#to boldly blog

[gaitwae]

Where do you think all of the star trek captains would take their students on a field trip?

Hoooooo boy. What a question. I haven't seen LD, yet, and I'm not touching Discovery. Here we go!

Jonathan Archer: He would take his kids* to the aquarium. He's notoriously known as the "cool" field tripper. He seems to have the kids figured out, but somehow, there's always an accident or a kid missing and he swears he's never going to do it ever again. Someone hits their head on the glass or gets lost in the jellyfish section. 4/10 field tripper.

Christopher Pike: He would take his students to an art or history museum and make a big, scary speech upfront about how there would absolutely be NO messing around and if anyone breaks anything, they're going to get in big trouble, mister! He ends up the one screwing around with students, though, but nothing is harmed and no one is lost. Una keeps him on track so they can see the whole museum. 8/10 field tripper.

Jim Kirk: This guy is a Lugnuts** game field tripper. He wanted to go and there was a discount. He'd say there were math benefits or something and give them all a worksheet to fill out about statistics or safety or etc on the bus. No one is lost, but there might be a fight or two after sitting the wrong kids together in the stands. 7/10 field tripper.

Jean-Luc Picard: 100% to an art museum, no if ands or buts. He'd keep strict attendance and yell at anyone who dares touch any of the exhibits. I think there would be tears at one point but overall an excellent field trip. He'd know some obscure knowledge about every piece and it would be soothing to hear, and he's also really having a fun time with the kids. Tight leash on his students, no fights, no missing kids. 10/10 field tripper.

Benjamin Sisko: Lugnuts gamer as well, but also maybe a capital building or botanical grounds and gardens. Most of his field trips have educational value and he wants his kids to learn something that will stick with them the rest of their lives. He lets them have free reign and usually no one ends up missing. They'd all meet up for lunch halfway through and everyone appreciates how he treats them as if they have their own minds. 10/10 field tripper.

Kathryn Janeway: Also known as the "mom" field tripper, she'll probably take you through a city you've never seen before or the zoo. She's got simple field trips but always always always a dead-set purpose. She's got wiggle room for just-in-cases and lets the kids split into groups with chaperones. She'll yell if you get out of line. Sometimes people go missing but she always gets them back within half an hour. 9.5/10 field tripper. (Would go higher but there was someone crying... so...)

*I'm assuming this is a school-friendly field trip setting, so think average school institution budget kind of field trips. **The Lansing Lugnuts are a minor league baseball team in the American Midwest.

[soliloquics]

@aguilareye : 🌿👀

ironically,   the   dozing   general   had   always   been   more   wont   to   lean   into   mischief   than   laziness.   playfully   cheating   his   way   through   friendly   matches   of   chess,   teasing   youths   and   finding   joy   in   little   shenanigans   were   ways   to   pass   the   time   without   tethering   oneself   to   the   past   entirely.   someone   of   his   age   was   bound   to   take   meticulous   care   of   his   mind,   in   the   end,   and   much   as   it   may   seem   like   a   flimsy   excuse   to   cause   minor   trouble   for   some,   jing   yuan   found   that   keeping   his   thoughts   light-hearted   whenever   he   could   afford   them   to   be   was   vital   for   his   mind's   well-being. 

that   said,   he   was   not   typically   inclined   to   find   comfort   in   another.   over   the   years,   he,   too,   repeatedly   sought   intimacy   in   various   ways,   albeit   always   in   fleeting.   as   far   as   the   ranger   was   concerned,   the   general   could   not   claim   to   hold   an   interest   that   ran   deeper   than   mere   attraction,   but   there   was   nothing   inherently   wrong   with   such   natural   inclinations.   still,   he   could   not   quite   resist   bouts   of   sweetness,   for   he   was   a   man   worn   down   by   memories   and   experiences,   and   tenderness   was   always   harder   to   come   by   than   harshness.

the   little   decorations   dotted   about   in   a   select   few   spots   aboard   the   luofu,   no   doubt   placed   by   some   mischievous   youths,   seemed   to   stir   the   more   romantic   side   of   him.   it   was   a   charming   thought,   snatching   away   a   cherished   beloved   to   kiss   them   with   the   excuses   of   a   playful   tradition.   as   such,   when   he   passed   beneath   one   such   twig   and   spotted   the   cyborg   nearby,   he   chose   purely   on   impulse   to   indulge   a   little.

gingerly,   the   general   caught   boothill's   wrist,   a   touch   that   was   unnecessarily   gentle   given   his   anatomy,   and   drew   him   confidently   beneath   the   mistletoe.   a   gleeful   smile   settled   on   his   features,   ere   he   nodded   upwards,   an   unarguably   lethargic   explanation   for   his   actions.   then,   he   reached   up   to   cup   the   man's   cheek,   slow   enough   to   give   him   ample   space   to   withdraw,   should   he   prefer,   and   let   it   slip   further   should   no   resistance   show   itself.   calloused   fingers   dug   into   his   hair,   settled   by   the   back   of   his   head,   a   comfortable   spot   to   direct   his   head,   should   he   choose   to.

his   head   tilted   after   that,   allowing   jing   yuan   to   duck   beneath   the   brim   of   his   hat   and   to   catch   his   lips   between   his   own.   in   a   gentle,   subconscious   touch,   the   hand   previously   holding   his   wrist   slid   to   his   lower   back,   an   action   he   only   truly   grew   aware   of   by   virtue   of   fingers   passing   over   the   port   settled   just   above   his   trousers.   alas,   as   his   attention   caught   on   that   instinctive   motion,   he   chose   to   let   it   carry   him   to   bolder   waters   still,   and   pressed   gently   against   the   ranger,   to   draw   him   against   his   chest   for   good.

the   kiss   itself   was   a   touch   more   engaged   than   perhaps   necessary;   lips   shifted   against   boothill's   with   little   to   no   reservation,   lingered   longer   than   the   excuse   of   standing   beneath   a   mistletoe   would   rightly   cover,   and   when   he   did   finally   let   it   lull   to   a   halt   he   felt   a   soft   tingle,   a   faint   demand   for   more   ushered   by   his   own   body   itself,   rather   than   his   heart   or   his   mind.   he   craved,   sometimes,   and   found   that   even   a   kiss   like   that   had   not   quite   satisfied   that   sort   of   want   entirely.   still,   it   had   been   more   than   enough,   given   the   circumstances. 

a   grin   was   flashed,   loose   and   content,   just   before   his   hands   gradually   withdrew,   and   a   step   back   was   taken   to   allow   both   of   them   to   cool   back   down   again.   ❛    a   charming   custom,   wouldn't   you   say   ?   ❜   he   questioned,   voice   that   usual,   humoured,   low   melody.

[dandyshucks-moving]

there's this one photo I've seen floating around a few times with the words "I wish we could've met as kids, you would've loved the softer me" and I think about it every now and then

so ... art ʅ(๑ ᷄ω ᷅ )ʃ

[fuckyeahkagepro]

Jin: "I hate summer." {"Kagerou Daze" lyric reference}

Show Jin some support at the direct Tweet here!

[tolookbeyondlogic]

boldly going

[trip-tuckers-hyperspanner]

I won't tell people what canon clearly shows my opinion just yet because I don't want to skew results

[helpfromheaven]

Put Fears Behind and Boldly Speak: Sunday Devotion

Matthew 10: 26-28 So do not be afraid of them, for there is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known. What I tell you in the dark, speak in the daylight; what is whispered in your ear, proclaim from the roofs. Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell. I…

[heesimp]

mmm the heehoon scenarios… so fucking hot. tbh i’d wanna see them jerk each other off while fantasizing abt yn

also icl your blog keeps making me blush. and shy. and also really, really wet.

part one and part two

-

Heeseung should feel jealous that Sunghoon hooked up with you while he was away for the weekend, but he’s not.

It was a spur of the moment kind of thing, that much Heeseung knows. Sunghoon told him after the fact, that things got too heated when he agreed to help her build some furniture to the point where they ended up having sex. And really, Heeseung was a bit envious for just a moment, but the thought of watching two of his friends fucking in front of him was more appealing than anything else. Under the condition of telling him about it, Heeseung told Sunghoon there was nothing for him to worry about.

“How did it feel?”

Sunghoon licks his lips. “Close your eyes.” He hums when Heeseung’s kiss flutter shut and pushes his hand to rest his palm over his friend’s cock and hears his gasp. “This okay?”

“Honestly? Yeah.”

“We were in the kitchen just talking about where to move the table when it was done but she kept looking at my dick,” Sunghoon explains as he tentatively squeezes Heeseung through his pants. “I knew she could see I was almost hard. Y/N started touching me out of nowhere.”

“Fuck.” Heeseung curses underneath his breath. “That feels good, Hoon.”

“I know it does.”

“She really touched you?”

“Squeezed me a little, too.” Sunghoon begins to stroke Heeseung through the fabric and watches the way his older friend starts to crumble. Heeseung subtly bucks his hips into Sunghoon, who pushes back against him and applies even more pressure to his dick.

“She said she likes big cocks.”

“Did she?”

“Mhm.” Sunghoon licks his lips and moves his hand until he’s able to stroke Heeseung’s balls from below. “Looks like you’ve got that covered.”

Heeseung opens his eyes and boldly reaches out to grab onto Sunghoon. “You do too.” The younger boy chuckles and pushes his hardened cock against Heeseung’s palm. Sunghoon removed his hand to push his cock against Heeseung’s dick and he nearly loses his mind. “Show me how you fucked her.”

“On you?” Sunghoon asks coyly.

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “Your toy, Hoon. I liked watching you fuck it the last time.” Sunghoon smirks and gives Heeseung’s dick one last squeeze before jutting his head, silently telling him to follow.

Sunghoon’s own cock stands and creates a tent in his pants while Heeseung finds perch in the desk chair, wasting no time by pulling out his cock and letting it breathe. His palm is warm to the touch and he watches Sunghoon pull the doll out of his closet.

“She let me eat her pussy.”

“How’d she taste?”

Sunghoon groans. “So good, you wouldn’t believe it. Her pussy’s so fucking nasty.”

“How nasty?” Heeseung squeezes his dick and rolls the chair closer to the bed while Sunghoon strokes the toy’s clit with his thumb.

“Pretty little thing got wetter and wetter the more I touched her. It was fucking sexy, Hee. Tight hole too.” Sunghoon bends down and licks a fat stripe up the toy’s folds and he hums when he hears Heeseung moan quietly from beside him.

“Show me how you did it.”

Watching his best friend climb on top of the bed and shove his face in his sex toy was like finding the perfect video on PornHub after searching through endless pages. Sunghoon lies on his stomach with his hands cradling the silicone as his tongue penetrates its folds and he closes his eyes as if to pretend he’s back in your bedroom with your legs spread before his mouth.

Heeseung’s cock leaks with his precum when Sunghoon moans into the doll as his tongue licks over its folds. He tips the tip of his wet muscle inside and uses his big hands to spread it open in front of him as he thrusts himself in and out of its pussy. Sunghoon recalls your scent and the way you felt against his mouth with the way your hips rolled into his face the closer you came to cumming.

He gets lost in the moment and shoves two of his fingers inside while Heeseung moans loudly beside him. Sunghoon feels his dick twitch in his boxers and begins to hump the bed like he did when the two of you were together, balls swollen with the amount of cum he knows he’ll be releasing later on.

But that’s short lived because he wants to fuck. Sunghoon strokes himself and looks at his friend.

“She spit on my cock too.”

“Yeah?”

“Like this.”

Sunghoon stands from the bed and Heeseung watches his big dick bounce from the movement. The younger boy stands before him and looks straight down at Heeseung’s cock, his swollen tip making Sunghoon grab the base of his own dick to give it a little squeeze as he gathers a ball of spit and allows it to dribble out of his mouth and onto his best friend.

Heeseung opens his mouth to whine at the sensation and spreads Sunghoon’s spit all over his cock with the rough shake of his hand. The wetness reverberates around the room and Sunghoon nods at Heeseung’s desperation. His friend’s precum makes his cock glisten and that makes Sunghoon moan too.

“Fuck, your dick is so wet.” He strokes himself and spreads his legs wider to steady himself.

“Come feel what Y/N does to me.”

Sunghoon steps closer and nudges the tip against Heeseung’s. The warm touch makes their faces glow, reminiscent of all the times they’ve penetrated the toy together. The smoothness of their cocks is heavenly as Sunghoon pushes himself against his friend until he’s tapping his tip while grabbing his base and squeezing his own balls. Heeseung doesn’t stop stroking his cock and Sunghoon doesn’t pull away when the edge of his fingers touch his cock.

“I wanna see you fuck her, Hoon.” Heeseung juts his head at the toy sitting neglected on the bed. “Show me.”

Sunghoon’s body buzzes with excitement and he can’t find it in himself to tease Heeseung about his desperate tone, for he feels like he could combust at any given moment. He climbs on the bed and angles himself to gives Heeseung a side view while he pushes the tip of his cock right into the doll before sinking all the way down until it’s sucked right inside.

“Fuck, she takes it so good.”

“Tightest pussy I’ve ever had,” Sunghoon moans as he pulls himself back just to thrust inside of it again. He braces his palms on the mattress below him and lets his hips slang once more. “I swear she was asking for it.”

“With a cock like that…yeah.”

Sunghoon sets a slow pace at first, letting his hips smacking the doll do the talking. Heeseung makes a fist with his hand and thrusts his hips to meet the circle as if to pretend he was fucking right into your tight hole. It sounds so wet in this room and Heeseung pictures you underneath Sunghoon’s naked body the more his friend disappears inside of the toy.

“She let me fuck her without a condom.”

“Shit, no way? No condom?”

“Said she was on birth control. Don’t remember much because I was too horny.” Sunghoon collapses onto the bed and catching himself with his elbows while Heeseung’s dick stutters. “Fuuuck. This feels so good. My cock’s so fucking hard for her.”

“Bet her moans sound sexy.”

“Sexiest little thing in the world.” Sunghoon lets out a slow moan. “She’s so cute when she wants to be but she moans like a goddamn pornstar.”

Heeseung strokes his dick faster. “Fuck yeah. Our little slut. “Turn around. I wanna watch you cum in her like that.”

“Shit, whatever you want.”

Heeseung stands from the chair and watches as Sunghoon pushes the doll further onto the bed as he grounds his knees into the mattress. His deep moans vibrate throughout the room as his hands keep himself steady while he focuses on his orgasm. Heeseung watches the way Sunghoon’s balls twitch from behind and moans at the glimpses of his friend’s cock fucking the doll from this angle.

“I’m cumming,” Sunghoon curses. “I’m fucking cumming!”

“Cum inside her pussy, Hoon.”

“Take my cock, baby,” Sunghoon grunts as pounds into the toy. “Take my fucking cum.”

He shoots his warm load inside and nearly howls at how good it feels to fuck this toy and remember what your pussy felt like. Heeseung’s cock twitches in his hand as he watches his best friend’s balls constrict and as the cum seeps from the little hole. He peers over to see Sunghoon’s sweaty forehead and hair sticking to his face and the way his naked chest heaves.

“Let me cum in her too.”

Sunghoon pulls away and strokes his dick in a lazy motion while Heeseung replaced him. The older boy sinks his cock into the creamy toy and moans, making Sunghoon grip his dick until he’s semi-hard again. Heeseung begins to thrust inside of the toy and groans when he sees Sunghoon’s come start to coat the entirety of his cock before cumming inside of it too.

[wintrwinchestr]

strangers | part 2

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

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

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

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

word count: 8.1k

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

divider by @saradika

series masterlist/moodboard

read this chapter on ao3

part 3 (coming soon)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like it, Joel, like being yours…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Awe, Joel… You can sing? Can you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So? I can’t draw some old junk?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you aren’t so fortunate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You stupid fuckin’ bitch…” he spits.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“T-the box… I saw—”

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

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

“You… you killed her. I-it was you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like one of them. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you agree quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“See… what coming?”

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

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

“You want me to… to kill—”

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

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

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

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

“I love you too, Joel.”

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

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

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

[peachsayshi]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ domestic diaries

minors / ageless / blank blogs dni

ೃ⁀➷ notes: I saw this gif (top right image) & wrote a post about nanami getting turned on seeing his wife in an itty bitty tank, and I cannot get this out of my head. I need this man to **** ** until I'm ******* and ******. this is very self indulgent. forgive me lskjfd

ೃ⁀➷ tags: smut; masturbation; oral (f receiving); nipple play; p in v; rough sex; reader wears glasses

feb 3 - 8:31 pm

"look at how wet you are-" nanami exhales, a strand of gold kissing his forehead. the muscles of his strong stomach flexing when he unfastens the last button of his shirt. he pulls the fabric over his broad shoulders, taking in your hungry eyes roaming all over his body. rough hands instantly trail to the belt cinched around his waist. you whimper when he loosens the buckle, your fingers circle over your clit just a little faster as you watch him yank the leather band out from between the loops.

"n' you're hard..." you softly pant, licking your lips which only continues to exacerbate your husband’s madness to have you.

he palms over the prominent tent that's formed against his slacks, his length stiff from the sight of coming home to you earlier. you were innocently standing in the kitchen, wearing your black thigh high socks and a pair of shorts along with an itty bitty tank top that did nothing to cover you. midriff out, nipples prominent. your hair a mess, and your glasses resting comfortably on the bridge of your nose.

it was in that moment when the realization struck nanami. when he pondered when was the last time he taken you to bed. both of your schedules have been busy. neither of you have been in the mood for making love, too worn out from the stresses of every day life.

so, his reaction towards you shouldn't have been that much of a surprise. he just wished that he noted the dry spill that's hit your relationship a little bit earlier.

"hi, baby", you sweetly greeted with a smile, as he stood there dumfounded with admiration. "you're home late, I was worried you might miss dinner-"

nanami loosened his tie, swallowing the hard lump that formed in his throat as his skin scorched with heat. he can feel it prick the tips of his ears, singe the the highest parts of his prominent cheek bones, and burn it's way down his neck. he stalked towards you before you allowed yourself to get distracted, and circled his arms around your waist to pull you in for a kiss.

you were taken aback by the urgency, but you soon melted in his arms and found yourselves in the sanctuary of your bedroom.

nanami smiles - an angelic grin, full of reverie. you have to press your lips together to stop yourself from pathetically moaning at the gesture.

your husband doesn't make it easier by treating his exceptionally attractive self with such nonchalance. so completely clueless by the power he has over you.

he boldly stares at you, eyes falling to the peaks of your breasts, the tips furiously prominent against your tank top and begging for attention. he followed the path down the lower half your naked body, to the triangle between your legs where you were fingering yourself in anticipation. half your legs were still concealed by your thigh high socks, your glasses slowly falling down your nose.

he drops his shirt to the ground, bringing those fingers to push back that infuriating rogue strand of hair that carelessly fell. he cups your knees, his thumbs stroking your socks lovingly as he nestles himself between your legs. his jaw twitches when you spread your lips for him, your arousal strings of sweet sugar. nanami leans forward to peck you tenderly at the source of your desire, and the sound that travels out of your throat is so desperate he nearly cums on the spot.

"shit-" you curse, your hands moving to rest on your lower belly so nanami can touch you as he pleases.

he uses to fingers to spread the petals once again, before placing his tongue flat to broadly stroke up your slit. his eyes flutter close and the drawl of his hum is deep, sending a shiver up your belly. you bring one hand to the locks of his hair, massaging his scalp lightly as you keep the strands from falling over.

"haven't tasted you in a while, my love," nanami sighs. his hot, heavy breath fanning your cunt.

he dives in with no mercy, making your hips buck into his face while he fucks you with his mouth. he pays extra attention to your clit, sucking on the bud and flicking his tongue back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth...your fingers dig into his scalp, your upper body nearly off the mattress as you hold him close. when nanami slides two fingers in to stretch you out, your eyes simply vanish to the back of your head. you're so soaked by the time you orgasm, tremors shaking your clenched thighs that nearly squeezed your husband's head.

you taste yourself on your tongue when he kisses you. it's sloppy, wet. completely primal. nanami only stops to remove his slacks, rbefore eadjusting your position when he climbs on the bed.

"take your glasses off," he commands, and you oblige as you place them by your side.

he flips you over, lifting your hips and creating a lovely slope on your spine. his hands graze over the socks pinching the meat of your thighs, and he widens your stance before aligning the heavy tip of his cock to your entrance.

your words are reduced to vowels, and when your husband gradually pushes himself against your folds, you release a long cry as you grip onto the sheets for support.

"oh fuck,-" nanami purrs, before pulling back and rutting deep into you. "uh-you feel s'good, s'warm..."

"kento-" your whine out his name pornographically, which makes your husband thrust into you even harder, "kento, more...please, please, please-ah~"

your tank top rides up as your body rubs against the mattress, your sensitive nipples brushing over your cool bed sheets. he's usually so gentle when fucking you, calculative even - but not tonight. tonight, his movements are unrelenting. whenever that mushroom head hits your sweet spot it has you seeing a cluster of white stars in your eyes. the sound of skin slapping skin echoes all around you, with nanami's grunts following in harmony. he's rough when he holds your hips because he's unable to hold onto any self control, because you're sucking him in, and milking his cock.

you anticipate the soreness to come.

when you orgasm a second time, tears prick your eyes from relief - it's been so long since you've had your husband inside you that you forgot how pliable you become in the process. he's so close now too, his flow staggering as his hipsstutter, until he finally releases his full load inside you.

it takes you both a few minutes to gather yourself. you can feel your husband grow soft inside you. you turn around to face him when you finally detach. sitting upright on your knees as you circle your arms around your neck, and bring your face in front of his.

you moan into a kiss, his own hands cupping your breasts chastely, his thumbs swiping over your pebbled nipples.

he rubs his nose over yours, his lips finding your cheeks as he kisses you. "you okay, my love?" he asks, always the gentleman for checking in. "m'sorry if I was rough, I..." he sighs, stealing another kiss from your lips before whispering, "I didn't realize how long it's been..."

you sniffle, your body coming down from the rushed high. "m'okay, kento..." you dreamily reassure, your lips seeking his own for another kiss, "that felt so good..."

"yeah?" he smiles before nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth and tracing that dangerous mouth down the curve of your neck. "felt good for me too, baby..."

you're like sand between his fingers, slipping through the cracks of lust and love. nanami leaves a trail of kisses down your collar bone, moving further until his lips circle over the tip of your breast.

you hiss when he sucks on it, using his hand to cup the weight. the sensation of his thumb makes you pulse between your legs, and you gaze down to watch him slowly pull away to release the bud. his eyes stay fixated on your chest, a small string of saliva connecting from your nipple to his bottom lip. he uses his thumb to wipe it away, stroking the hardened peak.

"want to keep going?" he speaks in a hushed tone, lifting his head up and resting his chin against your chest to gauge your mood.

"yeah," you sigh, wanting nothing more to ride along this intimate dance until your bodies can no longer keep up. "yeah, let's keep going..."

[aurorawritestoescape]

Javier Peña x f!reader | 550 words

inspired by my favorite gif. smooches to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 dividers by @saradika-graphics

tw: 18+ mdni, smut, horny!reader, Javi

MASTERLIST

You know you’re fucked.

With the way Javi’s looking at you, leaning against his desk, you don’t have a chance.

Everyone will notice your lust, your maddening attraction.

You clench your jaws, trying to control the reaction of your body to him and his dark gaze, playful but heavy, fixed on you. For now the others are distracted enough to miss the clear signs that you’re more than colleagues. But when they do. Fuck!

Why is he doing it?

Why is he looking at you like that?

His head tilt? He knows well what it does to you. It makes you, forces you to remember last night. He was watching you the same way, while your body was squirming on his bed, your fingers buried inside your sopping hole, deep to the knuckles, your thumb pressed to your thumping clit.

“Not yet, baby. I’ll tell you when.”

The memory of him controlling your pleasure floods your core with warm slick desire and you’re soaking your panties, while a subtle smile is dancing on Javi’s plush lips.

You take a deep breath, sitting very still. You know that every extra move will show how desperate you are for his touch. Your heart is beating fast, your brain is foggy with a heady mix of excitement and fear.

The smug curve of his brow boldly challenges you to act on your lustful urges. To break your cover. To show everyone how needy he’s making you. How much control he has over you.

If he told you to kneel in front of him, you wouldn’t hesitate. Damn, you’d crawl to him if he desired.

He would never do that though. He loves the risk too much, the need for the thrill is an integral part of his soul by now. So he continues playing with you because he knows you can take it.

It’s getting harder though. He makes your facade crumble little by little. Day by day. Just by resting his gaze on you like that. Just by being close. Just by being him.

You avert your glossy eyes, only for a second, as they’re always hungry for more. Every part of you demands to see him, feel him against your skin, tremble from his touch.

Javi’s clasped hands are resting just under the bulge in his jeans. You shouldn’t look there but a movement attracts your attention. He’s rubbing his thick thumbs against each other and your tongue darts out to wet your lower lip, as you’re dreaming of taking one of them into your mouth, sucking on it, drooling like a bitch in heat around it and then doing the same with his long cock.

You swallow loudly, wishing it wasn’t your saliva but his warm cum instead.

Javi chuckles, as if having read your mind, and you’re afraid of bursting into tears from how turned on you are. They already sting your eyes.

Your treacherous mind paints lewd pictures for you again and again. You’re splayed on the desk for him to use, while Javi’s languidly pumping his cock in preparation; he’s pressing you into the wooden surface, strong hand on the back of your neck holding you still, while his cock is massaging your walls with unyielding determination to make you scream his name.

You squeeze your eyes shut and breathe in deeply, drawing the images away, grasping at any resemblance of self control. Just a few hours of this torment and you’ll have him. Or rather he will have you.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!💕

tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk

[hellishjoel]

catching flights and snowflakes

616 words / pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

← masterlist | notifications blog | seasons of life challenge masterlist

word: snow

warnings/information: established relationship, pure fluff

a/n: this is me re-writing my author's note because my queue failed me! so I'm just getting around to seeing this and properly posting my seasons of life challenge masterlist and my first post ((now a day late >:[)) - my banners are by @saradika-graphics <3 shoutout to @berryispunk and @lady-bess for putting this together on @fanfictionoverload!

“You’re going to freeze your ass off,” you warn your Florida-born and-raised boyfriend Frankie, whose half-packed suitcase consists of breezy button-ups and cargo shorts. 

His adorably confused expression glances from his open suitcase to your dubious look. “How cold can it be? Thirty degrees sounds like nothin’.” He sassily retorts, pinching your chin between his fingers and thumb as he angles your chin upward so that he can place a soft kiss on your lips. 

It’s his first Christmas visiting your side of the family. You were leaving palm trees behind for Castleton green pines, and his wardrobe was drastically underprepared. 

“Let’s see. Christmas in the Midwest will consist of thirty-degree temperatures, colder if there’s a windchill. You have no warm hat, gloves, or jeans without holes in the knees. The only type of boots you own are hiking boots, and those won’t keep you warm if we have to walk through the snow.” 

There’s a glimmer in his eyes, something mischievous and almost kid-like. “You think there’s gonna be snow? A white Christmas?” 

Frankie has always been devoted to the warmth that central Florida offers, never tempted to swap it for a colder climate. Snow is a rarity in his world—he's only experienced the occasional fleeting flurry. By the time those delicate flakes touched the ground, the warmth quickly melted them away, leaving no trace behind.

You didn’t promise him anything, especially with climate change and all, but as soon as your plane had touched down, fat white snowflakes passed by your airplane window with no agenda or intent. They were weightless, the reminder you needed to hold with you as the end of the year approached.  

“Looks like you’re getting your wish,” you whisper to Frankie, interlocking your fingers with his as he joins you in staring out at the midnight blue velvet sky where snow begins to fall steadily. 

Your heart soars as your boyfriend’s gaze lingers on every window you pass, from deboarding the plane to the grand floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the planes landing and departing on the tarmac. He couldn’t resist the excitement of his first real snowfall. 

Having grown up with snow days that shut down schools and heavy flakes piling up inches at a time, you had almost forgotten how magical snow could be.

Frankie’s smile is unwavering, a grin stretched wide across his face as you exit the airport’s main entrance, scanning the lot for your dad’s truck.

“Baby,” he murmurs, his breath swirling in the icy air, visible like a fleeting ghost in front of his face. “I can finally do it, just like in the movies.” Frankie’s excitement spills over as he drops his duffel bag on the sidewalk with a thud, stepping boldly out from the shelter of the airport canopy into the falling snow. He tugs his jacket tighter around him, the cold air making his cheeks rosy. “We had snow once,” Frankie says, staring at the flakes. “Didn’t even stick. Mom made us cocoa just to celebrate.” He grins at the memory and looks down at you. “This? This is a whole other level.”

You giggle as Frankie sticks out his tongue and dives his head from side to side in search of a flake to land on his tongue. “You’re doin’ this with me,” He holds your hands and twirls you under the night sky, both of you chasing snowflakes and cheering when they eventually melt on your warm tongue. 

“We should build a snowman tomorrow. This is perfect packing snow,” you remark casually, pressing your shoe into the thick, powdery layer already blanketing the ground.

Frankie’s eyes damn near bulge out of his head. “We can build a fucking snowman?!”

[grinsgrimmy]

Hello, Writer-nim! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

I'm a new fan of your blog! I really like how you write! ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ ᡣ𐭩 I saw that your drabble request slot is still open. I'm just wondering if you'll be able to write a character from 'Death is the only ending for the Villainess'? For Callisto Regulus, specifically? ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ

Like, Reader finds a jar that's full of trinkets and it's so familiar to her because these are all the trinkets she gave to him since they met. And it's like Callisto's greatest treasure. ૮⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝ ა

Thank you in advance, Writer-nim! 화이팅~! (ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡

Ｔ Ｒ Ｅ Ａ Ｓ Ｕ Ｒ Ｅ .

ㅤᯓᡣ𐭩 𝖢𝖠𝖫𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖮 𝖱𝖤𝖦𝖴𝖫𝖴𝖲 𝗑 𝖠𝖥𝖠𝖡!𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

DEATH IS THE ONLY ENDING FOR THE VILLAINESS

๋࣭⭑ֶֶֶָָָ֢֢֢𖹭 drabble. (816 words)

sum. you found a jar on callisto's dresser. the content in the jar were familiar to you

note : thank you for your request and kind words, anonie! it took me a while to do this because i could not exactly understand callisto's personality for some reason. I ended up summarising his personality to be NEARLY the same as sylus from love and deepspace. regardless, I FINALLY DID NOT GO OVER THE WORD LIMIT !!

drabble request slots have reopened !

ㅤ⪩⪨ m.list

“aren't you so bold to snoop around the crown prince's bedroom, dear?”

callisto mused, leaning against the doorframe with that insufferable, arrogant smirk of his. he eyed you going through his bedroom with an amused glint in his eyes.

clearly, he was enjoying the sight of you getting caught in the act.

you did not actually mean to snoop around callisto's bedroom. you had been waiting for him when he was busy getting dressed. since you had nothing to do, you let your eyes mindlessly wander around his massive yet empty room.

it was not as though you were trying to find something. you were just idly passing time while waiting for him. but then your eyes landed on something that sat sitting on his dresser that was oddly near his bed.

before you could think twice about what you were doing, your curiosity got the better of you. hence, you ended up investigating what that odd thing could be.

when you gazed upon the item. it was an old, weathered glass jar, though the content within it were certainly new. you took a moment to process what exactly it was that gave a tug of familiarity.

the trinkets were so familiar to you.

you would have not bat an eye on that glass jar if it were not for the contents in it.

then, callisto caught you in that moment.

which led to callisto standing in the doorway, giving the most annoying smirk known to man alongside that look of bemusement.

you felt your heart racing when you were caught. though you knew you were not guilty, you felt as if you were touching something so incredibly intimate to him.

you straightened up immediately. your hands instinctively moving to your back to hide the jar you took from his dresser.

you took another long gaze in the jar without shame to ease your curiousity. after processing it, it caught you by surprise when you realised what those were.

the trinkets and other items within it were tiny gifts you gave callisto over the course of your time together.

small tokens of affection or silly, spontaneous, or callisto decided it would be better to steal it from you.

each trinket within it brought back memories of the two of your shared moments you did not know you needed to remember.

a pebble from your garden that you gave to callisto during your early days of meeting him to boldly mock him. several jewellery you gifted (and stolen) to callisto. two overworn handkerchiefs and other tiny content you saw—

all these small, seemingly insignificant gifts you had given to him,

you never realised he had kept them.

it hit you hard. you could not even comprehend what you felt seeing the jar.

affection? adoration? nostalgia? disbelief?

there were too many thoughts running through your mind.

your fingers tightened around the jar unconsciously, as if shielding the vulnerability you felt at that moment.

callisto, the annoyingly observant man that he is, noticed your change in expressions. he gave you a knowing look as he took a slow step forward to you.

“i had no idea you were so sentimental, darling,” he commented with his usual teasing tone, yet it was laced with something more.

you opened your mouth to speak, but your words were tangled in your throat. you were caught by the strange, warm ache in your chest that you could not explain.

“i didn't know you kept these...” you croaked out, trying not to sound vulnerable, but your voice was softer than you intended. you glanced at the jar again with disbelief.

his lips curled into a tiny, gentler smile, yet he managed to maintain his arrogant smirk after. he took the jar from your hands carefully. you noticed he was cradling it almost reverently, scared it would break.

“this is where i store my greatest treasures,” callisto murmured, his voice almost tender when he glanced at the content within the jar.

his eyes shifted to you. he placed the jar where it belonged, then his fingers brushed against yours. he gave a knowing grin. “if i could put you in here, i would,” he said teasingly, but you could sense that he actually meant it.

he then leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head. the warmth of his lips lingered longer than you expected. it was a quiet gesture, but it was profound to you, as if it were a promise.

in that moment, you realised it was not just the objects that made you sentimental, it was that callisto had truly seen you. all these tiny things could have been easily overlooked, but he cherished it.

callisto cherished you.

"thank you," you whispered. the words carried heavy meaning. you gave him a smile, a sincere one without artifice. a smile that caught callisto off guard.

callisto then smiled, a smile that matched yours— genuine and sincere, far more than either of you had anticipated.

・❥・want a hc / oneshot? please consider commissioning in ko-fi !

[trip-tuckers-hyperspanner]

Rank the Star Trek Captains in order by how good you think they would be at cooking

Hehehehe

Benjamin Sisko, the son of a gourmet cook. Can cook a boot and make it taste like heaven

Christopher Pike, it's his hobby. Can't cook a boot and make it taste like heaven but he could make it edible.

James Kirk has been known to make toast on occasion and some eggs but secretly he's decent. Not as good as the afore mentioned but there's a warm, homey quality to what he makes

Picard can, he just doesn't. He's not a wicked good cook but he can follow a recipe.

Jonathan Archer, he can bake some mean cookies and that is IT. Likes too much mayonnaise with things.

I'm sorry but Janeway ruins every food she touches except for coffee. But she occasionally burns coffee.

[grandline-fics]

Hi! Hope I’m no bother but I fell upon your blog and I couldn’t help but love it. I wondered if I could have a hcs, drables, one shot, any format who arrange you, with Shanks and Mihawk (Sorry if you aren’t comfortable with those characters, pick up other if you prefer) who meet their first love after years and years of no see? I heard a lot that you will forever love your first love, so I wondered how they would reacted to meet them/her once adults and mature. They stay with their first genuine love quite a long time, 5-7 years, and broke up for no real valid reasons, just because they were young and else, they met their first love maybe at 16-17 yo. Sorry my English is awful :,)

DESCRIPTION: You’re their first love and reunite after so many years

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Mihawk, Shanks

WORDS: 2,388

A/N:  Sorry I've gotten so behind on these, it's been a rough few weeks but I'll hopefully be back on track soon. Thank you for this request. I really hope you like it!

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

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MIHAWK

Love wasn’t a word Mihawk considered to be heavily used in his vocabulary. Some would call him heartless and cruel but he was a realist. If anything he thought the world overused it to the point of it losing it’s depth and importance which was why he tended to rarely let it fall from his lips. Yes he had ‘lovers’ from time to time but were they ever considered someone he loved? No. None of them even came close to that. How could they when the one that had claimed his heart, the one that taught him the true meaning of the word love, was you. 

Although it had been so many years, the memories he had with you were still so clear and sharp that they could have rivalled any blade. Your paths had crossed at the very beginning of his travels across the world in the hopes of training and claiming the title of the world’s greatest swordsman as his own. He had been pointed to your home by the locals after asking who the best sword fighter was, eager to add another victory to his steadily growing list. However when he appeared at your home he was a little thrown to find you tending to a small plot of farmland. Mihawk knew you were the only one living here as the locals had told him that much, so there was no confusing you were the one he was looking for. He wasn’t expecting someone who looked as young as him to be his supposed opponent. Still he was proof that age had no bearing on talent. So he challenged you.  

Quickly he was thrown once more when you lifted your head from your work to fix him with a look he’d never forgotten. Your eyes were bright and silently assessing and whatever it was you saw in him made your lips quirk into an amused smirk that in his youth had made Mihawk skin prickle with an unfamiliar warmth. He could only watch as you rose with the basket of freshly pulled vegetables in your arms and firmly refused his challenge and walked towards your house. He’d never been refused before and demanded to know why, following you inside. “I don’t need to give you a reason.” Had been your cool reply before you looked over your shoulder at him. “I just don’t want to.”

“I’m not leaving until you fight me.” Mihawk had boldly declared, the intense sincerity of his words causing you to laugh. At the sound, he had originally bristled but it wouldn’t be long before he found that it was his among his favourite things in the world. True to his word, Mihawk had stayed on the island far longer than he had intended. Every day he came to your home and challenged you. Every day you refused and watched him storm away. Eventually though after your refusal you would invite him to stay; sometimes to share something to eat, or even to go on a walk, or to help you with your chores. At first he hadn’t understood why he so readily spent the time with you but then he did. He wanted to be with you more than he wanted to fight you. When he realised that, his time with you each day grew more and more until he didn’t go and stopped challenging you completely. 

You loved him completely and never wanted to be apart from him, because even though you were both young you knew what you felt was real and unshakable. However you knew that it wasn’t right. He couldn’t remain on a tiny island when his ambition lay out in the large and unseen world. As much as it pained you to do so, you insisted it was time to stop things. Mihawk had to go and become the greatest swordsman and you had to stay on the island because as it stood, you were the only one that could protect the others living there. Your reputation kept many away but as Mihawk had proved, some would come looking for a fight or to cause harm to the innocent. Begrudgingly Mihawk saw the sense in your words and he left but you were never forgotten. 

Now here he stood in some nowhere town on some random island, watching you talk to an elderly woman tending to a flower stand in the middle of the market square. It was you, he knew it was you. Time had aged you like the finest of wines, your beauty matured for all to see. Then you laughed and it proved what he’d already known. After all this time without you and even though any free moment he had he thought of you, to see you now and know that you were just a few feet away from his touch he couldn’t help but let his mind wonder about you beyond his fondest memories. What if you’d married? What if you didn’t remember him? What if you didn’t want to see him? 

When you said goodbye to the woman and started to walk away, Mihawk found that his previous worries disappeared instantly, not wanting to risk losing this chance. Immediately he set off through the crowd in the direction you went in. Thankfully you hadn’t gotten too far and when he was close, his hand lightly touched your shoulder and took a step back when you turned suddenly to face him. 

Your expression flickered from confusion to shock and then joy at the unexpected sight of your first love standing in front of you. It gave Mihawk a feeling of relief to see the smile light your face before your expression became playful. “Well? Aren’t you going to ask me?” Mihawk blinked in confusion but quickly he realised you meant a challenge and let out a small breath of amusement. Slowly he shook his head. 

“No, I just don’t want to.” He answered simply, smirking when you finally stepped closer and slid your hand around his arm.

“In that case, I’m not leaving you until you do.” Mihawk chuckled and started walking down the street with you. Finally reunited with the only person he ever loved? There was no way he was going to let you go again. 

SHANKS

When Shanks was young he never fully understood why Roger, Rayleigh and the other older members of the crew got so distracted and frankly stupid in his opinion when they were around ‘attractive’ people when they were visiting an island. It always went beyond just enjoying being off of the ship for a while and making friends. Curious one day as they sailed on a calm stretch of water, he turned the question to the vice-captain who laughed at the question. So Shanks pressed more. “It just doesn’t make sense. What’s so special about them that makes you all so goofy and red faced? The Marines would lower your bounty if they saw you like that, the Captain too.”

“Oh, you’ll understand when you’re older Shanks.” Rayleigh told him with another laugh and light clap on his shoulder. Still that answer wasn’t good enough for him and he stared at the older man. If he was old enough to ask the question, surely he’d be considered old enough now for an actual answer. Seeing that the issue wasn’t going to drop, Rayleigh relented just a little more and sighed. “Look Shanks, it’s a little hard to explain but it’s another way of enjoying life and our adventures. We don’t know how much time we have at sea before finding a new island so it’s best to enjoy all it has to offer. Company with attractive people who feel the same about you is another aspect of that.”

“Doesn’t it make you sad though? You never see them again. Don’t you miss them?”

“Not really. It’s not love and they know that.”

“Huh…” Shanks felt even more confused then. The older crew always had a sickly loved up expression during the encounters he’d witnessed before they disappeared with their new ‘friends’ for the evening. So if it wasn’t love what was it? More to the point a new question came out of his mouth. “So what does love feel like?”

“Love? What’s with the hard questions today, lad?” The vice-captain muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean it’s different for everyone. Sometimes it’s slow, other times it’s fast and comes out of nowhere. Still I suppose at the same time, love feels similar. It’s like lightning hitting you mind, body, and soul. It’s powerful. When you’re in love and know it, it’s like nothing else matters but them. It’s like their very presence can calm and excite you all at once.” Shanks slowly nodded. He could understand that in theory but one person being the only thing he could think about seemed dangerous to him. Satisfied with the answer given, he finally let Rayleigh continue with his day.

Looking back on that conversation now that he was older, Shanks would laugh at his own naivety as lust was certainly something he knew when he hit puberty just as Rayleigh had predicted and know it a lot. Love however, he only ever experienced once. Only a year after the conversation about love, the crew had docked on an island and headed straight for a restaurant in desperate need of plenty of good food and drink. Taking a seat, Shanks sat back and waited for the usual fun to start. Given the sudden increased size of customers, the owner called for you to help out the family business and take the orders. 

You made your way to Shanks’ table and took the orders. Shanks was distractedly looking at the menu and had zoned out, only snapping out of it when your hand lightly pushed the rim of his straw hat up and leant in to smile at him. “Anything catching your eye or do you need more time?”   

Shanks’ lips parted as he stared blankly at you, feeling like something shot right through his body. He was frozen in place and yet he felt warm, lost completely in your eyes. It felt like an age before his mind began to work again but really it had been only a few seconds. Quickly he managed to clear his throat and picked the first thing he saw when he forced his eyes back onto the menu. At the sound of you moving onto the next table, Shanks let out a breath only to wince when Buggy’s elbow caught him in the ribs. “Jeez, what came over you?” He’d asked, finding his friend and rival’s reaction to you funny but at the same time it was concerning to see Shanks so out of sorts. However the others at the table smirked, knowing the signs immediately. 

It seemed like luck was truly on Shanks’ side when he was told they would be staying on the island for a few months to ensure they had enough supplies and preparation done before continuing on the next stretch of the journey. That meant he got to spend more time with you which was all he wanted. Luckier still, you seemed to be as equally taken with him. It had been just as Rayleigh had described love, you were all that mattered in his waking and sleeping moments and you brought him a sense of calm he’d never felt before but at the same time just being near you made his entire being feel restless and excited. 

While he fell in love first you fell in love with him just as fast. Sadly it never got to last because in what felt like a blink, he and the rest of Roger’s crew were saying goodbye to those they’d gotten to know in their time on land. You’d done your best to keep a brave face and seem cheerful for Shanks’ sake. “You can always come back and visit some day, right?” You told him with a tight smile. “You’ll have plenty of stories of your adventures to tell me when we see each other again.”

“I promise each one will be more impressive than the last. The next time you see me, I’ll be Captain of my own ship.” Shanks promised with a proud puff of his chest that made you smile through the hurt of having to say goodbye. 

True to his word, Shanks did become captain of his own ship and his great adventures took him over the world, some distracting him from the promise he had every intention of keeping. However as the years passed, he’d idly considered had time only made his feelings for you seem stronger than they had been through mere nostalgia. When he did finally manage to return to your island, he had been shocked to hear that you’d left many years ago. The disappointment he’d felt at the news told him that no, it wasn’t nostalgia; his feelings for you had been real. 

Another handful of years passed and one evening in a tavern, Shanks and his crew talked and laughed as drink and food flowed freely. As Shanks drained the drink in his hand he faintly heard the sound of the chair beside him being taken. At first he thought it was Benn or Yasopp but when he glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw you there, his entire body locked. Choking on his drink, Shanks felt the painful burn in his throat as he forced his drink down instead of coughing it up. Wheezing he slammed his hand against his chest and could feel his heart beating rapidly and he knew it wasn’t because he nearly drowned on his drink. “Y-you!” He managed out, finally able to look at you, the same feeling he’d had in his youth crashing into him hard. “Wow.”

“Wow yourself.” You grinned, taking in the sight of how much the boy you’d fallen in love with had changed yet still felt the same. “So, got any stories for me, Captain?” Shanks laughed and turned properly in his seat to fix you with his full attention, his eyes set firmly on your face. 

“I’ve got a lifetime of stories for you, just as promised.”

“Good, because I’m not going anywhere.”