. You made small noises that punctuated his thrusts, each of them gripping his conscience as harder than he should be handling you. 

“I’m so sorry,” He choked out against your hair. “Feels so fucking good, I’m sorry.”

He was unsure of how much pain he was causing. All he could tell was you were taking away his pain. You just moaned into his shoulder as he sped up against his better judgment.

”I was so irresponsible, I was so stupid, I’m sorry-“ He moaned as he drove himself deeper. It matched the one you breathed out in response as well. 

He couldn’t be sure at first, but he thought he felt you press your lips against the fabric stretched across his shoulder. As he felt the vibration from your lips as you strained out another moan, he was certain. The small act being something he was too impatient and hazy to do, but something he wanted to give you made him squeeze his eyes shut, his climax on the horizon. Chasing harder, his words were almost cries, “Thank you.’

”For letting me do this- thank you.” He moved his head so he wasn’t facing away from you and began sucking messy kisses into your neck. They were somewhat controlled, but he needed to communicate his gratitude in a way that wouldn’t betray how unintelligible his thoughts were.

“I’ll be more careful. I’m so sorry, I’m- Thank you. Fuck-“ he’s cut off as you clench around him again. He doesn’t know why, but you do. The sounds of his whines sent you nearer and nearer to your ruin. In your ear, mixed with his moans and utterly desperate. Amplified by his need from the pollen.

His breathing stuttered in time with his hips, and his fingers tightened in your hair. He frantically pulled himself away from you, pulling out. The last rational decision he could make before tipping over the edge. When he came, his whole body tensed, and he let out a breathy whine. He breathed heavily and desperately in your ear, whining out, “Thank you.” Due to the amount of the pollen he’d consumed, he felt satisfied. Relieved. It felt as if he’d been waiting weeks for it. His arm gave out, and he laid himself on top of your chest.

“Thank you,” He pressed a long kiss to your collarbone, lazily letting his head fall down. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve-“

He’s too tired. Presumably crashing hard from the powder. Your hand comes up to his hair, gently running your nails over the shorter hair at the nape of his neck. “Mh- Stiles, look up at me.” 

Your focus was his eyes, but it was too dark to see. He sits up at your command and pulls his jeans up quickly, turning to help you. He pushes your hands away, tugging your pants up and buttoning them back, his hands gentle. 

He’s crying. You hop down from the jeep. The sun had set, and the temperature quickly dropped. You awkwardly get out, turning back with your phone flashlight to check on him, and he’s silently crying. You gently tilt his head toward you, focused on his health first. Once you’ve made sure his eyes look fine, you hold his head to look at you without the light. “Hey.” 

He looks down, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

“But I did, as soon as I-“

“Well, it happened, okay? How do you feel?” Your hands brush tears away from his eyes.

He describes how he feels, coming down from the sort of ‘high.’ His eyes fill with new tears but you lean forward to his confused surprise and kiss him, assuring him with a new, soft tone of voice. “I’m glad it happened.”

(Read pt. 2!!)

[familyvideostevie]

all of it still matters

joel miller x fem!reader | 2.4k

you get sick and, much to joel's chagrin, refuse to take it easy.

jackson!joel, fem!reader, fluff, fainting, ellie and her dog that i invented for some reason, kind of plotless but who cares! it's all about love in the end, anyway.

a/n: welcome back to our lovebirds from just and just as. be gentle, please. it's been a while.

--

The sky is a brilliant orange. Golden hour, they used to call it.

It's probably a little too cold to be sitting on the front porch but you can't help it on an evening like this. You tug a fraying flannel of Joel's tighter around your shoulders. It's worn at the elbows and he reminds you that he'll fix it if you release it from your clutches but somehow that never happens. The journal he made you is open on your lap, almost full. You've taken care to write down not only your memories but the stories he and Tommy tell about their lives before, the day-to-day of Jackson, the jokes Ellie is particularly proud of. She recently recounted a birthday trip to a museum, laughing as she told you about pushing Joel into the water.

You take a sip of your pine tea. It's chilly through the whole day, now, and soon the morning frost will be snow. Winter was hard for a long, long time, but now it's comfortable. It means lights up in town, children throwing snowballs, community meals and dances. It means warm nights under your blankets with the furnace of a man you sleep next to, soft salve on chapped hands, a slowing down of the Infected sightings.

And it means Joel chopping wood. He should be doing it in the back yard -- usually does -- but this evening he's finishing up the trunk pieces Jesse left by the steps. A big tree had gone down at the edge of the town clearing and everyone got a few pieces once they'd split it up. Joel will no doubt give Ellie at least half of what he cuts.

The benefit of him doing it out front is you get to watch. His back is to you, but you can see the way his sleeves are rolled up, the damp hair curling over the collar. The exhale when he brings the axe down, the flex of his shoulder blades when he tugs it free of the stump. You could watch him do anything.

As if hearing your train of thought, Joel wedges the axe in the chopping block and turns to face you. He runs a hand through his hair, silver strands catching the orange light, and huffs.

"Enjoyin' yourself?" he says.

You grin at him. "I'd say so."

Two things happen at once. A headache blooms without warning at your temple, sharp enough that you wince and press your fingertips to the skin there. Joel notices and takes a step towards you but then a dog barks and his attention is drawn down the street.

"Naledi!" Ellie yells, jogging up the street after her dog. "Come on, we've talked about this!"

Joel glances back at you but you smile at him, ignoring the blooming pain in your skull. Naledi -- named after one of those characters from Ellie's comics -- runs right up to Joel and noses at his knee until he pets her. The animal loves him. You don't blame her.

"Jesus," Ellie says once she reaches the steps up to the house, panting. "She can run." She looks at the yard and scowls. "Aw, shit, Joel. Did you finish all the wood?"

Joel, one hand scratching behind Naledi's ears, levels her with an unimpressed look.

"Ain't gonna chop itself," he drawls. "Last thing we need is you holdin' an axe."

"Rude," she gasps. "You steal my dog and make fun of me. Are you hearing this?"

Ellie looks at you in mock outrage, cheeks pink from the cold. She's not a teenager anymore, but falls back into it so easily when Joel teases her. It's a treat to witness.

"I don't know, Joel, you've seen her --" You stand in the middle of your sentence and the words stop coming because your vision swims. Black spots dance across the yard and you pitch forward to brace yourself on the railing.

"Oh, fuck," Ellie says. Joel is up the porch and next to you in a blink, arm around your waist to steady you.

"You okay?" he asks, low and serious.

The spots disappear and you take some deep breaths. "I -- stood up too fast, I think."

Joel remains in your space for a few more seconds. Naledi barks, watching the whole thing with a tilted head from the grass below.

"Ellie," Joel says. "You wanna finish up the wood? I think we're gonna go inside."

"Totally," she replies. "Yeah, uh, go lie down, or something. We've got this."

Joel ushers you into the house and sits you down in the kitchen. The sun no longer peaks over the mountains so he flicks on the overhead lights, which make you groan. He's back by your side immediately, tipping your head up with a knuckle on your chin so he can look at you.

"Think you might've caught somethin'," he says. "Bout that time of year." He presses the back of his hand to your forehead and frowns.

You circle his wrist and tug his hand down. "Just tired," you say. "The overnight patrol is catching up with me."

"Hmm." Joel leaves you be and starts to fix you something to eat. You know better than to argue and, frankly, you don't have the energy to make something yourself. He sets some buttered toast in front of you and leans on the island to watch you take a small bite.

"Something to say?" you manage through a mouthful of bread.

He shrugs. "You should go to bed early." It's barely sunset but it sounds like a good idea. "You going to be okay to work tomorrow?"

Your shift at the stables with Ellie. Pretty easy, as far as labor goes. A good night's sleep should make it bearable. "Yeah, it's just mucking stalls."

"Hmm," he says again. You know what that means -- he's thinking, he's decided, he's preparing, but he'll let you reach the same conclusion in your own time. He won't force you into anything, never does, but he most certainly has an opinion.

You change the subject. "Did you grab my journal?" Joel nods and pulls it from his back pocket to set on the table next to your toast. You take another bite to appease him.

"Almost done with that thing," he says. "Gonna need another one."

"If only I knew someone who made them," you tease. That gets a gruff laugh out of him.

"What you writin' about today?"

"You, Tommy, and motorcycles." Tommy had told you all about the famed birthday ride at the last family dinner. Everyone had heard the story but you, so their voices overlapped about a hundred times as they fought to be the one to explain.

Joel chuckles. "You ever been on one?"

You take one more bite of your toast and push the plate away. He's on it in a second, taking it over to the sink.

"No," you reply. "I don't even know the last time I saw a working one. Just stripped metal out in the wild."

"Think you'd like it," he says. "Good way to see things. Bit of an adrenaline rush."

"Yeah, because there's a shortage of that these days."

The joke falls flat and your eyelids start to droop so you don't see Joel's reaction anyway. Your head throbs.

"Bed," Joel says, softly. Hands on your shoulders, rubbing up and down your arms. "C'mon."

He ushers you up, hand on your back on the staircase. He waits while you brush your teeth and helps you into an old shirt and threadbare pants with a gentle touch.

When you're settled under the covers he perches on the edge of the bed and lays his hand on your forehead once again. A frown makes its way back onto his face and he checks your cheeks, your neck.

"I'm just tired, Joel," you mumble. "It's alright."

"Hmm." He kisses the inside of your wrist lightly and stands. "Gonna go check on Ellie, alright? I'll be back soon."

You fight to keep your eyes open and fail.

__

You feel like shit in the morning. Your head is pounding, your body aching. But you've had worse -- you've had broken bones and bruised ribs. You've been sick, you've been tired, you've been scared. This is nothing compared to life and death. You can muck a few stalls with a headache.

Joel isn't here -- a note on the counter says he got called to fix someone's sink and that he thinks you should stay home. You ignore it and head to the stables, taking deep breaths and walking slow.

Ellie shows up not long after you arrive and finds you leaning on your pitchfork in one of the stalls. Your stomach is churning but you're upright, still.

"You look like shit," she says.

"Thanks, kid," you grumble. "Where's your dog?"

"Dina's taking her on the trails today." They've been training Naledi to smell and track Infected.

You sway a little and make some noise of assent.

"Dude, are you sure you should be here today?"

If you leave now, she'll have to do the stalls herself. "I -- let me do a few more. I'm fine. It's alright."

She gives you a look she almost certainly learned from Joel but doesn't argue.

You are fine...for a little while. Ellie seems content to let you work in silence but you feel her eyes on you as you shovel shit and old hay. Just one more, you tell yourself. Then you'll go home and lie down. One more turns into two turns into three until you're scooping a big pile of straw and the spots dance across your vision again.

"Oh," you say with a gasp, and reach out for the wall, for something, anything to lean on. But your hand finds only air and then you're tipping, tipping, and you hear Ellie's Oh shit! and then --

Nothing.

No, I caught her before her head hit the ground. Are you on your back? Wait til she wakes to move her. Sounds like Esther. God, it smells like shit in here. Someone's hand on your forehead. He's coming --

You blink a few times and the roof of the barn comes into view. A groan makes its way up your throat without permission.

"Fuck," you say. "What --"

"Jesus," Ellie exhales. She's on her knees on one side of you, tugging at her fingers. "God, why did you come to work today?"

"I--"

"Where is she?" Joel's voice echoes through the barn and you try to get up on your elbows when you see him. The sudden movement makes your head pound again and hands on your shoulders help steady you. You're blinking into Joel's face, his creased brow and frown deepening as he kneels next to you.

A warm, weathered palm cups your cheek and his gaze catalogs the scene. He does this a lot -- takes in as many details as he can and makes a quick choice on how to proceed. It's a well-honed ability, one that's kept him alive this long. It's kept you and Ellie alive, and countless others in his company, too. Knowing how bad something is, and whether or not you can fix it.

He huffs, some of the tension melting from his face. "Just tired my ass," he mutters. "How're you feelin'?"

"Guess I fainted," you say weakly.

Ellie snorts. "No shit."

"Guess so," Joel echoes. "You wanna get up?" You nod. He does most of the work, arm around your waist as you stand and sway and end up tucked into his side.

"Surprised your knees work this well," you mutter. He makes a low noise in his throat and squeezes your side but otherwise ignores you.

"Think we're gonna go home, if that's alright," he says. You realize the crowd is a little bigger than you thought. Ellie, Esther, and some of the younger boys who work the horses stand nearby. Your head pounds too much for you to be properly embarrassed. You'll have to thank Ellie later for keeping an eye on you but for now, you let Joel lead you out of the stables without waiting for a reply.

Joel walks you home slowly.

"Did someone come get you?" you murmur. He nods.

"Kid said you fainted," he says. "I see you ignored my suggestion this mornin'."

"Yeah, but if I stayed in bed you wouldn't get to be a knight in shining armor."

There is a small voice in the back of your head that reminds you how bad it can be to be sick in this world. You've all seen it -- sickness takes a few people every year, a handful in bad ones. This is probably just the flu. You know that and Joel knows that. And even that can be dangerous, but you're here with the one man in the world who could defeat pretty much anything. Joel, who will keep you safe, who will see you through it. You really, truly believe that. And you want him to believe it, too.

"How polite of you," he says.

Your boot catches on the ground and you stumble a little. Joel slows you to a stop.

"I'm fine," you remind him. "Just sick, I guess." He huffs but you start walking again. "You really looked worried back there, you know."

"Yeah, well." You reach the stairs up to your house. He tightens his hold on you, practically taking all of your weight as you go up them one at a time. "Was worried you fell into some horse shit. Smell up the whole damn house."

That gets a laugh out of you. He gets you up the porch, across the threshold.

"You gonna listen to me this time?" he asks, sitting you down on the entryway bench. "Stay home, rest up?"

"I'll think about it," you sigh. "You gonna take care of me, Dr. Miller?"

He kneels in front of you to take off your boots and smirks. How many times have you done this? Peeling off each other's boots after a long day. When one of you is sick, when one of you is hurt. Your head is pounding and you almost certainly have a fever but Joel's gentle hands and familiar smirk sets you at ease. You're going to be doing this forever.

"C'mon," he says. "You know I'll take care of you."

He tucks your boots under the bench and puts his palms on your thighs. You lean forward to kiss him and miss by a mile, lips landing at the corner of his mouth.

"My head hurts," you say against his cheek. "I love you."

Joel sighs. "I know, baby," he murmurs. "I got you."

He does.

[stagtorccio]

please be rude

lottie matthews x gp!reader

request: x summary: Lottie's been off since the crash. You've got a running theory as to what's making her act out. rating: explicit, 18+ warnings: implied established relationship, porn with feelings, penetrative sex, girl penis reader (thanks anons), brat lottie renaissance, probably unsafe sex but it's fictional, (brief) fingering word count: 3.2k author's note: i know i know i know the header image is a season 3 screenshot but this takes place in season 1. in my head. please keep that in yours for maximum enjoyment <3

[AO3]

𓃢𓃦𐂂 ── .✦

You’re fairly certain Lottie Matthews has never gone untended for very long in her life. Not really, anyway.

Never a bruise left without a bandage. Never a craving unanswered, never a cut left to scab. Even now, stranded and filthy and mosquito-bitten, hair tangled as hell and half-starved most days like the rest of you, she carries herself like someone will look after her, sooner or later. 

Your hypothesis, your grand theory, is that this is why she’s been such a fucking asshole lately.

Sulking around the cabin. Picking fights that don’t need picking. Taking your things and then daring you to make her give them back, and when you do, she just laughs, utterly pleased with herself. 

At first, you’d chalked it up to stress. Called it cabin fever, as morbidly on-the-nose as it was. But the last time she teased you in front of everyone, she bit her lip the second you snapped back. 

It clicked then, sort of like kindling catching. That for some reason, she wants you angry. Wants your attention and doesn’t care how she gets it.

Today, it’s while you’re hauling water from the lake, arms slick with sweat, jaw tight from a full morning of silent effort. Van's helping you boil it in a dinky pot that never stays level, and Lottie— 

Well, Lottie isn’t being very helpful at all. 

She’s leaning on a stump nearby, legs crossed at the knee. When you mutter something about needing more hands and fewer onlookers, you hear the faintest scoff. You think you feel your eye twitch— which you thought, up until now, only happened in Saturday morning cartoons. 

“Careful, you’re spilling,” Lottie comments, mostly innocuous, but it irks you regardless.

“Maybe because I could use some help,” you snark back, setting the bucket down a little too forcefully. It sloshes onto your shoe like some sort of karmic deliverance. 

She does move to help you, eventually. With the same kind of theatrical sigh someone might use when they’re asked to actually do the thing they were trying to avoid. She crouches beside you, scoops up the handle of the next water bucket with a little more attitude than necessary.

The two of you walk in silence for a while.

The path down to the lake is worn now, familiar. Mud sun-hardened, branches cleared by the group’s repetition. Your boots crunch over dry pine needles and damp leaves, and behind you, you can hear Lottie’s steps following in sync. 

She keeps bumping into you, shoulder brushing yours, like she can’t quite figure out how much space she wants. She doesn’t apologize. You try not to snap.

The trees part near the bottom of the hill, and the lake stretches out in front of you, glassy and still in the midday heat, rimmed with cattails and buzzing crowds of mosquitoes.

You set the buckets down by the shore and roll up your sleeves. Lottie crouches nearby and watches you for a moment, arms looped loosely around her knees.

You feel her eyes flick toward you, then away, then back again.

Something in her still isn’t sitting right.

You glance over at her. The sunlight’s catching on her cheekbones, her collarbone, the sharp line of her shoulders under her tank top. Her mouth is set in that same stubborn pout it always falls into when she’s trying not to say something.

You want to ask what’s really going on. But you don’t. 

You just get up with your full bucket and start walking. Lottie follows suit. The trek back to the cabin is filled with more of that tense, sticky, unbearable silence. By the time you make it there, sweat is beading at your temples and the tension feels so tightly wound you’re sure one of you will explode soon. 

And then it happens. Lottie fumbles her bucket just as you both reach the fire, water surging toward the rim like it’s ready to escape and drench poor, unsuspecting Mari. 

“Careful—” you gasp, hand flying out to steady it instinctively. 

“I know,” she snaps, jerking it upright before you reach it.

You both freeze.

She sets the bucket down and backs away from it like it might bite her. You watch her jaw work, her breath come faster. She scrubs a hand down her face, agitated, then across the back of her neck like she can’t shake off the heat or the frustration or both.

“You okay?” you ask, tentative.

Lottie lets out a breath. “Fine. It’s fine.”

Her voice is brittle and fast. The kind of fine that’s meant to shut you up. The kind that means the exact opposite of fine.

You study her now. The stiff set of her shoulders, the way she won’t quite meet your eyes. Lottie, who never really hides anything, not well. Not from you.

You reach out. “C’mere,” you murmur, gesturing in some vague direction– anywhere away. 

She lifts her head, wary. “Why?”

You keep your voice low, eyes cutting to the rest of the girls, but they seem preoccupied.

“Because I want to actually talk about this.” 

Lottie hesitates. Long enough to pretend like she might say no. 

Then, she mutters a resigned, “Fine.” 

It’s a small victory. 

You take her deeper into the woods. Not far. Just out of sight of the others. Where the air is cooler, the sunlight slants differently, and there’s the illusion of privacy, at the least. 

Lottie leans against a tree, arms crossed. Still prickly. Still pretending this isn’t about anything in particular. 

“Lottie,” you say softly.

“I’m alright,” she replies, but she doesn’t sound sure. She just sounds like she’s trying to convince you– or maybe convince herself.

“But you’re not.”

She huffs. But she doesn’t deny it. Her eyes flick up, then away. 

Then, quietly, like a confession: “I don’t know. I’m… frustrated.”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

She exhales through her nose. “It’s like—" she starts, then falters. “Like my skin doesn’t fit right. Like something's too much. In here.”

She gently touches her fingers to her sternum, skimming the pads of them over the fabric of her top with a creased brow, as if she’s actualizing herself in real time.

“Everyone is… too close. And you—”

That catches you off guard. “Me?”

She licks her lips. Looks you dead in the eye, for once. 

“You make it worse.”

You flinch. Just a little, because fucking ouch. But she’s already stepping forward, shaking her head.

“Not like that,” she murmurs. “You just— we never have any time alone anymore—”

She cuts herself off again, jaw flexing, and that’s when you notice it. The flush creeping up her throat. Spreading across her cheeks, blooming high on her ears. Like she can’t believe she just said that out loud. Like maybe it wasn’t supposed to come out like that.

Hypothesis proven, you suppose.

You let the silence hang just long enough for her to get nervous, fidgety. Then:

“Lottie Matthews,” you murmur, a smile tugging at your lips, “are you telling me you’ve been a jackass because this whole time, you wanted me alone?”

She looks away, but she doesn’t step back. “I didn’t say it like that...”

“No,” you agree, “you didn’t. You’re just terrible at asking for what you want.”

She swallows. “I know.”

You step into her space, close enough that your fingers brush the hem of her shirt, just light enough to tease. 

“It’s okay,” you murmur, voice soft. “Maybe just… tell me next time?”

She looks at you like a deer in headlights, eyes huge, then grabs you by the collar and kisses you. 

It’s teeth and salt and heat, the kind of kiss that feels like a devouring. Like she’s been wanting to do it for days– which she probably has.

There's a moment where she pulls back, as if stunned by her own want.

"Sorry, I just—"

You shake your head.

"Don't be."

And then your back hits the tree. Her hands are in your hair. Yours are gripping her waist, guiding her forward, chasing the friction–

She lets out a surprised breath. So do you, because you’re goddamn embarrassed. It wasn’t supposed to happen this fast. You’ve barely kissed her and your body has already decided to betray you.

Lottie stills. Just for a second. Then shifts away just enough to throw a purposeful glance down to the straining fabric of your shorts, voice catching on a laugh.

“Oh,” she says, delighted. “Really?”

You want to melt into the tree. “Shut up.”

She grins. “No, no, I mean—” She rolls her hips just slightly, just to feel it again, and a shiver crawls up your spine. “It’s cute.”

Your hands flex at her waist. “Don’t call it cute...”

“Then what?” she murmurs, pressing closer again, her voice dropping. Her mouth brushes your jaw now, lips warm and teasing. “... Hot?”

You groan. “Lottie.”

“Sorry,” she laughs, breathless, surprised at herself once more.

You kiss her again. Harder, this time. Your hands thread into her hair and tug just enough to make her gasp. Her own are under your shirt now, fingers skating along your ribs. You’re both panting, sweating, giggling between kisses. 

You barely register the bark scraping your back, the dirt under you, the heat coiling low in your spine. All you feel is her. Her breath, her mouth, the soft drag of her body against yours as the rhythm builds.

She grinds down again, and this time, the sound you make is loud. Lottie exhales against your neck, half-laugh, half-gasp, and you can feel her smiling when she presses a kiss just beneath your jaw. Soft, warm, absolutely fucking maddening.

“Shit,” you whisper, “you’re— fuck.”

She hums, pleased, almost smug. But when she looks at you again, she’s flushed and bright-eyed, her lips kiss-bruised. 

Her fingers go to your belt. You freeze for just a second, startled, but she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t say anything. She just starts to undo it, slow, almost shy. Fumbling, her hands shaking.

You grab her wrist. Not to stop her. Just to ground yourself. Her eyes flick up to meet yours. Waiting for you to tell her yes or no.

You nod. Barely. That’s all she needs.

The buckle slips free. The button pops open. She lets out a breath like she’s been holding it for hours. Her hands slip lower, toying with the waist of your boxers. She hesitates, then curls her fingers underneath, knuckles grazing your stomach as she drags the fabric down.

You bite your lip. Your hips lift, helping her, or maybe just needing her. And then you’re bare to the air, flushed and embarrassingly hard against her palm. 

Lottie exhales through a grin, wide-eyed with something close to awe.

“God,” she murmurs, fingers curling loosely around you. Her voice is low, warm, like it’s a secret she’s thrilled to uncover. She gives you a gentle stroke and watches the way your mouth falls open.

You kiss her again, slower now, one hand skimming up under the back of her shirt, palm flattening against the warm curve of her spine. The other drifts down. Fingers brushing the band of her shorts. You tug at it once, a teasing little pull, then glance up at her, a wordless question.

She nods fast, maybe too fast, but you don’t move right away. You drag slow fingertips across her stomach, reveling in the way the muscles jump under your touch. When you slip your hand further down, brushing where she’s already wet, her whole body jolts forward. She buries her face in your shoulder to mask a noise suspiciously close to a whimper.

“Jesus,” you murmur, “you’ve been like this all day?”

She nods against your neck. “Could we just—”

“Yeah. We can.”

You hook your fingers in her shorts and ease them down over her thighs, her briefs coming with, damp and clinging, pulled past her knees in a rush. You're kissing her jaw as you go and she shudders, legs twitching when the air hits her.

You sit back just enough to look at her. Really look. Her cheeks are flushed deep, her lips kiss-swollen, her pupils so wide the brown of her eyes is almost gone.

“Don’t stare,” she murmurs, smiling even as she says it. “It’s embarrassing.”

“I’m not allowed to look?” you ask, grinning. “I thought you wanted my attention.”

That earns you a full-body blush. She laughs, breath hitching, and swats at your arm. You catch her hand and kiss her knuckles. 

“Come here.”

You guide her gently down, easing her back onto the pine-needle-soft earth. She giggles as her elbow sinks into a patch of moss, adjusting herself with one leg cocked, already open for you without thinking. Her hair fans wild beneath her, and her hands flutter, unsure of where to go— your shoulders, your chest, your hips— like she’s wanting all of you at once.

Her thighs part further to welcome you in, and your bodies fit in that fumbling way, hot skin to hot skin, breath to breath. There’s a beat of quiet where you both just look at each other, pressed close, trembling, grinning like fools.

“Okay,” Lottie breathes after a moment, a smile still curling her lips. “You can— if you want to, I mean. I’m ready.”

You nudge your nose against hers. “Yeah?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

So you press into her slowly. Carefully. The world narrows to the sound of her breath catching, her thighs tightening around you, her mouth falling open in a gasp. And when her eyes find yours again, wide and wet, you feel her everywhere.

You still, giving her a moment, your forehead pressed to hers. Her breath fans across your lips, fast and shallow. Her eyes flutter shut, then open again like she doesn’t want to miss a damn second of this.

“You okay?” you whisper.

She nods. “Yeah,” she breathes. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

You shift a little deeper and she exhales like the air got knocked out of her. That sound’s going to haunt you for a few days, surely. 

Her back arches just slightly, hips tilting to meet you. It’s messy, ungraceful, bodies slick with sweat and effort. But it works. By God, does it work. Your skin sticks where it touches hers: the inside of her knee brushing your waist, the curve of her calf against the back of your thigh. Her hands slide down your back, nails dragging lightly, coaxing out shivers.

Each movement is tentative at first. Then again. And again. Until it isn’t so shy anymore.

Lottie moans low in her throat– startled first, then thrilled. Her laughter catches somewhere inside it, and she hides her face in your neck.

“You feel so—” she starts, then gives up on words altogether. Just breathes and moves.

You match her pace, slow and careful, but the friction’s maddening. Every shift drives a little more sound from her. Every grind of hips has you biting your lip. Your hand slips between you and you find her clit with your thumb, slick and swollen and aching for attention. 

She jerks against you with a strangled gasp. “Oh, fuck.”

The idea of Lottie Matthews having such a filthy mouth makes you laugh out loud. You circle your fingers gently, teasing just the lightest pressure, and she whines, her whole body twitching.

“Good?” you murmur, fingers sliding a little firmer now, just enough to make her hips stutter.

She makes a high, breathless sound. “Yes,” she sighs. “Just— please don’t stop.”

You don’t. You angle your hand, thumb gliding to press in tighter circles as your hips meet hers again, deeper this time. She’s falling apart already, thighs shaking, nails digging into your shoulder.

“God,” she breathes, voice cracking. “You’re gonna make me—”

You kiss her, quieting her with your mouth, swallowing every gasp and curse. Her body tenses, then trembles, thighs locking around your hips, walls pulsing around you as she comes hard against your hand, against you.

The pull of it– that tight, dragging heat– breaks you. That rubber band inside you snaps. You let out a low groan as you spill into her, hips twitching once, twice, your hand still caught between you as the last aftershocks rip through you both.

For a moment, neither of you moves. Just breath and sweat and silence. Her head pressed to your shoulder, your cheek against her temple, both of you boneless and slick, hearts pounding in time. 

Lottie strokes a hand down your spine, slow and absent. Touch that’s not about sex, not anymore– just reassurance. She hums, soft and content. Muffled against your skin. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs eventually, voice still shaky.

You laugh. You can’t help it. It bubbles up, warm and stunned. “Of course.”

She spreads her legs to let you pull away, winces a little at the mess between you, then slumps back again with a whimpering giggle. “Gross.”

You hum in agreement, eyes fluttering shut as you rest against the tree. A breeze moves through the trees overhead. Sunlight filters down in sleepy patches. You hold her like that for a long time, damp and tangled and peaceful.

Lottie shifts, nuzzles her face into the crook of your neck with a small, satisfied sigh. “We should head back soon.”

You snort. “Oh, now you’re eager to do chores.”

She laughs, tired and light, the sound buzzing gently against your collarbone. “Just trying to avoid the gossip.”

You kiss her hair. “They’ll talk anyway.”

“True,” Lottie mumbles. “At least it was worth it.”

You both linger a moment longer, reluctant to move. The ground is uneven, your limbs are half-asleep, and your clothes are… in an unfortunate state. But there’s something soft here. Settled.

Eventually, Lottie sighs and pushes up on her elbows, grimacing as she pulls her underwear back into place. “Well. We’re disgusting.”

“Speak for yourself.”

She gives you a look— irritated yet fond— and reaches down to help you fix your belt with trembling fingers. Her hands linger at your waistband a touch too long. You don’t mind.

Once you’re both mostly decent, you gather your scattered minds and try not to think about how you’re going to walk back into camp looking freshly ruined.

You glance over as Lottie runs a hand through her hair, fails to tame it, and sighs like she’s given up entirely.

“I look like I got mauled by a bear,” she says dryly.

You grin. “Was the bear hot?”

“Mhm,” she hums, tilting her head like she’s remembering. “She was gorgeous.”

Your face warms immediately. Lottie sees it, of course she does, but pretends not to, biting her lip like she’s trying to hold back a smile. Seven different ways to call her an asshole come to mind, but before you can pick one, she leans in and kisses you again. Quick and sweet, just because she can.

Then, quieter, her voice muffled against your shoulder:

“You’re not still mad at me, right?”

You shake your head. “I wasn’t mad at you in the first place.”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, something soft in her eyes. Relief, maybe a touch of surprise. That smile blooms again, fuller this time. Uninhibited.

You reach for her hand. She takes it without hesitation. Together, you start the walk back through the trees, sore, sticky, still laughing, and already missing the moment.

[millermouth]

Chapter 2

series masterlist Summary: In the time between when he took you to now, something changed. His hands grew gentler. Your fear turned quiet. And somewhere in the stillness, love kindled. || angst, TRAUMA, captor!joel, raider!joel, a little bit of dark!joel, kidnapping, dark themes, morally gray comfort, Pre-Boston QZ, slow burn, this chapter describes death in detail! please heed these tags, reader seeking comfort in ways that may not be comfortable for all readers, softer joel in this chapter ||

The chance didn’t come until days later—on a day when the sun burned weak behind clouds and Joel told you it was time for another bath. By then, your wrists were half-healed from the rope burn, pink and scabbed but still tender, and the ache in your joints had dulled into something manageable. He had been patient with you lately. Too patient. Bringing you food warm from the pan, cutting it small so you wouldn’t have to ask. Speaking to you in soft tones that no longer made your skin crawl. Asking your name. Brushing your hair each morning and braiding it with almost religious care, like each strand was something holy to him. Always the same pattern. Always the same rhythm. You had started speaking back, just enough. A nod here. A muttered answer there. He was trying to earn your trust. Trying to make space for you here.

But he didn’t know about the sliver of floorboard hidden beneath the mattress.

You’d worked at it with your nails in the night, over and over, even when your fingers bled. You’d dragged it across the rusted edge of the radiator until it had sharpened into something with a point. Crude, but it would do. You’d timed everything. Measured the minutes he spent boiling water. The sounds of his footsteps retreating down the hall. You didn’t think. You didn’t hope. You just waited.

And now, the water was heating. The house was quiet.

You slid your hand beneath the mattress and pulled out the splintered, sharpened wood. Your fingers trembled as you fit it between the rope and your wrist and began to saw, slow at first, the pressure against your skin making your teeth clench. The rope was thick, but worn. The fibers frayed more with each tug, and your breath quickened as the strands began to give.

You worked faster. Faster. Clammy sweat collected at your hairline, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t look at the door. You couldn’t afford to.

When the rope finally gave way, snapping with a soft, pitiful sound, you almost cried.

But you didn’t. You ran.

The hallway passed in a blur of wood grain and shadows. Your bare feet slapped the cold floor, silent and frantic. The front door was unlocked—of course it was. He thought you were his now. He thought the fight was gone.

You slipped outside and the wind hit you hard, the sudden cold making your breath catch like glass in your throat. The sky above was heavy with pale clouds, the afternoon stretched thin and grey, the air still holding onto the last brittle edge of winter. The yard was muddy, patches of dying grass giving way to hardened earth. You didn’t stop to take it in. You just moved.

The woods opened up in front of you like a memory long buried.

Branches snagged at your arms and legs, scraping skin raw, but it only made you run harder. The cold bit at your ankles, your toes already going numb, but the adrenaline drowned it all out. You ducked under low limbs, leapt over fallen trees, followed the faint lines of deer trails so narrow and winding they barely left a mark—but you knew them.

And then it hit you.

Not metaphorically. Not in some abstract wave of emotion.

You knew these woods.

You knew that rock with the cracked middle, the one you used to climb and pretend was a shipwreck. You knew the stump just ahead, hollowed out with rot, where mushrooms always grew. The deeper you pushed into the trees, the more landmarks came back to you—not as observations, but as memories. Your body remembered before your mind could even catch up.

These were your woods.

This was your family’s land.

It took the breath from your lungs like a punch to the ribs. You stumbled, caught yourself, and then ran harder, faster, driven by the sudden, electric knowledge that you weren’t far. You weren’t lost—you were home. Or close enough to taste it.

Your throat tightened. Tears stung your eyes before you could stop them. You knew every tree. Every bend in the path. You could map it out in the dark if you had to—because you had. As a child. You had played here. Hid here. Slept here once after a fight with your mother, curled up beneath the same pine boughs that now passed in a blur.

It was all still here. You were still here.

And that meant the house wasn’t far.

Your legs burned. Your lungs ached. But you couldn’t stop. Not when you were so close. You pushed through the brush like a ghost returning to the place they died, sobbing openly now, breath hitching as the air turned colder and thinner. The path sloped down, just like it always had, and you half-slid, half-stumbled toward the edge of the clearing.

And just ahead—through the trees, between the breaks in the brush—

You saw it.

The chimney. The roofline. The front porch with the broken swing.

Your house.

Home.

You stumbled out of the trees, your body barely holding itself upright, your breath coming in sharp, stuttering bursts as the clearing opened wide around you. The house stood just ahead, slouched beneath the weight of the years, the front porch sagging where one of the support beams had rotted through. The swing still hung on its chain, swaying gently in the breeze like someone had just stood up from it.

“Mama!” you yelled, rushing ahead, “Dad, I’m home!”

But the windows were dark. There was no candlelight, no flicker of movement behind the thin, weathered curtains. Nonetheless, your legs kept moving. You crossed the overgrown yard, toes numb, mud seeping into the cuffs of your pants. When you walked up the porch, the steps creaked as you reached for the door handle and pushed it open.

It creaked on the hinges, loud in the dead quiet. The air inside was thick. Warm with the rot of stillness.

The first thing you noticed was the smell.

A sharp, putrid tang of food gone bad. The kitchen was a wreck. Pots and pans scattered across the counter, a cast iron skillet on the stove still full of something congealed and blackened. Bread molding in the corner. Flies buzzing thick around a bowl of fruit, their droning hum like a warning.

You stepped further in. Slowly.

There was a cup knocked over on the table. A half-eaten plate of something you couldn’t name. A fork dropped to the floor. It all looked frozen—like someone had gotten up in the middle of dinner and never came back.

You felt it in your bones before you saw anything.

The wrongness.

Your feet carried you down the hall.

Your breath caught. Became more and more shallow with each step. Your ears filled with static, your pulse thrumming behind your eyes, behind your teeth.

“Mom?”Your voice cracked. “Dad?”

Silence.

The door to the backroom was open.

You didn’t want to look. Every cell in your body screamed not to. But you had to. Of course you did. You had come all this way. You had come home.

The room hit you like a brick wall.

Blood soaked the walls, streaked on the floor like someone had been dragged. Your father was slumped in the far corner, eyes wide, mouth frozen mid-yell, a hole torn through his chest. Your mother—God—your mother lay facedown by the dresser, arms twisted unnaturally, her fingers reaching for something that wasn’t there. And your sister. Your little sister, still in her hoodie. Still wearing the necklace you’d given her when she turned thirteen. Her head tilted too far to the side. Her skin gray.

You couldn’t breathe.

Your knees gave out before the scream even left your mouth.

The ground hit hard. You barely felt it. Just the ice in your lungs. The static in your ears.

You screamed once.

Maybe twice.

Then nothing.

You folded forward, sobbing so hard you couldn’t make a sound, your body curling in on itself like it was trying to disappear. The room spun around you. The walls warped. Everything smelled like blood and dust and something horrible underneath. You choked on your own breath. Hit the floor with your fists. Begged—though you didn’t know who you were begging. Or why.

For some God-forsaken reason, the next thing you thought of was Joel.

Could he have done this? Could he have come back and finished what he started?

But no. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t him.

He’d been at the cabin the whole time he kept you. You knew his sounds by now—the tread of his boots outside, the dull clang of his traps being reset, the creak of the porch steps as he moved back and forth, shaping the place into something like a home. You measured each and every move he made as you planned your escape. You hardly slept just to know the sound of his sleeping breaths compared to his waking ones.

He was never far because he never left.

Someone else had done this. Someone worse. Someone with no rules at all.

You tried to crawl to your sister, to your mom, to anyone, but your arms wouldn’t hold you.

Your stomach twisted, you dry-heaved until you could barely sit up, and finally you collapsed onto your side, cheek pressed against the dusty wooden floor, your breath ragged and wet.

You stayed there.

Until your body gave out.Until your eyes stopped seeing.Until the tears ran out.

And eventually—somewhere in the middle of it all—you fell asleep, still shaking, curled beside the doorway, where the blood had stopped pooling and just dried.

You weren’t sure how long you were laid there. 

But then there was a sound, low and dragging, too close to be the wind. A door creaked open somewhere beyond the fog in your head. It groaned against swollen hinges, and for a second, you thought it was just your memory playing tricks again—one more fragment from the last hour or day or however long you’d been curled here, half-conscious and empty. But then the footsteps came, heavy against the wood, each one deliberate and slow, like the person walking didn’t want to disturb something sacred. Or maybe they were afraid of what they’d find.

You didn’t move. You didn’t even think you could if you tried.

Your head pulsed in slow, wet thuds, your mouth too dry to form even a breath of speech. The tears had long since dried against your cheeks, tightening the skin until it felt foreign. Your arms were numb. Your legs had stopped cramping hours ago, which meant you’d gone too long without water—your body giving up before your mind could catch up.

You were still there, crumpled just past the threshold of the backroom, where the blood had stopped being wet and had begun to flake off the floor like rust. The bodies hadn’t moved. Your mother. Your father. Your sister. They hadn’t changed. They never would again.

The air shifted, the weight in the room tipping slightly, and you knew, somehow, even before you saw him, that it was him. That Joel had found you. And you weren’t sure why you weren’t afraid.

“Jesus Christ…”

You blinked. Your lashes were sticky with dried tears, mouth dry, your lips split at the corners. Every part of you felt hot and cold at once—your skin tight with grime, your clothes damp with sweat and fear, your body buzzing with a low-grade fever of grief.

You couldn’t lift your head or else the room spun too easily. But you saw him framed in the doorway like a ghost, or maybe a savior, or maybe both. Joel.

His face twisted when he saw you, crouched where you’d collapsed, knees pulled to your chest, cheek streaked with dirt and tears. You tried to speak, but your throat burned. Nothing came out. He stepped closer, slowly, like you might break. Or bite.

He looked past you—just once. Into the room where your family still lay. Where the bodies hadn’t moved, hadn’t softened, hadn’t stopped being your family even though they didn’t look like them anymore.

“Shit,” he muttered, quieter this time. His hand came to his mouth, knuckles dragging across his beard. “Shit, sweetheart…”

You tried to sit up, but your arms trembled. The weight of your own body felt impossible. But you made it, forced yourself upright, every movement scraping something raw inside you, your muscles aching like they’d been hollowed out and refilled with lead.

Joel knelt in front of you. He didn’t touch you, he only waited, watching.

You stared up at him, and for the first time, you saw him clearly. Not the man who’d stolen you. Not the monster from your first night, when you were scared and terrified like a little lamb in the maws of a wolf.

Just him.

His eyes were soft. Lined with something you didn’t have the words for. Not pity. Not guilt. 

Recognition.

And so, for the first time, you reached for him.

Your hand trembled in the air, suspended in the space between the two of you like a question. 

His fingers met yours a second later, rough and steady, and you felt the world click back into place. And in that moment, your thoughts came in all at once. Like a flood. Like a dam had cracked.

If you’d been here, you would’ve died.

Not just now. Not just with whoever had done this. But before. With them. With the family that kept you quiet. That taught you love in black and blue. That never noticed how thin you were getting, how quiet you'd become. Who locked doors and pretended it was safety.

And Joel—God, Joel.

He had taken you, yes. That was true. But he fed you, kept you warm, and pulled you from a life you didn’t even know was killing you.

You thought of your reflection in the mirror two nights ago—the first time you’d looked.

The way your cheeks had started to round again. How the sharpness of your collarbones had softened with fat. How your skin had color in it now, not just pallor and bruising and blue veins. You hated that mirror the first few days. You had kept your eyes averted anytime he ran you a bath. But the other day you made yourself look. And you looked… Alive. Not just breathing. Alive.

Your hand gripped his tighter.

And when you looked at him again—really looked—you weren’t afraid.

“I—” Your voice broke, cracked from dryness. You swallowed, pain lancing down your throat.

“Take me home,” you whispered. “Please.”

His eyes closed. Just for a second.

And then he nodded.

Consciousness came and went as he carried you.

The sway of his steps, the rhythm of his breathing, the weight of your own body in his arms—it all blurred in and out like a dream half-remembered, slipping between trees and branches, through narrow deer paths and patches of brush he kept you tucked into his chest against. You drifted in and out, the pain in your head pulsing slow and thick, your limbs weak from dehydration and grief and everything you’d seen.

Once or twice, your eyes opened to fading light. The trees swayed overhead, his beard rough against your temple. The smell of him—sweat, pine, woodsmoke—pulling you back under like the lull of a warm current.

And when you were lucid enough to feel, the irony of it all hit you so hard it left your stomach hollow.

The last time he carried you through these woods, your mouth had been covered by his hand, your body flailing against his shoulder as he hauled you to his cabin. You’d screamed until your throat went raw. You’d kicked, clawed, begged. You hadn’t even known his name.

Now, your arms were draped around his neck. Your hands curled against the collar of his shirt. You weren’t fighting. You were holding on.

And he wasn’t holding you like something stolen. He was holding you like something precious.

By the time he crossed the threshold of the cabin, the last of the twilight bleeding away behind him, your lashes fluttered against his neck. He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask you to stay awake. He just held you tighter.

You pressed your lips to the warm patch of skin above the collar of his flannel.

You whispered your name.

“My name…” you said softly, voice catching on the edge of breath, like it didn’t quite know if it was ready to be heard. “It’s…”You said it again. A little louder. Clearer. Like maybe you wanted him to have it. Maybe you needed someone to carry it now that no one else would.

He didn’t say anything—not at first. But something flickered across his face. Something you hadn’t seen before. Not surprise or even relief, but something more careful than both.

He grunted softly as he eased you down into the old kitchen chair, his movements slow, like your bones might splinter if he wasn’t careful. His hands stayed on your arms a second longer than they needed to, warm and grounding. He lowered to his knees in front of you, the floor creaking under his weight, and he paused. His eyes flicked up, asking permission without words, and then gently he brought his fingers to your face.

He tucked your hair behind your ear with a tenderness that made your chest ache. His thumb brushed across your cheek, catching the remnants of old tears, skin still tacky with dried salt and grief. His touch was reverent. Like you were something he didn’t think he’d be allowed to touch with gentleness.

You didn’t lean into him. But you didn’t pull away. Nor did you flinch.

“Let me get you somethin’ to eat,” he said quietly.

You shook your head before the thought had time to finish forming. “M’not hungry.”

He didn’t argue. Just nodded once. “Okay.”

But still, he stood.

He moved slowly through the kitchen, footsteps soft. There was no tension in him now, no edge. Only that same careful quiet he’d held in the woods, when he’d carried you out of the wreckage like something sacred. He reached for the old flagon of water and dug out a strip of jerky from the tin on the counter. Not a feast, but something. He placed each in your hands slowly, making sure you had a hold of them before he leaned back against the counter, arms crossed loosely.  He was watching you like he didn’t know what to do now that you weren’t trying to run anymore.

You looked down at the flask in your hands.

You didn’t drink at first. Just held it. Let the metal warm against your palms, let the quiet wrap itself around the both of you. Joel didn’t speak again, didn’t push. He just stood there with his arms crossed and his eyes steady, as if he was trying to memorize the version of you that wasn’t screaming or crying or running. The stillness stretched between you—tense, but not uncomfortable. Just full of everything neither of you had the language for yet.

When you finally looked up, he gave a small nod, like he’d come to a decision.

“I’ll go heat the water.”

It was nearly dark by the time he came back for you.

You hadn’t moved from the chair. The water was long gone, the jerky untouched. But the stiffness in your body had started to settle into something duller, something closer to surrender. When Joel appeared in the doorway, sleeves rolled up, hair damp with sweat from the steam, he didn’t say anything at first. Just gestured softly for you to follow.

You did.

He walked a step ahead of you down the hall, boots creaking on the old wood, pausing only to open the bathroom door and reach inside to light the oil lamp. The glow filled the small space in flickers—clean but plain. A chipped tub, the edges of the porcelain browned with age. Steam rose from the bath, curling into the air like breath. It smelled faintly of pine.

You stepped inside, feet bare on the cold tile, arms folded tightly against your chest.

Joel guided you to the sink and helped you up onto it like you weighed nothing. His hands stayed on your hips for just a second longer than necessary—warm, grounding—before he stepped back.

“I’ll give you a minute,” he murmured, turning toward the door.

But you didn’t move. You didn’t even try. Your arms felt too heavy, limbs too far away from your brain. You stared at the bath, then down at your hands, and the realization hit you slowly, like watching a glass tip over before it shatters. You didn’t have the strength.

Joel stopped in the doorway and looked back once. Something in your expression must have given it away, because he didn’t ask before stepping back over to you.

His hands came up slowly, not to grab, not to take. Just to help.

He found the hem of your shirt, fingers curling against the damp fabric as he crouched in front of you, the room quiet but for the pop of fire and the soft shifting of water in the tub nearby. His voice was low, not quite gentle, but not harsh either—just quiet, like he didn’t want to disturb the stillness you’d both worked so hard to find.

“Lift your arms.”

And you did.

You obeyed without thinking, without speaking, hardly in your own head anymore. The world had narrowed to this room, this moment, the smell of smoke and sweat and whatever strange comfort he carried with him when he wasn’t looking at you like a captor anymore.

His hands moved slowly, tugging the shirt over your head with deliberate care. He didn’t stare. Didn’t leer. His eyes stayed steady, focused only on the task. And yet, you felt it—that awareness, that weight. You were bare in front of him, more naked in this moment than you’d ever been in front of anyone since you were young, but your mind couldn’t quite keep up with it. Couldn’t hold the pieces all at once. It didn’t feel dangerous. Just…strange.

He guided you to the tub, half-filled with lukewarm water from the fire-warmed pot, and eased you down, holding your elbow, keeping you steady.

He started at your shoulders, slow circles, the bar moving in long, quiet strokes down your arms. There wasn’t enough soap left to lather much, just enough to make the surface slick beneath his fingers. Soon it was just his hands, rough and warm, gliding across you like he was scrubbing memory from your skin. Washing you with the shape of his palms. They never strayed—never dipped below where they should, never lingered too long—but they were everywhere, and it was hard to stay present, hard to keep your mind from floating up and out of your body entirely.

Neither of you spoke.

There was no need to.

He reached for one of your hands, held it palm-up in his own, and pressed the soap into it without meeting your eyes.

“Come on now,” he said, soft and quiet, the words almost too tender to be real. “Finish up. Let’s get you to bed.”

You nodded, slow and numb, and did as he asked.

When you were done, when your fingers were water-wrinkled and your shoulders heavy, he cupped his hands under your arms and lifted you out of the tub. He dried you with a few old rags, careful not to press too hard. Neither of you said anything. 

Then he pulled a t-shirt over your head. When the smell of pine and musk and leather invaded your senses you realized it must’ve been one of his. It hung loose on you as he helped you step into your underwear too. You didn’t fight him. You just stood there, dripping quietly onto the floor.

He moved around the bathroom, wringing out the rags, cleaning up like it was just another chore. The fire cracked. Your legs started to ache.

You looked at him. Then, slowly, softly—you spoke.

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

His eyes flicked up to yours. He didn’t move, didn’t speak right away. He just held your gaze like he was trying to understand what you meant. Or maybe he already did. Maybe he was just trying not to react too much. Not to spook you.

“In your bed,” you clarified. Your voice didn’t tremble, but it was quiet. Raw around the edges. “Please… I don’t want to be alone.”

The shift in him was subtle, but it was there, a softening of his shoulders and a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“Alright,” he said, just above a whisper. He stepped forward again, then crouched in front of you once more, arms gentle as they slipped around your legs and back, lifting you easily into the air like you weighed nothing at all. You let your head fall against his shoulder. You didn’t cry, didn’t speak. You just let him carry you up the stairs.

The wood creaked beneath his feet, and somewhere down the hall, the cabin settled in its bones.

When he laid you in the bed, the sheets were already turned down. It smelled like pine and flannel and him. He pulled the blanket over your body with the same reverence he used to braid your hair, smoothing it down like it might protect you from everything you’d just lived through.

He turned to leave.

You reached out, catching his sleeve between your fingers.

“Stay,” you murmured.

He didn’t hesitate this time. He climbed into the bed beside you—slow, careful—and laid on his back, his hands crossed over his chest like he didn’t know if he was allowed to relax. You curled into his side without asking, your head tucked into the space between his jaw and shoulder. Then his arm came around you, hesitant at first, then firmer, holding you in that quiet way both of you weren’t completely certain about. Not quite sure what it meant. Not quite sure what it was becoming.

The quiet stretched.

His breath evened out beside you, slow and steady, chest rising gently beneath your cheek. You felt it more than you heard it—the way he exhaled like he was waiting for something to break.

Maybe you.

Maybe himself.

You shifted slightly against him, curling in tighter, your hand dragging across the hem of his shirt, catching it in your fingers. His body tensed beneath you, barely, and your breath caught in response. 

When you closed your eyes, all you could see were their bodies. Your mother’s broken hands, your sister’s empty eyes, your father slumped against the wall.

So you did the only thing you could. The only thing that might pull you out of it. You weren’t really in your body anymore—just floating inside it, heavy and warm, wrapped in the scent of woodsmoke and sweat and whatever lingered on Joel’s skin. You could feel your own breathing, but it sounded far away. Like it belonged to someone else.

And he was warm. God, he was so warm.

Your fingers moved before you really decided to move them, drifting low and uncertain, brushing across the firm line of his stomach beneath his shirt. The cotton lifted just enough to expose bare skin—rough, tanned, dusted with coarse hair. Warm to the touch. Real.

You didn’t know what you were doing. Not really. But it made sense in that moment. More than anything else did. You needed out. You needed to shut the world down, even if it was only for a few minutes.

Joel’s breath caught under your hand.

“Sweetheart…” he said, low and slow, so quiet it didn’t sound like his voice at all.

You shifted without thinking, your body moving on its own. Half over him now, legs tangled in the blanket, your mouth brushing the sharp edge of his jaw. Your voice barely made it out of your mouth.

“Please.”

You weren’t even sure what you meant. Just that you needed something. Something that wasn’t the rot in your head. Something that might make you feel like you still existed.

His hand came up gently, fingers catching your wrist—not roughly, just enough to still you.

“No,” he said, quiet but firm.

You blinked, frozen above him. “Why not?” Your voice cracked, heavy and too small in the dark. “You said if I asked–”

He turned toward you, not pulling away but not pulling you closer either. His hand slid from your wrist to your cheek, callused thumb brushing against your skin. “I know,” he said. “But not like this.”

You swallowed, your throat tight. You didn’t understand.

“Not when you’re hurt.” he murmured, “Not when you’re tryin’ to disappear.”

Your breath hitched. The tears came again, silently this time, warm against the cool air of the room. You didn’t sob. You didn’t move. You just stared at him, blinking hard, wishing he didn’t see through you so easily.

Joel leaned forward slowly, like the moment might break if he moved too fast. He kissed your temple—softly, like it was the only thing he could offer. His lips barely grazed your skin. It was careful. Nervous, even.

“If you still want to in the morning,” he whispered, “we can talk about it.”

He pressed his forehead to yours for just a breath, then eased back into the pillows.

“For now,” he said, his hand still cupping your cheek, “just get some sleep.”

And this time, when he pulled you into him, you didn’t resist.

You just closed your eyes, and let yourself be held.

[fawnbabyxx]

Lottie Matthews post-crash headcanons !!

♡ : Even with everything you’ve all been through, she never lost her softness. She even tucks you in every night and holds you until you succumb to your exhaustion, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as those eyes of yours which she adores so much start to slowly fall shut. “My sweet girl.. get some rest, baby..”

♡ : Though, despite her gentle nature, she’d still without hesitation, whoop some ass or ream somebody out if they disrespected you in ANY way. One time, Mari shot a snarky remark your way in passing after the two of you had been bickering back and forth all day and you had to physically restrain Lottie because she was 2 milliseconds away from pummeling her to the ground. Turns out, she was manic but regardless it still applies, manic or not.

♡ : Is constantly worried that you’ll over exert yourself or get injured or hurt somehow. She even volunteered on several occasions to do the chores of yours that she found to be too strenuous herself. “Y/N, seriously, I’ve got it, believe me.” She gently chided as she guided you down onto the tree stump you’d been sat upon a few minutes prior, kissing your temple before padding off to go do said chores.

♡ : Has a habit of biting her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood if she’s thinking too hard about something or is under any stress, which is practically all of the time. You’d even put together this natural remedy for her to heal it which she avidly uses.

♡ : Has really bad attachment issues, so bad to the point she needs to constantly be touching you in some way or at least have you where she can clearly see you at all times. One hot, summer night, you’d left your shared tent to go cool off in the river after waking up drenched in sweat. On your way back, you’d run into Lottie who was scouring the forest for you, her entire being shaking, eyes wide and her bottom lip bitten raw. You spent the entire rest of the night until dawn consoling her and continuously promising her you’d never leave her before she was finally able to rest.

♡ : Is absolutely huge on making sure she’s never the reason someone feels invalidated since that’s how she felt around her father all her life.

♡ : Has the patience of a literal saint. She doesn’t ever even raise her voice which again, is likely stemmed from the fact her father was verbally abusive to her and anytime she has yelled at anybody, she’d just ended up sobbing and feeling as though she was turning into her father.

♡ : Lottie quite literally towers over everybody, including coach Scott. Regardless of if you’re tall, she’s taller. It’s almost ridiculous.

♡ : Is very in touch with both her feminine and more masculine side and always has been, pre and post crash. Some days, she’ll be wearing a long, flowing dress and other days, she’ll be dressed like a 12 year old boy. It really depends on her mood.

♡ : Very, very romantic and still finds ways to set up little dates for the two of you, even while you’re stuck in the wilderness.

♡ : Is a very talented writer and puts poems together in her head and recites them to you.

♡ : In terms of intimacy, she’s incredibly gentle and makes sure to check up on you what feels like every 2 seconds. “Are you okay, baby? Look at me..” She’ll gently tip your chin up so that you’re staring into her eyes, proceeding to press your forehead to hers. “Talk to me.. am I hurting you?”. And then afterwards, she’s huge on aftercare, making sure you’re all cleaned up and that you don’t feel gross or used.

A/N: Hii!! This is the first ever headcanons thing I’ve ever written so I hope it’s somewhat decent. Make sure if you have any requests to share them with me and I’ll try to get around to writing them as soon as possible!! <33