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ihavemanyhusbands · 1 year ago

Text

Santa Comunione

Part I // Hannibal Lecter x Fem!Reader

Also on AO3

Summary: Hannibal Lecter often does things just to see what happens… and seducing a holy woman is one of those things.

WC: 3.9k words

Warnings: MINORS DNI THIS FIC IS 18+, Corruption, Blasphemy (?), Religious Imagery, Italy arc (Rome instead of Florence), Canon divergence, Self-Harm, Some whump, Angst, Eventual smut, religious trauma (i think?), I’m not a religious expert btw tho i grew up Catholic, mentions of wounds and scars, Ofc Hannibal has a God complex, Catholicism, dead dove do not eat, reader is a nun lol, lmk if i missed anything!

A/N: Unsure of why this idea suddenly possessed me but it’s been a real delight to write. As usual, thank you to Stray, G, my wife beelmons for all the help hee hee <3 I do not condone or encourage any of the actions depicted, you’re responsible for your own media consumption.

——————

“Angel of my life… my body, my blood, my soul, are all yours;”

– Victor Hugo, from The Complete Works; “ The Hunchback of Notre Dame,”

——————

It was easy to get lost in menial tasks.

You’d mastered the ability to slip into your thoughts as your hands diligently worked. Whether it was mending clothes, polishing candelabra, or even refilling prayer candles for all the tourists visiting the basilica.

In the summer, it was especially useful in order to manage the larger crowds — A sea of anonymous faces that quickly faded from memory. Bright shining eyes and rapacious hands reaching to touch things they shouldn’t; Always hungry for a taste of something holy.

The pack of bodies made you anxious, their cloying scent overpowering the all-too-familiar myrrh and incense. Their shrill, excitable voices could be especially grating in such a place, where echo was ever-present. Even more so after reminding them that a low volume was imperative, for such sacred spaces had to be respected.

It was a true test of your virtues, more often than not. Patience, especially, was one you were still working on, even after so many years. It proved to be the hardest to fully harness, no matter how much self-discipline was employed.

In repentance, you found yourself praying more often than not, the repetition of the words putting you in a meditative state.

Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here, ever this day be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide…

“Mi scusi?” A deep voice brought you back to the present, much too close for comfort.

Startled, you winced a little and quickly looked up. A tall, well-dressed man stood right in front of you, amusement at your reaction tugging at the corners of his full lips. He was handsome in a way that was reminiscent of Renaissance paintings; Like an aristocrat, or a fallen angel perhaps.

“Si, signore?” You asked, keeping your voice low.

He gestured towards the candles. “May I?”

You handed him one, already lit. His fingers just barely ghosted over yours in the exchange, and your breath caught. The small flame cast shadows on his angular face, giving him a more severe look. A bit macabre, too, in a way…

Don’t think such things. He is but a man.

“Grazie,” he said, the smile still not leaving his face.

“Prego.”

You averted your gaze, intent on resuming your work. He stepped to one side, looking over at the statue at the far end of the room — Bernini’s Ecstasy of St. Theresa.

“The pain was so severe that it made me utter several moans,” he recited. “The sweetness caused by this intense pain is so extreme that one cannot possibly wish it to cease, nor is one's soul content with anything but God.”

You followed his line of sight, and before you could stop yourself, you said. “You must see her up close.”

He looked back at you, tilting his head slightly to one side curiously. You tried to keep your eyes on the statue, still beautiful despite endless days of looking at it.

You cleared your throat, continuing almost absently. “There are many proofs of God’s love, but this one might be my favorite. We are most like Him in that through immense agony, we can become holy.”

Your gaze snapped to his, and you stared at each other in slight disbelief for a moment. Just what had compelled you to share such a thing?

“Are you able to accompany me?” He asked. “I’d be delighted to hear more of your thoughts.”

That made you remember yourself, so you shook your head. “No, signore. Do go on, though. It really is a sight to behold.”

“Very well,” he nodded. “May I ask your name?”

You hesitated, but told him out of politeness. He repeated it slowly, as if savoring it on his tongue. Your traitorous eyes were drawn to the way his lips formed around it, and he didn’t fail to notice.

Before you could even think of asking for his name in return, an elderly couple came up to you asking questions. You muttered a quick scusi in his direction as your attention shifted, both frustrated and relieved.

He lingered for just a moment longer before continuing on his way, and you forced yourself not to glance back at his retreating form.

Usually, the few brief conversations you had with visitors barely registered in your mind. Seldom did anyone really gain your interest, but on the rare occasion someone did, you had to immediately tamp down any inane desires.

For you, chastity often oscillated between being a cruel companion and a comforting blanket. There were times, in the darkest hour of night, when you couldn’t help but yearn for things you’d long lost. Sensations, images, smells… all vanished from existence.

You had not always walked the path of piety, but the days before you made that change were not ones you let yourself think about any other time. Especially not when those old feelings stirred like ashes in a charred hearth.

Once you were by yourself again, you caught another glimpse of him in the crowd; His long, sturdy frame was hard to miss. He was engrossed in his surroundings — the gilded architecture, the magnificently carved marble, the myriad scenes of haloed saints soaring through the heavens.

You pulled your rosary out of your pocket, feeling the urge to resume your prayers. The smooth slide of the beads in your palm was usually reassuring, but you were too distracted to even conjure the words.

You squeezed it in your fist, the metal cross digging into your skin. Bright pain ran up your arm as it broke through, a rivulet of blood running through your middle and index fingers.

You released a breath as you relaxed your fist. It was a small penance for a momentary slip, serving also as a reminder of your vows. Pain was the best teacher, after all. It was one of the first things you learned when you converted.

Covertly, you wiped your hand clean with a handkerchief. You stared at the splotch of crimson on the white fabric, slightly entranced by the mundanity of your mortal blood.

Out of your notice, he observed your every move. He wanted to approach once more, to get a whiff of your life’s essence — A sharp note of copper, slightly sweet and endlessly enticing.

But he knew that, like any good hunter who had zeroed in on prey, he had to bide his time.

————

The setting sun streaked the sky in swaths of pastel, orange and violet and pink. The last of its golden rays illuminated the marble floors, setting ablaze the portrait of the praying skeleton.

His eyes lingered on this detail as he silently walked in, his long shadow dragging across it.

Most of the visitors had left by that time, but a few stragglers lingered for evening prayers. He was delighted to find that one of those stragglers was you, still unaware of his presence.

Your knees were on the worn cushion of the praying kneeler, your clasped hands resting on the bench in front of you. Your eyes were closed, face tilted up slightly in quiet reverence.

He saw the hem of your habit had ridden up a little, revealing a small portion of your calf. Just a sliver of flesh, really, but not one you were conscious of showing.

Glancing around, he approached slowly, bending down to fix it. You were mid Hail Mary when you felt the fabric being pulled, which made you stumble over the words.

You stiffened, but didn’t move. Instead, you peered from the corner of your eye to see a familiar figure straightening to his full height.

How curious that your prayers seemed to summon him, even if he was not who you called on.

Or was it?

A day had passed and you’d tried as best as you could to banish that whole initial interaction from your thoughts. His lupine features had begun to blur in your mind’s eye, the sound of his voice losing itself in the din of the crowd. What little you slept, you didn’t even dream.

But now that he was back, looming right behind you, you were on edge again. Shakily, you finished the last string of prayers you had left on your rosary.

Then you did the sign of the cross and rose slowly, turning to face him. Your eyes were darker in the low light, doe-like and fathomless. But there was no naïveté in their depths.

“I hope I didn’t offend you by taking such liberties, Sorella,” he said.

“Finding me or touching me?” You challenged.

He blinked, stunned at being put on the spot. "I figured you must value your modesty and didn’t wish to see you embarrassed. Forgive me.”

You looked him over, assessing. He seemed sincere, if a little clueless. The look didn’t quite fit him, but you wanted to believe it all the same.

“Thank you,” you said finally, glancing over your shoulder. “Come to see the statue once more? I told you it was striking.”

“Indeed, but not quite here for it,” he admitted. “I was unable to stop thinking of your assessment.”

“Oh, I assure you, I’m not nearly as interesting as you might believe.”

“I beg to differ.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, and you noticed how quickly the light was waning outside.

“Expecting a private tour, then? It’s rather late for that. Doors are shutting to the public shortly.”

“Perhaps I can help you in some way or another. Think of me as a volunteer.”

You huffed in amusement. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

He smiled, gesturing around him. “We have God’s eyes on us here. Nothing to fear.”

Why you were even entertaining this, you weren’t sure. It’d been a while since you’d been intrigued by anyone — anything, really — and being the object of someone’s intrigue felt nicer than you wanted to admit.

You were surrounded by people all day, but that didn’t make you feel any less lonely. Not that solitude really bothered you… for the most part.

You were only human, after all. Full of faults you were meant to atone for.

“Very well, then. Usually, there’s more help, but it seems tonight it’s just us. Start with the candles, will you?”

And so he started extinguishing each candle as you took one last lap around the structure, making sure everything was in place and every last visitor was gone. The two of you worked like a well-oiled machine, covertly glancing at each other whenever you crossed paths. Soon enough, you were locking the doors of the basilica.

Silvery moonlight and a few orange street lamps were the only illuminations outside. The stars above were like the million eyes of an archangel keeping watch over the nocturnal creatures. That evening, it felt like being closely examined, waiting for any slip-up to impart judgement.

You nodded at the night guard as you handed him the keys, and then you descended the steps along with your new companion.

“May I walk you home? It’s not safe to walk alone in the dark,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “Something tells me you’re not really asking.”

He smirked at your cleverness. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if something were to happen to you, when I could have prevented it.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at that, but you opted for being polite. You’d walked the same path many times and had long stopped being afraid of the darkness. What lurked in it, on the other hand…

“I am not so proud that I’d refuse kindness,” you said finally, nodding for him to follow as you turned around. “Wary as I may seem around it.”

“I’ve noticed,” he commented, falling into step next to you. “Has your God been cruel to you?”

You shook your head. “No, but men have. His most perfect creation, indeed.”

He smiled wryly, enjoying the sarcastic venom in your tone.

“We can appreciate divinity by bearing witness to imperfection,” he said. “It helps us relate to one another, sometimes on an unconscious level.”

You nodded slowly, peering over at his profile curiously. There was something truly mystifying about him — as if he was someone that only existed in intervals of time, like the cover of night — which was perhaps what kept drawing you in.

You walked through the cobblestone streets, speaking in hushed voices. You discussed things like art and poetry, quickly veering into more philosophical topics. His mind was like a maze, clearly difficult to navigate, but you did not feel discouraged.

You did always like a good challenge, even if it wasn’t good for you.

All too soon, you reached the old wooden door of the small convent. He noticed there was a small smudge of soot on your jaw, so he pulled his handkerchief out of his breast pocket and gestured to your face.

“May I?”

You nodded, frowning a little in confusion. He stepped closer, reaching up and gently wiping off the smudge. You forced yourself not to blush, barely breathing, keeping your eyes averted.

“There we go,” he murmured, pulling back and extending the handkerchief towards you. “Here, you can keep this until you get a chance to wash yours.”

“My…?” You started, but then his words clicked in your mind.

Your heart began thundering in your chest at the realization, beads of sweat forming on the back of your neck. You took it all the same, finally looking up at him with wide eyes.

You were met with the smirking face of a jackal – a beast turned man. The lamb in you knew this, even if his demeanor was outwardly friendly. The look in his amber eyes was so ardent you couldn’t tear your gaze away, rooted to the spot.

Had anyone ever looked at you like that? You couldn’t recall, and it didn’t seem to matter.

“What is your name?” You asked breathlessly. “I realize I never asked.”

“Hannibal,” he said. “Doctor Hannibal Lecter.”

————

Much later into the night, you were still unable to sleep. You tossed and turned, the sheets sticking to your feverish skin. You were plagued by contradictions, internally waging a war against a feeling that had suddenly yawned open in the pit of your stomach. Something too much like hunger, sharp around the edges.

With a frustrated sigh, you shifted onto your back and stared at the ceiling. You were no stranger to restlessness, but this time, you couldn’t be bothered to kneel beside the bed and pray. There was something far more pressing in the forefront of your mind.

It was that look, like he could see beneath the veil of your piety — through you, even. He’d seen you punish yourself, too, which was an intimate act all on its own. A subtle art that you’d perfected over time, or at least thought you had.

And still, you could tell he liked what he saw.

Yanking the covers off of yourself, you padded over to your desk, pulling the handkerchief out of your satchel. The material was much finer than anything you’d ever owned, gliding smoothly in your hands.

Gingerly, you ran your fingers over his embroidered initials, faintly smelling a note of something rich and earthy, like bergamot or perhaps clover.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you brought it closer to your face, absolutely entranced. It was at these late hours that consequences seemed nonexistent. The truth seemed less frightening when shrouded in darkness, with only the moon witnessing your downfall.

You brought it back to the bed with you, lying down on your back once more. With the silken fabric pressed against your face, you inhaled slowly. The linen shift you wore to sleep rode up past your hips, exposing your legs and part of your lower abdomen.

Your fingers moved on their own, barely dipping into the hem of your underwear before stopping. A sensation akin to electricity crackled inside your chest, seizing your muscles. Blood roared in your ears as your heart galloped frantically.

Was this what being on the edge of damnation was like? Too much like seeing your reflection on the forbidden fruit, bright red and infinitely tempting?

Your teeth scratching the skin, about to sink into the sweetest of knowledge…

As if scalded, you yanked your hand back, sitting up on the bed. You felt as if air had been squeezed out of your lungs, panting harshly, clawing at your throat.

The room felt unbearably hot, the walls seemingly closing in on you. You stumbled out of bed and gripped the edge of your desk, knees buckling. The pulsing between your legs quickly simmered into a dull throb, shame, and guilt following in its wake.

You were being tested, you had to be. What else could explain such recklessness?

At least you’d gotten yourself away from the cliffside and could still get back on the right path. Surely, the Shepherd would not shun one of his lambs for almost being lured by a wolf.

But how could you ever explain that inane desire of yours to be devoured, ravished, utterly adored in your last gasping breaths?

He was not blind to the way you’d bared your throat at the first glimpse of fangs.

This time, retribution would require more bloodshed — a lingering sort of discipline. After all, what was one more scar to add to the latticework of pink, raised skin all over your back?

You undid the laces at your throat and pulled your slip off, letting it fall to the floor unceremoniously. You reached into the bottom drawer of your small dresser, finding purchase amidst the few austere garments you owned.

Your hands no longer shook as you gripped the twisted handle of the cat o’nine tails — it was salvation at your fingertips, and you held on so tightly it left indentations on your palm. You focused your gaze on the wooden cross on the wall, prayers for mercy at your lips.

And the only other thought in your mind at that moment was ‘Fifteen lashes should suffice.’

——

Perhaps you’d gone overboard.

In the sobering light of day, you lay on your stomach next to the open window, listening to the trilling of birds. You felt ill with the aftermath of your slight overindulgence of masochism.

Earlier that morning, you’d feigned stomach pain and nausea. The latter wasn’t too far from the truth, and the pallor of your face – which was also dotted with cold sweat – helped sell the lie.

None of the Sisters – much less the madre superiora – were privy to your violent bouts of self-discipline. Not only would they disapprove, but… it would lead to situations you did not want to bring upon yourself.

You were just drifting off to sleep, exhaustion finally overpowering you, when you heard a soft knock on the door. You pulled the blanket back upon yourself, hiding the incriminating evidence.

“Si?” You called softly, shifting your head to face the door.

It swung open to reveal the madre superiora herself, accompanied by… Oh, merciful God.

Hannibal tensed at the doorway, his nostrils flaring as he scented the coppery tang permeating the small room. Though the window had been open for some time, your essence still lingered – a narcotic in its own right. He kept his composure as his mouth watered, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“How are you feeling, Sorella?” the madre inquired, concern all over her gentle, weathered features.

“Still about the same,” you said, attempting to keep your eyes on her and not on her companion – none other than the man who’d tried to coax you away from the Lord’s pasture.

“Doctor Lecter here said he helped you home yesterday. He expressed concern for your well-being and has offered to examine you.”

“Free of any charge, of course, madre,” he assured. “I merely want to help however I can. If that is okay with you, that is.”

You merely nodded, not trusting your voice at that moment.

“Your generosity shall be returned doubly, Doctor,” the madre said with a smile. “I shall give you some privacy. Please let me know if you need anything.”

And with that, she left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Hannibal approached slowly, as if you were a skittish animal he didn’t want to spook. You eyed him peripherally, wary all the same. He knelt at your side, taking a moment to observe you.

“I was worried at your absence today,” he said as a way of explaining his being there, voice low. “I hear it is some sort of stomach bug?”

“Not quite,” you murmured. “It is something far more… visible.”

He slightly tilted his head to the side in curiosity. “May I take a look at you?”

“How can I refuse the most generous doctor?”

You shifted your shoulders to indicate he should pull down the sheet. He reached out to do so, finding some resistance. The fabric clung to your wounds, which had crusted as scabs began to form. As he had to use a little more force, you sucked in a breath through your teeth.

Upon seeing what you had done to yourself, he was momentarily flummoxed. His eyes trailed over the angry red welts, appreciating the macabre artistry. The scent of blood was stronger now; A few of the wounds had reopened and were weeping crimson. He stifled the sudden desire to catch one of the drops with his tongue.

“What have we here?” he asked.

“The consequence of sin.”

“And what sin might that be?”

You pursed your lips, refusing to give voice to your faults. Your silence only compelled his curiosity further, but he decided not to press. That didn’t mean he wasn’t good at getting the answers he wanted, though.

“I was unaware such practices were still… observed.”

“Not usually. It is my best-kept secret,” your eyes fluttered closed as he pulled the sheet further down, until the barest glimpse of the top of your ass was visible. “Something for my own.”

His response was a thoughtful hum, and he stood to get some supplies from a small bag he’d brought.

When he knelt once more, you could smell alcohol. “Let’s clean these up then, shall we?”

You nodded, attempting to brace yourself. The lacerations on your back sang with agony as he began to dab at them, your teeth clenched so hard you feared they might crack. Still, his touch was so tender — almost to the point of reverence — that you thought you might weep.

“We are most like Him in that through immense agony, we can become holy,” he quoted, perhaps attempting to distract you. “Is that not what you said? I admire your determination.”

As the sting just barely began to dissipate, you could speak again.

“Think I am redeemed in the eyes of Heaven?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “In my eyes, at least, you are.”

Near delirious with a pain that made your brain feel like glass — and that cursed longing you suddenly couldn’t tamp down — you arched closer to his hands as he dressed the wounds.

“What do you gain from all this?” You ventured, needing to know the answer.

“Must I gain something?”

“I can’t seem to find another explanation.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I am merely intrigued by you. I can’t help being drawn. Can you blame me?”

“Perhaps I just don’t understand what makes me so interesting.”

“In time you will see. I will make sure of it.”

----

Part 2

#hannibal lecter fanfiction #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal lecter x fem!reader #hanibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecte x you #minors dni

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prismuffin · 2 years ago

Note

Heya! I stumbled across an older (?) lucas grey oneshot you made and saw your requests were open, and since I am having an absolute hitman brainrot atm I wanted to ask if you could write a yan! Agent 47 x gn! Reader oneshot. Doesn’t have to be a huge one, just how life generally would be like with 47 keeping them in the safe house. Reader can be more feisty if you’d like.

Idk if you write yandere content since I couldn’t take it from your request page but if you do I’d love to see this written out, but if you don’t thats totally fine too ofc!

Have a nice day!

A/n: don’t think I’ve ever written yandere content but I don’t mind trying so here it goes! Edit: couldn’t stop myself from turning this into something cute I’m so sorry😭TWO TITLES WOOO

Patience // Garden

yandere!Agent 47 x gn!reader

( summary: as you reflect on life with your captor 47, you indirectly ask to test the boundaries of your confinement )

warnings?: mentions of kidnapping, guns and weapons, possessive 47, anddd Stockholm syndrome!! Gets kinda nice at the end though! Readers depicted to be shorter than 47!

Y/f/f - your favorite flower

!-!more under the cut!-!

You were currently occupying yourself by washing the little amount of dirty dishes you had in your sink. You had hoped the task would stop your mind from wondering but here you were, washing the same cup over and over as your thoughts took over your mind. Currently, he wasn't home, 47. A couple of weeks ago you would've foolishly attempted to escape what others would call captivity. Though now you were a bit wiser. Still, at times like this where he’d leave you alone in his seemingly expensive safe house, you always got to thinking about how you got here.

After apparently catching the eye of the wrong assassin he effortlessly took you as his and only his. When he first brought you here you were obviously scared, but the first thing he did was reassure you that he wouldn’t hurt you. Obviously you didn’t believe him at first and though you may have some emotional scars, he’s never once attempted to physically harm you even after catching you trying to escape him multiple times. He cared for you and seemed to be trying to take things slow, as if he knew he couldn’t just make you love him off the bat. His safe house is rather big and very secluded and he usually spends most of his time in his locked basement where he gets his information for mission and such. Living with an assassin means there’s many weapons hidden and scattered around the safe-house. You like to think it’s a sense of trust, you know the weapons are there but you decide not to use them. You know you’d be overpowered, but you also don’t want to hurt 47 when he’s been nothing but patient and kind with you. You feel conflicted, in the back of your mind you know you shouldn’t care for the man that took you from your home but it’s hard not to when your life is so much easier because of him.

You sigh, placing down the cup in the sink before rinsing your hands and turning off the water. After drying them you found yourself standing by the large windows that showed the forests that surrounded you. A mountain height view of the acres of wildlife discouraged you from attempting to escape the first time you saw it. It used to fill you with such dread as you wondered how you were gonna navigate such a large area of land once you got out but now the view calms you. Your damp hand touches the cold glass as you sigh, though it quickly turns into a gasp as you notice the reflection of a man behind you. You instantly recognize the feeling of his hands as they wrap around your waist, his thumbs rubbing circles along your hips. “It’s just me.” His suave voice fills your ears and you sigh in relief. “You scared me,” you admit, not turning to face him just yet but still leaning back so that his chest his against your back. “I didn’t hear you come in.” You felt him move closer to the side of your face, a hesitant kiss was placed on your cheek, it was pressed so lightly you barely knew it was there. “You look sad,” he began, ignoring your previous statement. “Whats on your mind dear?” He asked, and you sighed. “I was just thinking about…” you trailed off.

Would he like what you had to say? You don’t want to leave him, you just want to step outside. You know there’s a lovely little garden near the front of the house, you see 47 go out to water the plants every other day. You don’t want to leave but you don’t think he fully knows that yet, you can still be a bit apprehensive when it comes to his touch. “Outside.” You finished your thought, clenching your teeth when you felt 47’s movements stop, his calming caresses on your hips being replaced by light pressure as he held back the urge to dig his nails into your skin. He didn’t say a word, and you refused to look at him directly only staring at his reflection that stared back at you with the same stoic expression he always wore. The grip on your waist was the only indicator of how he was feeling. “Not to leave you this time,” you started again, watching the skin of his eyebrows furrow just barely. “I just- want to see the garden! Please…?” Your hands fell to his, resting on top of them as you mimicked the circles he was previously placing on your hips. His grip on your waist loosened at the sign of affection, a hum escaping his chest shook your body as you stared at his reflection with hope. “I suppose you can help me water the plants.” You beamed, turning in his arms to face him. “And if you do well enough maybe you can help take care of them when I'm gone.” You practically jumped for joy at his words though in your mind you knew it was a test. He said a similar thing when he’d first let you out of your now shared bedroom to explore the house. Just a test to see if you’d try to escape, and if you did you’d be confined to the walls of your room with little to no sunlight and just enough food to keep you sustained.

But that didn’t matter right now! Because you knew that you weren’t gonna try and escape, hell the thoughts not even in your mind as you giddily grab the watering can that 47 keeps under the sink. Turning the faucet, you waited with a smile as it filled up. 47 came back with an apron and some boots, “I only have one pair for now,” he stated as he came into view. “If you do well today I’ll get you your own pair.” You smiled and nodded eagerly, watching 47 bite back a smile of his own before his eyes traveled downward. “It’s overflowing, love.” Your eyes shot down to the watering can which was in fact overflowing. You quickly turned off the sink, laughing nervously as you dumped some of the water out. You grabbed the can, straining at the heaviness of it, it’s been a while since you’ve had to do any physical labor. Whenever something’s too heavy 47 usually deals with it. Speaking of which, he’s instantly by your side, now dressed in his gardening attire; his hand held outwards as he silently asks if you need him to carry it. You shake your head at his attempt, finding that it wasn’t too hard to carry once your grip on the handle was right. You wanted to prove to him that you could do this! A small chuckle escaped his lips at your determined expression before he led you outside.

As the usually locked door slid open, a rush of cold air instantly hit you in the face. 47 stepped outside, making his way to one of the small gardens by either side of the door only to stop when he realized you weren’t following him. You stood at the threshold of the outdoors with a newfound nervousness. You gripped the watering can a little harder as you attempted to shake away the stupid anxieties, you were so happy about going outside a minute ago why does it feel so scary now that you’re here. “Come on love,” 47’s voice cut through your thoughts and you looked to him, one of his hands was held towards you as he beckoned you to his side. “It’s alright.” That was practically all that you needed to hear as you took two small steps. The door shut behind you and you glanced back at it before looking back to 47. A small smile broke out on your face as you walked towards him, taking his outstretched hand into your own. The action seemed to take him by surprise though he didn’t pull away, he just simply interlocked your fingers as he led you to one side of the garden.

Tulips, you noticed, were scattered about the entirety of the small strip of flowers. Some y/f/f were also there, you recognized them instantly, 47 would bring you a small bouquet of them every now and then. You placed the water bucket down as 47 got on his knees, letting go of your hand to grab his gloves. He placed one on before giving the other to you, they were quite big on not only your hand but 47’s as well. “First we’ll weed the garden.” He instructed, grounding himself with one hand as he scanned through the soil. Pointing to what you’re guessing is a weed, he effortlessly yanked it from the ground, glaring at it as if it were his target, and you guess in a way it is. You masked a chuckle, watching as he looked for more. “There,” he pointed and you noticed there was another weed infiltrating his garden. “Grab it firmly and pull.” Following his instructions, and his movements, you grabbed at the weed, digging your gloved fingers into the soil slightly before pulling it out. You glared at it like he did, scoffing at the weed before turning to smile at 47. He nodded his head as he watched you, “good.” Your heart fluttered at the praise and you immediately looked back to the soil to find more weeds to remove.

After weeding the garden on both sides you properly watered the plants, 47 off to the side admiring you as he collected the previously pulled up weeds to throw away. You felt content in this moment, doing such domestic work with 47, it was obvious he took pride in things like his garden and you. You took a deep breath of the fresh outside air the surrounded you, before 47 cleared his throat from behind you. Turning, you small smile grew at the sight of 47 holding a y/f/f in his hand, the other behind his back as he held it out to you. Placing down the water bucket, you cocked your head to the side as you walked closer to him. "Thank you, 47." You said as you took the flower, staring at it before grabbing his shoulder with your other hand. You leaned up and placed a soft kiss to his cheek, feeling him freeze at the touch of your lips to his skin. He blinked at you as you pulled back, you were quick to notice that he wasn't the most physically affectionate though that still didn't stop him from trying every now and then. "You did good today," He spoke, after clearing his throat once more. "I think soon you'll be ready to do this on your own." You smiled and nodded, hopeful. "But for now we have a few more plants for you to water," He motioned his head towards the watering can and you picked it up with a bit more ease than before. Following 47 to some potted plants around the exterior and interior of the house, you spent the rest of your morning gardening with 47.

----!----

( live, laugh, love 47. )

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psychedelic-ink · 2 years ago

Text

𝑬𝑿𝑰𝑳𝑬 || 𝑭𝑼𝑳𝑳 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀

pairing: joel miller x ofc!june | written in reader format, no body descriptions but does have a personality

genre: dark cottagecore, horror, angst, explicit smut, hybrid au, minors dni

word count: 13.8k

summary: Runners. Stalkers. Clickers. Shamblers. Bloaters.

Domestics.

All infected. One unlike the other.

You expect the infection to eat you from the inside out, turning you into something horrid. But instead, you find yourself with leaf-shaped ears and antlers that belong to a deer. While you live out the rest of your days trying to adjust to your new features and survive, you meet Joel, a survivor just like you but with a more grim approach to life.

Both of you adopt the forest as your home. One wants the other gone, meanwhile the other will do anything to not be left alone.

warnings: canon typical violence, horror elements, horror imagery, a non-descripted attempt at suicide, blood, intense feelings of grief (joel), joel having anger issues, joel threatening to shoot you, intense feelings/descriptions of loneliness (reader), female masturbation, you get shot, mentions of reader having body hair, piv, oral (receiving and giving), emotional sex, possessive kink, praise kink, mild dirty talking, soft!joel, vaginal fingering, kitchen sex, mild choking, rough sex

a/n: Hello everyone! this is the whole story of Exile, if you want to read this chapter by chapter you can by clicking on the masterlist below. Enjoy!

I would like to thank @pedrorascal for reading this over and giving me insight about the story. And also thank you to @honestly-shite for answering my camera-related questions 💜💜💜

And lastly, once again thank you to @pedrito-friskito who listened to me bitch and moan about this fic for months and edited this entire thing. I love you so much brainwave twin ❤️

SERIES MLIST

PROLOGUE

(SEPTEMBER, 2013)

Runners. Stalkers. Clickers. Shamblers. Bloaters.

Domestics.

All infected. One unlike the other.

After getting infected, what happened to one’s body could be described as no less than horrid. The change could happen to anyone; your neighbors, your friends, your family. After the virus seeped into your skin and flooded your veins, your body morphed into something inhuman. The stench would be unbearable— Acidic and rotten. Regular faces now looked as if they’d been through a meat grinder, or exploded from the inside out.

And those were your exact thoughts as fear crept up your spine. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps as the feeling took hold of your spine, a cold hand clutched at your heart. The taste of bile was thick on your tongue, your nostrils filled with the cloying odor of decay. You could hear the clicking sound of the Infected drawing closer, a relentless, maddening sound that seemed to echo within your skull.

Click Click Click

The Clicker moved closer, its grotesque form illuminated by the flickering light of a nearby fire. Its eyes were blank, soulless orbs that seemed to stare into your very soul. Its twisted, mangled body was covered in pus and blood, the stench overpowering.

You managed to make your escape with an empty gun in your hand and your black boots caked with mud. The rain fell heavily from the sky, as if it were determined to wash away all traces of your existence. Despite the downpour, you had managed to evade the Infected and make it deep into the woods.

You collapsed under a tree with thick, leafy branches and you cried— Warm, salty tears mixed with cold, sweet rain. You felt your stomach, soft, warm, and incredibly wet.

Blood, you realized.

With shaky hands, you peeled the wet fabric off of your skin and mused to yourself that it actually did feel just like that—warm. Your tears dried out when you saw the violently red bite mark. It was deep. A chunk of your flesh gone.

You checked yourself for ammo, your hands trembling. You didn’t want to turn. You didn’t want to become a mindless creature hunting for untainted flesh.

You let your head slump against the trunk, the weight of your circumstances pressing down on you as you grasped the finality of your empty ammunition. Your body trembled. Blood continued to pour heavy and thick over your skin.

Life was so cruel that it didn’t even allow you to die. You would live the rest of your days as a mindless shell of what you once were—a disfigured monster— until someone shot you. And that was only if you were lucky.

The thought of living long enough to morph into a Bloater struck you to your core. You closed your eyes.

While raindrops slid down the leaves and dropped onto your shivering body, you were blessed with unplanned sleep. You hoped that you wouldn’t wake in the morning. If you were lucky, a hunter would come by and shoot you before you had the chance to turn, robbing you of all your belongings.

A new type of Infected was born that day— Domestics, they would be called. A type of infected that didn’t behave like the rest. Domestics could continue their lives as regular people (whatever regular meant in this bitter world) however, they still carried the signs of nature’s rebuttal across their bodies.

Some Domestics had claws, some had fur, some had eyes that could see through the pitch-black night.

Some could breathe underwater, some had scaly skin.

In your case, you had antlers and soft, leaf-shaped ears allowing you to detect even the faintest of sounds from miles away. But with these gifts also came the curse of being forever marked as one of the Infected, an outcast from an already broken society.

This infection was different. Some called it adaptation.

But to most, it was still the Infected, there was no difference.

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

(MAY, 2014)

The wet soil sinks as you bend on one knee. The squelch of earth prompts you to wrinkle your nose. Your ears fall flat over your head, and you point the lens of the polaroid camera to a fallen tree trunk. It’s covered in rich green moss, with a handful of small mushrooms grown within it. You press your eyes against the viewfinder. The rest of the forest is blurred, the mushroom being the focus of the shot. You click the shutter release, the sound of it louder than you expect. A picture soon follows.

You flinch at the sound of wings fluttering. You press your chin against your chest, only moving your eyes as you look up. Your ears are raised with alert, your muscles tense, and your body unbelievably still. You see a flock of white doves swarming in the air.

You slowly get up with an exhale of a breath. You feel more and more on edge every day. You know for a fact that the forest is empty except for the animals that already inhabited it and well…you.

After you were infected and before you decided to make the green your eternal home, you had scoured the area endlessly. There wasn’t much; a couple of abandoned cabins, and safehouses made from stone and metal. As far as you could tell, there weren’t many Infected living here. However, that didn’t mean there were none.

Getting used to your new body hadn’t been easy. At first glance, not much didn’t appear to be different. Your ears were now one of a deer, your antlers small and not really good for anything.

The latter surprised you because from what you’ve known, does did not have antlers.

Funnily enough, getting used to your new physical appearance had been easy. The hard part was the newly developed senses; you could hear better, see better, could pick up scents miles away from where you stood. The first day after being turned you were frozen with fear, hearing and smelling too much all at the same time. It paralyzed you, making you think that the threats loomed much closer than they actually were.

But days passed and the pack of wolves you heard days before never came. The hunters seeking out tourists never found you. Then you realized that no one had been after you this entire time. You got up, ready to find a home.

In one of the abandoned cabins, you found a dusty old polaroid camera. You fixed it, cleaned it, and now it was your only tool to remind yourself of what life used to be.

The camera loosely hangs from your neck, swaying from side to side as you walk back home. You tend to limit your time in the forest, not wanting to attract attention from anything—be it humans, infected or regular animals.

A gust of wind blows and you notice a tree stump. Without a second thought, you gather a couple of the rocks that lay idly nearby. Four, you count, and stack them on top of the stump. This had become a habit after the first week. You enjoy seeing them months later, still laying on top of one another, untouched. The ones that are knocked by the wind or something else, you don’t pick up again.

Joel doesn’t think much of the scenery. There’s no one to bother him, no one to look out for, and that’s enough for him. His rifle hangs warm on his back, a newly shot buck limp and thrown over his shoulder. A good hunt, is all he can think.

His pain is still fresh. The hole in his heart still pouring crimson blood— it causes his skin to itch constantly, and he does so hard enough to leave red marks dragged across his skin.

Joel doesn't think anymore, his mind consumed by the need to survive. It’s out of habit. He shoots first and never asks questions. But even as he fights for his own survival, it feels meaningless, a hollow victory in the face of the horror that surrounds him. He moves through the world like a ghost, haunted by the memories of those he has lost and the darkness that seems to follow him. The constant fear and desperation have turned him into a shell of his former self, a shadow of the man he once was.

The part of him that used to feel is long gone, the watch on his wrist telling him the exact time of death every single day.

His chest heaves and his knees buckle under the added weight of the animal. With a grunt, Joel catches himself before falling and looks ahead. He’s close, a break seemingly not needed.

Then he sees a soft shimmer of light, his eyes following it like a moth to a flame. Rocks, he sees, four of them stacked on top of a tree stump, shining under the afternoon sun. His mind draws blank as he thinks who might’ve stacked them. At first, he worries that it might be hunters, but then he realizes that nobody would come out this far without a good reason.

As the realization sinks in, his heart slows down, his breathing evening out. The tension eases out of his body.

Joel rolls his shoulders and pushes the dead animal further up.

He only stops when he sees another set of rocks stacked on another stump.

TWO MONTHS LATER

(JULY, 2014)

It happens when you’re trying to take a picture of dew on a big leaf.

You hear the click of a gun, silent steps, and an agitated grunt. A man, you guess, a man much stronger than you. The feeling of him lurking behind you makes a shudder trail up from your tailbone to your nape, a needle-like sensation that induces the need to run. He’s closer now, his breathing heavy. You know it’s too late to run when you hear the loud crunch of leaves.

“Hands in the air,” he says, voice gruff. “I swear, you make a sudden move and I’ll shoot.”

You tremble. Your hands slowly raise, the camera falls and the strap stings your neck when it does.

“Don’t shoot.”

You sound meek and afraid. A million thoughts swirl in your mind, the most prominent one being that you didn’t want to die. An irony considering how you felt when you first breached the border of the forest. When he speaks again he doesn’t address your plea for your life, which scares you more.

“Turn around then, let’s see what you are.”

You turn and his eyebrows rise with shock, mouth parting. His hands falter lightly, the barrel of the gun dropping to your neck. When he swallows, his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Well, I’ll be… a Domestic.”

His shock gives you a brief moment to observe him as well. His hair sticks out from all directions, messy and unkempt. His patchy beard is peppered with a healthy amount of grays; so is his hair, you realize. You’re impressed by the broad width of his shoulders and strong jaw. He’s wearing a tattered brown jacket and a gray button-up underneath. His finger still rests on the trigger, the crease between his brows deep.

The watch on his wrist reflects the light into your eyes.

“I didn’t think your kind actually existed. A fairy tale, I always thought.” he huffs. “An Infected that can speak, think, and eat like one of us,”

“I am one of you,” you answer defensively.

“You have antlers growing out of your head, girl.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m any less of a human,”

“Maybe, but it sure does mean you ain't all human now, does it?"

The drawl of his words strikes a nerve. Blood pools underneath your fingernails and you think about the many others that think like him.

Rarely do you leave the protective bubble of the forest, but those scarce moments when you do have shown you what the masses thought of this new type of “Infected”. Most treated Domestics the same: shooting on sight. Some believed they could be the source of a cure—Whichever one they believed, it always ended in violence.

You have no reason to believe this man is any different from the rest. Hell, you can’t even rule out the possibility that he might be a hunter.

He takes a step closer. You inhale sharply, lips only slightly parted. The man doesn’t stop until you’re staring directly into the barrel of the gun, he cocks the weapon, his eyes glued to your ears and antlers. Saliva gathers in your mouth and you swallow thickly.

“What makes you different from the rest of’em— The rest of the Infected,” his voice drops, his tone threatening. “Give me a good reason not to blow your brains out right this second,”

Your ears straighten when he pushes the cool metal against your forehead. It’s cold yet it also burns. You’re hesitant to say anything, let alone convince him to let you live. Your lips are numb like a corpse, your throat seizes, the air caught in your throat.

Your gaze falls to his throat, and with a subtle snarl, he notches the gun under your chin, lifting your gaze back up.

“Speak,” he commands.

“I—I don’t crave to attack the uninfected,” you blurt out. He raises one eyebrow and looks you over, clearly not convinced. “I’m also scared of them. They attack me like they would any other survivor,”

“Is that so? Maybe we should try that theory out.”

You must’ve given him a look of utter horror— or one of a kicked puppy— because his eyes soften, brows relaxing along with the rest of his muscles. He finally lowers the gun and shakes his head.

“I won’t, don’t worry,” he holds the rifle with one hand and reaches out to touch your ear. It flinches at his touch. You take a tentative step back.

“Don’t do that,” you say with a frown. You feel incredibly warm and your ear continues to twitch. A sense of both comfort and fear rolls in your stomach. “I’m not a dog you know,”

“I guess not.” he also takes a step back and waves his hand. “Go along then—Scram,”

You scoff at his words, half smiling half surprised. “Scram?”

“I don’t want any sort of infected around me,” he answers, you notice his fingers curling tighter around the handle of the rifle. “I don’t care whether you can talk or shit gold, I want none of it.”

“I live here too, you know. You don’t own the forest—”

Suddenly, you find yourself staring into the muzzle again, you jump and goosebumps trace your skin. His hardened expression is back, he looks angry—furious almost, which surprises you. You didn’t expect him to offer you tea but you surely didn’t expect him to threaten you once more.

“We managed not to come across each other this far. Which tells me you must’ve been snooping outside of your regular path, am I right? Don’t come near here again.”

You’re wrong, is what you want to say since this actually was your regular path but seeing that he has no intention of backing down you decide to keep your thoughts to yourself.

“If I do find you snooping around again, I won’t be as kind. Now, go.”

Joel watches as the Domestic runs away, jumping above the branches and fallen trees. She didn’t say a word. She merely stared at his rifle one last time before fleeing.

Rightfully so, he would’ve shot her if she hadn’t.

For the longest time, he thought of the Domestics to be nothing more than a lie. He assumed it to be a weak attempt to spark hope within the people. A new type of Infected that didn’t behave like infected regularly did.

He remembers Tommy speaking of them, once, before Joel shut him down.

Supposedly they came in different forms, all of them having animal-like features. Joel never thought this of being the next step of human evolution —or an adaptation as many had told him— there was no use in having tiny antlers or other minuscule differences. They still would die just as easily as regular folk, so what was the point?

He turns and leaves. Joel would’ve shot her— hell, he probably should have. He doesn’t know nothing about this new type of infected, who was to say that the next day she wouldn’t come crawling back as a damn Clicker?

But, he still had some fraction of a conscience, and when she looked up at him, so afraid—the mere thought of him offering her up to the Infected making her tremble— he just couldn’t.

Joel is positive that this decision of his will cause him trouble. Hopefully, she’ll actually listen and never come near him again. But in this day and age, people rarely heed the warnings.

A fly lands on his shoulder and he swats it away. The thing you were doing had piqued his curiosity; you were taking pictures. He doesn’t remember the last time he’d taken a picture—

No. That’s a lie. He does.

It was when Sarah had won an award for playing on her youth soccer team. He remembers the picture well; Sarah holding her trophy with one hand and making a peace sign with the other with his arm thrown over her shoulder.

Joel stops, looks at the ground, and lets out a shaky breath. His eyes are wet, and his throat is so tight that it hurts.

Back when it all happened, he couldn’t even manage to go back to their home and bring a single picture with him. All he remembers of Sarah is from his memory—Not that he could ever forget what she looked like.

His chest stutters, anger boiling in the pits of his stomach. It’s unfair that he is still breathing and walking, it should’ve been him— Or he should’ve at least died along with her.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his voice loud within the silence of nature.

His anger festers in him like a disease. It never leaves. Whenever he thinks about his last moments with Sarah, his arms coiling around her as she stopped breathing, her blood warm against his skin. He feels a sharp pain in his chest and collapses. Most days, he wished that the pain would stop his heart, clog his veins, and leave him dead under the trees.

He jolts at the familiar pain growing in his chest. The sounds he makes come from his throat, an unattractive gurgling sound that reminds him of Runners. Joel stumbles forward and trips. Looking down he sees thick roots making their way out of the soil, his gaze follows the rotting limb, he sees a tree stump.

Again, he sees rocks.

The tightening of his chest subsides for a brief moment, his shock numbing the rest of his nerves. Joel looks back to where he came from. He observes the path the Domestic had escaped to, then he turns back to the rocks.

Joel isn’t sure what prompts him to do it— He’s angry, bitter, and the peaceful image of the Domestic happily taking pictures doesn’t leave his mind. Raising his foot from the ground, he kicks the stack violently with the sole of his boot.

He doesn’t care to look in which direction the rocks flew to. He walks away.

ONE WEEK LATER

(JULY, 2014)

Summer rain isn’t common, but very much appreciated.

You hear the soft pitter-patters of rain first. The light that filters through the clouds casts the room in a hazy, dreamlike quality. You slowly open your eyes. There it is again, that feeling of restlessness, accompanied by an itch that you just can’t scratch. You stretch your arms first, then your legs and your back—twisting and turning until you hear a satisfying crack.

Staring at the ceiling, you think of what to do. You’re low on supplies. Especially food. You have a handful of dried berries in the cupboard and freshly gathered rosemary to make tea. Not the most nutritious breakfast. Soon you will either have to travel to the city (which is never fun) or you will need to scavenge the woods, in hopes that maybe there is an empty cabin you haven’t sacked yet.

Thunder bellows and you close your eyes, your ears flat. Your heart races not only at the sound, but the memory of a rifle being pointed at you and the man who held the trigger. You remember the smell of gunpowder and fear, the taste of terror and sorrow. You think back to the man and the moment when it all could have gone wrong. But the thunder falls silent, and you’re still here. You’re still alive.

You’ve seen him once more since that encounter. For obvious reasons, you hadn’t come out to say hi. He seemed to be wearing a perpetual scowl on his face, which makes you uneasy near him.

The rain speeds up, the cold crawling through the gaps. Yet, you feel incredibly warm.

Human contact is something hard to come by and for some reason, the man behind the trigger awakened something inside you. Despite the imminent threat of death at the time, you realized he had a handsome face, a strong body. He’s clearly competent if he managed to survive this long.

You remember his hands, how large they had looked holding the grip of the rifle.

With a stuttering exhale, your hands move across your body, squeezing and touching parts of yourself you found that still enjoyed being squeezed and touched. Your breasts feel heavy and warm beneath your palms. One hand slides up as the other slides underneath your loose shirt; slowly you curl your own fingers around your throat, with the other you draw slow circles around your nipple.

The sensations are enough to make your eyes flutter closed as your mind drifts back to the man who had held you at gunpoint. His strong frame, his deep voice, and his intense gaze. You let out a soft sigh as you imagine what it would be like to feel his hands on your body. To feel his breath on your neck, the warmth of his body pressed against yours. It's a wonderful fantasy, but one you know will remain just that.

But then again, there is no harm in fantasizing. Especially in a world so bleak.

You imagine that it’s him. His thick fingers roughly squeezing your tit as he chokes you. Your breathing hitches. You spread your legs at the ghost of his cock. You can almost feel his breath on your skin—his growl deep and low in your ear. You imagine the stranger fucking you out of spite, bending you over until your body gives in, he’ll make your muscles twitch and ache, your name falling from his lips again and again as he fucks you senseless.

Another gasp drops from your lips, your jaw slack and eyes half-lidded, the hand that plays with your tit cheats under your shorts. You’re so wet. You shudder when you touch yourself, slow and sensual. You imagine that it’s his tongue, you imagine him praising you on how wet you are for him, and you keen at the whisper of his words. Your back arches off the bed, two of your fingers moving in unison as you draw quick, short circles around your clit.

Your moans fall freely from your lips. His mouth presses against that tender spot right below your jawline that you tend to touch when you want to feel good—the spot tingles at the thought and you hum with delight, your pussy fluttering and dripping around your fingers.

He'll bring you to the brink of pleasure, but won’t let you reach it—not until you surrender to him. You imagine his voice commanding you, his hands punishing you.

You feel yourself grow wetter and wetter, desperate for his touch. You imagine yourself screaming his name as he finally pushes you over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you as he slams into you with one last thrust. You’re left trembling and exhausted, your body aching and your mind reeling from the intensity of you imagination.

You come violently, shaking and trembling. You breathe heavily through your nose and your chin drops forward, slack with the need to say his name. Deep down, you wish you had asked when you met. He would’ve probably shot you if you did. You want to cry when you push your fingers inside of you, the feeling is pleasant and warm but not at all fulfilling. You thrust them a couple of times, warmth blossoms within your stomach, tears flow and your second orgasm shatters through you

Still crying, you wipe your fingers and rub your eyes. You do it in a childish way, the back of your hands going up and down your eyes again and again. You think of how he would console you.

You’re doing so well for me.

So beautiful.

Just you and me, nothing else matters.

You’re not alone.

You hug yourself when the last phrase passes through your mind. Within yourself, you accuse him of lying, you say that he’s far away and doesn’t even know who you are. The ghost of him shushes you and strokes your hair. You cry harder then.

A man that threatened you with your life becomes a source of comfort. It makes you sick, deep down, but you carry on by imagining him whispering sweet sayings into your ear, his hands stroking your body, his cock deep inside. You shudder at the thought. You know that you’re lonely but you never had quite known how lonely you truly were.

The rain sounds louder now, the thunder more menacing.

Your room now seems darker.

The rain lasts all day. You pour some hot water into a cracked mug with a bundle of rosemary inside. Steam flows out of the mug like a waterfall. You take a small bite out of one of the berries you dried yourself and chew it slowly. Your movements feel mechanic. You swallow and raise the mug to your lips, it’s hot, and a bit of tea slips through the cracks and burns your knuckles. You only wince a little bit, not really taking any immediate action to subside the pain.

Drops slide down the window. The inside is warm thanks to the old wood-burning stove you managed to salvage, most of the parts not matching one another. Soft crackles of fire accompany the sound of rain.

You take another sip of your tea. You don’t dare to think about the man that is probably staring at the same rain as you. You feel close to him, yet miles and miles apart.

The salty and earthy taste of rosemary mixes with the warm and comforting smell of the fire, providing a bit of solace in the midst of the storm.

It’s probably better not to think at all.

THREE MONTHS LATER

(OCTOBER, 2014)

Joel makes his way through the abandoned cabin, his eyes scanning the cluttered room for any supplies that might still be of use. The air is heavy and still, the only sound being the soft dripping of water from the leaky roof. The shadows seem to dance and shift around him, and he can't shake the sensation of being observed.

He still has food, luckily, but there was no harm in searching for more. Once a week, he scanned the forest from dawn to dusk, looking over every inch of the crowded forest. Most often than not, he came back empty-handed.

Joel ventures further into the cabin, his heart racing as he searches through the abandoned rooms. In the bedroom, he finds a torn and moldy mattress that he can use as a makeshift bed. In the bathroom, he discovers a sink and bathtub that are caked with grime and rust, but still functional.

As he gathers the supplies he needs from the kitchen, Joel thinks about the Domestic he’d met months ago. He saw her once more after that, camera dangling from her neck, a gun strapped to her back. He has an inkling that maybe it was her clearing out the abandoned cabins before he could.

Just as he’s emptying the cupboards, his blood freezes. He hears the creaking of the old steps and the familiar sound of staccato clicks. Beads of sweat flare across his dusty forehead and his lips tighten into a grim line. He slowly unwraps his fingers from around the can, crouching down slowly. His hand moves to his gun, which he pulls up to his chest.

He takes a deep breath and edges backward. He tries to stay hidden as he figures out the exact location the noise is coming from. Joel watches as the twisted, fungal body stalks down the stairs; it trips but is unbothered by it.

It moves around with a silent, deadly grace.

Its face is completely engulfed in the thick, black fungus that covered its entire being, its eyes long since rotted away. Swallowing, Joel crawls forward, wanting to reach the door before the Clicker finds him lurking about in the kitchen. He breathes out from his nose, as silently as he can. The Clicker turns to the living room, leaving the exit wide open. Joel’s skin tingles when he moves, like little needles poking into his skin.

Joel’s eyes frantically dart around, taking in every tiny detail just in case something goes wrong. He spots the wide windows, the coat rack, the couch—

His body shuts down entirely when he sees it. He stops breathing, moving, even the twitching of his right eye subsides within the minute.

Joel sees her. Antlers and all, crouched behind the couch, teeth deep into her bottom lip while breathing heavily from her nose.

And in that brief moment, their gazes meet.

Joel’s mouth is dry as sandpaper. He holds his gaze, eyebrows raise with shock, her confusion is quickly replaced with hope— A look he despises, yet can’t help but be drawn to.

The Clicker moves around the sofa, its head tilting from side to side as the horrid clicking sounds spurt from its open mouth. Without even thinking Joel motions with his head for her to sprint forward. He sees the still in her steps, strained and fearful but despite it all, she manages to reach him.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her gaze glued to the floor.

“It’s too early to give me thanks. We’ll talk when we’re out.”

He feels the way she breathes, hears the way her heart hammers in her chest. It reminds him of a caged baby bird. She inches closer to him. A movement driven by pure instinct. Joel thinks she trusts too quickly.

The Clicker stands by the door, head turned in their direction, taunting them.

It must have heard the two of them whispering. Joel feels his entire body tensing, his breathing nonexistent—

Without thought, Joel senses her nearly jumping with fear and his hand reaches for her. His fingers curl tightly around her neck, pushing her head down without his eyes ever leaving the creatures’ gruesome silhouette. It doesn't have eyes, but it sure looks like it's staring them down, its head tilting to the side as it listens for any sign of movement.

The Clicker turns its head, cracking its neck before heading deeper into the house.

He grinds his molars together and feels the sting of it in his gums. She lets out a breath of relief, it feels loud— Too loud. He squeezes her nape once more before letting go, and without a word, he heads for the door, not bothering to close it as he finally leaves the cursed cabin.

Her footsteps follow.

FIVE MINUTES LATER

(OCTOBER, 2014)

You follow the man deeper in to the woods as the two of you rush to put a reasonable distance between you and the cabin. He keeps looking over his shoulder. Every time he does, he looks more and more rageful. You’re sure that he wants you to leave.

Honestly, that is probably the more sensible thing to do.

But the skin of the back of your neck still stings from his grip and you can’t bring yourself to leave without at least learning his name. This forest is your home, and it’s his home as well. In a twisted way, you two are neighbors.

You hadn’t expected to come across an Infected when you went inside. The heavy rain made you walk inside with little care. It was terrifying, waiting for the threat to pass by yourself. But then there he was, a rugged angel, offering a way to salvation, and bringing you to safety.

You’ve seen him around; you even took a picture of him. To you, he was a perfect specimen to document someone who was both free and trapped. It was also nice to actually photograph a living, moving thing.

“When are you gonna quit chasing me around?” he suddenly snarls, turning on his heel with force. “How many times do I have to tell you— Scram.”

“You’re really rude,” you answer, crossing your arms in defiance. “And you said we would talk after we got out. Well…we got out, now it’s time to talk,”

“Fine. Thank me and leave,”

The wind blows warm. The sound of leaves rustling scratches your ears. You try to make yourself seem bigger by straightening your back. It’s been so long since you wanted to talk to him—To get to know the other person who was in the same situation as you. Afraid, confused, hurt, lonely.

You just want to know his name. That’s all.

“My name is June,” you say with the exhale of your breath. “And thank you.”

He considers your not-so-subtle peace offering. His eyes are narrowed, lips tight. Briefly you fear he’s just going to turn and leave. But the fire crackling in his eyes dies down, his shoulders drop and the wind ruffles his hair.

“Joel.” he answers, “and you’re welcome.”

TWO WEEKS LATER

(OCTOBER,2014)

You never thought you would have another person in your house. Ever, really.

But here Joel is, walking up the steps of your humble cabin, taking in the details, assessing what he could take just in case. At the time, inviting him over seemed like a good idea. You wanted him to know where you lived, if something were to happen to where he lived, you wanted him to know where to come.

However, your good intentions were not reciprocated.

“I’m not telling an Infected where I live,” he had said. “Feel free to show me if you feel that’s the right thing to do, but don’t expect me to do the same. We are not the same.”

The words still echo in your head as you finally reach the top of the stairs. You don’t think it was wrong of him to think like that. Technically, you two aren’t the same, not even the same species. But it frustrates you a little bit to see that he’s still so reluctant about your intentions. All you want to do is make your life less miserable.

“This is the bathroom,” you point out. “However, there’s no real plumbing. I pull in water from the nearby river and wash directly there.”

He hums, eyes uncaringly looking inside. “What else?” he grunts, walking ahead.

You dart ahead, grinning as you make an effort of bowing and opening the door. It’s stupid maybe, being so excited about wanting to show him the photos you had taken—But you couldn’t help it. It feels like having a friend over after years, it’s…it’s nice.

“And here’s my bedroom slash office,”

“Office?” he scoffs. “What work are you doing?”

“I like taking pictures,”

You don’t miss the way his face falls, hands tightening into fists and loosening up again. Confusion crosses your face but you manage to erase it by shaking your head.

“Uh…anyway, do you want to see?”

“Do I have a choice?”

His voice is emotionless, so you have no way of telling if he’s annoyed or not. You only understand his intentions when you turn and see him smiling, the expression sprinkling relief over your heart. It’s a very small smile, something that wouldn’t be considered smiling before 2013, but now it’s the broadest smile in the world.

It’s odd, feeling this light when doing something. You feel your fingertips tingling as you pick up a medium sized box from your desk and place it on the bed. Before he moves closer, you snatch Joel’s picture from on top of the pile and place it facing down on the sheets.

“You really have been busy,” he remarks, picking up one of the photographs. It’s one of dandelions. “Not bad,”

“Thanks. It is hard to find polaroid films and the one’s I find are quite old, or expired, hence the reason why all the pictures look faint or discolored. But it’s better than doing nothing,”

Joel gives you a faint smile that makes your heart flutter, his eyes grow soft. “Guess so.”

You show him your favorite photographs, one by one, with insightful commentary on each. He nods, a man of few words, but you appreciate having someone to talk to, other than your own echoing voice.

As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting a golden light through the windows, warming your skin, you realize with a startle that hours have passed. You find yourself sitting on the bed, shoulder to shoulder with Joel, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. The light dances on your skin, and the colors come alive, and for a moment, all is right in the world. No virus, no loss, no grief. Just the two of you, smiling and talking.

It feels like a glimpse of another life, an alternate universe. The sudden urge to cry overwhelmes you. It’s so strong that you press your nails into your palm, the sting of pain forcing a hiss to stumble from your lips.

“You alright?”

The deep baritone of his voice makes you jump. Joel doesn't seem to notice, as he carefully places the photographs back into their box and slowly stands up. While you nod and open your mouth to say that you are, his eyes lingers on the backwards photograph sitting on the bed.

He reaches out before you can stop him, “It seems like we missed one,” he says, picking it up. Your fingertips touch the photograph as he pulls it away, slipping from your grasp before you can prevent what’s about to happen.

“Joel, wait—”

You watch him, transfixed as he studies the photograph, his eyes scanning every inch, his mind working furiously. First, his eyes go wide, then they narrow, brows scrunched angrily. His eyes snap up, his gaze hardened like the first time you met him.

“What the fuck is this?”

“I can explain.”

Joel doesn't pay attention to her explanations, his gaze glued on the photograph. It's like looking into one of those distorted mirrors at a theme park. In the picture, he's standing, gun strapped to his back, fingers curled around the straps of his backpack. He doesn't remember this moment, every day blending into one. It's hard to tell which day it is just from a single photograph.

He looks tired, cheeks hallowed and eyes sunken. His hair and beard has more grays than he remembers, and there's a scar above his right eyebrow that he hadn't noticed before. How could he? He doesn’t like to look at himself.

But what really sets him on edge is the sight of his own gaze. In retrospect, it's a beautiful picture, the setting sun casting a golden glow on his skin and eyes alight. But he knows what he used to look like, how he used to be tired but happy, content with the life he had built for Sarah and him. Now, he looks tortured, eyes lacking life and love.

This physical copy of his grief and pain is a stark reminder of all that he has lost. He turns the photograph over in his hands, tracing the edges with his fingers as the weight of his past presses down on him. He can't bring himself to look at it any longer and feels a heavy ache in his chest.

He rips the photograph into two pieces, then four—He tears it until the pieces slip from his fingers, fluttering to the wooden floors.

When he looks back at her, he feels anger. Nothing more nothing less. He never should have came here.

Her lips are pressed tight, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. She looks so small right now, ears pointed down, and her body curling in a way that makes him think she wants to disappear.

Maybe she should.

Or better yet, he should. Only if he wasn’t a damned coward.

“Why the fuck would you take my picture without asking?” he spits, venom behind ever word.

“We weren’t really on speaking terms at the time…”

He senses her need to lighten the mood, but it’s too late. The lid is popped wide open, and he’s not strong enough to close it back. The sickening part is that he doesn’t want to close it. Joel wants to lash out, he wants to scream and throw a glass at the wall, watch it shatter into a billion pieces. He wants it so bad in fact, it feels if he doesn’t his chest might explode, his breathing hitches, eyes darting around.

Joel spots the box of pictures, for a brief moment he imagines himself ripping it all to shreds. Pouring gasoline over them, watching it burn.

“You shouldn’t have taken it anyway,”

His gaze then falls upon the camera, sitting idly on the desk. She follows his gaze, noticing the way the air around him becomes tense when he picks it up. It’s hard to breathe. She starts begging him, her voice trembling, as his fingers tighten around the device.

"Look, calm down, please. I'm...I'm sorry, okay?" she says quickly adding. "I understand how you feel—"

"No, you don't," he snaps, the weight of his grief and pain pressing down on him. "You know nothing of my pain. You don't know what loss is."

With a snarl of anger and frustration, Joel throws the camera to the ground. It crashes with a loud sound of shattering glass and plastic. He watches as the pieces of the camera litter the floor, its once precious film now spilled out like entrails. His chest heaving with each breath, his anger slowly dissipating, leaving only the bitter aftertaste of regret. He stares at the broken camera, with a feeling of emptiness and a heavy weight on his chest, the feeling hadn’t gone away.

As a response, her anger starts to rise as well, competing with his own. Her gaze traces along the broken camera pieces, her hands balling into fists.

“You’re not the only one who lost people, Joel.” you say, eerily calm. He doesn’t like the way a chill has settled over the bottom of his spine. “I’ve lost people too. You don’t get to say who’s pain is bigger.”

Joel steps forward, then another, crowding her space. He expects her to cower in fear, but instead she glares at him, staring at him with an unwavering gaze he’s never seen before.

He’s so close that he can see the small flecks in her eyes.

“Yes, I do.” his voice drops. “You talk mighty big for someone who prances around and takes pictures all day. You can fool yourself and think that you’re in pain but you ain’t fooling me. You’re happy.”

She blinks away her tears quickly, her lips parting with shock. It’s too late for him to feel guilty now; he’s sure he’s run out of guilt.

Anger briefly flares in her eyes, and much to his surprise she attempts to push him away. Joel grabs her wrist, holding them tight as she thrashes around. She refuses to look at him, his words cutting too deep and into something that she fears might be true.

“That’s not fair,” she cries out managing to pull one hand away and slam the side of her fist into his chest. “Fuck you Joel. Fuck. You.”

“Good,” he replies cruelly. “That’s how you should be feeling.”

TWO MONTHS LATER

(DECEMBER, 2014)

Snow crunches under your boots and the wind chills your skin. Except for the pines, most trees are left bare, thick snow covering their branches. Ever since the infection you don’t feel that cold anymore. A simple jacket is all you need, unlike Joel, who seems as if he’s wearing a dozen sweaters underneath his coat.

He walks ahead, rifle hanging on his back.

After knowing one another, it was hard to truly part ways. The first week after he shattered the only joy you had left in your life, you two steered away from each other; both of you angry, both of you bitter.

But you two danced around each other like butterflies. One day, you met his gaze and he nodded. The next day you told him about the extra fish you managed to catch, and that you wouldn’t mind sharing. He seemed hesitant at first, but accepted your offer when his stomach ratted him out with a loud growl.

Neither of you talked about the incident. You swept the camera away, tucked the box of photographs under your bed. You didn’t enjoy looking at them anymore.

You watch his back, the way his coat seems tight around his shoulders, the dip from the rifle pronouncing his shoulder blades. He always walks in front. No matter what the situation might be, you find yourself staring at his broad back and beautiful neck. He doesn’t talk much anymore, and when he does, it’s in the form of short sentences.

You on the other hand, do whatever you can to fill the silence.

You don’t dive much into your past, but you tell him about your hobbies, what it’s been like being alone, and how you adapted to your new antlers and ears.

Then one day, as you were telling him the things you were afraid of most, he turned to you slowly, his one eyebrow raised and slack-jawed.

“Don’t you think you tell me too much about yourself?” he had asked and you were caught by surprise.

“Uh… no? Am I annoying you?”

“Not annoying—Well, maybe a bit, but I can live with that— you’re too… trusting. Aren’t you afraid?”

You shrugged, “I feel like if you wanted to kill me, I’d be dead already. No use in dwelling on something I can never be sure of.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Fine then, what do you mean? Do you want me to be afraid of you?”

He didn’t answer and you were grateful for it. The thought of reopening the wounds he caused you wasn’t something you particularly wanted to do.

You’re abruptly drawn away from the whispers of the past with a sting spreading from your nose to your forehead, you groan and stumble back, your hand immediately going up to touch your nose.

Your vision is blurry, but you see Joel standing as still as a tree in front of you. His one hand is raised to his side, fingers forming a fist. The command is silent but it reaches you loud and clear. You pull out your pistol, finger nestled against the trigger as your ears raise. You hear steps that you missed before, too entranced by your thoughts to hear them. A faint murmuring reaches your ears.

You take a slow breath to steady yourself and take a step closer to Joel.

“Three people,” you whisper. “They sound obnoxious and dangerous,”

He scoffs, “How can you tell they’re obnoxious all the way from here?”

“I just can. We should go,”

“No,” he says, fingers curling around your wrist just as you attempt to turn. “We should check who— or what— they are,”

“And after that?”

“We take care of it.”

There’s a stillness in the air and for the first time, you feel the sting of cold. You don’t share Joel’s coldness towards killing. Even killing the Infected is hard for you ever since you also became one by extension. You much rather let the threat simmer until it boiled and threatened to burn you.

Joel ignores your hesitation and releases his hold. “They’re close aren’t they? If I was able to hear them even a little they must be. Lead the way,”

“Joel…”

“Waiting around will get you killed,” he answers, his tone calm and collected. “You’re either with me or with them,”

“That’s cruel.”

“Is that your answer?”

Leaning slightly forward, he forcefully meets your gaze. He doesn’t blink and it feels as if he’s staring into your soul, which is ironic considering Joel probably doesn’t believe in such things. Closing your eyes you face the sky, the tips of your ears burn and your heart skips a beat. You already know what your answer is, and he knows it too.

“I’m with you.”

“Then lead the way, Bambi.”

It’s not a long walk. You’re surprised that they’re so close, so surprised in fact you shudder with each step. You’re not a fan of confrontation. Every nerve in your body screams at you to run. But you feel Joel’s presence near you, his ghost chokes out the screams, only litter whimpers left that are easier to ignore.

You and Joel take cover behind the thick trunk of a pine tree. Your guess is that the small group are hunters. They carry guns and they look the part. Your eyes move to Joel, his own gaze slowly turning to you. He pushes a finger to his lips, signaling you to be quiet. The three men talk about the tourists and the Domestics they managed to get a hold of, you bite back a whimper.

Joel leans in, the curve of his lips barely touching your ear. He doesn’t have to do that, you could’ve heard him just fine, but some habits are hard to break.

“I’ll take them out,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath prompting you to close your eyes. “You stay on lookout, shoot the ones that try to kill me.”

You nod. There isn’t much you can add to his plan anyway.

Joel moves out. As he slowly approaches the first one, you move, your steps feather-light. You find the best position to spot all three of them and crouch down, the snow melts under your knee and wets the fabric.

With one eye closed and finger on the trigger, you realize you’ve never actually seen Joel attacking another. You’ve seen him hunt, but that was as far as the violence went. Briefly, you admire his contrast to the white snow. His coat a dark green, stained, and his hair mussed.

His every move is calculated. He walks around the first target, wraps his arm around the man’s neck and pulls him away from the others until he faints. You expect him to fixate his gaze on the others, but instead, he raises his foot and slams it down with no shred of hesitation. Blood sprays against the snow, melting and hissing at the warmth of blood. A drop of red lands on Joel’s cuffs.

You let out a scream, clapping both hands over your mouth before you can stop yourself.

But it’s too late, the other two are already running toward Joel.

“Shit,” Joel hisses, eyes finding yours amidst the chaos. “Get out!”

You’re a deer in headlights, both literally and figuratively. The two men crowd Joel, one pressing a knife to the neck you admired many times while the other sets his gaze on you.

You hear the bullet first, and your body moves before you can process it. Joel manages to kick the man heading towards you in the back of the knee. He falls face first with a grunt. You hear the knife against Joel’s neck cutting skin.

You don’t blink when you raise the pistol and shoot your shot, the bullet sinks right between his eyebrows. He falls promptly. The other one still groans on top of the snow. Joel takes the knife that was still stained with his own blood and stabs the last of them in the heart. You collapse to the ground, pistol falling to the side as you cover your mouth.

Warm tears roll down your cheeks, eyes squeezing shut as your fingers tremble. You see black dots hovering across your vision. You feel incredibly sick. Your mind replays the scene over and over again until you feel his touch on your cheek.

You were aware of the violence growing in the world. Seen bits of it whenever you left the comfort of the forest. But you haven’t been aware of how bad it had gotten. How desperate everyone became to hurt others for the means of survival.

Bile rises up your throat and burns your tongue.

“Calm down— Calm down,” Joel cradles your face, thumbs moving over your cheekbones. “You’re good. We’re safe. You did it,”

“Did what exactly?” you snap, pushing him away and falling back. “Joel you—you kicked in his skull! You—You—” your voice breaks and you finally open your eyes accompanied by a deep breath. He looks broken and for the first time you truly understand what that means. “What the fuck, Joel?”

His eyes flit around your face. He slowly takes in every detail —the way you shudder, the way your ears are flat against your head, the way your breathing is uneven— but he doesn’t know what to make of it. Your words have underlined fear, uncertainty. You look at him as if it’s the first time you’re seeing him.

Joel’s gaze moves from your face to your shoulder, he reaches his hand out.

You jerk away without meaning to, his look softens, the tips of his fingers only an inch away from your shoulder.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he drawls, voice dropping, barely a whisper. “You’re bleeding.”

You look to the side, too tired to actually panic about it. Now that you were seeing the blood, you start to feel the sting of the bullet still being inside. You wince and Joel catches it.

“Your cabin is close by right? Let me patch you up.”

You’re strikingly aware that you won’t be saying no to him, not now and probably not ever, “Sure.”

Joel is surprisingly gentle.

He helps you out of your blood-soaked shirt, leaving you only in your bra. The chair creaks under your weight. You ignore the vulnerability of the situation. It’s been months since another person saw you bare, you didn’t have the means to groom yourself properly. The hairs on your arms and legs growing with time— Even though you’re blatantly aware of how stupid it is, you still wonder if he notices, or what he might think.

Joel returns with the first-aid kit and you refuse to look at him, turning your cheek when he kneels to your side. He dabs the cotton in alcohol, cleaning it first before taking the tweezers out of the box. You hear him sigh.

“I know you want nothin’ to do with me right now but you might want to bite down on something. It’s gonna hurt, Bambi.”

Hearing the nickname makes you feel lightheaded. Turning around, your gaze drops to Joel but he’s not looking up at you, instead, he’s staring at the wound caked with blood.

“Give me my shirt, I’ll bite into that.”

Joel nods and hands you your shirt. You take it begrudgingly, balling it up in your hands and biting down on the fabric. The pain is excruciating, sweat beads on your forehead. You close your eyes, trying to focus on anything but the searing agony in your shoulder.

Joel's gaze is fixed on you as he works, pulling out the bullet with steady hands. You try to focus on anything but the pain, your gaze drifting to the window. You see that it's started to snow, the flakes swirling in the air. You wince, the pain making it hard to think.

Joel's gentle touch brings you back to the present. His fingers are light and careful as he works, pulling out the bullet and cleaning the wound. You can hear the soft sound of his breathing, the occasional sigh or murmur as he focuses on the task at hand.

“You’re bleeding too,” you state, pointing to his neck. “We should get it cleaned,”

His fingers brush above the shallow wound, not even a small wince crossing his face.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

“I’m assuming you won’t tell me about those memories even if I asked,” you whisper, and his hands go still, fingertips feeling like hot iron against your skin. “I’m not even sure I want to know.”

“Believe me, you don’t.”

And that’s the most you get out of him. A tiny crumb of his past. His one hand slides down to your upper arm, fingers pressing into the muscle as if you’re a ghost that has just materialized in front of him. Briefly, you see scenes much more violent compared to the one you witnessed flashing before your eyes; a desperate Joel trying to survive, losing himself to the darkened world. His grief still consumes him, you can see it clearly now.

With a soft sigh, you cover his hand with your own. The moment is still, neither of you knowing what to say. He seems surprised by the fact you’re touching him, his eyes slowly lifting and meeting yours. You swallow, the sound of blood loud in your ears.

When you look into his eyes, his soft gaze is briefly replaced by the memory of rage-filled ones you saw outside. You don’t think you will ever be able to forget that look. You won’t be able to forget the way violence clutches at his heart. His need to protect himself and those around him clouds his better judgment— Or rather, he doesn’t care about what happens to others for the sake of his own people.

You know that this should most likely scare you, or that you should perceive him as something ugly and tainted.

But it doesn’t. In fact, you think it does the opposite. It’s like a moth to a flame. You’re drawn to him and his tainted light. You see him as nothing short of beautiful.

His breath hitches while yours stops completely. It warms the fresh wound, then you feel his lips, scarred yet soft, a soft kiss as an answer to your pain. The touch of his tongue forces a shiver up your spine, a soft sting blossoming across your shoulder.

Joel continues, mouth moving over the slope of your shoulder and to your neck. His patchy beard is a harsh contrast against your skin but you enjoy it all the same. He closes his mouth and presses his lips into the column of your neck. Your lips part with a soft moan. He kisses your neck again and again as if it’s a means to survive. With every press of his mouth, he becomes more sure of himself, the softness is accompanied with the sharpness of his teeth, goosebumps coat your skin.

Your hand hovers an inch away from his head, too afraid to dive your fingers in just in case he’ll turn into another ghost that your cruel imagination often creates.

Joel moves back, only an inch between your faces. There’s a new emotion you see that crosses his face but you can’t place what it is. He feels your hand at the back of his head, his eyes flutter closed and he lets out a deep, long breath. Joel’s fingers gingerly curl around your wrist, pushing your hand flush against his head.

“Touch me,” he says, his southern drawl deep. “I want to feel you.”

It’s like an experiment almost. Your fingers are touching new soil, getting used to the feeling of soft locks and the bumps of his scalp. You allow your fingers to explore, nails raking his skin. A soft hum rattles his throat and you look back down. You spot the vein meandering down his neck and with wide eyes your hand moves down his head, feels the warmth of his neck, and traces the thick vein. His jaw is locked tight, nostrils flaring with every touch.

“Joel, I—”

“Don’t.” his voice breaks, eyes falling away from your own. “Don’t. I don’t wanna hear anything of the sort, not now, not ever.”

“Tell me what you want to hear then,”

“The sound of your breathing is enough.”

Your body reacts before you do, forcing out the breath that was caught in your throat. An eternity later his lips move against yours. His tongue brushes the seam of your lips, your heart flares, your lips parting with the silent command.

How many times have you thought of Joel touching you like this? Kissing you like this?

He’ll never know what his mere presence means to you. How the sole image of him brought you back from the brink of not wanting to wake to such a daunting world again and again. Even before he knew what your name was, before you knew his, he was the only one keeping you company—Accompanying you during your every move. A phantom man, following you around and wrapping its arms around you whenever you needed.

Your body reawakens, his lips and tongue pulling you from somewhere dark. His large hands cup your cheeks, tilting your head as he slips his tongue into your mouth. You moan openly, your hands coming up to hold his wrists.

Words you want to whisper burn the tip of your tongue. His words echoing loud in your mind whenever they bubble to the surface.

The sound of your breathing is enough.

You have trouble swallowing them down, tears gathering in your lashlines, but Joel makes quick work of them, licking into your mouth forcefully as if he’s trying to erase the entire English vocabulary from your mind.

Your hands drop down from his wrist and awkwardly try to reach his belt. Joel smiles into your lips, calloused fingertips stilling your hands.

“Easy there, sweetheart. Show me to your bedroom,”

You give him a confused look, “You already know where my bedroom is,”

“I prefer this being the first time you lead me to your room.”

It’s been long since you moved the box of photographs and cleaned the broken pieces of your camera. The ache of your heart is hard to ignore but you do. You nod, also preferring for this to be the first time he’s seeing your room.

Neither of you touch the other until you’re confined into the smaller area. It’s much colder compared to the kitchen. Joel shivers, a puff of steam dancing from his lips.

Not wanting this moment to end, you close the distance. Your fingers find their way into his hair, tugging as his hands find your waist. He squeezes and pulls your hips close, forcing a grinding motion. The pleasure you feel is real. It’s overwhelming. Your whines are needy, made with short breaths and the sudden lack of air.

Joel swallows them all, he sucks your tongue, unbuttons your pants. Arousal pools between your legs, heat licks the bottom of your spine. Your entire world starts spinning when he gets on his knees, pulling down your pants along with him. Your eyes follow, another shudder overtaking you as his fingers move between your legs.

“J-Joel…”

“So wet already. Pretty thing,” your heart leaps at the way his eyes move up from your sex to your face. “I haven’t tasted a woman for so long.”

“Then go ahead,” you mutter, burying your anxiety deep into your heart.

Everything moves as if it’s in slow motion. The snow outside, the fading light, the way Joel tugs down your underwear. Pupils dilated, he licks his lips at the sight of your slick sticking to the net of your underwear. His thumb moves over your mound, nestling between the soft curls that reside. You suck in a sharp breath.

The sound is loud enough to prompt him to look up. “Most beautiful cunt I’ve ever seen.” Cupping himself over his dark jeans, a groan slips from his mouth.

Joel's tongue glides over your skin, you let out a soft moan. His lips velvet against your sensitive flesh. You grip his hair tighter as he expertly works his way over your aching clit. The fading light filters through the dusty window, casting a warm glow over your skin and creating shadows on Joel's face as he buries himself between your legs. His palms skim the back of your thighs, sending shivers up your spine. You let out a breathy moan as Joel's tongue delves deeper. He takes his time, the sharp edges of his face soften, the perpetual crease between his brows fading.

He must’ve looked beautiful before all was taken away from him. Joel never speaks about it, but you know. You have seen the same expression of grief in your eyes many times. You wonder if you two could’ve met if none of this had happened; the infection, the violence, the change. Another wave of pleasure washes over you with the swipe of Joel’s tongue. You moan and he mimics the sound, the reverberations making you curl over him, your arms wrapped around his head.

Every cloud has a silver lining, you don’t know who came up with the phrase but you find it cruel, haunting—yet also to be true.

Haunting is a perfect way to describe the moment. Hauntingly beautiful. A soft hue of light lingering in the darkness dances over your skin.

Any second can be your last, that’s what makes this moment truly memorable. It can be your last, and you choose to spend it together.

His gaze finds yours amidst the darkness, lips moving and tongue swirling around your clit. He sucks on it, watching you with a heavy gaze as your whine joins the sounds his tortuous tongue. Joel pulls away and your first instinct is to pull him back, chase the feeling of his skin against yours. His fingers squeezes the back of your thighs, soothing you like a scared animal. You feel his lips moving slowly over your mound, kissing the sensitive skin.

“I want you on the bed,” he says voice honeyed in a long drawl. “I’m gonna eat this pretty pussy out until you’re drunk on me. Then I’m going to feel the way you squeeze my cock—But I need you to get all nice and wet for me first,”

Your thighs clench together and he lays another kiss, hands roaming over your ass one more time before pulling you to the bed. He falls on top of you, his heavy presence proving not to be a figment of your imagination. Your entire body rings for him. You feel his breath fanning your face, he stares at you, you see the traces of regret and your stomach sinks.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,”

The apology takes you by surprise, you stare, unblinking, and swallow. His hand moves between your leg, two fingers slipping inside you with ease as his palm cups your sex.

“You still do,” you gasp before you can think. “But I would rather have you broken and bruised than be alone. Something inside me—A heart, a soul…it’s been seeking you out, Joel.” his fingers deftly move with a sharp thrust. Your back archs, body pressing into his touch. You close your eyes but you still feel his eyes boring into you. “You terrify me Joel. But not only because of the reasons you might be thinking.”

“What other reason is there?” he asks, curling his fingers and grinding the heel of his palm against your clit. You clench your teeth, swallowing down your moans.

You’re a whirlwind of emotions. His sadness, his grief…all of it resonates deep inside you, it joining the pleasure that builds up, your arousal thick around his fingers.

You feel the brush of his hand on your ear, your eyes open with surprise, remembering the first time he had attempted to touch you—The Infected part of you. He had ignored it ever since he learned your name.

Joel leans in and presses his lips, the fur soft against his mouth. Your heart leaps as you flinch, your ear twitching uncontrollably.

“Tell me,” he says as you moan. “Tell me the other ways I frighten you.”

“I fear the way you make me feel alive.”

He curls his fingers, a shout rips from your throat. “Go on,” he prompts you.

“I’m scared that you’ll leave. That you’ll leave, and that you’ll become a ghost again.”

“Again?”

“Forget I said that,”

He hums, “I can’t promise you that I won’t ever leave. But right now, I'm here. You feel me, don’t you? I ain’t no ghost,”

To emphasize what he said, he circles your clit with his wet fingers, tongue moving down your neck. He draws your stiff nipple into his mouth, teeth sharp and pleasurable. You feel the wet streaks across your skin when he slides his other hand up your waist, he pries your mouth open by pressing his fingers into the hallows of your cheeks. He sneaks in two fingers, forcing you to taste yourself.

“I think I need to fuck you now, think you can take me, my little doe?”

You’re highly aware that the words are spoken without much thought. However, the endearment crackles across your skin, lighting a fire in your stomach, your body jerks, slick wetting your thighs and sheets. He holds your tongue with his fingers, feeling the way it moves with the muffled sounds you make. His mouth moves up the swell of your breast.

“You like it when I call you mine?” he groans out, breath wet and warm.

Joel pulls out his fingers so you can speak, his cock lays heavy between your legs.

Your chest heaves, “Yes.” you gasp, the pressure building starting to become overwhelming. “Say it again, please,”

“You’re mine,” he replies, sounding as if he’s just stating a fact. “Nothing will hurt you. No one will touch you…” the words sink into your skin, your hips stutter forward, searching for the stretch of his cock. Your breathing becomes heavy, shallow. “And since you’re mine, you’ll take whatever I have to give…won’t you?”

You hear the uncertainty that follows his hardened tone. Nodding, you catch yourself murmuring back, "I'm yours, and only yours."

Joel doesn’t give you any indication that he hears you, he presses forward, notching the head of his cock against your entrance. Your cunt flutters around him, begging him to move. He’s nothing like your vivid dreams; he takes his time, making you feel every inch. Your breath is caught in your throat, your lungs convulsing. The sudden regret of not touching him beforehand resonates inside, you wanted to feel how heavy and warm he was under your palm, wanted to hear his whimpers—if he makes any, that is.

“So damn tight,” he grunts. “So wet—fuck,”

He moves his hips forward then back, thrusting against the dampness that coats your entrance. A moan escapes your lips as he moves faster, each thrust pushing deeper than the last. Your hands grip the sheets as your body trembles. You gasp and bite your lip, the heavy drag of his cock sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can feel him, hard and thick, and it feels incredible.

Tears gather in your eyes when his lips find yours in the fog of pleasure. Sweat and sex clings to your skin, body on fire, he shoves his tongue into your mouth. The muffled sounds you both make seeps into the other’s lips. You’re both hungry to devour one another, both touch-starved. He parts away with a string of saliva following, he kisses the tear streaks, kisses your eyes.

You're left chanting his name like a prayer, his hands slide down, cup your ass and lift you from the bed.

His thrusts quicken, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You cling to him, your hands gripping his back, your nails digging into his skin. His warm breath tickles your neck, and your head spins. Every movement sounds wetter than the last, he splits you in half, cock moving all the way out before he slams into you again and again and again—

Your body shatters around him, pleasure bursting across your very being. The feeling pours into your veins, leaving a simmer and buzz in the pits of your stomach. Joel fucks himself deeper into you until you’re begging him to stop, your body overwhelmed both physically and emotionally.

“Where do you want me?” he asks, pulling out and fisting himself with little care.

The fog clouding your mind briefly lifts and you manage to push yourself up the bed. You push his hand away and wrap your numb fingers around his length. He’s so wet, glistening with your slick. Joel watches you as you lean down, wrapping your lips around his cock. His hand touches the back of your head, pushing you further.

Arousal pools between your legs once more, your tongue warm and wet as you eagerly lick down his shaft, feeling the soft curls tickling your nose, you swallow. Joel’s head falls back, exposing his tanned neck and small scars littered like a starry sky. A loud groan emits from the depths of his lungs, choked out and raspy. Your eyes roll back when he thrusts his hips, the head of his cock touching the back of your throat.

Your insides clench painfully, begging for more.

Your lips pop off, tender skin left wet and swollen. “Come down my throat,” you say, before swallowing him down again. Your tongue slides underneath his shaft, tracing the thick veins as you move up.

Joel’s nails bite into your skin, a string of curse words falling from his lips. Heat flares under your skin. He pushes and pulls, guiding you as you swallow around him again and again.

There’s something about the way his nails softly bite into your skin that makes your toes curl. It’s been a while since you sucked cock, and he’s showing you how to do it—

“Doing so good, little doe— Can you take me deeper?”

You moan your approval, your hand moving between your legs. Your fingers trace around your puffy clit, still sensitive, yet aching to be touched. He doesn’t seem to notice that you start to touch yourself, he holds your head between his palms, fucking your mouth until he feels his shaft begin to pulse before spilling into the warmth of your mouth.

You swallow every drop. He tastes bitter and you reel at the way the taste of him burns your throat. He keeps his cock buried in your throat as he rides out his orgasm. You run your fingers up the span of his stomach, feeling the dents and marks painted over his skin.

Joel is left breathless, his chest heaving and cock now soft. You tenderly pepper his skin with kisses, moving all the way up until you press one hurriedly onto his lips. Your fingers rub over the sweat-slick skin of his forehead. And as you move away he grips you by the shoulders and pulls you back, tasting himself on your tongue.

He licks the inside of your mouth and teases your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Why do you want me around?” he cups your jaw and rubs two thumbs down your cheeks. “I’m such a fucking mess. I’m not going to trick you into thinking that I’m something that I ain’t. I’m not a good man, June.”

“I said it earlier,” you say with a soft smile. “I would rather have you broken and bruised than be alone.”

NEXT MORNING

(DECEMBER, 2014)

The teapot whistles in the background, warm steam filling the kitchen. It’s still early, you’ve come downstairs to prepare a little breakfast where you would use your best supplies after a night spent in such delight. Joel was still there when you woke up, snoring with his arms wrapped around your waist. The warmth made you want to stay there forever.

Little did you know, Joel is a light sleeper.

Joel's hand covers your mouth and his weight presses you against the table. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer to him with every deep thrust. Your body runs hot when you think of how needy you must look spread open for him, so willing to take and give.

“Best thing to wake up to,” he groans, his teeth clenched.

You hiss at the way the wooden surface of the table rakes your skin, he must’ve heard your discomfort because he pulls you up, fingers that were on your mouth drop to your neck, holding you, feeling your erratic pulse.

“Is this alright?” he grinds his hips against yours. You gasp, keening at how deep he can reach.

“Yes,” you breathe out. “More, Joel, please.”

Every time his hips slap against your ass, you choke out a sound, and your walls spasm around him. His hand on your throat keeps you from moving far. Joel’s forehead drops between your shoulder blades, he licks a thick stripe up the middle to your nape.

You shudder, clenching around him tighter. He looks down to witness how wet you are, a slick ring coating the base of his cock. A groan that can only be described as animalistic rattles his throat, he nuzzles the mustache above his lips into the crook of your neck his teeth nipping at your skin.

His other hand moves between your legs, fingers drawing fast circles around your aching clit. You cry out as you rock your hips to meet the roll of his hips. There’s a live wire runs right under your skin, electrifying you from the inside out. Your legs clench together, your body quivering, breathing uneven as he furiously swipes two fingers over your clit again and again. Your eyes roll back, hands moving up to grab his forearm.

“Harder.”

You feel the mood swiftly changing, his calculated pace faltering and shifting into something more wild. His fingers around your throat tighten, his teeth sink into your skin deeper, the pain makes you smile, the pain makes you feel good. His hand cups your breast, pinching a puckered nipple between his fingers.

You gasp, eyes falling shut as he repeats the sharp movement.

Before you come, much to your disappointment, Joel pulls out. His shaft pressed against the curve of your ass, his breathing heavy, you feel him spilling over your skin, nose buried in the back of your neck, inhaling your scent like a wolf.

“Sorry,” he grunts. “Thought I would last longer,”

“It’s okay,” you say, albeit still unsatisfied.

The promise of your orgasm tickles your skin, sweat chilling your skin. You’re about to straighten up and clean yourself but he stops you, hands kneading your ass.

“Get on the table,” he orders. “Let me taste you.”

Joel helps you flip over to your back and you find comfort in the way his hands tilt you up your hips. The table isn’t the most sturdy, but you trust him. He kisses a trail down your stomach, opening his mouth wide when he reaches your sex. Catching the backs of both knees, he pushes your legs apart and licks into you. Joel’s tongue swirls around the bundle of nerves, he closes his lips over your clit and sucks—hard.

Pulling away, he spits, your back arches when he does.

And he dives back in, tasting you over and over. Tongue twisting itself deep inside, moving up and down languidly, rolling around your clit as his fingers make dents in your skin.

It doesn’t take you long.

Your entire body convulses, both legs pressing down against the frame of his face. You’re scared the table isn’t going to hold but Joel keeps you still—for the most part. He drags his mouth slowly, tasting you, swallowing you. His movements soon grow slower, the heat of your orgasm subsiding.

When you let out a bubble of laughter, you think that this is going to last forever. You and him against the world, living your days drowning in pleasure and each other—lifting two middle fingers at the crumbling world around them.

The next day he’s gone. You don’t see him until three months later.

EPILOGUE

(MARCH, 2015)

It’s excruciatingly warm. Your tank top sticks to you like second skin, it’s uncomfortable and all you want to do is go home, grab a spare pair of clothes and take a dip in the river.

You haven’t seen Joel for a while. But to be fair, you’ve been avoiding him. You know well that if you truly wanted to see him you could, you just didn’t.

He abandoned you without a word. Your heart threatens to shatter again when you remember the thing you admitted to him; your fear of loneliness, your fear of him leaving you to rot in your self-pity once again.

And that’s exactly what he did.

It was painful, too painful. You returned to entertaining yourself with ghosts, despite your best efforts, all of them looked like him. Three months had passed but you still feel his lips burning your skin, his cock dragging orgasm out of orgasm out of you.

Joel said he wasn't a ghost at the time; he never promised you that he wouldn’t be one in the future.

Life is cruel. You know this better than most. It was stupid of you to think anything could change. But the thing you had forgotten was that life thoroughly enjoyed making a mockery of your life.

You nearly drop to your knees when you see the state of the cabin you once called home. Infected, a multitude of them, moving around your house, a couple of them inside, lurking about.

You almost break down. Almost.

Joel never told you where he lived, but you know. And you have no choice. You need to go. You need a place to say. You need to survive despite the pain, the heartbreak, the loss.

The reasoning as to why still escapes you, maybe it’s just instinct.

You also need to warn him.

When you knock on the door you expect him not to open it. Much to your shock, he does at the first knock. Almost as he was waiting for you—You keep your gaze locked to his face, trying very hard to ignore the fact that he’s shirtless.

“June?”

“Joel,” you answer, your eyes fixated on his face. “I need a place to stay.”

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x ofc #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #tlou x reader #the last of us fanfiction #hbo the last of us #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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lemonhemlock · 2 years ago

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i am way too late for any of this, but i felt like ranting a little (a lot) over tma, so here it goes.

i actually really, really liked the dreamlike quality of the S5 statements. i think they're some of jonny's best work. so evocative and just beautifully written, the feeling of horror so prevalent, so delicate, so entrapping. i would listen to them absolutely enthralled. what a submersive experience. so on that front, 100% would recommend.

the problems i have are mainly with the meta-plot. certainly, personal preferences and biases come into play here, bc i despise jonmartin with the fire of a thousand suns and would have loved a jonelias corruption narrative, but, i feel that, in his quest to appease the j-mart shippers, jonny sacrificed a lot of his story's integrity. also, i have no way of verifying this, but it also felt like he inserted his own biases in a way that wasn't necessarily productive.

ultimately, i feel like he disrespected his main antagonists and that essentially translated into a sort of irreverence towards his own story. elias was easily his most dramatic and interesting villain (regardless of what he originally intended for him, it's how he developed throughout the story & i think there is a certain honesty in a writer acknowledging and respecting that), stole every scene he was in, yet after his great villain reveal in S4, he is absolutely absent throughout his entire apocalypse. it creates a lack of catharsis that i find bothersome. his death is way too easy. yet when he finally appears in MAG 193, it is glorious. he is terrifyingly in the throws of religious ecstasy as the eye's pupil. such an interesting idea! so little it was developed though bc jonny for some reason doesn't like elias.

there's this entire commentary about how elias is really just there to be eye's pupil until jon takes over from him, bc it's jon the eye truly desires. as if after faithfully serving the beholding for two centuries and bringing about his ritual, the eye would just disregard elias and actually be interested in the one person who is unwilling to play ball. please be serious. not saying that jon can't be the eye's "special little boy" or whatever, but the nerfing of elias/jonah borderlines on petulant. ofc, jonny is the author and you cannot begrudge a man for writing whatever he wants, but, as a listener, i have to say it feels very unsatisfying whenever authorial biases directly affect the storyline. very deus-ex-machina. very unearned.

i also have a problem with how the eye was ultimately handled and, once again, nerfed. the introduction of this element in relation to the beholding, that it sees but does not understand, felt very trite to me. it was added as a way to de-power the eye and elevate the web. but how could it even be true in the context of the entity conceptualization? the reason scopophobia is a thing is because people fear someone is behind the watching. what they fear is judgment or someone keeping tabs on them and using that information to harm them in some way. that requires intelligence, a capacity to distinguish between the harmless and the incriminatory, a propensity for casting moral judgment, of holding people accountable, of assigning blame, of discovering people's deepest, darkest secrets, of weaponizing shame. no one is afraid of a crow or a cat staring back at them, because, while those are also living beings, they lack the higher intelligence that creates the context necessary for scopophobia. so how can the eye not possess intelligence? apparently it doesn't, because jonny decided he didn't like the eye and the spider was oh-so-cooler instead.

but that only lead to the spider being way too overpowered than it should have been. as the so-called brain of the operation, the web really manifests a lot of faults that could have been exploited, yet the character never do, because the web needs to be true It Girl for some reason. this all feels very childish. the web's motivations do not work in-universe. we are often told it doesn't have a ritual because it is content with playing its games of manipulation within the world as it currently is. and that honestly seemed a rather fair assessment to make, but later proved to be a red herring, because it was the web that was actually behind the eye's own ritual.

i have several gripes with this. 1. if the spider is so smart, why doesn't it/can't it have its own ritual and re-shape the world according to its own preferences? why does it have to piggyback on the eye's grind? 2. the spider's big plan seems to be bringing about the eyepocalypse just to convince the characters to let the fears out into the metaverse so it can start again. because, as it turns out, the eyepocalypse isn't really it's preferred state of being? it was the status-quo after all? the web DID prefer the world as it was, because it allowed it to thrive off manipulation and puppeteering, things it can't really engage in as much as it would like, since now everyone is trapped inside various fear domains. so, why-oh-why, not just leave the world as is? why even bring about an apocalypse in the first place if your intention is to always inhabit a apocalypse-less place?

i felt like this was such a plot-hole of an explanation the way it was presented. the web's greatest flaw was that it loved intricate plots so much there was a real danger of over-complicating its own plans and failing to see the forest from the trees, so to speak. the eye could have been used not to boggle down on meaningless details and ramifications, but to get a better sense of the bigger picture, something the web could very well lose sight of (pun intended). so the web's "plan" could have been ultimately rendered meaningless, because instead of choosing the simplistic, straightforward, occam's razor solution (no apocalypse, just thrive off the world as it is), it chose the overly complicated path that placed it in a situation it didn't thrive in (eyepocalypse) and made it even more complicated to get out of in the first place. it basically surrendered its destiny into the hands of people who had zero reasons to act sympathetic and could have very well chosen to destroy the entire world, fears included. and yet i am supposed to be in awe of the web's great intelligence and buy into the whole dumb eye propaganda?

many things have already been said about the moral dilemma at the end of S5 and my take on that is that jon was right. it was the merciful and just solution to prevent other people from other universes from suffering at the hands of fear entities. but i will be indulgent and account that it is a difficult choice to make for anyone, since human beings are so survivalist in nature and the choice to just make the fears someone else's problem in the hopes of their plans maybe getting foiled more effectively by others is tantalizing. who knows what any of us would have chosen had we been in their situation? perpetuating the horrors on someone else just so you could get reprieve is so cravenly but it's human and i get it. however, by no means is this a happy ending the way it was framed by the narrative. what melanie, georgie, basira and martin did was horrible and evil, but it is never acknowledged in that way. the least jonny could have done is have jon resist martin's selfish decision and have martin genuinely kill him. but, no, martin gets his romantic send-off together with jon, with the open possibility that they get transported to another world where they could start over. melanie, georgie and basira get to start a new life in the entity-less world, after contributing almost nothing. the worst characters get to live & they're validated in their awful behaviour.

however. i do feel like there were other ways to resolve the eyepocalypse without resorting to a horrible sophie's choice in the first place, but that would require a more extensive endgame re-write.

#i also think that the ending was peddled like a tragedy just bc jon & martin didn't live #but imo the ending was pretty horror-like to begin with #the fears escape into the multi-verse and get to terrorize a new set of people!#also if you ask me the fact that melanie/georgie/basira live is a tragedy in and of itself #but ofc the narrative frames it as a good thing #the magnus archives #elias bourchard #the archivist #anti jonmartin #jonelias #putting this in the tag bc that would have been the superior plot line #the beholding #the eye #here i am running my mouth off again #tma critical #magnus critical

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baahsu · 1 year ago

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SIGH ITS ME LOCAL VSCEST WHORE BACK AGAIN. neways my minds fr like a fishbowl rn bc my one braincell keeps swimming back n forth btwn thinking about "yoniji dog and cat dynamic" and "super possessive of his all his siblings ichiji" but since you urself made the "craving manhandling yoniji" post ill give you my silly strange little thoughts on that one first. but know that possessive ichiji is also coming sometime soon bc he makes me crazy lmao

SO as we all know, yonji is very much puppy coded, but what we DONT know/talk enough about is how cat coded niji is. like i'm confident that mf would start purring if you pet his head n carded your fingers thru his hair

so cat and dog dynamic, already great, but now it's YONIJI where the puppy is like a head taller than the cat and the puppy loves the cat very much and wants to carry the cat around like a fancy handbag and wants to make the cat see stars (in more ways then one ;]) and this whole time the cat is like "🤬😡😾🙄" bc like. yeah niji feels the same way but GOD yonji you are a literal '''''emotionless''''' prince AND soldier please stfu you are embarrassing him 😭😭

yonjis the one who'll pull any of his siblings into his lap whenever he wants to, even in front of soldiers/staff bc A. hes physically affectionate and B. he just. can. lol (what are 0123 gonna do?? physically overpower him when theyre LITERALLY in his lap??? maybe sanji could if he was desperate but thats abt it fagagfaaghwf and if any soldier/staff member made a comment abt it they'd just fuckin die lol)

AND yonji likes doing this to niji the most bc the others just dgaf about it (ichiji doesnt mind- a chair is a chair- this one just happens to want its hands wrapped around his waist, reiju finds it cute and endearing, and sanji might've been tense about it at first but after a while he just melted into it bc ZAMN hes touch starved) but niji VERY MUCH gives a fuck about it. he gets sooo flustered and red in the face- twisting in yonjis lap and banging his fists against yonjis head n chest and shrieking "let me go you fucking ape!" in a voice an octave higher than usual. yonji is simply sitting there like "😊😊😊" bc his ass is NOT listening. hes prolly lost in his head thinking about how hard hes gonna be fucking niji within the next 3 minutes if he doesnt stop that damn squirming.

ALSO fitting cat and dog dynamic methinks- yonji bites. affectionately. like ofc he does hickeys and claim marks but sometimes he'll just go up to niji or any of 0123 and (lightly, gently) bite them somewhere on their arm or shoulder or finger to be affectionate. (is this me projecting?? maybee <3<3) niji, resident cat who finds biting as a challenge, does NOT fucking get it and goes "??!?!? motherfucker WHAT?!?!" everytime it happens. 013 understand that its meant to b affectionate but instead of telling niji this they simply watch this interaction go down whenever it happens bc its Really Fucking Funny

and to end it out, obviously yoniji fuck like animals in heat, too. yonji with the doggy style and deep growls in nijis ear and the (strong, heavy) bites that draw blood all along his neck and thighs. and niji with nails that leave scratches all along yonjis skin and whos back can arch better than any cats and who sure as hell ACTS like a cat by constantly whining and complaining the whole time during sex abt yonji smothering him with affection but the second yonji sighs n eases up on em niji immediately goes "!! what the Fuck do you love me or not??!?!". yonji quickly realizes that sometimes the best thing to do is just shove some fingers in his mouth to get him to stfu :)))

OKAY and fin lol. they are so silly yet hot together. goofy whores, even. they make each other better AND worse. i love them.

-J.J c(:

No no no but this is so good?? So accurate?? Even the little details?? Ichiji doesn't mind yonji putting him on his lap because it's just another seat to him?? Yonji's ready to murder someone if they say shit about what he's doing?? Everyone's amused at how much of a dumbass niji is?? I LOVE IT ALL

Cat and dog dynamic just fits so perfectly for yoniji it's crazy!!

Yonji is that mix of being a huge dog that doesn't realize it grew too much and of being a huge dog that's pretty much aware it grew and it's making the most out of it. He's constantly craving physical affection, you can see it in his eyes and in his figurative tail that's constantly wagging as he trails behind his siblings, the catch is that if they ignore him he can just manhandle them all, toss them over his shoulders and plop them on his lap when he gets to a couch

Then there's niji, only outwardly accepting physical affection on his own terms, but making a scene if he gets ignored for too long. He's always threading that line of "I hate you, leave me alone" and "I hate you slightly less today, come cuddle me"

So when you put them together it's just hilarity overload. Niji has no chance against yonji, he can't fight him, can't overpower him, he can't barely even move when yonji got his arms around him (even worse when yonji gets his whole body on top of him). But it's obvious to everyone niji secretly loves it, he feels yonji's weight and warmth and the way he mercilessly pounds into him and he just purrs and whines uncontrollably

I also think ichiji's kinda like a cat too, except he's the type that just sits there on his own, judging everyone and just takes it if someone decides to do something to him. And by someone I mean yonji and reiju, if it's niji or sanji his other side comes out and he'd much rather tease them for being needy

#I'll patiently wait here for the ichiji brainrot bc i know it'll be good #vinsmokecest

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a-moment-captured · 2 years ago

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so let’s be whores for urb. i’ve written this 3 times cause tumblr keeps crashing so gonna try and remember.

i’d suck the soul out of that man. blow him and make him cum, keep going till he’s hard again and repeat.

so the mv and the recent photos got me so fucking 😮‍💨 for this man. that shot on bedroomfits rlly got me prepared to do anything and everything for that man. good god. his shirt is so fucking tight, seeing his chest and his arms, whew.

so like first that shot of his hand got me. whew. imagining his fingers in u and they stretch u out so good.

cause also bro is so cocky and i’m confident he’s also hung as fuck. has to stretch you out on his fingers every time cause he’s so thick and long. also leaks precum all the time cause he’s just so turned on by u constantly.

have a feeling that when ur fucking when u pull his hair for the first time it would totally catch him so off guard, he’d cum for sure, cause, pain kink 😌

also think consensually he would be a sadist (like when playing. dom/sub or bdsm type)

bro is def into spanking, would spank you so hard all the time. (he loves it, and so do u) constantly has his handprints on ur asscheeks cause it turns him on so bad hearing you moan in pain and having his marks on u. his hands are so big when he does spank u it covers ur entire asscheek.

on the same note i think he would love tying you up for the power trip (always consensually!) cause he has a size kink (along with u) and loves overpowering you and holding you down since he’s so much bigger then u. you love that he can hold you completely down with just one arm. and just. whew. think he’d probably edge you too cause you can’t touch.

think he has a breeding kink just like jack, (also believe they’ve talked about it together lmao) he’d wear a condom after u first get together but after a bit he just said he couldn’t fucking stand it, it ok to go without, and you wanted to feel him so bad (every vein and ridge, and also the warmth when he cums in u) so you said yes ofc. he’d just be in complete bliss from how good it feels. can hardly take it. probably would cum twice cause he just feels so good with ur pussy gripping, squeezing and throbbing around him so fucking tight. and now he loves hearing u beg for his cum, one of his fav things to hear. (also u love feelin him throb when he’s about to cum.)

he’s possessive when playing, wants to claim u as his, wants u to tell him again and again that ur his, he’s repeating “you’re mine, all fucking mine, no one else can have you. mine.” (this also goes along with the breeding kink cause filling u up is just another way he claims u as his.)

also think he’s rlly vocal, never is trying to be but you just feel so fucking good around him he can’t fucking help it.

yet another thought is that he loves getting lapdances, feeling u grinding and dancing on him while wearing the tightest, smallest, sexiest lingerie. having to restrain himself until at least the song is over if he can’t wait until ur done (but usually can’t do it, can’t handle it, and ends up ripping ur set off)

anyway i read somewhere yesterday how jack would be the type to continue to fuck u while someone popped their head in to have a convo and how he just wouldn’t care if his friends came in he’d just keep going (@19crimes maybe???) and i do fully with my entire being believe that urb is the same way. strikes me as a horny ass motherfucker.

finally thinking about shotgunning with him makes me drip. like so bad. it’s so fucking intimate and so hot and after you blow the smoke out even if the blunt isn’t done he just has to give u the nastiest sloppiest kiss because he just can’t take it. it makes him so fucking hard.

anyway i’m rlly rlly rlly horny and a complete and total whore for that man, he’s so fucking sexy, i strongly believe he’s a kinky ass motherfucker, and i’d literally do anything for him, and i have lots and lots and lots of thoughts.

thank u for accepting my essay i hope you enjoy. — 💋

(i’ve also tried to submit this like 4 times and it keeps crashing so fingers crossed!)

🚨Ladies and gentlemen🚨

Can we please give anon a round of applause for reminding us why we are all horny sluts for Urban?!

Babe, I tried to prepare myself but nothing prepared for that! Now I’m gonna be thinking about Urban and his fingers all damn day.

And the bedroom fit?! Speechless…

I thought I was ready but I wasn’t! Anon, anytime you want to send in something about Urban, I’ll be your biggest cheerleader!

#urban Wyatt #jack harlow

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allywritesforfun · 3 years ago

Note

Can I request the dsmp members finding the spot where reader is most ticklish. With They/Them pronouns please?

omg i love this thank you! i wasn’t sure if you meant cc or c so some can be read as both!

MCYT Finding Your Tickle Spot

regular masterlist

headcanon masterlist

taglist

anon list

dream:

he already has a god complex lowkey

so having this power over you was the worst

he was just trying to kiss you and accidentally very gently brushed against that spot

you buckled into his arms

he started laughing and kept trying to do it

his height made it very hard to get away

now he tickles you every chance he gets

you actually started to become tolerant to it and found out how to get away

ofc he made it his mission to find a diff one

there was just no escape

sapnap:

you know damn well he slips into his accent anytime he gets you under him

he likes to feel empowered so he’s always over you when he tickles you

luckily, you’re able to slip underneath him

you try to run away

“get yer ass back here!”

sapnap is just so fast

he catches you almost instantly and tackles you back to the bed/couch

he always feels bad when you get really weak from laughing so he gives you tons of kisses afterwards to make up for it

george:

he found out because you were having an open conversation

ofc he tried it out right away

he found you absolutely adorable

but, he had some restraint

he only tickles you when he wants something

“i could really use some food rn”

“go get it then”

“i want you to make it! you make it better than me!”

at first he pulls you into a kiss to try to convince you

when he figures out it isn’t gonna change anything, he tickles you

and he doesn’t stop til he gets what he wants

wilbur:

this is a hard one because im split with him

because hes the type to tickle you unironically

like he feels the need to tickle you in public

especially on stream

he can’t explain it, you can’t explain it, but you only get tickled if people are watching

might be a possessive thing?

at first you hated it, hated the way that people knew where you were ticklish

but after seeing the clips, you had a change of heart

wilbur just looked so happy and he was so smiley, you couldn’t take that away from him

foolish:

you two were lying around and enjoying each other’s companies

you found his tickle spot first

he is so strong that he just picked you up and attacked you until he found yours

you could always overpower him because the second you tickle him, he becomes mush

this started the tickle war

at the most unsuspecting times, he would sneak up on you and start tickling you

you were cooking dinner, setting towels out, opening a door

your plan of attack was to do it when he was on stream, he was too focused to pay attention

after to make up him interrupting his stream, you would sit with him and give him so company

taglist: @boiled-onionrings @wistahood @wiseflamingoqueen @gray-moon2 @just-that-bi-girl @anarchyanon @nightmarefox15 @pixviepie @sunniewrites

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earphonejackx · 3 years ago

Note

May I request yandere Sara, Ei, and Yae Headcanon if you write for them?

OMG OMG THIS IS MY FIRST REQUEST OFC ILL DO THIS FOR YOUU<33

Tw - kidnapping, murder, manipulation, yandere behavior

Yandere sara🕷

- yandere!sara would definitely kidnap you. And hide you within the Tenryou Commission

- yandere!sara would like to mock you a lot. Like the time where you tired to escape and tried using her bow, for self defense. You didn’t even know how, to aim the damn thing. “Hm you really think you can, overpower me? Against my own weapon.”

- yandere!sara would take her anger out on you. For example, when you were acting up so she would try not to yell at you, But she can’t control it.

- yandere!sara would probably be a possessive yandere. The amount of times she tried to kill your friends, just for hanging around you.

Yandere ei🕷

- yandere!Ei would lock you up in her plane of Euthymia, ust too keep you with her, for eternity.

-yandere!Ei would always manipulate you into staying inside of her Euthymia. “Hmm why won’t you stay for a little longer [name]?”

-yandere!Ei would probably force feed you shit if you, don’t eat yourself.

-yandere!Ei would probably only let you be around yae miko/srs because she trusts her the most.

Yandere yae🕷

- yandere!yae would force you to do romantic couple, things while your secretly her hostage.

- yandere!yae would love to tell other people that you 2 are together and start rumors about you and her but you end up denying it. “Aww name can’t you take just, a little joke.”

- yandere!yae would be a manipulative yandere herself in my opinion.

- yandere!yae would not trust Ei with you because she’s so stuck up in her, head in her own plane of Euthymia. And plus she’s not a true friend after what she did right?

Tags

#earphonejackx #x reader #yandere ei #yandere girl #baal x reader #raiden shogun #kujou sara #yae miko #genshin impact sara #genshin characters #genshin impact yandere #genshin impact yae miko #genshin impact ei #tw.manipulation #tw kidnapping

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avenger-hawk · 3 years ago

Note

Why do you like Kakasasu?

I waited to reply to this because I wanted to be sure it wasn’t a troll and it wasn’t a drama starting attempt (like this or this, gems found in the sasuke/KS tag) since it’s a subject I am very interested in.

I replied to Kakashi/Sasuke related asks, shippy or not shippy, here, here and here. More about them here, here and here. Put yourself comfortable cause this is gonna be long. Not putting it under a readmore cause I remember ppl complaining they coulnd’t open it on mobile phones (?). Also, moralists who are lurking: don’t interact, get out of my blog. Youll be blocked on sight.

When I started reading N*ruto I was into Bleach a lot, and the fact that the characters were a little older and looked older made me not get into Nar that much at first, because they looked like kiddies lol. I didn’t care about Nar as a character and his initial rivalry with Sas was cute but not enough to get me interested. Only when Kakashi got closer to Sasuke I started being veery interested in the story and in the characters. What I found intriguing was that Kakashi was older and an authority figure, but also someone to look up and who helped his students, BUT at the same time he wasn’t exactly a father-like figure or a big brother-like figure, because he had his dark side, that back then wasn’t well flashed out but that nevertheless showed a closed-off person who kept everything inside, not letting others get too close to him.

(then I started liking N*rusasu mostly because there were so many cool doujinshi especially Emi10/Rankai and Engawaken, while KS doujinshi were so meh, kinda in old yaoi style like Loveless, with tiny Sas who looked even younger hahaha, not my thing)

As those who know my blog and/or my writing know already, I am not interested in healthy, cute, positive dynamics in fiction. I might enjoy them, I might be happy when there are such moments, but I can’t like a whole relationship/dynamic/story only like this because I like to explore complicated ones in fiction.Because fiction is very useful for this, it makes you explore dark, taboo things, without affecting reality (no matter what idiots say), it’s cathartic, it’s a way to do, see, experience things without doing anything.

Back to topic tho, I found their initial dynamic very intriguing. A broken, traumatized yet extremely driven Sasuke, acting as confident and strong as he can, but showing his trauma in various occasions, otherwise being mostly aloof, lost in his own thoughts, and a differently broken Kakashi, acting chill but at the same time always ready to act when needed, yet always kinda distracted, aloof, lost in his owh thoughts (and later we’ll know he took Obito’s mannerisms because he was a stickler to rules). The way Kakashi takes a special interest for Sasuke, clearly the most driven, the best of the team, with whom he holds back much less (when he trains them, like when in the beginning, during the bell test, he fights with Sas and seeing that he almost took it, he overpowers him) while he is different with the others (Nar will have Jiraiya later). The way he protects Sasuke during the chuunin exams, while he’s in the hospital and Kabuto is trying to kill him.

Mostly, the controversial moments...like I said I live for these kind of things. where he both protects and threatens him...like when he does that seal to Sasuke, for his curse mark, and he tells him that if that curse mark takes over he’ll kill him. Or when he ties Sasuke up so he won’t join Orochimaru.

Before someone says bs like *you’re not Sas fan if you like that scene* (I know there are many like this and I want all of them out of my blog btw) uh, it’s not how it works guys. You can support a character and still be intrigued by scenes where said character is tied up/in a forcibly submitted position and so on. Guess what, some of those scenes are made for fanservice even (and Sas has many of these, so if you don’t see the appeal/refuse to admit that there is appeal, it’s you who have a problem). So even tho I disagree with Kakashi not wanting to listen to Sasuke’s reasons for revenge (and later supporting SHikamaru’s, I replied to this in one of the asks I linked) I do find that scene interesting...I mean Sasuke tied up in a very suggestive way and yet defying him and threatening to kill his loved ones and Kakashi opening up in a very weird way vaguely replying that he lost those ppl already? It shows a lot about them, their personalities, everything.

I am sticking to part 1 because there are more meaningful interactions between them, I wished there were more in part 2 but kishi shifted Kakashi’s ‘interest’ to Nar, making him one of Nar’s followers...even so, the intractions they had were very interesting. Their fight after Sasuke fights Danzo is one of my fave moments in the whole story tbh, much more than the later confrontation with Nar. Kakashi for the first time has an inner only, yet strong, emotional reaction, having to fight and supposedly kill his former student who became a rogue with a death sentence on his head...he realizes this is how Hiruzen felt against Orochimaru. It’s a strong realization from someone like him who was always so closed off and aloof that he totally lacked empathy.

On the other hand Sasuke is in a different mindset. He’s sort of high for having succeeded in eliminating the one who made Itachi suffer so much, he’s thinking about killing the elders and destroy the village, so he’s basically lost in the recent past of Danzo’s death and in the future plans he’s making, he’s not in the present moment almost...but he has to fight anyway, and it’s a cool fight, also because he’s weakened already and Kakashi is strong...and then he gets blind, totally, and it’s an amazingly intriguing moment, the kind of controversial stuff I’m interested in, because that’s when he could be totally overpowered by Kakashi, if the story didn’t have other priorities (putting Nar in the center of attention with their confrontation).

Their later moments, like during the war, are meh cause the interest shifted already completely, but their moments in jail (anime only ofc) and their Shinden interactions (only through messages) are interesting to me. Very much so, because they show power dynamics very well, with Kakashi as THE authority and Sasuke as the one submitted. In jail it’s even more evident with him looking down at the younger tied up and blindfolded...like, wow. It’s like fanfiction material (in fact I wrote one (ff.net/a03) and there was the coolest fanart inspired by it! here..there were more but this came on my dash today so).

You mentioned power dynamics...their dynamics are all power dynamics because Kakashi was never at Sasuke’s same level and he never acted like he was, and when Sasuke was stronger, during the war, they basically didn’t interact, and when the war was over and Sasuke was brainwashed and tamed into submission the power dynamic remained the same.

The difference imo between them and other power dynamics based pairings is that they are closer than what could be defined rare pairings such as Obito (they had a very interesting one tho, if only it was developed), Madara (the story was already developed in a pro Konoha-anti Uchiha way but it would have been so cool to have the 2 Uchiha interact more), or other older and stronger characters, so the dynamic could be written in a cool way in a fanfiction but in canon Kakashi created it already. So, while I can imagine something like Shisui/Sasuke, Obisasu or more, in my head, and I can come up with some AU or canon divergent/canon behind the screen (like when Sas stayed with Obito after the transplant), Kakashi and Sasuke had canon interactions that showed power dynamics already.

(Then there is Itasasu, which is a huge power dynamic based relationship, that also had amazingly strong feelings though, and those who know me know that for me Itachi will always be Sasuke’s most loved person, and that he was the same for Itachi. So ofc imo IS is a much stronger bond compared to KS but still. Also I remember in the beginning how many fics I read where Itachi was abusive to Sas and Kakashi stepped in lol. And it’s not a mystery that even though I think the IS bond is the strongest I find other pairings and character dynamics very interesting, so much that I like to explore them even more than IS, which, imo, is almost a given fact so I don’t always feel the need to explore it)

Another thing I find intriguing is that Kakashi always saw Sas at his ‘worst’...in Konoha’s terms I mean. When he wanted revenge in pt 1, after he killed Danzo and he was weak and so desperate and hysterical that they thought he got crazy, when he was jailed. It’s a big power he has, to be able to see someone like this.

Tbh it’s a pity that there were no post war moments (B*ruto shit doesn’t count) where they interact ‘normally’ cause I would have liked to see them, both as normal interactions where they get closer again, now that Sas is older, where they train and they get physical (and Kakashi has a lot of repressed anger, jealousy and possessiveness to let out on the one who betrayed his sensei and went to another...not my opinion but it could be Kakashi’s pov) because I think power dynamic would come up a lot, even from apparently cute moments.

I’ll end this super long essay hoping that you didn’t fall asleep lol, and adding that Kakasasu was the first Nar pairing I shipped, which it speaks a lot about why I get so irritated when someone mentions it negatively.

#kakasasu #unfollow me or block me if this bothers you #even tho I want to be the one blocking you guys who have something to say against this #vivalarevolution #vivalarevolution: bonds

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just-a-creep-babe · 4 years ago

Text

Hoodie Yandere Alphabet ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Commissioned by anonymous, thank you so much! 💗💝💗

~Requests are closed~

Masterlist: x

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Despite everything, ya boi isn’t really that affectionate. He doesn’t like being vulnerable cause he doesn’t wanna risk the control he has, so any affection usually comes in the form of sickly sweet teasing & mocking. Like he’ll drag a knife/gun up & down their body while cooing about how pretty they look when they’re all scared & helpless beneath him, and that’s about as affectionate as he gets

But he is, admittedly, a huge softie in the mornings when he’s half-asleep & also when he’s a little woozy from blood loss. In that case, he won’t be so afraid to smother his darling in plenty of kissies & cuddles :3 And once he’s got a grip on them, it’s damn near impossible to escape; boy’s got some thicc 👏ass 👏muscles 👏 just perfect for trapping his squirming darling against his broad chest, even when he is just waking up or injured 👀

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Mmh he won’t actively make an effort to cover them in blood or anything, but he does appreciate how those streaks of scarlet look on their skin. He sometimes likes cutting them when they’ve misbehaved, and he especially loves whipping them until the blood starts beading up, but other than that, he’s prolly more of a fan of bruising. Too much blood can make too much of a mess, which just isn’t worth the effort in his opinion. He’s a clean boi uwu

Still, despite that, he’s not afraid of getting his hands real dirty every now & then when the occasion calls for it ;)

And on the other hand, if he gets injured while he’s out, he‘ll picking at his wounds & stitches until blood gushes out just to smear it on his darling. It brings out this kinda possessive side of him when they’re covered in his blood—his mark. He also enjoys how kinda fucked up it is—and bonus points if it freaks his darling out too :)))

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

He’s pretty damn cruel tbh. He enjoys hurting them physically, but he also absolutely adores messing with their head. He’ll act sweet & caring one second, then flip the switch & start mocking them for thinking he might actually be a good person. He likes being unpredictable with his cruelty too—it keeps them on edge. If they expect him to ridicule them, he won’t, and if they let their guard down & start believing he might genuinely care this time, he’ll be extra cruel~

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Oh, he definitely would. He’s smart enough to realize that what he’s done isn’t right, and he‘s probably beyond redemption at this point, so why not? Homeboy knows he’s going to hell anyways, he might as well enjoy the ride & do what he pleases ;p

He does many-a things against their will, and like I mentioned, he loves mind games & generally messing with their head, to the point of possibly breaking them. He’s also certainly not against dishing out punishments too. Whether or not they deserve it is sometimes questionable, but he’ll find a way to gaslight them into thinking it’s prolly their fault regardless ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

He doesn’t like being vulnerable with someone he knows won’t reciprocate said vulnerability. Boy’s just not about taking those unnecessary risks. So he doesn’t really let himself show any kind of emotions towards them. And this mans is fucking excellent at hiding what he’s feeling, and tbh, as a yandere, it just makes him all the more downright terrifying

The only time he might start opening up is when, again, he’s tired/injured & his defences are down, or he thinks his darling might be falling for him & their relationship is getting,, kinda more serious/genuine. Even then, it’s a slow process, cause opening up to someone isn’t exactly a familiar concept to him

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Oh, he loves it when they fight back. They can’t make things too easy for him now, can they?~ He likes when they aren’t afraid to show a bit of spunk; it only makes things all the more entertaining~

And besides, he knows that when it boils down to it, they can’t overpower him, so it’s not like he’s got anything to be afraid of anyways. They just end up looking super cute all flustered & upset trying to fight him off—all bark & no bite~

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

The whole thing is definitely a game. He wants to see if they can outsmart him—it gives him a huge rush & brings out this competitive side of him. He knows he’ll win in the end, ofc, but still, boy loves his little fucked up tricks & mind games, especially when his victim’s as cute & precious as his little darling~

When it comes to escaping, he’ll even go as far as to purposely letting them leave, just so he can leave traps around the forest & see if they can make it home—or if they end up crawling back to him. Make no mistake however; if they somehow, against all odds, manage to escape, he’s not gonna let that be the end of it. In fact, he’ll probably grow even more obsessed with them because they actually outsmarted him. The game would only really begin at that point 😈💀

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

I don’t think there’d be one specific event that’d be the worst experience. If anything, the constant manipulation & gaslighting would wear them down over time and really fuck ‘em up in the long run. Just the whole experience of being his captive would leave some lasting trust issues, to say at the very least

But yeah, he isn’t one to get too physically violent unless it’s they’ve really misbehaved so they aren’t likely to experience any emotional outbursts/near-death experiences. He plays the long con & would rather fuck up their life by twisting & warping their perspective so bad no one could undo it. Not that they have much of a chance at returning to the real world w/o him, anyways. Cause, like I said, even if they escape, he’ll likely keep watching them from the shadows before reclaiming or killing them. They’re either stuck with him, traumatized for life among the normal population, or they’re dead, plain & simple

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Well, he’s got about a thousand back-up plans if they ever manage to escape that’ll lead them right back to his arms, but other than that, he doesn’t really,,,, know or care about the distant future?

Part of him realizes he might not always have his darling, while the other part of him’s convinced nothing could possibly tear them away from him. He’s kinda just betting they’ll eventually cave in, accept their fate & admit they love him back. At the same time though, he doesn’t want his little game to end, and he doesn’t want them to become complacent, so to speak. Despite all his careful planing ahead, he’s not really sure what he wants in the long run :/

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Surprisingly (or maybe not so surprisingly), he’s not one much for jealousy. In fact, he’d definitely let Masky, at the very least, play around with his darling because ya boy knows sharing is caring 😏😉

Yet despite his easy-going nature, there are time when even he, himself, isn’t immune to those sharp pangs of jealousy & possessiveness. It’s more of a mental thing than a physical one, though. Like he’s fine with letting his darling be around others, as long as everyone knows they ultimately belong to him, but if he catches hint that his darling’s thinking about someone else, then he‘ll be none too pleased.

He wants their thoughts to always be about him; and whether in a positive light or a negative one, he doesn’t care which. So he’d find some way to punish them or gaslight them until they can’t think of anyone else anymore. They should know they’re all his, no excuses

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Hm, Hoodie’s generally a reserved person, and that doesn’t change much around them tbh. He won’t be as quiet as he is around the other creeps, but he’s def not the type of yandere to gush about how much he loves his darling & how much they mean to him & stuff

Sometimes, he can even be,, kinda cold & stoic. He enjoys confusing them, so he might act like he doesn’t care about them & their presence is a burden—like he didn’t actively choose to kidnap them. He might range from acting like a cuddly murderous teddy bear to a detached blank slate of a person. Typically, when he puts some distance between him & his darling, it’s cause he wants them to fill the gap. He wants to see how far he’s twisted their mind to have them crave his acceptance, despite all the terrible things he’s done to them. So not only is he mentally unpredictable, but he’s also physically unpredictable too

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He probably just,,,,, wouldn’t go through any courting. He knows that if he wanted, he could easily slip his way into their life like everything’s normal, since he does look like a regular dude, but that’s not really what he’s about

If anything, he’s more the type to stalk them for a few weeks, even months, slowly making his presence more & more known until they know something funky’s going on. At that point, either they’ll snap & hunt him down, or he’ll just break in & take them. Either way, he’ll wanna have his fun even before kidnapping them—none of that trying to impress them bs

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Yeah, they are, but mostly cause he’s just so quiet & reserved that people don’t expect him to be so sadistic behind closed doors. Anyone that doesn’t know him well prolly thinks he’s a big ol’ softie, which he can be when he wants to, but they severely underestimate him. The creeps that know him a little better have an inkling of an idea as to what his true colours are, but he’s just so damn mysterious & elusive that it’s hard to get a good grasp on what he’s truly like. Only Masky and maybe EJ know what he’s really all about 👀😳

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Ooh, he’s got a whole arsenal of punishments. There’s the regular physical ones like tying them up & sorta just,,, leaving them there for a while, there’s spanking, whipping, cutting—y’know, the typical punishments you might expect. He might also starve them or deny them warmth & human contact until they’re begging for his attention. He’ll also emotionally manipulate them & gaslight them until they feel super bad for doing whatever they did. Boy just likes playing a whole lotta mind games w his darling, what can I say? 🙃

Tbh, he can get pretty creative with his punishments if he’s in a sadistic mood. And he likes to keep his darling on their toes, so there’s no knowing what he might do to them. Sometimes the anticipation of the punishment is worse than the punishment itself :”)

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Hmm... it depends how bratty they’d get. If his darling is the type to fight back a lot, he’ll take away most of their rights. No outside time, no getting untied, limited bathroom breaks, the whole shebang. But if they’re a bit more on the docile side, he’ll actually be pretty lenient. Like he’ll even leave the doors unlocked & let them go out whenever they please, so long as they come back before their curfew. The more obedient they are, the more rights they’ll have, so a lot of it depends on them tbh

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Hoodie’s a pretty patient dude by default. And for his darling of whom which he adores so dearly? Oh yeah, he’s got plenty of patience. That doesn’t mean he’ll let them get away with misbehaving tho; it just means he won’t get upset when/if they do misbehave. He’ll never snap or yell at them or anything. This boy’s got a wild sense of control so, despite everything else, at least his darling doesn’t have to be afraid of him getting mad & going manic 👉👈

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

If ever his darling manages to leave or successfully escape, it’s cause he let them. Either he lost interest or he wanted them to return to their lives while he watches from the shadows. If he decides to keep them alive even after releasing them, he’ll still keep tabs on them, maybe popping in every now & then to remind them that their time spent with him wasn’t just a horrifying dream

If they die, however, and it wasn’t on purpose, he’ll be pretty upset. It’ll maybe be the only time he’ll have an outburst—when no one’s around to see it, ofc. But boy will just explode in a fit of rage & regret. He’ll completely wreck the room, taking out all of his aggression on the things around him—and boy won’t hold anything back. He might even inadvertently end up self-harming in the process too :”c

He’s not usually one to feel guilt, but he’d definitely blame himself for their death. He’d try to focus on his work to distract himself, to the point where he’d almost become a shell of a person. It’d take a good few months/years before he’d get over it. But I mean, he has killed some of his pretty close friends before, so he’ll prolly recover just fine. What’s one more body of his loved one to add to the count? :)

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Nah, not really. Aside from blaming himself if they accidentally die, like I mentioned, nothing really makes that mans feel guilty. He knows what he did is wrong, he just,, doesn’t care lmfao 😅

And he probably wouldn’t let them go, either, unless he gets bored of them. But even then, the chances of letting them go instead of killing them are about 50/50; boy really just Does Not Give A Shit™️

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Homeboy used to be a super sweet dude that wouldn’t hurt a fly, but Slender’s influence kinda brought out this twisted, fucked up amoral side of him. He already stalks & kills people for a living, so what’s the harm in bringing his work home sometimes, ya know?

He just wants to watch a cutie squirm in his possession—it makes him feel alive. Not to mention, those cat-and-mouse games go a long way in providing stress-relief from work. He just wants some good ol’ fashion fun & entertainment, can you really blame him? ;)

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Honestly, he,,,, he kinda likes it 😳😳 Lowkey gets off to seeing them cry ngl, it just gives him this fucked up kinda rush. If he sees them curled up and crying, he might go up to them & caress their face, cooing his usual deceit, or he’ll grip their cheeks & lick the tears off as a way of mocking them

He might cuddle or comfort them if he’s feeling particularly sweet. If they’ve been bad, however, he’s more likely to leave them crying in the corner w/o paying much mind to them. Screaming’s a similar case, too, except he might gag them & let them scream until their throat’s raw. Only if they’ve been good will he give them some positive attention uwu

How he reacts to them isolating themselves depends. If they’ve been good, he’ll find a way to coax them to stop, usually via some kind of manipulation, and if they’ve been bad, he’ll just,,, let them do as please. If they keep isolating, only then will he start losing patience. He’ll find some way to force them out of it. This includes, again, manipulation of all sorts, withholding food & warmth from them, all that “fun” kinda punishment stuff. But he won’t apologize. At that point, it almost becomes a game to see who caves in first, and homeboy will not lose

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

While he does love his darling, they tend to be more of a plaything to him. And he might not stick to just one singular darling over the course of his life. He might let some go, or he might get bored & kill some others; it all depends on their chemistry. He gets obsessed with all of them, ofc, but he might legitimately care more deeply about some than others. In fact, the ones he really cares about, he‘ll even let himself be more vulnerable towards. But if he’s vulnerable w someone & eventually grows bored of them, he’ll kill them w/o releasing them, cause he doesn’t want anyone knowing his secrets. It can be difficult to do if he still loves them, but he’s gotta do what he’s gotta do

The whole thing’s really all just a game. It’s only if/when he manages to find the perfect victim that he’ll keep them forever. Someone who’s not too docile but who also isn’t afraid to fight back. They’ve gotta be pretty smart, resourceful & entertaining, too. He wants them to end up falling in love with him, but he also doesn’t want them to stop fighting him. It’s only once he finds the truly utmost perfect darling that he’ll keep them all to himself forever and ever~

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Oh god, he honestly,, doesn’t really have any weaknesses. If his darling wants to escape, they just gotta hope he’ll let them go. Either that, or they gotta find some way out of his twisted game. Even if they manage to escape, he’ll keep tabs on them, so they’ll never truly be free. Once he’s got his sights on someone, the only escape is death tbh :/

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Oh yeah, for sure lol

He’s a pretty damn sadistic boi uwu. He’d hurt them physically and emotionally; boy just doesn’t care. How much & how often he hurts them all depends on how well behaved they are 🥴

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Hm he’s not quite the type to worship his darling. He adores them & thinks they’re damn precious, but he likely won’t put them on a pedestal or anything. The only chance he’d grow to revere them is if they outsmart him & prove themselves time & time again in his little games

He also doesn’t really care what his darling thinks of him. He knows he’s a bad person & probably doesn’t deserve their love. He’s accepted it, really. But it won’t stop him from gaslighting & manipulating them until they possibly fall for him. Love just becomes part of the game at that point ¯\_(ヅ)_/¯

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

He likes to thoroughly think things through before making any decisions, so he’s likely to wait a good few weeks/months before making up his mind. He just wants to be certain before putting too much effort into things, ya know?

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Yeh, he probably would. If they can’t handle his mind games, they’ll break one way or another. But honestly, how cruel he is depends a lot on his darling. If they‘re nice & obedient, he’ll be sweet and rewarding as long as they don’t bore him too much, so breaking isn’t likely at that point. But if they’re super defiant, he’ll be much harsher, and if they keep ignoring his warnings, things will keep escalating until they break or he just kills them skdjkdls. He wouldnt want his perfect darling to break though, cause that’s just no fun. Boy realizes a lot of them are likely to break because he’s not exactly,,, the kindest of yanderes ( ͡ᵔ ͜ʖ ͡ᵔ)

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #marble hornets #hoodie #hoodie x reader #yandere #yandere alphabet #marble hornets hoodie #mh hoodie

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escxpiism · 3 years ago

Text

triggers: drug use & drugging implications, suicidal ideation (and serious consideration!), grooming (especially july 4th!!!!!!!), kidnapping/captivity (ofc)

infection, not a phase

“ for all the times you let them bleed you, for a little peace from god you plead. ”

---------------------------------------------------------------

it would be a lie to say she hadn’t thought of luke’s untimely death time and time again. for all she had been told -- for the amount of times she’d been told she shouldn’t think of it as ‘untimely’ -- it remained degrees beyond difficult. he was, in many ways, her savior. but the thoughts and memories now resurfaced with a passion.

for what a terrible person she was. what she had done to repay him for the favor she had asked for. what she had done when he’d given her so much. when he’d risked himself for her.

june 13th, 2013 ; 8:43PM - 11:13 PM:

who could she turn to ? she couldn’t relent and go back, not after what anna said after allen finally took it too far. finally went past the point of no return. there was no more pretending he could love her, not after the shake’s confirmation. she couldn’t turn to a friend. they knew her friends far too well. she couldn’t turn to her boyfriend. they knew him far too well. they would all be the first and last places they would check -- assuming they would bother to check.

there was one person who she knew she could always seek refuge in. but whether he was accepting guests at that hour or not, caring for his ailing father as he was, was a gamble. but considering for too long would risk someone close to them seeing her. considering for too long would risk a return before she was truly ready. so, for the first time in years, she acted upon impulse.

rapping on the door, that familiar face came to open it. and she already saw concern in his eyes -- concern before she said anything. perhaps that was what tears generated. concern. empathy. there was a lingering pause before he finally broke the silence that she couldn’t bring herself to. “ do you need to come in ? ”

she nodded in response. need. perhaps he did know her as well as she hoped he did. after a moment’s consideration, she asked, “ am i... is your dad... ? ” and he shook his head. because he was concerned. whatever that meant, he was it.

“ no, he’s fine. he’s asleep. ” how many days of sleep did he have left ? his eyebrows furrowed, closing the door behind her. “ what... what happened ? ” and then, in the most responsible voice he could muster, “ why didn’t you go to one of your friends’ ? ”

“ that’s where they think i’m gonna be. she told me. ” and it would be easier, but she couldn’t admit defeat.

he huffed, frustrated with himself for his weakness. “ it’ll look bad if people find out i let a sixteen-year-old stay the night. ”

“ but, no -- they would have to understand. i... you didn’t have a choice -- i came to you, he hurt me. and it’ll -- it’ll just be tonight. i promise. ”

a pullout couch. blankets layered on top of each other. a sympathetic half-smile. sad. concerned. but who was he concerned for ?

“ thank you, luke. i promise -- i promise it’ll just be for the night. and i can... i can say i was in a park or something. ”

he nodded his head, that same sad smile plastered on his face. those same concerned eyes. a swollen heart. “ you know, i think you’d like santa monica. ” what beautiful parks his neighborhood possessed. he then offered a few pats, restraining himself. “ have sweet dreams, alice. ”

it was a pretty little disguise. a lozenge, wrapped in a pretty little pill ! it would be so easy. stay on that rooftop, drown in the bottle. finally be the fool who fell. or choke on her guilt as her breathing slowed beyond what she could control, allow her heart to sink in. she was there. right at the ledge of masters’ rooftop. sitting on it. legs dangling over the city. and they were in her hand. one... two... three... there could be more if she wanted.

how funny it would be. be the fool who finally falls, credit to the reason so many fools went up there in the first place. she set the bottle down. held the railing beside her with one hand, rings clanging against the metal.

august 29th, 2013 ; 3:47PM - 9:08PM:

she had gotten him wrong. beyond a wolf in sheep’s clothing -- everything off about him had always seemed nothing but endearing to her before. everything that made him a menace now simply made him so captivating before -- his penchant for keeping secrets. but what were the other secrets he kept ? who else had he had, dancing under his thumb ? who else had he enchanted, only to destroy in the end ? or was she special ? as he always said -- as she didn’t want to believe anymore. or maybe she did, but no longer for the same reason.

the keys had been dropped, a clang he didn’t notice beyond her yelling. to which he reminded her that no one could hear her. and no one was looking for her. because she was safe with him -- all reports she sent back implied safety. a wavering voice, perhaps, but one her sister wouldn’t recognize. not when they barely recognized each other’s regular voices ( something alice had tried to change one too many times, but to no avail -- if, by some miracle, she was found... what would be the use ? ) his back was turned, ever the warden in every sense of the word. but what good warden would drop the keys and not so much as realize it ?

although they were mere feet away, it was with great hesitation that she bent down to collect them. but it was with great primal urge that she rushed to him, to the door, and jammed the key inside. a click. freedom in sight. her only obstacle now in front of her, blocking her every move. overpowering her. taking her wrists as she tried with all her might to fight him. to push him out. but he stood like a rock.

“ i do everything for you. ” a calm statement. “ and this is how you repay me ? ” and it was with unfortunate ease that he forced her back into the cellar. recollected the keys. shook his head in disappointment -- disappointment in himself.

he disappeared. and how close she’d been... the closest she’d ever gotten. a collapse. how weak she was. every level -- too weak to fight through him, so weak she’d turned to him, so weak she’d let herself fall for him. so weak that he called her special. her first chance. her only chance.

...

some hours later ( she assumed ), he reentered. with a sigh, he extended an olive branch: a glass of water. and when she began fading ( this was new ), he began a slight spiel. “ i’m so sorry, alice... but you had to know this would be coming after a stunt like that. ” a promise to still shower. a promise to still take care of all necessities. but with something new, something important. “ i wish i didn’t have to do this. ”

and when she regained complete consciousness, one hand was cuffed to a metal pole within the cellar.

all hopes of escaping left her mind.

“ this is your life now. i’m sorry. ”

this wasn’t her life. this wasn’t the life she deserved. just as that wasn’t the ending he deserved. but perhaps this was the ending she deserved. a mess of broken bones, nearly unrecognizable. by the time they finally found the right person to identify her, be they one of her sisters or joey or phoenix or adri, it would be too late. they could only keep severed remains for so long -- or so she’d heard.

and pills may be too peaceful. falling asleep. not waking up. but watching death near her, watching it come straight to her from 600 feet or so. everything slowing down. her memories flashing. memories of him. memories of where she went wrong. memories of who she once was. memories of a life she once lived. memories that made her strong and memories that made her weak. memories of how everything started.

march 1st, 2013 ; 5:14PM - 5:24PM:

a neighborhood gala to ring in the honorary start of spring, a common one thrown by the adams. the show they put on was always beautiful. the perfect family, close on all fronts. for that one night, they were like the fantasy family sitcoms. she played the mini-mother, as did her sisters. they were all to act humble as their parents shared their latest achievements and accolades.

but there was a new face in the crowd this time.

“ as some of y’all may have noticed, richard wasn’t able to make it tonight. i know we’re all keeping him in our prayers... ” a moment of silence, as if he was already dead. “ but let’s all give a warm old welcome to his son and caretaker, luke johnson. he came in all the way from california just to help his dad and our friend, and if that ain’t the type of hospitality we’re looking for down here, i don’t know what is. ”

he smiled. he raised his champagne flute. he mouthed a ‘thank you’ as the inevitable clapping began. because to be introduced in such a fashion by anna adams was nothing short of an honor.

alice felt a draw to him. his silent charisma alone. and she did one thing she would always regret, for one reason or another: she walked towards him in his tan suit.

she, as she was taught in all etiquette courses, extended a hand. and he took it, shook it. and there was an immediate moment of connection.

“ i’m luke. ”

a laugh. “ i think everyone knows that after my ma’s introduction. it’s a real honor, y’know. ” she met his eyes. “ i’m alice. ”

so what was stopping her in that moment ? she’d done it before. she could do it again. and she could succeed. because, from so many feet above, there was no turning back. there was no stomach pump. there were no bandages and stitches. all there was was concrete and the onlookers of a city that never cared. from 600 feet or so above, there would not just be broken bones. there would not just be maiming. she was too close to the night sky for that.

she tilted forward, gaining a better view of the streets and all the passersby in the moonlight. the harmony of honking taxis and screaming pedestrians. the light show of times square somewhere in the distance and the neon sign of the adult shop that situated itself in front of the building. ‘open. 24 hours.’ it blinked, green and red.

july 4th, 2013 ; 7:45PM - 10:00PM:

“ i know you’ve got other traditions you’re used to, ” luke began, desperately attempting to spread out a picnic blanket, “ but i don’t think you’ve ever gotten to see fireworks from this high up, have you ? it can be a new one. ”

they didn’t have a cook-out. he just bought in-n-out. it wasn’t like home. and maybe there were aspects of home that she didn’t miss, but the annual neighborhood cook-out was one thing she truly did. even if she had to pretend her family was something it wasn’t, it was always so nice. mingling, talking to the neighbors, catching up, talking about the firecrackers ( and it was always the michaels’ kids setting them off, which was something to talk about all on its lonesome ! ). “ is this how you spend all your fourths ? ” she asked, turning to luke as he continued fighting the wind.

“ mhm. ” he nodded. “ usually i’m alone, though. ” he took a break from his battle with the wind to look her in the eyes and offer that same sad smile he had so many nights ago. “ i’m glad i’m not this year. ”

when he finally conquered the picnic blanket, punctuated by an ‘aha!,’ he was quick to set the bag on one corner and himself on the opposite. he patted the corner next to him and she took a seat. oh, how she would be lying if she said it wasn’t a beautiful view. so high up, she felt as though she was above the entire state.

she sighed, unsure whether it was one of disappointment or content. perhaps both. but, looking at the sky as the sun set, she met his eyes and mirrored his sad smile. “ i’m glad you’re not alone this year, too. ”

and there they sat, making idle chit-chat. how was work? how was your day? only a few more months until your birthday. wasn’t your birthday exactly a month ago? i know you miss your home, but this is for the best. i know you miss your dad, i’m sorry. what were your childhood fourth traditions? do you miss them? how did you find this place? when did you start coming up here? i’m glad i could share this with you. i’m glad i could be here.

9:45PM came with ease, barely realizing any time had passed since they first sat down. the crackles in the sky were their only hint that the show had started at all. “ you know what we do every year down back home ? ” alice asked, body facing luke, eyes facing the sky.

with an enchanted smile, he shook his head. “ no -- what is it ? ”

“ so, during the show, we’ll say something like ‘that next firework’s’ some neighbor’s name. ” she shrugged. “ it’s a little dumb, i know, but... it was always a fun way to pa- ”

“ this next firework is alice, ” he interrupted. green and red shot into the air, a quiet crack. “ like that ? ” he asked, turning back to her with a smile -- a real one.

she returned that real smile and nodded. “ like that. ”

“ you had a pretty firework, i’m a little bit jealous. ”

“ well... this next firework’s luke. ” and into the air went a loud blue and purple explosion. “ see ? you got a pretty firework too. ”

and into the night they went, naming fireworks after each other until the show was over. until they deemed the finale them.

if it were the daytime, perhaps she would have had an audience by now. she was putting on her very own show, wasn’t she ? after all, if she couldn’t go to prison for him, the least she could do was join him. why had she let him do it alone ? why had she taken the gun ? and why did it only have one bullet ? something so off about that single bullet.

october 26th, 2013 ; 7:11PM - 7:14PM:

she failed. she had chosen the keys in favor of his overdosed body. but what a good actor he had been. saline solution. just saline solution. ( or perhaps he was bad, but she was too out of it to realize. )

whatever the case, it had been some hours. maybe some days. before he reentered for anything other than the average schedule. open door. close. lock. tuck away. “ i need you to know that i’m not a monster, ” he prefaced, withdrawing a vinyl copy of stevie nicks’s ‘bella donna’. “ i’ll bring down the record player with dinner. ”

she cocked her head to the side. a gift. remorse ? perhaps. but he had done this before, and all she’d received was an apology.

“ i wouldn’t starve you out on your birthday. happy seventeenth. ”

march 10th, 2014 ; 11:09PM - 11:15PM:

the last date she remembered was christmas. she had lost count since. how many days, weeks, months it had been, she wasn’t sure. he would still take her out of the room for extended periods of time every now and again. and for that, she remained grateful. he would never let her leave. she knew that. but at least he created illusions.

the door opened. it did not lock. it did not close. he stood in the doorway. he walked over. she said nothing. he looked into her eyes. she saw sadness. she saw fear. she saw happiness. he was always hard to read.

he took the keys from his pocket and undid the handcuff. it was hard to process. a free hand. an open door. the only obstacle was, once again, him. but her automatic response was not to run. he set the keys down on the island. “ can you stand ? ”

she could. she did.

“ i know the end is near, and i don’t want you to remember me like... that. i want you to remember me like this, or like the guy i was when we watched the fireworks. do you remember that ? ” he began, that familiar sad smile accompanying his question. and she nodded. “ i’m going to close my eyes and stay here for ten seconds. do whatever you need to do, ” he stated, sliding the keys in her direction before covering his eyes and beginning to count down from ten.

this was her chance. her first, true chance. she slowly slid the keys off the table, taking five of the numbers in his countdown to do so. but she didn’t move any further. why didn’t she move any further ? it was as though she was paralyzed from the waist down. would she miss this ? would she miss him ? was this truly all she knew now ?

was this her life now ?

when he uncovered her eyes, saw her still standing there, that sad smile returned. “ you should’ve gone, alice... but thank you. ” he gently took the keys from her again. “ i’m sorry, ” he stated as he attached the handcuff again. “ i’ll make a good breakfast tomorrow. ”

and she slid down the pole, unsure of what had just happened. but as he tucked the keys back in his pocket, she heard them clang against another piece of metal.

there weren’t just two obstacles.

there was only one obstacle now. but it was one she always had such difficulty beating. she could never get her feet to move when she wanted them to, not when it was important. so there she remained, the very edge of the ledge, feet against the side of the building. one push off. one stretch of her legs.

another ‘pill.’ round it out. numb it. move forward. an inch away. perhaps she can be seen now. perhaps she would be like those movies. a crowd gathers in morbid curiosity. everyone both does and does not want her to fall.

and how close she was. until the nightshift remembered the roof. and there was a comprehensive list of people she would always refuse to traumatize: one of whom was sal.

#grooming tw #suicidal ideation tw #drugs tw #kidnapping tw #<- but what else is new!#v dark. v dark.#alice .#alice | sp !#ANYWAY [THIS IS] WHAT U MISSED ON GLEE!#sal. mvp.#so. i looked it up. and apparently the average skyscraper is ~500ft #i imagine masters is a lil taller but!#q !#<- this para so Big im nervous 2 simply Post Her™

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