#Slick Sloth

[lilwetto]

Save a horse, ride a cowboy (18+)

Scrim x Y/N

Warnings: SMUT. Also will be written in third person BUT it might change to first since it's easier for me idk yet. might change it.

A/N this is my first scrim smut, so GO EASY ON ME. I also cannot do small paragraphs. I'M SORRY. I'm learning okay lmao, this is new to me all over again- this will not be light work, ok? Also would appreciate requests n shit, I want to actually test how far I can go with these while writing my stories on wattpad. I'll update whenever I can here, there's no hate here, only love. All my smut that I post here will be on my wattpad under LTE since I want to make an imagines book based on requests. It's difficult writing stories and trying to come up with ideas for imagines so pls give me ideas.

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It's been a month since you've heard from Scott, the two of you had been fighting on and off for the last three years, being in a relationship with him had never been an easy one. You had been best friends from the start to failed lovers now, he had written a verse about you in their song Escape from Babylon- talking about how you had gone from saying "I hate you" to "I love you", you've been in love with Scott since before the fame, however he had never felt the same way about you until a few years ago. 

Your last falling out, you decided to pack all of your shit and move out of the home you two shared. He was entertaining the females on tour and that seemed to be the last of your strength to stay in that relationship, leaving hurt the most since you felt like he never fought for you. 

Unfortunately, you’d have to see him again, you were their stylist for onstage attire and helping with the style of any music video any of them would be in. You knew Scott had a music video coming up, he had been writing a new album for the last year and a half. some new genres for him to try. Autotune being his best friend of course. 

You were dreading that phone call from their manager, Kyle. He knew your relationship with Scott was in fact all over the place, everyone could see that the two of you would always fall out, it was no secret that you were slowly starting to hate the person he had become. 

The last few minutes were peaceful yet horrible as you were pulled from your thoughts by the harsh ringtone of your iPhone. You groan out loud as Kyle’s name flashed across the screen, knowing you couldn’t ignore it. He paid you to do your job. 

“What?” You mumbled after accepting the call. 

“Nice to hear you’re cheery, Y/N.” His chuckle rattled your brain, rolling your eyes in disgust. “We need you to style this next video, come out to Chihuahuan Desert.” The fucking desert? Great. You think to yourself.

“When?” You mumble. You already knew the answer to your question, now. 

“Now would be great.” You look at the time. 

“Why the fuck are you guys picking closer to 11pm?” You didn’t want to leave the comforts of your bed. You managed to find a small apartment in New Mexico since your house with Scott was located in the middle of New Mexico. 

“Y/N, we’re not doing this again, be here in the next hour.” Kyle hung up on you, making you more annoyed than ever as you climbed out of bed and threw on some clothes that’ll keep you warm for the night. 

You drive your car to Chihuahuan Desert, seeing parts of the crew already setting up the lighting for this music video. Scott hadn’t released any new music yet, he had so much in the vault and was too picky to choose what he wanted to do with them all. 

You weren’t happy that they wanted to do this music video at stupid o’clock, parking your car and climbing out. You walk towards the group of people, seeing Kyle getting hands on. “Where is he?” You ask. Clearly not wanting to see or talk to Scott. 

“He’s in that trailer.” He pointed towards the trailer park looking as home. You rolled your eyes and walked up to the doors, knocking loudly as you hear a grumble and the words “come in.” 

Scott was looking over a few pieces of clothing, keeping his eyes locked onto the table as you stepped into the trailer. A part of you wanted to hug him tightly, but the other part wanted to cuss him out and cry. You were the only two in the trailer, looking over at the thousands of clothing that he couldn’t pick from. 

You grab a white oversized shirt, orange sweatshirt and a pair of his baggy jeans, placing them to the side as you looked over at his accessories. “What were you thinking of wearing?” You break the silence first. 

“Was thinking maybe this chain and bracelet.” Your hand brushes against his as the two of you go to pick up the same item. “Sorry.” You mumble quickly. 

Scott shrugs it off and plays it cool as he picks up the white cowboy hat and places it onto his head, a different look for him. He was branching out, picking up new styles from what he does in Suicideboys. 

“I want to say I’m sorry.” He started, catching you by surprise. Scott never apologized; he was stubborn as fuck when it came to him being wrong. In Scott’s eyes he was always right, who was the female in your relationship, huh?

“Doesn’t matter, I’m over it.” You say before you can even stop your words from rolling off the tip of your tongue. Scott wouldn’t like that answer and it felt foreign coming from you as you turned your back to leave the trailer to let him get dressed. 

“What?” His hand enclosed around your right upper arm, making you mentally groan. This is the last thing you wanted to deal with right now. “You don’t give a fuck about us?” 

You let out the biggest laugh as you turn your head to look at him. “That’s rich coming from you. Scott, it’s you who doesn’t give a fuck about us. I have chased you and pleaded and what would you do?” You huffed in annoyance as he turned you to face him. 

“You know I ain’t mean it like that, shawty.” He was doing his little cheesy grin, the one that would get him what he wanted as he bit on his lip. 

“Get changed, you asshole.” You wanted to leave because this always happened, it was always a cycle with Scott, and you were too tired to keep going around like a merry-go-round. 

He pulled your hands towards his belt, lingering your fingers over the cold metal piece. “I think I need some help.” He mumbled that grin still sitting on his lips made you want to slap it off. 

You thought about leaving, but somehow you were in a trance, helping him out of his clothes to change into these new ones. He reached around you, locking the door from behind you before he pressed you up against it. 

His arm outstretched beside your head, resting his hand on the door. “Suck it.” He mumbled, his other hand now holding your chin as his thumb grazed against your lower lip. 

Being the good girl that you were, you slowly got to your knees and with the help of Scott had his pants around his thighs. He was semi-hard, almost waving at you. Your eyes doe-like, stared up at him as you slowly stuck your tongue out. 

You tapped the head of his length against your tongue, you were going to tease him. Scott didn’t deserve to get it how he wanted it, you slowly run the tip of your tongue from the head to the base then back again before spitting at the end. 

He was trying not to moan, watching your every move like a predator stalking its prey. His thumb caressed your cheek as you eased him between your lips, gently nipping your teeth against his sensitive skin. This earned you a small groan from him, this was new, you hardly ever took the upper hand when it came to sex. 

“Y/N, stop teasing.” He grumbled, getting flustered by the lack of contact that he wanted. You peered up to his eyes, seeing the sparkle glistening in his eyes from the lights outside. 

Scott didn’t care much for people hearing and sometimes he didn’t care if anyone saw the two of you fuck, you were his girl and only his. He grabbed your hair in an attempt to get you to do what he asked. The game you were playing with him? Dangerous as hell. 

You pulled your head away, gazing up at him like a deer in the headlights. The look he always loved seeing on you. “Stop fucking playin, Y/N…” He was becoming agitated. 

“Who said I was playing, Scotty?” A small smirk finally appeared on your lips as his hand moved from your face to your hair in seconds, forcing you to be face-to-face with his now hardened length. 

He was throbbing, you could see it with the way it moved like it had a pulse. Your tongue touched the tip, jumping in excitement over a little bit of contact. Your lips finally making the contact that he so longed for, wrapping around his length caused Scott to groan under his breath. 

“Fuck..” Those words weren’t meant to be heard especially by you. He didn’t want you knowing that he had been missing you, his stubbornness stopped him from calling and texting you, refusing to sleep with any girl that threw themselves at him. 

He gripped your hair and slowly began to thrust his hips as he forced you to bob your head against them, taking the upper hand like he always done. You gagged slightly, feeling him hit the back of your throat. It had been awhile, moaning against him before he pulled himself out. 

He forced you up, pinning your back against the door as he roughly pulled your pants and panties off, standing on them to keep them in place so you could take them off without falling over. Scott grabbed your hand as he fell back against the couch, pulling you on top of his lap as he then eased himself inside of you. 

A low groan fell from his lips as he held your hips tightly, allowing you to move when you wanted to. The feeling of him stretching you out caused a soft whimper to burst from your throat, you had missed this feeling of him inside of you. 

You began to slowly rock your hips back and forth, each time you’d build more confidence in each roll forward. Your hands rested on his shoulders as you began to spell ‘coconut’ with your hips. 

“Holy shit… Y/N, you been watching videos or some shit?” His eyes peered from under the hat, licking his lips as he thought about devouring you right there and then.

You laugh under your breath which turned into a moan as Scott began to thrust up inside of you. His hands holding your hips firmly still as his hip movements became faster. His groans were filling the empty spaces as you began to rub circular motions against your clit, you refused to let him be the only one to cum. 

“Fuck… I can’t hold it anymore.” He mumbled, you took the hat from off his head and placed it onto your own. 

Your hips began to move faster against his own movements. Your moans becoming louder as he quickly covered your mouth, grunting as he filled you with his thick, warm load. You whimper under your breath as you feel yourself tighten around him, releasing yourself all over him.  

“Shit…” He chuckled quietly under his breath before placing a couple of soft kisses to your lips. “That was good.” 

You hum in response and slowly slide him out. “What can I say? I missed it.” You placed the hat back on his head and pulled your panties n pants back on before heading outside again. 

Everyone was staring over as you exited the trailer. “What?” You mumbled as Kyle came over. 

“The entire team heard the two of you..” He laughed, acting as if he was embarrassed for us. 

“What can I say? I like to save the horses and ride me a cowboy instead.” 

[g3rmanax]

SCRIM AND SAGE

[zarijupjuvenos]

I got beef with Wattpad

Where did "Greyskye59" disappear? Bruhh i was in fucking love with them "Leave your things behind" book series. I'm loosing my shit!!

And another creator who wrote this fire book called "Cherish the Dead" it's about $uicideboy$ too and they were vampires and stuff. Miss that book.

And Of course that book about $Boys and a girl w a nickname "Bunny" her real name was Bonnie I think. this story was so mf good, but it's deleted now. Like Whattt? Why would you do that?

Ofcourse there are some other good writers, but these were my top tier bruh. Now I fucking love this book called " The Evil That Men Do" written by @greyfive . Love that story so much. I made this Reading list with all my favorite $B books so if anyone is interested you can look me up on Wattpad @foolcoolbull

[beausling]

omg you’re so lucky that i am constantly thinking about Oddy and Scrimmy to the point i should probably be locked up 😃 i can send some thoughts your way for you to nibble on and see if anything sticks??

OMG YES ABSOLUTELY PLSPSLSPSLSPSLSLSSSS SEND ME THOUGHTS FEELINGS IDEAS ANYTHINGGG🙏🏼🙏🏼

even just random stuff abt them so that i can Actually have a reason to yap loudly abt them🤭

honestly atp.. nobody be surprised if i just randomly drop a fucking 25+ page essay abt lonely boy

[fear-is-truth]

forgive me mother for i have sinned… hear me out, father charlie fucking reader with a crucifix

NSFW MDNI 18+ tags: f!reader・blasphemy・super dark content・ misuse of a crucifix・impact play a/n: gahdamn. anon you are insane for this

your eye the pale, cross-shaped patch on the wall where the crucifix used to hang. at least he had the decency to take it down, so the figure of christ didn’t have to witness you like this. bent over his lap, hands pressed into the armrests of his chair, cheeks burning from humiliation. father charlie mayhew’s methods for penance were nothing if not…unconventional. well, “kinky” or “downright blasphemous” might be better words to describe it.

“three years without repentance,” he muses, slowly dragging the edge of the wooden crucifix along your folds. “must have a lot of sins built up in that soul of yours. we’ll work on them one by one.” his tone is almost gleeful, as if the prospect of your transgressions excites him.

“tell me, where do we start? greed? sloth? oh, i can sense the laziness in you, even now.” a loud smack of wood hitting flesh, followed by a sharp sting on your left buttock—you squeal in pain, the sound slipping out despite your best efforts to keep quiet. the cross-shaped imprint it leaves behind numb tingling, and you just know it’ll leave a mark.

“and then there’s lust. look how wet you are.” he murmurs thoughtfully. this time, he taps the foot of the crucifix against your entrance and pushes it inside. you moan at the unexpected intrusion, the agonising stretch, not to mention the sharp angles pressing against your tight walls. it feels out of place—too rigid for the curves of the human body.

“how many impure thoughts have you had?” he asks, his tone almost playful, conspiratorial. “how many times have you let yourself get… carried away? or maybe,” he slowly pumps the crucifix in and out of your cunt, until the wooden shaft was shiny with slick, “maybe you didn’t fight those thoughts at all. maybe you liked them. indulged them.”

you whimper when he pulls out, an obscene squelching noise. “i wonder… how many times have you let yourself fall to temptation? all those late nights, alone… and no one to know but you. and god, of course.” you feel him shift on his seat, and suddenly, the base of the crucifix is blocking your vision, tapping gently at your lower lip.

“clean it, like you’re washing away your sins.”

m.list © fear-is-truth do not repost, modify or translate

[stylesispunk]

"The days of you and I" - part 2

Jackson! Joel Miller x fem!reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: Joel’s growing pain and survivor's guilt create a widening rift between you, as harsh words leave wounds deeper than any physical injury.

w.c: 7,9k

warnings: angst, mentions of murder and revenge, emotional trauma, grief trauma, survivor's guilt, discussion of death and loss. mentions of miscarriage. It contains spoilers from season 2 of the last of us. No proofreading because, you know. No proofreading because I'm a lazy sloth.

Note: Remember this story is a sequel of this one shot "What remains of us" or you can ignore it and keep reading this one haha.

A/N: Thank you so much for all your love on this fic. As I said, this fic will touch on some heavy topics related to the aftermath of events we are already familiar with. This one is not the best, I know. But it is building the tension I talked about before. I hope you like it, and I really expect to see your reactions and comments on it. Remember I created an AO3 account where these pieces of reading are being published too. Sending hugs and love.

One, two, three, four, five. Breathe.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Breathe.

He’s okay. He’s okay.

He is fine. He is fine.

You saved him.

Every time you closed your eyes, you still saw it. You still heart it. You still feel it.

You could sense the inevitable outcome of a nightmare with no end. Perceive the crackling of your heart, shattering, being ripped out from you.   

There was Joel lying, blood slicked across his face, his chest barely rising, his name caught somewhere between your throat and the crushing weight in your chest. The field of dreams built after these years of a quiet life, tearing apart.

Because inside, right at the back of your mind, there was still a reality from which Joel wouldn't make it out alive. That reality was still your trembling knees, touching the floor and caressing a face whose eyes couldn't meet yours.

But in those dreams, you also saw the bodies of Fireflies scattered around him, the smell of gunpowder and copper heavy in the air. His eyes flickering open, then closing again, and you knew, you knew you were too late.

You jolted awake with a gasp, your hand gripping his tighter than you’d realized, your head heavy against the sheets at the edge of his hospital bed. The room was dim, Joel’s chest rising and falling in slow. You turned your head, your cheek brushing against the rough calluses of his hand still in yours. It was warm. Real. Alive.

A broken sound slipped from your throat before you could stop it. Your lips pressed to his knuckles, over and over again, relieved washing all your body.

“You’re okay,” you whispered, voice shaking, salt from your tears mixing with the warmth of his skin. “You’re okay.”

But it wasn’t enough to calm the storm inside you. The room felt too small. The grief, the relief, the terror, too loud, crowding your lungs.

You carefully set his hand down, brushing your fingers through his hair one last time before quietly standing, the floor creaked under your boots. You slipped out the door just as Tommy was coming down the hallway.

He nearly bumped into you; his brow furrowed the moment he saw your face. “Hey—hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, voice low, cautious, like one wrong word might send you shattering.

You tried to speak, but your throat closed. The only thing you managed was a rough, strangled, “I—I Tommy.”

And then your hands were fisting in his jacket and you were burying your face against his chest before you could stop yourself.

“I’m so scared,” you choked out, the words spilling like blood from a wound. “I’m still so scared.”

Tommy’s arms came around you, strong and steady. He let you shake; let you break against him for a minute. “Hey now,” he murmured, “I know, I know. But listen to me — Joel’s fine. He made it. He’s in there, he is breathing thanks to you. You don’t have to keep carrying this like you been.”

You pulled back enough to look at him, your face crumpled. “I can’t,” you rasped, shaking your head. “I can’t, Tommy. If I close my eyes, I lose him. Every time. I’m terrified that I’m gonna wake up and he is going to be dead.” You looked at  him, “I cannot get back from it.”

He gave a weary, sad sort of smile. “Yeah… you can. And you need to.” He let out a breath, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “You haven’t slept, not really, in near a month. You been sitting in that chair every night like a ghost. I see you. Maria sees you. Ellie does. You need to come up for air, darling. You need to grieve what you lost, too.”

You stiffened, your stomach twisting. “I can’t… we agreed,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “We weren’t gonna—”

“I know what we agreed,” Tommy said quietly, eyes steady. “But just because you made me and Maria swear not to tell anyone, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Don’t mean it doesn’t hurt. You lost something, too.”

And for a moment you hated him for saying it out loud, for naming the grief you’d tried to bury beneath blood and terror and a flicker of hope.

But mostly you felt yourself breaking, splintering apart, because you’d been holding it together with spit and wire and now there was nowhere left to hide.

“I’m not ready to talk about it.” You replied, “My only priority is Joel’s well-being.”

Tommy nodded, a quiet, sad understanding in his eyes. He didn’t push or didn’t offer some empty platitude or tell you it was okay, because you both knew it wasn’t.

“Alright,” he said softly. “I get it. Just… don’t forget you’re still here too, alright? You can’t bleed out until there’s nothing left of you to give.”

You swallowed hard; throat thick. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie. You both knew it. But Tommy let it be, because sometimes kindness was letting someone cling to the lie a little longer.

For the sake of it.

He gave your arm a squeeze and gestured back toward the room. “I’ll sit with him for a while. Go walk it off. Get some air. Go get to change clothes. You don’t have to be strong every second, you hear me?”

You didn’t answer, just gave a small, jerky nod before moving past him down the hall, your chest tight, legs unsteady. The grief was a storm inside you, still too raw, too sharp, but for the first time in weeks, you weren’t carrying it alone.

The door creaked softly as you stepped into the house, the familiar scent of old wood, leather, and that trace of Joel that clung to everything hitting you like a blow to the chest. It was like walking into a memory you weren’t ready for; one you hadn’t realized you’d been avoiding.

The one where things had remained still, and your quiet little life hadn’t been tainted by ghost of the past he wasn’t ready to face.

You left the door half-open behind you, the quiet hum of the wind outside the only sound filling the empty space. Your boots felt too loud against the floorboards as you made your way upstairs, each step heavier than the last.

In the bedroom, it was like time had stopped.

Joel’s glasses still rested on the nightstand; one arm crooked like he’d taken them off in a hurry. An empty glass of water sat abandoned on your side of the bed. The blankets were half-pulled down, the imprint of both your bodies faint in the mattress as if neither of you had truly left.

Almost a month had passed.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, staring at the bed like it was some kind of relic. Your chest ached at the sudden, vivid memory of that night.

Joel’s rough laugh echoed across the room when Ellie had made some comment on her willing to try and forgive him for what he had done. the way his eyes had shone just a little when he said, “Maybe she’ll come around more often again.”

How you’d nearly told him.

You remembered sitting on the edge of the bed, hand brushing his, your heart hammering as you tried to work up the nerve to say the words that had been eating you alive for days. You hadn’t gotten the chance. The attack came that morning. And everything after that was blood, screams, and a world you didn’t recognize anymore.

Your hand came up to your face, covering your mouth, as if you could press the grief back in.

Not now.

You turned away from the bed, your throat tight, and made your way into the bathroom. The light buzzed softly when you flicked it on. You gripped the edge of the sink, staring at your reflection. You looked wrecked. Hollow-eyed, pale, a shadow of the person you’d been a month ago.

A quiet, bitter laugh slipped from your lips. “Get it together,” you muttered to yourself.

But it wasn’t that easy. It never had been.

You splashed cold water on your face, trying to chase away the ghosts. The house felt too quiet without Joel in it. Too big. Too wrong.

You dried your face, took a steadying breath, and for the first time in weeks, allowed yourself to murmur the thing you’d almost said that night, so soft, even the walls couldn’t hear.

“I was pregnant.” You murmured; your voice broke on the process.

You made your way to the dresser with, every step heavier each time, like your bones knew what was coming before your heart did. The top drawer still held your clothes, neatly folded the way Joel always teased you about.

Your fingers brushed over a worn t-shirt before you pushed it aside, pulling out a clean pair of jeans, tugging them on with monotonous movements. Your hands shook as you reached for a simple tank top. It felt too thin, too unfamiliar against your skin.

Without even thinking, you crossed the room to Joel’s side of the closet, the side you hadn’t touched since that night.

His scent hit you again, sharp and familiar: cedar, soap, something distinctly him. Your chest tightened, throat burning as you reached out and pulled one of his old flannels from the hanger. The one he wore when it got cold around the house, sleeves rolled up, collar a little frayed.

You shrugged it on over your tank top, the fabric heavy and too big around your frame. The sleeves hung past your hands, the scent of him wrapping around you like a hug you weren’t sure you would even feel again.

Your fingers gripped the lapels of the shirt, holding it closed like armor.

You caught sight of yourself in the mirror then, wearing his clothes, eyes rimmed red, hair messy, face drawn.

You pressed a hand to your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart under your palm.

He’s alive.

He’s breathing.

And you’re still here.

A tear slipped down your cheek, but this time, you let it fall.

You grabbed your jacket from the hook by the door, not bothering to wipe your face. The cold evening air would take care of that. 

And then you walked out, because you couldn’t stay in that house one more goddamn minute.

You headed back to the hospital.

Because wherever Joel Miller was, that’s where you belonged.

You didn’t bother taking the main path. Your feet knew the way, cutting through the back alleys and between old buildings like muscle memory. Every step closer to that hospital felt like pulling yourself out of a grave, but you kept going.

Because he was still there and walking to the hospital felt relieving. Jackson was still recovering from the attack, but nothing mattered to you.

It was like if you had become selfish.

You reached his room and hesitated at the door, hand on the knob, heart pounding like it wanted to crawl out of your chest.

One, two, three, four, five. Breathe.

The memory of your nightmare flickered in the back of your mind. Joel, bloody. The Fireflies on the floor. The way your hands shook as you fired again and again, the sound of someone begging.

You swallowed hard and pushed the door open.

Tommy was sitting in the chair by the bed, elbow propped on his knee, head bowed like he’d been carrying a weight too heavy for one man alone. The soft light entering from the window, accentuated some of the lines in his face, made him look older than you remembered. He lifted his head when he heard the door, and his eyes softened when he saw you standing there, Joel’s flannel drowning your frame.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just gave you that sad, understanding look that made your throat tighten all over again.

“He’s been sleeping,” Tommy murmured, his voice rough, like gravel. “He woke up before, but it seems like he is tired.”

You nodded, your eyes sliding past him to Joel. His face had recovered the same color it had before, but the wounds and scars would settle past him. Your eyes settled on his lips parted as he breathed deep and even.

You crossed the room quietly, your hand brushing over the edge of the bed as you made your way to Joel’s side, needing to see him up close, to confirm with your own eyes what Tommy had said. His chest rose and fell, slow but steady. The faint furrow between his brow had eased in sleep.

It loosened something in your chest, if only a little.

“How’s the fixing going?” you asked softly, not taking your eyes off Joel. “With Jackson, I mean.”

Tommy let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s… going good. Roof repairs, patching the wall on the south side. Got a couple of new folks stepping up too. But it’s not the same without you both around.”

You finally looked at him, brow drawn.

“You know,” he went on, his voice gentler now, “your help would be useful. It might even help you, being out there. With your hands busy. With people. Jackson still needs you. And so does he.”

His eyes flickered to Joel, then back to you.

And you felt it, that ache in your bones, that pull between needing to be right here and knowing the world kept moving outside these four walls, that grief didn’t wait for anyone to be ready.

“I don’t know if I can yet,” you admitted, voice small. “I feel like… if I leave this room, even for a minute, something might happen. I can’t— I don’t wanna miss it.”

Tommy gave you a soft, sad smile. “I get it. I do. But you aren’t going to disappear into this room to prove you love him. You already did the hard thing. You kept him here.”

You swallowed, blinking fast. You hated how constantly you were reminded of what you had done to kept him here.

He stood up then, resting a hand on your shoulder as he passed. “When you’re ready,” he murmured. “We’ll be waiting, alright?”

And then he slipped out, leaving you alone in the soft light and steady rhythm of Joel’s breathing.

You let out a trembling breath, pulling Joel’s hand into yours, and leaned down, pressing your forehead to the back of his knuckles.

“I’ll come back to the world soon,” you whispered. “Just not without you.”

The days bled together after that. Sleep came in snatches, food tasted like nothing, and the house still smelled like Joel. You’d started to force yourself to step outside, help with repairs, take walks around the perimeter of Jackson. Tommy was right. It didn’t fix anything, but it dulled the sharp edges of grief for a little while.

And Ellie… Ellie had finally come around.

It wasn’t easy for her either, carrying her own ghosts and regrets, the heaviness between them too tangled and fraught to name. But she’d shown up, a little bruised, one arm hugged around her middle where cracked ribs still ached.

You came back to the hospital late that afternoon, sun just beginning to dip, the sky streaked with orange and pale pink. The moment you stepped through the door; you could hear voices. Joel’s still hoarse, Ellie’s quieter than you remembered, both of them cautious but trying.

You made your way there, pausing by the door before they noticed you.

“—still think you should read that stupid comic,” Joel rasped, a ghost of a smile in his voice. “It isn’t as half as bad as you make it out to be.”

“I don’t know man,” Ellie shot back. “You say that now, but last time you fell asleep halfway through.”

“I was resting my eyes.”

“Yeah, sure.”

You felt your throat tighten, an ache blooming in your chest. It was such a small, ordinary thing, a normal conversation in a world that had been anything but. And it hit you how long it’d been since you’d heard them like this.

Joel caught sight of you then, his gaze softening. “Hey,” he murmured, reaching his hand out weakly toward you like instinct.

Ellie twisted in her chair, a sheepish look on her face like she’d been caught somewhere she shouldn’t be. “Hey… sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” you shook your head quickly, offering them both a smile that barely held. “No, I’m glad you’re here.”

Ellie’s lips twitched, and she gave Joel a small nudge. “Told you she wouldn’t be mad.”

Joel’s fingers brushed yours when you reached for his hand. “We were talking abou that comic we found back in those old days of us on the road.” he murmured; his voice still rough but warmer than it’d been in weeks. “It’s good, her being here.”

“I know,” you said, voice soft, squeezing his hand.

Ellie stood then, stretching with a grimace. “I should… get back. I promised Dina I wouldn’t be out too long. She says I need to take it slow.”

Joel’s expression flickered, something close to reluctant, but he just nodded. “Will you come back again?”

“Yeah,” she said, looking between the two of you. “I will.”

And with a last glance, she ducked out the door, leaving you in the quiet again, but this time, it didn’t feel quite so heavy.

That’s what you wanted to believe.

You pulled Joel’s hand to your chest, resting it over your heart. “She loves you; you know?”

Joel’s eyes closed, a tear slipping from the corner. “I’m not sure how I deserve it.”

You kissed the back of his hand. “None of us deserve half the things we get, Joel Miller.”

His brow furrowed faintly at your words, his rough thumb instinctively brushing over your skin, like he could soothe whatever storm had just crossed your mind.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice soft, fragile in a way you didn’t often hear from him.

But your gaze had already drifted, landing somewhere past him, past the room, past yourself. You smiled then, small, sad, a little tired, the kind of smile that felt like old wounds and memories too sharp to hold for long.

“Nothing,” you whispered, shaking your head like it could scatter the ache away. You squeezed his hand, brought it to your lips one more time, and didn’t let him ask again. Because you knew if you said it out loud, if you told him what you lost, what you gave up, what you carried so he wouldn’t have to, you might break apart in a way you couldn’t put back together.

And right now, he needed you whole. Or at least, what was left of you.

So, you just kept his hand pressed to your heart and murmured, “You just rest, Joel. I get you.”

Three days later, the room smelled clean, and old wood, the soft hum of life returning to a place that had been far too quiet for too long. Joel sat propped up in a chair by the window, the pale light of morning painting his face in soft golds and silvers. He still looked worn, the bruises faded to ugly yellows and greens, but his eyes were clearer now.

The exercises had started that morning.

Mara, a woman in her middle thirties just as you, one who’d lost her sister in the attack, had volunteered to help with Joel’s physical therapy. It wasn’t easy for her, you could see it in the tightness of her jaw and the flicker of grief in her gaze when their hands met, but she did it. Carefully, gently, guiding Joel’s arm through its slow range of motion, mindful of the broken ribs, the healing bullet wound in his leg.

Joel winced but didn’t complain, his jaw set, sweat beading at his hairline. Ellie sat on the floor nearby, legs crossed, making sarcastic remarks when she thought he needed distraction and staying silent when she could tell he didn’t.

Tommy leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his face unreadable but his presence steady as ever. Watching, like he always did. Taking care of his big brother, switching places this time. 

And you, you’d given Gail another chance.

It hadn’t been easy, but you’d found her by the gates a couple days before, asking for a way to help. The bitterness between you hung in the air like smoke, but you let her through it. Because grief made ghosts out of people, and neither of you needed another enemy.

You were at her house. The air between you still felt heavy, like a storm waiting to break, but you’d come anyway. Because maybe you didn’t know how to tend some wounds you had on your soul.

Gail handed you a cup of coffee, her hands trembling just enough for you to notice. You took it in silence, standing by the window that looked out toward the mountains.

“How’s he doing?” she asked after a while, her voice rough, like it hurt to say the words.

You didn’t look at her, kept your eyes on the way the snow clung to the branches outside. “He is trying. Still hurts like hell. Can’t move much on his own yet. But he is fighting.” You took a slow sip of the bitter coffee. “Ellie had come. They talked. First real conversation since it happened.”

“And you?” She asked, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m glad he is fine.” You replied, no meeting her eyes.

Gail was quiet for a moment, the silence between you thick and aching. The wind outside rattled against the windowpane, a ghost of a sound in the quiet room.

“I don’t think he could,” she said softly, like she was testing the words, seeing if they sounded true spoken out loud. “A man doesn’t fight his way back from the death like that for someone he hates.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, your eyes still locked on the white-dusted branches swaying in the wind. “He didn’t. I was the one who…” you murmured. “What I did. What I… what I gave up.”

At that, you finally turned your head, your gaze meeting hers. There was no malice there now, just an old, worn kind of sadness you both carried like extra weight. She gave you a small, sad smile, and you felt something loosen in your chest — not forgiveness, not yet, but something close to it.

“I was afraid, you know,” you admitted quietly, voice trembling. “Still am. That when he looks at me, he’ll see what I cost him.”

“Maybe,” Gail said, taking a sip from her cup, her eyes never leaving yours. “Or maybe he’ll just see the woman who sat at his bedside every night. The one who wouldn’t let go.”

“Do you think he could come to resent me?” you asked her, meeting her gaze.

Gail let out a long breath, setting her cup down with a soft clink on the table. She rubbed her hands together like she was trying to find the right words, or maybe the courage to say them.

“I have no answer for that.” she admitted, honest in a way that stung. “People carry and react to things in different ways. Joel…He might be angry he doesn’t have the control on his hands. He might be hurt. He might not even know how to feel about it yet.”

You felt your stomach twist, a sick kind of dread curling low in your gut.

“But,” she continued, leaning forward a little, her voice softer, steadier, “I don’t think he’ll resent you for saving his life. For loving him enough to do whatever it took. I think… deep down, he’ll understand. You burn for them. You bleed for them. And I don’t think he is stranger to that kind of love.”

You bit your lip, your eyes stinging as you looked down at your cup. “I just… I don’t wanna be another scar on him.”

Gail gave a small, sad smile. “But you already are. But that’s no the same as a wound”

You sat there a moment, her words settling in your chest like a stone and a balm all at once.

“Do you still resent him for what he did to Eugene?”

“I will always despise him for it,” Gail said again, her voice steady, like she’d made peace with her anger. “But I’ll accept that you don’t deserve to lose him because of what I feel. I loved Eugene. You love Joel too. And that kind of love, well. Loving is tragic sometimes.”

Your throat felt tight. You swallowed hard, not trusting your voice right away.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you whispered.

Gail gave a sad little smile. “None of us did. We just get what’s left after the world takes what it wants.”

For a long moment, you both just sat there, two women bound by grief and blood and the ache of what couldn’t be undone.

“I had a miscarriage,” you confessed, like if you didn’t say it out loud it might not be entirely real. “The night we brought Joel back. Only Tommy and Maria know.”

Gail set her cup down with a shaking hand, leaning her elbows onto her knees, staring at the floor. “Jesus,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you—?”

“Because I couldn’t,” you breathed, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes. “I couldn’t deal with losing him and… and that baby. I didn’t even tell Joel. I just… shoved it down. Buried it under everything else. Because he needed me. Ellie needed me. There wasn’t room for me to fall apart.”

The room was silent, save for the ticking of the old clock on the wall. Then, softly, Gail spoke, voice rough as gravel. “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged, wiping a tear off your cheek. “It’s just one more thing, right? One more grave I’ll carry around in my chest.”

“No,” she said, and this time there was steel under it. “It’s not just one more thing. It matters.”

You looked at her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was no anger in her gaze. Just a tired, broken woman who understood what it meant to lose pieces of yourself you’d never get back.

“Don’t tell this to anyone,” you said, standing up, your voice steady even though your chest felt like it might cave in.

Gail didn’t argue. Didn’t make promises she couldn’t keep. She just nodded, solemn, the lines around her eyes deepening as she looked up at you.

“I won’t,” she murmured. “It’s not my place.”

You gave a tight nod, setting the empty cup down on the table. The room suddenly felt too small, the walls too close, so you crossed to the door, your hand hovering on the knob for a second.

“You ever need to… you know where to find me,” Gail said, her voice softer now, almost gentle.

You didn’t answer. Just gave a faint, weary smile over your shoulder and left, stepping out into the cold evening air. The chill hit you like a wall, but it was easier to breathe out here. Easier to feel like the world was still turning.

When you made it back to the infirmary, the late afternoon light was slipping through the blinds in thin, tired lines. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and old paper, and there was the soft shuffle of movement, the faint sound of labored breathing.

Joel was gripping Mara’s hand, his knuckles pale as she helped him ease through another stretch, working his upper body with a focus that made your throat tighten. His face was drawn tight with effort, sweat beading along his temple, but his jaw was set, and his eyes, those goddamn eyes, burned with stubborn, quiet determination.

“You’re doing good,” Mara was murmuring, steady and calm. “One more. You got it, Joel.”

He let out a ragged breath, brow furrowed, and pushed through it. And you felt something twist in your chest. Because even after everything, even when his body betrayed him, Joel Miller still didn’t know how to quit.

You stepped inside quietly, but his gaze found you anyway. Those storm-grey eyes flickered to you, and for a moment, his hand almost faltered.

You forced a smile, crossing the room and settling on the other side of the bed. You reached out, your fingers brushing over the back of his wrist where his pulse thudded wildly.

“Look at you,” you said softly, voice thick. “You’re doing good.”

And it hit you like a blow to the ribs, not the pain of a wound, but something heavier, deeper. The kind of ache that settled behind your sternum and made your hands feel too empty, your throat too tight.

Because in that flicker of a look, no warmth, no smile, no spark of that easy, familiar ache you knew so well, you saw it. The doubt. The distance. The quiet, gnawing thing you’d been terrified of since the night you dragged him back, half-dead, bleeding out in the snow.

And maybe it wasn’t resentment. Maybe it wasn’t hate. But it was something. Something colder.

You forced your smile to stay, even though it felt brittle as glass. Let your thumb drag along his wrist, feeling his pulse there like a frantic little drum, as if it mattered. As if you could hold him to this world by sheer will alone.

“You’re almost through it,” you whispered, and your voice cracked on the last word. “I told you I wasn’t gonna let you go.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you a moment longer, something unreadable passing through those tired, storm-dark eyes before he dropped his gaze back to his lap, letting Mara guide his arm down carefully.

You swallowed hard and stood, backing toward the door.

“I’ll… I’ll come back later,” you managed, already hating yourself for the way your voice shook.

And before either of them could say anything else, you slipped out into the hallway. Pressed your back to the cold wall and closed your eyes, because you didn’t want to cry here. Not where someone might see.

But Tommy noticed.

Ellie too.

Perhaps this was the beginning of the aftermath you didn’t want to face.

Tommy’s footsteps were quiet but deliberate as he came to stand beside you. Without a word, he leaned his shoulder against the wall, close enough that you could feel the steady weight of his presence.

“He is…It has been a difficult day for him” he said.

You nodded slowly; your breath still uneven. “I see it in his eyes. Like he’s somewhere far away, and maybe… maybe resenting being here.”

Tommy’s gaze was steady, his voice low and rough. “He’s scared. Not just about his body. About what’s left of him, who he is now. It’s a hell of a thing, knowing you survived but feel like a ghost.”

“You had tried to keep it hidden, the blood seeping through your shirt from a wound you got during a scuffle with some smugglers. You thought you were careful, but Joel had that sixth sense, the one that made it impossible to hide anything from him.

That evening, you’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to clean the cut with water, heart pounding from the pain and the fear of being discovered. You heard footsteps before you saw him.

Joel crouched down beside you, eyes narrowing as he took in the dark stain spreading across your shirt. “Are you trying to hide that from me?” His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of concern and frustration all at once.

You shook your head, forcing a weak smile. “Didn’t want to worry you.”

He grabbed your hand gently, pulling you up. “You don’t have to do that.”

You looked away, feeling the sting of tears, not just from the wound, but from the raw truth in his words. That night, he stayed with you, helping patch up the wound, silently promising to watch over you no matter what.

That was the moment you knew Joel was never going to let you face the world alone.

That was the moment you realized you loved him.”

The next morning, sunlight filtered softly through the hospital room blinds, casting pale stripes across the worn floor. You stirred awake, your body aching from hours spent curled up in the hard chair beside Joel’s bed. Your eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, everything felt still, until you caught his gaze.

Joel was watching you, eyes sharp and clear, a faint crease of both worry and irritation etched across his brow.

“You should stop sleeping on that chair,” he said, voice low but edged with annoyance. “I’m alive. Just like you wanted.”

There was a pause, a soft breath between you. His words were blunt, but beneath them, you heard something softer, relief, and maybe even a hint of gratitude.

You managed a tired smile, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “I just want to make sure you’re still here.”

Joel’s eyes softened for a fleeting second, the weight of his pain briefly giving way to something gentler. He squeezed your hand back, his grip still weak but steady.

“You worry too much,” he muttered, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You shifted in the chair, trying to find a more comfortable position but mostly just staring at him. “I can’t help it,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I close my eyes, I’m afraid I’ll wake up and you won’t be here.”

He looked away, jaw tightening. “I’m stubborn. You should’ve known that by now.”

You were about to say something when Mara appeared quietly in the doorway, clipboard in hand and a reassuring smile on her face.

“Good morning, Joel. Ready to get started?” she asked gently.

Joel glanced at you, then back at Mara, a mix of relief and determination flickering in his eyes. You squeezed his hand once more before standing up.

“I’ll be just outside if you need me,” you said softly, stepping back to give them space.

Joel nodded, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer.

“You can stay.”

“I... okay,” you said quietly, moving to pull up a chair beside the bed.

Joel shifted slightly, the effort causing a faint wince, but his eyes held steady on you.

“Don’t make it a habit,” he warned, voice rough but teasing.

You smiled softly, squeezing his hand.

The days blurred together after that. Snowfall, dim afternoons, the creak of old wood floors, the sharp scent of antiseptic in every room. Joel was healing, slowly, stubbornly, as everyone expected he would.

He was soft with Ellie. She came by every other day now, bringing comics or talking about new skills she was learning with Dina. Joel would ruffle her hair, tease her about how much taller she’d gotten. There was a warmth in his voice when he spoke to her, something aching and tender you remembered so clearly from before.

He was patient with Tommy too, with his brother’s worry, with the way Tommy hovered and cracked bad jokes to fill the silence. And with Mara, the doctor helping on his rehab, Joel offered polite thank-yous and that old, quiet grit of his, never complaining even when the pain was plain in his face.

But with you… now it was different.

It was in the way his eyes slid past yours when you walked into the room. The way his voice turned clipped and careful when you spoke. The way his hands, once so instinctively reaching for you in sleep or conversation, now stayed neatly folded in his lap.

He wasn’t cruel. Joel Miller never was. But there was a distance. A wall he had lifted. And it hurt worse than anything you could’ve braced for.

It was in the little things too, like when Ellie asked about that old guitar Joel kept at your house, and he just said, "I’ll get it sometime," like it wasn’t something that had once lived between your lives like a promise.

Or when Tommy cracked a joke about you two being thick as thieves again once Joel was back on his feet, and Joel’s answering smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You kept showing up. Because you had to. Because you loved him.

But every day it got harder. And it felt like you were both pretending not to feel it.

It started with Joel’s nightmares and how he neglected the comfort you offered.

The first time, you woke to the sound of his ragged breathing, a low, broken sound like a wounded animal caught in its last fight. His hand clutched the blanket, face contorted in some terrible, unseen memory.

You reached for him without thinking, murmuring his name, fingers brushing his damp hair from his brow.

But he jerked away. With force enough to freeze your hand mid-air, enough to make the ache bloom in your chest like something sour.

“I’m fine,” he’d muttered, eyes still glassy, staring anywhere but at you. And when you tried again, when you offered a whispered "Hey, it’s just me," Joel had turned his face to the wall.

Night after night it was the same.

You’d stay when Tommy or Ellie left. You’d sit in that chair by his bed, or sometimes at the window, and when his sleep turned restless, you’d rise and cross the room.

And every time — every goddamn time — he brushed you off.

"Go home."

 "Don’t need you watching me."

A warning flicker in those tired eyes that begged you not to push.

But you did. Because you couldn’t not.

And that was when it started to fray, that quiet war between wanting to be what he needed and realizing he wouldn’t let you anymore.

Ellie could hold his hand. Tommy could steady him through the worst of the spasms when the pain gripped his leg. Even Mara could coax a ragged laugh from him when he managed to hold something strongly.

But you…You were the one thing he refused.

And it broke something in you. Little by little, day after day.

Because you knew the ache in his eyes wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t even disappointment.

It was grief and resentment.

And every time you looked at him, you were a reminder of all the ways he’d nearly slipped away.

Of all the things unsaid.

And that maybe… just maybe… you saving him had cost you both more than you realized.

You were kneeling beside him, one hand steadying his wrist while the other guided the small rubber ball he was supposed to squeeze, a simple exercise, but every movement made his jaw clench, sweat prick at his hairline.

The ball slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud and rolling toward the edge of the room.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, voice low, tight with frustration.

“I got it,” you said quickly, already moving, reaching for it before it could roll too far.

But something in the way you said it, too fast, too practiced, like you’d spent weeks catching the things he dropped, making it easier for him to avoid asking, made him still.

When you straightened, ball in hand, you caught the flicker in his eyes. There was irritation.

“You don’t have to… you know,” Joel rasped, his voice rough around the edges, “keep picking up after me like I’m… like I can’t do it.”

Your breath caught.

“I’m not,” you said, even though you both knew you were.

He let out a slow breath, his hand flexing open and closed like the weight of it was more than just his busted bones. “Stop pitying me.”

Your hand tightened around the ball, heart stumbling in your chest at the edge in his voice.

“I’m not pitying you, Joel,” you said quietly, the words rough like gravel. “I’m here because I love you. Because you matter to me, not because I feel sorry for you.”

His jaw worked, a muscle ticking there. He looked away, and for a second you thought maybe it would stop there, like all the other half-finished conversations the two of you had let die in the quiet. But it didn’t.

“Bullshit,” Joel muttered, shaking his head, his fingers flexing uselessly. “You don’t understand what it’s like.”

“Then help me understand,” you bit back, voice trembling. “Stop shutting me out.”

His eyes snapped up to yours, and there was something raw in them, grief, anger, shame, it bled out in every word.

“I can’t even… I can’t manage to make love to you anymore,” he ground out, like it physically hurt to admit it. “I can’t touch you without feeling like a goddamn shell of who I was. And you sitting there, looking at me like I’m still him… it’s killing me.”

The words knocked the air out of your lungs. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The room felt too small, too bright, too heavy with things that’d been left unsaid for too long.

“I never asked you to be who you were,” you managed, your voice breaking. “I just wanted you. All of you.”

Joel’s face crumpled, his hands gripping the edge of the chair like he might tear the damn thing apart.

“You deserve better than this,” he whispered.

“I don’t want better,” you shot back, voice sharp, trembling. “I want you.”

For a long second, all you could hear was the ragged rise and fall of his breathing, the distance between you still there, but cracked now, fissured with something desperate and bleeding and real.

“I should have died.” He said, “And you brought me back because you’re selfish.”

The words hit like a fist to the chest.

Your breath stuttered, eyes burning as they locked on his. There was no venom in his voice,  just raw, bone-deep hurt, the kind of grief that twisted a man up from the inside out.

And still, it felt like a knife.

“I brought you back because I love you,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Because losing you would’ve killed me too. And I didn’t—I couldn’t let that happen.”

Joel shook his head, his jaw tight, eyes glassy but refusing to fall. “You should’ve. You should’ve let me go.”

“No,” you said, the word sharp and final, your throat tight and aching. “I will never be sorry for saving you. Never. You can hate me for it, Joel, you can push me away, but I’ll carry that. Because I still wake up every day and thank whoever’s out there that you’re still breathing.”

His face twisted, pain and anger and love and loss all tangled in a single shattered look. “You don’t know what it feels like,” he rasped. “To be stuck in this… this broken thing that ain’t even a man anymore. To see you looking for a man who is not here.”

Your heart felt like it was splintering clean in half. You crossed the room slowly, not touching him yet, not forcing it, but close enough that he couldn’t avoid your voice.

“I’m not looking for the man you used to be, Joel,” you said, quietly, steadily. “I’m in love with the man right in front of me.”

For a moment, he looked like he might come apart entirely, like those words knocked something loose inside him he didn’t know how to hold anymore.

“I’m so goddamn tired,” he whispered, a crack in his voice you hadn’t heard since the outbreak years. “What you did to keep me here… you shouldn’t have done it.”

Your throat tightened, but you didn’t look away. Couldn’t. “You would have done the same for me, Joel,” you said, steady, though your voice wavered on the edges. “As you did for Ellie. At Salt Lake. When you lost it because you thought we were losing her.”

You watched something shutter behind his eyes. A flicker of the man you knew, of the truth that hung thick and sharp between you , and then he killed it. Buried it like he’d buried so many other parts of himself.

“No,” Joel said, low and cold and cruel in a way that wasn’t real, in a way he needed to be. “I wouldn’t have done that for you.”

It was a lie. A brutal, deliberate lie.

And you felt it, the way it landed like a blow to the gut, the way it cracked something open in your chest.

But you also saw it. The flicker of guilt in his eyes, the strain in his jaw, the way his hand trembled against the sheets.

You knew him like the palm of your hand.

He was trying to hurt you. Trying to drive you away.

Because Joel Miller knew one way to survive grief, and it was to cut the people you loved out before you lost them.

He didn’t say it, but you knew. He’d seen how tired you looked every day. How you barely slept, barely ate, how the light in your eyes had started to dim.

He saw you breaking under the weight of loving a man who wouldn’t let himself be loved.

So, he tried to kill it. Tried to make you hate him enough to leave. Because maybe if you hated him, you wouldn’t hurt so goddamn much when the world took him from you for good.

You swallowed, throat raw, the ache in your chest a steady, dull throb. But you didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Instead, you leaned in just enough for him to hear you, your voice rough, scraped clean down to the bone.

“Don’t lie to me, Joel.”

He looked away then, eyes shining with something he’d never let fall. His jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break, then his voice came, low, rough, without looking at you.

“I don’t even know if I still love you.”

It landed like a punch. Like a knife between the ribs.

Your breath caught, the room tilting for a second under the weight of it. Your fingers clenched around your own skin, nails biting into the flesh as the words echoed through you.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

And then Tommy’s voice broke the quiet, stepping into the doorway behind you.

“Hey— What’s going on in here?”

You didn’t turn around. But Joel did. And when his eyes lifted, he saw it.

The tears. Silent and steady, tracing down your cheeks like they’d been waiting for an excuse.

For a final cut.

And for the first time in days, something cracked in him. Something he couldn’t lie to anymore.

But it was too late.

You didn’t give Tommy an answer. Didn’t spare Joel another word.

You just turned, walked out, your shoulders squared, your face wet, leaving both of them in that heavy, suffocating room.

Joel’s eyes stayed locked on the empty space you’d just left; regret was written all over his face.

Tommy watched him for a long moment, then spoke quietly, “You can’t let it end like this.” He pleaded his brother.

But Joel only shook his head, the weight of his own bitterness crushing him. “It’s already broken.”

Outside, the night pressed against the windows like a warning, and somewhere beyond, a threat was waiting, ready to drag them all deeper into the darkness.

tags 💌: If you want to be removed or you're not interested in the story anymore, please tell me so I can remove you. :)

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[mdsbabygirl]

Sex with Nagi Seishiro

Pairing: Nagi Seishiro x FEM!reader

Genre: Smut

Wc: 797

Cw: use of pet names, very lazy Nagi, shafting, cowgirl, fingering, eating out, cockwarming, mentions of Doggystyle, a bit of biting idk ... NOT PROOFREAD

Notes: as usual this is rushed, but I really wanted to write some smut so here it is loveys... Once I'm done w exams I hope I'll start writing some longer fics, and also draw some fanfics of our lovely men idk...

Sex with an extremely lazy Nagi would most likely revolve around finding the most effortless and enjoyable ways for the both of you to get what you want. He would likely prefer positions that minimize movement and maximize relaxation. For instance, I think the spooning position would be one his favs. Like, just imagine laying on your sides facing the same direction, as Seishiro gently thrusts inside you from behind. This position would be ideal as it allows for intimate, slow, and sensual lovemaking without needing him to make great efforts.

I think he'd also pepper kisses on your neck, inhaling your sweet scent as he softly bites your supple skin, when you clench too hard on him, "ungh..Angel, not too tight.. ha.. don't wanna cum yet"

Another one of his fav positions would be cowgirl. Our lazy Nagi would just lay on his back, stay cozy on your soft bed, while you move up and down in his big cock, your sensual and precise movements making him feel heavenly. He wouldn't just like this position for the comfort and the pleasure, but also because he enjoys seeing his pretty gf getting off on his dick, looking super pretty for him as her boobs bounce and her mouth is wide open to let out all those sweet moans he so much loves to hear.

"Ahh.. yes just like that, yes.. oh fuck.. you're so damn pretty!" He'd gently murmur as he looks intently at you, savoring both the immense pleasure you're giving him and your beauty.

Another potential scenario could involve Seishiro using his tongue to great effect, as this requires little to no movement on his part. He may opt for extended oral sessions, taking his time to explore every inch of your wet throbbing cunt with his lips and tongue, savoring each taste and texture. He'd also involve some fingering if he's feeling extra, using those long thick digits to great use.

He'd gently insert one finger at a time, making sure your pussy adjusts to their size before adding another. His fingers would go at a slow pace at first, taking his time to savour the way your body reacts to him. Then once he feels you got a bit more used to his ministrations, his digits would delve deeper, sliding in the depths of your warm wetness.

He massages your inner walls with deliberate strokes, pushing in and curling his fingers, eventually finding your g-spot with ease. He circles it gently, making you see Stars.

When it comes to climax, Nagi may not want to expend any extra energy. In this case, the "shafting" technique, would work best. He'd penetrate you from behind, his hard cock pushing past your slick folds and filling you up so perfectly, so that, then he lets you rub your puffy clit to orgasm. Sometimes you'd ask him to do it, and with a little sight he obliges, because you're his sweet loving gf and he's more than willing to make a little more effort to please you ... But tbh, I feel like he'd get bored quickly so instead he just starts pounding you, holding you by the waist and moving you on his dick like some kind of Fleshlight, until the both of you cum.

In addition to being as lazy as a sloth, Nagi is an avid gamer. Which means that it's unlikely he'll stop gaming if you're horny.. sorry 😔.. BUT.. BUT, he would tell you that you're more than welcome to sit on him, and cockwarm him while he's playing.. which is why, most of your intimate moments are just some long cockwarming sessions that end up in you riding him or using your vibrator while still moving on his dick ....

Omg wait... Nagi does enjoy using toys.. heck yeah he does, he finds them entertaining. But not just any toys, the ones that are remote controlled like vibrators and whatnot. Now hear me out, what if Nagi asked you to play a game w him, and he told you the loser had to endure some kind of punishment... Hehe, punishment..

So you lose eventually, and then he pulls out a little purple vibrator and proceeds to pleasure you with it until overstimulation.. and he doesn't stop there, no no no ... He does not, he'll pull his large hardness and proceed to fuck you as he keeps overstimulating you, making you squirm, shake and moan his nane like a prayer. You'd beg him to stop, ask him for a moment of rest with teary pleading eyes, but he wouldn't stop, insisting that losers get their punishment no matter what.

"You lost Angel! Maybe next you'll learn to play better!"

Pov: me who loses on purpose just to get pounded by him...

© mdsbabygirl do not copy or translate my work without my permission.

[atxxokirina]

Seven Deadly Sins.

Gluttony.

noun • habitual greed or excess in eating

Lo'ak x Fem Na'vi Reader | 18+, MDNI

Banner credit ♡

Contains: SMUTTY SMUT, pussy eating and fingering, dom Lo'ak, denial and edging, squirting, very VERY slight mention of somnophilia at the end, i think that's everything .

Author's note / plot: I decided to do a series based off of the Seven deadly sins, which are pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, and sloth. I have plans for multiple fics including each sin, and each one will consist of different Avatar characters. <3 hopefully you all love this idea as much as I do!

It was no secret that Lo'ak loved eating pussy— yours, of course. He worshipped it. Obsessed with your tangy slick, the way it pulsated around his fingers and tongue, and your perfect little clit.

Lo'ak squeezes the plush of your thighs, holding them open as you struggle to stay still. "Stop moving mama, let me finish eating this cute pussy." He mumbles on your cunt, half of his tongue meeting with your spongey walls as he suctioned your clit. "I-I'm trying..!" You gasp, followed by a moan. He's been at this for Eywa knows how long. You feel so you numb and sensitive. "Lo'ak, please.. I-I can't cum again." You whined. Trying to scoot your hips back, but to no avail. He simply growls, sending vibrations to your cunt which just made your hips fall back. "I'm not done with my meal yet, mama." He teases in a low tone, smacking your mound, resulting in a high pitched whimper. "Stop.." You breathe out, fighting back another orgasm. Lo'ak scoffs, repositioning himself. He scissors your folds open with two digits, kitten licking the puddle of wetness that spread onto your thighs.

"You know.." He starts, teasing your entrance with his fingers. "I thought I told you about telling me what to do," you hum, followed by a whimper. Looking down, you see a dark look in his eyes. Darker than usual. "L-Lo'ak, what are you doing.." He ignores you. "..because, I'm in charge here, and not you, yeah?" He emphasizes the last word with a huff, plunging his long fingers into you, curling them up and reaching your sweet spot. Your eyes shut themselves closed. Breath shuddering while needy moans fall from your mouth. "Mmmm!" You squeal, tears began to form in your eyes as his digits pounded you nonstop. "I'm- cumming! I'm gonna cum, oh shit.." You feel your heartbeat pattern change drastically as your lower core tightens. "Yeah mama, squirt in my fucking mouth. Let go for daddy." He quickens his pace, jamming his digits into your sweet spot even more as he makes out with the rest of your cunt.

Your body lets go. Thighs shaking as the clear liquid spews out of your pussy, eyes rolling back while you grip Lo'ak's head. Pushing him down. He catches your squirt in his mouth, swallowing without hesitation. "Fuuck," Lo'ak groans as he slurps the residue off, listening to your moans die down as you pant. He lets your thighs go, climbing on top of you. "Wake up." He grumbles, cuppping your cheek, moving your face from either side. "I don't care if you're passed out, mama. I'm still gonna eat." Was the last thing you heard before he went back down..

taglist: @pandorxxx @sweethoneycn @neytirishottie @sullybrosimp @tsireyafavgirl @teyamsbitch @encephalitis-on-sundays @sassypain @neon-groves @rosyj @hidingfrommanda @whore-for-hawks

[ladykailitha]

The Hellfire Exotic Club Part 3

Just a head's up, I'll be moving this story's posting date to Fridays to give time to breathe instead of languishing under the wave of WIP Wednesday asks like it was last week

This week we get a taste of most of the other Sins and a tease at why Steve and Robin needed jobs ASAP. It's going to be sooo juicy guys. I can't wait for you guys to see that for real!

Part 1 Part 2

~

Moloch didn’t bring the numbers as much as the rest of Eddie and his friends did, but his Sloth liked it that way. He like the smaller crowds, the slow music, the hour long tantalizing reveal of one of the dancers who did strip all the way down.

But it was the gradual sensual removal of clothes as he got “lazier” in his dance. By the end, Moloch would draped dramatically over a settee, bumping and grinding first with his hand and then by the end of the last song, weakly thrusting against the air.

It was one of the hottest things Steve had ever seen. It really played up to the sloth aspect of it and he definitely had to rearrange himself more than once.

He knew that he would get over it eventually, seeing it every Monday for weeks, but that first time? Steve was pissed more people didn’t come out.

Even though Steve didn’t work the next day, Eddie suggested he come and watch Mammon, too. So he could see the different styles of strip that they had, to allay his fears a bit about how far the Sins were willing to go when it came to undressing for strangers.

So he showed up about an hour before show time to try out of some of the drinks and get a feel of the vibe.

Steve would say that of the dances he’d seen so far, Lust, Pride, and Sloth, Greed’s more fit the club’s original roots as a 1920s speakeasy. The place was decked out in old timey opulence. And gold. So much fucking gold.

Then the lights went out and he could hear the dancers scurrying to get into position. A single spot light lit up a singular dancer. He was broad shouldered and deep-chested, his curly hair slicked to his head. Which he raised when the music started. He was dressed smartly in a period accurate three-piece black suit with a red button down shirt.

Mammon’s movements were far more graceful than anything Steve had ever seen in any symphony or dance hall. He used his bulk to make his movements work with his body and not against it.

Then all through the night he didn’t get undressed so much as he pulled clothes off others. But without Steve realizing it, his clothes were coming off, but they were being...not replaced exactly, but the clothes he was taking off the other dancers were covering him a la the Dance of the Seven Veils.

Then in the last song, he throws the clothes in the air, leaving him in just his pants and suspenders. As the clothes flutter to the floor you realize that all the other dancers were naked, all around him, laying on the floor. The red pieces of silk landing on them like blood.

Fuck. Social commentary wrapped in the sexiest dance Steve had ever seen. He could see why the club was packed every Tuesday night. Mammon wasn’t a demon, he was a fucking god.

Eddie slid up next to him at the bar. “So what did you think?”

“I think that anytime someone tells me that big people can’t dance,” Steve said breathlessly, “that I will send them here on a Tuesday night.”

“Isn’t he amazing?” Eddie asked giddily. “Him, Jeff, and Gareth are all my mates from high school. We even had a band together before I started dancing for my Uncle Wayne. I brought them on when we first changed over to Hellfire.”

“I know you play guitar,” Steve said with a smile, “I didn’t realize the other guys did, too.”

Eddie licked his upper lip slowly. “Would you be surprised to know that so does Rosier?” he asked, leaning into Steve’s space like he was sharing a secret.

Steve thought about it for a moment and then shook his head. “Not really. He seems the type if I’m honest.”

“What about Moloch playing the drums?” Eddie asked, leaning even closer.

“Now that is surprising,” Steve said, “and at the same time makes sense now that you say it.”

Eddie threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, I do too, now that I say it out loud like that.” He rubbed his chin. “Any guesses on what Mammon plays. Especially now that everyone else has been named and shamed.”

Steve laughed too. “What band would be complete without a kickass bassist.” Eddie blinked at him for a moment. “Unless he’s something weird like a keyboard, or violin or some shit like that.”

“Nope!” Eddie said, popping the ‘P’, “you had it right, I was just a little surprised as all. But, yes Mammon was our kickass bassist.”

“Have you guys thought about playing again?” Steve asked, leaning in. “Like here at the club. I know every night is themed, but Chrissy is already working on fairy tale themed night. So why not have a night where you guys play. Maybe even just as the music for whoever’s dancing that night or even just night of you guys rocking out.” He stopped for breath, wide-eyed at what he just said.

“That was certainly something else,” Eddie said a little stunned. He hadn’t really thought about it. Sure, he played the guitar as part of his tease, playing up into the pride aspect of it. Proud he could play and sing, proud of this club, proud of his ability to dance. But to play with his band again? A part of his dream he put back on the shelf when he was made owner? “What would we even play?”

Steve shrugged. He hadn’t thought that far. But he saw how wistful Eddie got when he talked about them being in a band. “What did you guys play before?”

“Mostly metal,” Eddie said, returning Steve’s shrug. “Some hard rock. A little grunge thrown in there for variety.”

“So perfect for the club then,” Steve replied with a smile.

Eddie blushed and shoved his hair in front of his face. “I’ll think about it.”

Steve bumped their shoulders together. They kept talking even after the club closed and the money was counted and divvied out by Rosier. Having decided to let Eddie and Steve continue talking. It wasn’t until the cleaners came in that they even realized that the club was close.

Eddie would harass his friend later about letting have the night off, but in that moment he was grateful for the respite.

He walked Steve to his car and waited for him to pull out of the parking lot before cursing up a blue streak. The guy hadn’t even been hired for a full week yet and already he was making cow eyes at him. Fuck, he was in so much trouble.

~

Steve’s impression of Lilith’s gluttony dance was that it was messy and outrageous, but somehow Chrissy made it work.

She wasn’t so much as dressed as she was covered in whip cream, with two cherries strategically placed over her nipples. She would lick and suck on her fingers covered in the stuff. Then she was dowsed in chocolate syrup as she writhed and slithered across the stage.

It was a sticky, gooey nightmare as far as Steve was concerned, but the way she stroked and touched herself as she was fed by the backup dancers. Then just as there wasn’t any way that she could possibly be fed anymore, a large bucket of water dumped it’s entire contents on Lilith as she moaned as if she had just orgasmed.

He was grateful that other Sins didn’t have to perform with her during her hour, because he didn’t think he could stand the thought of that stuff anywhere near his hair.

She did a great job, Steve wasn’t going to deny that. He could see the appeal, but the thought of getting sticky after all that? He shrugged off a shiver of disgust that ran down his back.

Once Robin and he had picked up their tips from the night, they walked out to the car.

“I take it back,” Robin huffed, yanking open the passenger side door, “We can’t work here, Steve. I thought I was going to combust when I saw the two of dancing like angels, but this was pure torture. I wanted to lick her.”

Steve cackled, sliding into the driver’s side and closing it tightly behind him. “Better you than me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Robin said rolling her eyes as she slid into the car. When she was in and the door was close she said, “Gay!”

Steve snorted, “Lesbian.”

“Bitch.”

“Tease.”

“Slut.”

Steve put his hand over his heart and gasped. “How dare you imply I am anything but virtuous! I am the paragon of respectability! I am a tart!”

Robin cackled as Steve pulled into traffic.

“I’ve noticed you’ve looking disrespectfully, don’t think I haven’t.”

Steve shrugged but didn’t say anything.

“Oh come on there’s got to be someone revving those engines of yours,” Robin pressed. “So are we talking Lust, maybe a little Sloth...ooohhhh! I know, it’s Mammon that gets you going. You were there an awfully long time last night.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Look they’re all professionals who are very good at their jobs, and I while I might lust after all or none of them, I’m not going to fuck any of them because we need this job and I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”

Robin sighed. “I know. You know I was joking about not being able to work there, right?”

Steve nodded, lips pursed together.

“You’re my hero,” she said softly. “I hope you know that.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped. “Of course I do. Let’s go home. I think we both need ice cream tonight.”

“You’ve got it babe.”

~

Steve hadn’t gotten to see Wrath even though he had been hired last Thursday because they had to do all the boring employment shit first and so his first show had been Lust. So he wasn’t sure what to expect. Wrath made sense as woman. After all the saying “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” was famous for a reason.

But for some reason, Steve had still pictured a man.

But Lamia was vengeance personified. Dressed in red silks with black painted scales to look like she was part snake. Her dark piercing eyes and long black braided hair with her dusky skin made for an exotic marvel. She was curvy but still athletic, soft but clearly defined strength. Steve had learned from Choronzon that she was a mix of Indian and Egyptian and it gave her an unearthly aura to her.

She danced with a pair of curved swords and she felt dangerous. Her swords whirled and sliced through the air as the female dancers ripped and tore at her clothes until she was completely naked. But unlike Gluttony, who kept her g-string on, nothing remained but her jewelry.

Then her swords were taken and she was bathed in red ‘blood’. She continued her dance bathed in the blood of her enemies, not stopping until the last song end and she dropped to the ground.

The lights went out and the crowd roared. That was the part Steve found unsettling. The way they seemed to cheer her ‘demise’.

He asked Eddie about it afterward.

“It’s something she started actually,” Eddie explained. “She wanted Wrath to be defeated in the end.”

“Even though none of the other Sins are?”

“Yep!” Eddie said. “I think because of all the Sins Wrath’s effects are most widely seen. War. Abuse. Murder.”

Steve nodded. Greed probably killed more people, but it was in a hidden insidious way.

He wanted to see Lust again, but since it was his day off, he had things he needed to do. Especially with Robin working. So with much regret he was forced to miss it. Not like it mattered, when Robin got home that night, it was all she could talk about.

“Holy shit,” she said flopping on the sofa. “I thought your opening night was busy, but fuck, Steve. There were more people packed into that room then all the previous nights combined.”

Steve nodded. Robin was still in training and her trainer, Joe didn’t want to throw her to the wolves after just two days on the job, so her first day was on Sunday and Joe spent the whole week apologizing to her because he thought it would be slow for her. But it turned out to be the best thing as she learned faster in the hectic fury of Steve’s first night.

“He’s good,” he said, getting food out of their fridge to reheat for her.

“Look I can’t say I see the appeal,” she agreed, “but yeah. The way he makes it all about him and still make you feel like his attention is all on you.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. He brought her a bowl of mac and cheese and a fork.

Robin dived into it with gusto. “So...with the money I made tonight will get us caught up on the rest of our bills.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief. “That’s good news. I thought we’d be eating mac and cheese for the rest of our lives.”

“Well thanks to you getting a job as a lead dancer,” she said around a bite of food, “we were able to catch up in a week.”

“So when can we get our phones turned back on?” he asked, picking at the skin around his nails.

Robin swatted his hands. “Stop that! It’s bad for your nails.” He sat on his hands and stuck his tongue at her. “Anyway, it should be tomorrow. So we can swing by the shop and get them turned back on.”

“That’s good,” Steve replied. “I can finally get rid of this burner phone we got in the mean time.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered poking at her food. “It’s all my fault.”

He dug into her bowl and tossed a bit of mac and cheese at her.

“Hey!” Robin protested, picking noodles out of her hair and tossing it back at him.

“If I can’t pick at my nails,” Steve huffed, “you can’t say that shit.”

She ducked her head and nodded. “I’m still sorry it happened.”

“That’s acceptable,” Steve said after eyeing her suspiciously for a moment. “But you didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

He kissed her cheek and turned on the TV. He put on her favorite baking show and settled in for a quiet night in.

~

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Tag List: ONE SLOT REMAINING

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @dreamercec @sadisticaltarts @too-much-tma-stuff

[lilwetto]

I've always been a scrim sorta gal. From 15 yrs old to almost 25, he's been one hell of a down to earth guy, same with ruby. I'm glad they're sober, we get them a lot longer on this earth now<3

[g3rmanax]

happy birthday scrim

[2005noroithecurse]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 — (𝐒)𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 !

kinktober week one | knife play | ghostface!belphie x f!reader

welcome to What Goes Bump In The Night week one! Our theater one showing is guaranteed to have you squirming in your seat, whether from fear or pleasure remains to be seen~

› is it weird to gift someone a vial of your blood? Is it weirder if they install a hidden camera in your room to see you with it, only to catch you masturbating and can't help but join in?

› warnings : noncon, yandere, blood, hidden camera, privacy violation, f masturbation, voyeurism, knife play, slapping, creampie, one tiny cut, fingers in mouth, restraint, mask kink, use of slut

› word count : 2k+

🔪 what goes bump in the night?

At first, the little trinkets slipped inside your bag were cute, in a strange sort of way. An origami frog, with a tiny heart inked on its side that now lived on your desk at the house. One of the flowers that grew on RADs grounds slipped inside your bag, the stem carefully clipped of thorns. This one, however, made your stomach squeeze at the sight of it.

A beautiful vial, suspended on a delicate chain, glinting where it caught the light as it softly swung back and forth in your grip. It would've been a lovely gift if not for the suspicious liquid inside the vial itself, thick and colored such a deep red it was almost black. Blood, you knew it immediately. It was probably fresh earlier today but had begun coagulating inside its little glass prison as the day wore on. It unnerved you, made you want to just toss it in the trash, and start refusing the gifts altogether going forward.

But you'd be lying if you said it didn't also thrill you in an odd way. Someone pricked their skin, carefully gathered the blood from the wound, and gifted it to you so furtively. It felt silly to check over your shoulder in your own bedroom but you wanted to be alone before clasping the chain around your neck, adjusting it as it sat between your breasts. Your fingertips traced along the chain, dipping down as you looked at it in the reflection of your vanity mirror.

It was beautiful, but definitely something best worn in complete privacy.

What you didn't know was that just behind you, carefully hidden inside the bookshelf was a camera. You also didn't know someone's eyes were glued to you the entire time, mesmerized watching as you admired the gift, sporting a sleazy smile at seeing you cup your breasts in the reflection of the mirror. The grainy image didn't do you justice, but Belphie knew it was the best he could do for now. This was a slow game, but the demon of sloth had a surprising plethora of patience when it came to you.

His wide eyes tracked your every movement, palming at his cock through his sweatpants as you stripped off your uniform. You looked ethereal with only his gift left on your body, but all too soon you were slipping on a t-shirt. Just as he was about to resign himself to jerking off to the mental image of you again you surprised him.

You laying back against your pillows was a deviation from your routine, but you had his full attention as you held your phone sideways and obscuring your face. No bottoms on, he noted as he went back to palming himself. He also didn't have to guess what you were watching, he's snuck inside your bedroom many a night to go through your phone and found once that you'd failed to close the tab left on a video of someone in a human horror movie costume railing their partner.

He bought the costume the next day, thankful that there was a market for human horror costumes in the devildom. His breathing became harsher watching you rub your fingers over your underwear, betting anything they were soaked in arousal. As you rolled your hips on the feed his mind went back to that costume.

Soft slick sounds filled the room as you slipped your fingers inside yourself, struggling to keep quiet as well as keep a grip on your phone with your other hand. The thin sounds of smacking skin came from it, your eyes never leaving the mask worn in the video. It was something you discovered the first time you'd watched one of the movies, that modulated voice making your clit throb as you watched.

Gently you switch up, slick fingers circling your clit as your eyes drift shut and your legs open a little wider. You were getting lost in the feeling, luckily for the intruder on the other side of the door. With the costume on it was slightly difficult to hear you through the solid wood and his heart beat nearly out of his chest as one gloved hand grasped the handle. The other kept a vise grip on the handle of a kitchen knife.

Soundlessly the door eased open a crack, nearly making him groan at the sight of your legs splayed and your head tipped back with your fingers rubbing against yourself. The door opened wider, Belphie practically salivating behind the mask and completely unable to rip his eyes away from you.

It's too late when you hear the click of the doorjamb, eyes snapping open, hands making a desperate attempt to cover yourself and body rigid as mortification shoots through your veins like a bullet. Your mind short circuits, unable to make sense of what you're looking at. Yes, someone did walk in on you masturbating but this has to be some kind of sick joke.

It's when the cold glint of steel catches your eye that you know this isn't a joke. The shriek barely makes it out of your mouth before he's on you, pressing forcefully between your legs, fighting against your thrashing to grab your hands, pinning them painfully together above your head with one hand as the flat edge of the knife presses to your neck.

Your eyes sting with imminent tears, wincing as the bones in your wrists grind against each other in his tightening grip. Shallow gasps keep a hard and fast pace from your lungs as you struggle to look into the pitch black eye holes of the mask. You start to tremble, and it feels like eons before that analog voice crackles to life.

"You liked the gift that much?" His tone sounds teasing, playful even. At sharp odds with the painful position he's keeping you in.

You don't dare respond, frozen as a deer in headlights. You're not even sure if you could, your hearts beating so fast you're afraid you might vomit it up. This is who's been leaving those for you?

Slowly the knife turns against your skin, sharp point pinching only briefly before he starts tracing downward with it, sliding it all the way to your shirts bottom hem before slipping it underneath. You gasp sharply, half screaming, as he violently wrenches it upwards to tear a hole through the material. Every muscle is impossibly taught, eyes squeezed shut hearing the fabric rip and tear as you silently plead for it not to be your skin next as the balmy air hits your exposed chest.

"I'm a little disappointed. You have the real thing right in front of you and all you can do is cry?" He says, annoyance dripping from every word. His hips grind against your barely covered cunt, making your legs jerk. You felt sick to your stomach feeling yourself flutter at the contact. He grabs your phone, still playing porn, pausing the video and tossing it to clatter somewhere on the floor.

"You think I'm gonna fuck some freak holding me at knifepoint?" You sneer, trying to control your fear and hoping he doesn't call your bluff.

You barely finish the question before his hand cracks against your cheek, making your head snap forcefully to the side. It burns all the way to your ear and a sob bubbles out of your throat. You don't turn even when you feel the knifes edge press against your clavicle, only whimpering through tears. With a frustrated grunt it sounds like he tossed it to the side, grabbing your jaw harshly to force you to look at that masked face again.

"I'll show you a fucking freak," that voice crackles, the words practically spit at you.

Using something like a belt of fabric he tied your arms in their position above your head and this time you didn't struggle. The sting of the small warning slice was enough, you didn't want to think about what else it could do to you.

"Thought nobody knew you like to get off to this huh?" He grunts out, leaning back off you to fiddle with the black fabric cloaking him. You catch a glimpse of sweatpants, oddly familiar, but you don't get to ruminate on it long. Through your tears you see his cock spring out of his waistband, a length impressive enough you almost forget everything else, with the tip flushed pink and obvious precum smeared along it.

Unconsciously your thigh muscles clench, and you know he felt it. You hate it, you hate that the part of you that finds this exciting is quickly over taking the part of you that's reeling in fear. But you can't help but anticipate how it'll feel inside, wide eyed watching him give it a few tugs before leaning back even more on his knees.

You don't resist as his hands keep your legs spread, the satiny material of the gloves gliding down from your knees to your inner thighs, one of them coming to lightly rub your soaked panties. The mask tilts to the side and suddenly you feel shy, knowing he's looking intently at you despite not seeing his face.

"All that crying but you're this wet?" He sounds taken aback, and you decide to use it to your advantage, see if you can get him off tilt.

You whine, feeling self conscious disgust and the voice modulator erupts into a laugh, making you flinch.

You don't get time to recover, sound dying in your throat as the head of his cock pushes your panties to the side and glides through the mess of arousal between your folds. Your hips move to chase his movement automatically, a soft moan escaping your lips as you screw your eyes shut.

"Shit-" he groans, barely nudging inside you but there's no resistance from your muscles, his girth easily slides inside and you sigh at the feeling. The heft of him inside makes you forget your fear entirely, wrists wriggling in their restraints as you forget yourself and long to slide your hands against his back.

He doesn't move at first, simply staying inside you with his balls resting against your ass before you move your hips slightly, urging him. Everything faded away, even the stinging of your cheek and the dull pain of the cut, except for the anticipation of pleasure. It almost shocks you how gently he moves at first, an odd consideration from someone who was threatening you minutes ago.

It isn't long before he settles into a harsh pace, hands on the back of your thighs pressing them against your chest as the tip of his cock hits just the right spot against your spongy walls to make you see stars. Your moans reach a fever pitch, feeling a coil of pressure tightening in your gut with every thrust. The sound of skin slapping and the wet squelching of your cunt makes you dizzy as you plead with him to go harder.

"Stupid slut, love getting fucked by a freak huh-" he spits out, thrusts getting sloppy as you clench around him, and it makes your brain go fuzzy.

He pauses to tug one glove off, tossing it away to resume pounding you into the mattress. His fingers rubbing against your puffy clit makes your toes curl and your mouth drop open, legs shaking as you hook them around his waist. Your back arches and your fingers twist against the pillows, feeling the intense pressure burst as you cry out, a moaning whining mess. He doesn't slow down, keeping your legs pressed up as your pussy clamps down around his cock.

Sobs bubble past your lips as your body jostles in time with his thrusts, you nearly choke as his fingers press into your mouth and his hips stutter before giving one final deep thrust. Your moans are garbled and you can taste yourself on him as you feel hot spurts of cum flood your throbbing pussy. It mirrors the feeling of warm spit dripping from your mouth, pressing your tongue flat against his fingers.

His breathing is harsh as he pulls out and slides his fingers from your mouth, helping you lay your aching legs down against the bed. The torn edges of your shirt tickle your sides as the sweat starts cooling against your feverish skin. If your brain didn't feel like melted sugar you'd ask him to stay, and the absurdity of it makes you snort.

He pauses in his readjustment of the black shroud, tucking his dick back in his sweatpants. The black of the eyeholes makes it a bit difficult to see but you look so thoroughly fucked out it almost makes him rip off the mask right there, wanting nothing else but to have more of you.

He doesn't though, only using the knife to wordlessly cut the restraint from your wrists. You stay quiet, letting your breathing even out and enjoying the warmth permeating your body. You don't get the feeling he'd stay even if you asked, hardly the type.

Closing your eyes you don't see him slip out of the door, only hearing the doorjamb click once again. The preposterousness of what happened isn't lost on you, but you don't have the energy to pick it apart. As the afterglow fades soreness sets into your shoulders, wrists, and the spot against your cheek where he struck you.

Belphie strips of the stifling costume back in his bedroom that sleazy grin works its way back across his face. He'll have to visit the footage that little camera caught, but for now the image of your face scrunched in pleasure and the necklace vial jostling with the bounce of your breasts is satisfying enough.

And he'll definitely be paying you another visit.

[reveriebae]

Chapter 8 - Can We Save Hex?

ICE ON MY TITS SERIES

<< PREVIOUS CHAPTER| NEXT CHAPTER >>

It’s one of those days.

No makeup, no plans. Just you, your bed, and a criminally tight bodycon dress that feels more like a second skin than clothing. No bra. No panties. No shame.

Your thighs are bare, your hair’s a mess, and you’ve been scrolling on Instagram like a sloth on NyQuil—half-dead but committed.

And then—

Boom.

There he is.

Wooyoung.

Shirtless.

Sweaty.

Drenched from a workout or a dance session—who cares? All that matters is that his abs look like they were sculpted by petty gods with something to prove.

Caption? “This filter ain’t even needed.”

The fucking audacity.

You blink, zoom in like a creep, then grin like the devil’s favorite whore.

Comment:

"can we save hex?"

A joke, sure. Playful. A little slutty. Harmless, even.

Or so you thought.

Because thirty seconds later, someone bangs on your door like they’re trying to break in.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

You jolt up, dress riding higher.

Another knock—no, pound.

“OPEN UP!” Wooyoung’s voice cracks through the hallway. “YOU WANNA SAVE HEX?! LET’S FUCKING SAVE IT THEN—”

You scramble off your bed, hair flying, half-laughing, half-panicking, horny as fuck.

“Wooyoung—!”

“Don’t ‘Wooyoung’ me!” he yells. “I WAS MINDING MY BUSINESS—AND YOU WANNA DROP THAT COMMENT?? IN FRONT OF MY THOUSANDS OF FOLLOWERS?? YOU WANNA GET DICKED DOWN OR WHAT?!”

You sprint to the door.

Fling it open.

And there he is.

Black tank top. Sweaty neck. Hair pushed back. Breathing heavy like he ran from the elevator just to yell at you.

You blink up at him, biting your lip. “Hey.”

His eyes rake you down.

The tight dress. The bare thighs. The braless perfection.

Silence.

Then:

“You’re not wearing shit under that,” he whispers.

You shrug. “Wasn’t planning to leave the house.”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “You’re a fucking menace.”

“You knocked.”

“YOU COMMENTED.”

“You could’ve ignored it.”

“You could’ve covered your nipples,” he shoots back.

You smirk. “Wanna come in and talk about it?”

He pushes past you without waiting.

Door slams shut.

The second the door shuts, Wooyoung grabs your wrist and pulls you toward the mirror.

Not the one in your bathroom.

The full-length mirror in your bedroom.

The one you only use when you’re feeling extra slutty. The one angled just right so you can see your curves in HD.

“You wanna talk about saving hex?” he mutters, standing behind you, crowding you, breathing hot against your neck. “Let’s record that shit.”

Your breath hitches. “What?”

He pulls his phone from his pocket and opens the camera—front facing, selfie style. The moment he flips it to video, his gaze drops to your ass.

“No panties,” he mutters, voice dark and fucking dangerous.

You press your thighs together.

“Fucking knew it,” he grunts, setting the phone on your nightstand, perfectly angled at the mirror. It captures everything—your flushed face, your nipples poking through the thin fabric, the sinful curve of your hips under that tight bodycon.

And him.

Towering behind you, shirt yanked off in one motion, his abs flexing with every breath.

“Let’s give the internet a real thirst trap, baby.”

His hands find your waist. Then lower. Lower. Until he’s gripping the bottom of your dress and slowly dragging it up—inch by inch—exposing your bare ass.

You gasp. “Wooyoung—”

“Shh. Just watch, slut.”

You whimper as he sinks to his knees behind you, spreading your thighs. You see it—clear as day in the mirror—his tongue dragging over your folds, through your shorts.

The wet spot grows with each pass.

You’re trembling already. Clutching the edges of the mirror for support.

He yanks your shorts aside, not even bothering to remove them. “You want my mouth or you wanna keep playing with your little comments?”

“Wooyoung, please—”

He spits on your pussy.

You see it—see the glisten, the glint of spit and slick as he dives in.

Your back arches. Moans echo. The mirror fogs.

Then—

SLAP.

His palm lands square on your ass. You yelp.

“Look at yourself,” he growls. “You started this shit. Take it.”

He eats you out like a man starved. Loud. Messy. Filthy. Your thighs shake. Your makeup’s halfway gone. You look fucked up—gorgeous.

He stands suddenly, cock already out, thick and twitching, dragging it against your ass with a groan.

“You wanted ‘hex’ saved, right?” he pants. “Say it. Say the fucking line.”

You barely manage it—high and breathless.

“C-Can we… save hex?”

He pushes in.

One thrust. Deep.

Your mouth drops open. His grip is bruising on your hips. Your moans turn ragged, echoing off the walls, mixing with the slick slap of skin.

“You’re—fucking—viral now,” he growls between each thrust. “Whole floor’s gonna hear how you get dicked down for a damn comment.”

“F-Fuck, Woo—”

“That’s right, bitch. Say it. Moan for your likes.”

You both watch the mirror.

Every expression.

Every bounce.

Every drag of his cock inside you while he whispers filth in your ear.

He grabs your phone too, snapping a pic of your dazed expression, your dress bunched at your waist, your juices running down your thighs.

“For memories,” he says.

You’re shaking when he cums.

He stays in you, panting against your shoulder, then leans in to whisper:

“Post that, and I swear I’ll knock again.”

You’re still catching your breath.

“Hex successfully saved,” you mumble.

You barely have time to clean yourself up.

Dress still halfway twisted around your waist. Wooyoung flopped face-down on your bed like he just ran a marathon. Your mirror's foggy. Your legs are still shaking. The sex tape is still playing on mute.

And then—BANG. BANG. BANG.

Someone’s at your door.

You both freeze.

Another round of angry-ass knocking.

Then—

“IT’S A TUESDAY, YOU SICK FUCKS!”

Wooyoung groans. “Oh my god, it’s Joong.”

You start laughing. "He sounds like he’s gonna file a noise complaint.”

“No, no—he sounds like he's about to draft a lawsuit."

You try to walk to the door, but your knees nearly give out. Wooyoung, ever the menace, grabs your ass on the way like he didn’t just cause all this.

You crack the door open.

Hongjoong stands there, hoodie on, glasses askew, hair a mess, arms crossed like the mother of Eden Heights.

“You. Two.” He points at you. Then at Wooyoung behind you, shirtless and smirking. “I don’t care if she commented ‘can we save hex.’ I don’t care if you’re roleplaying OnlyFans. I just want one quiet Tuesday.”

“Technically, it’s Wednesday now,” Wooyoung offers unhelpfully.

You slap his arm.

Hongjoong blinks. “Oh, that’s cute. You’re defending him? Guess that mirror isn’t the only thing foggy.”

You bite your lip. “...You saw?”

“Oh, everyone’s seen. Half the floor’s in the group chat talking about the earthquake in unit 203.”

Then he leans in slightly, lowering his voice.

“I will ask for a copy though.”

And walks off like nothing happened.

[nonbinairyboi]

Nothing Left: Chapter 13

Chapter Summary: After a night of fun, you have to face the danger of the journey home.

Pairing: Joel Miller x nonbinary!Reader/OC (afab, dimples, has multiple nicknames but none are their name)

Word Count: ~3.1

A/N: I edited and changed Oliver’s name to Benji. Posting this one day early as a treat.

Series Masterlist (w/ASL) | Playlist | Read on AO3

Chapter Warnings: Smut. Unprotected p in v (wrap it up). Reference to drinking and smoking weed. Non-graphic injury. Violence and injury. Minor angst?

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 13

You could feel the smile on his mouth as the high from the joint had you both floating and on the edge of being giggly. The long drag of the day had slowed you both down, and this embrace was more relaxed than your desperate clash earlier. His hand skimmed lazily up your sides, rubbing your back as he circled back down.

You snuck your fingers under his shirt, lightly scratching. At his responding moan, you tentatively pushed higher, gauging his reaction as his shirt became bunched under his arms. He answered your silent question quickly, lifting his arms up and helping you take off his shirt. A smirk broke over your face as his chest was revealed to you, your sloth-paced brain letting your eyes linger longer than you would normally allow yourself. Your gaze slowly trailed up, over his poorly-concealed grin, focusing on the wrinkles of ease and laughter that had appeared around his eyes. Caressing his thumbs around your waist, just on the edge of being ticklish, he leaned in again, latching loosely onto your lip and breathing in deeply, as if trying to inhale your essence.

His sudden openness was ridiculously endearing. It made your younger boldness rear its sleepy head and slowly raise your own shirt above you. Luxuriating in the catch you hear in his breath, you threw the shirt to the side and pulled him in again. The warmth of your skin directly on his and the fire at your back juxtaposed to the chill of the rest of the room was intoxicating, every touch feeling more intense.

Taking a deep breath before you could second guess yourself, you pulled off your sports bra, your hard nipples catching slightly on the edge of it on its way off.

You kept your eyes lazily closed a few moments longer than needed as you tossed the item of clothing to the side, bracing yourself for the gender dysphoria you expected. When your eyes reopened, the sight in front of you made you quickly forget your misgivings.

Joel’s lips were slightly parted, his breath still as his hands glided up and down your now fully bare back for the first time. His eyes flitted up to your eyes before being unintentionally pulled back down. The intimacy and reverence of the moment beckoned you, your hands pulling his arms forward towards your chest.

At the first touch of his hands on your bare chest, his mouth latched onto your neck, open-mouthed kisses roaming to the top of your chest as his rapidly warming hands caressed and squeezed you. Joel’s hands spread wide, trapping your nipples loosely between his fingers as he squeezed your breasts, feeling the weight in his hands.

The sensation had you grinding down to meet his hips, forcing a desperate inhale from him. You hummed lightly in response, reveling in how warm he felt beneath you and around you.

You both took your time, the last of your clothing joining the rest on the ground in an unhurried manner.

Even the way you took him in was languid and indulgent; the slick slide of him inside of you as you rode him and he pushed against the spot that made your eyes flutter closed. As you sped up, you began to lose your pace, lost in the filthy pants, grunts, and whines escaping his mouth. Taking advantage of the stutter of your movement, he rolled over you, using more force than he had earlier, entwining the fingers of his hand with yours above your head as he used the other to tilt your hips up, nudging a pillow under you quickly with his knee. Gravity eased you open for him further and the change in angle encouraged the heat in your stomach, the tension there twisting and releasing with every one of his movements.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze with an intensity that matched the rapid joining of your hips. His curls had fallen into his face, slightly damp with sweat from the warmth between you and the seemingly roaring fire beside you. Joel’s brow was wrinkled with concentration and effort as he fucked into you deeper, surprising a high-pitched moan out of you. He let go of your hand, bracing himself over you so that he could increase his speed, your free hand flying to his neck, hanging on. Your other hand found its way to his back, pulling him more forcefully toward you, forcing the grind of his pelvis more directly onto your clit as your legs wrapped around him. Your panting moans increased in speed with his thrusts as you got closer to the edge, the warmth in your abdomen growing and expanding until it burst, your eyes squeezing shut as your whole body spasmed, your heels digging harshly into him, coaxing him impossibly closer.

Joel’s strangled moans soon followed yours, his eyes frantically roaming your body and face, flicking down to where you are joined before darting to the bounce of your breasts, then back up to your face as he finished shakily within you. The effort crumpled his arms, forcing him down to his elbows, his choked exhale falling onto the edge of your lip before he fell over you further and captured your lips in a final drawn-out kiss.

He rolled over, pulling you with him until you were facing each other on your sides, his breathing falling onto your neck as he nestled closer.

“Fuck, darlin’.” He softly exhaled.

Something about the way he said it made you burst out laughing. His hand loosely came up to cover your mouth in a playful matter.

“How do you still give me grief without words?” He asked.

You pushed his hand away before slowly fingerspelling out ‘T-A-L-E-N-T’.

He squinted at your hand, focusing intently. Once he understood he scoffed before nuzzling back into the slope of your shoulder.

You lay there a long time, listening closely to his breaths as they slowly evened out, a slight snore joining them and making a fond smile appear on your face.

Harsh light streaming into the room woke you the next morning. The wind was whistling now instead of incessantly howling, but you were thankful that you had both eventually shrugged into some of your clothes in the middle of the night as you massaged your fingers, willing the swelling that had crept in with the cold to go down.

Joel had stirred at the same time you had, robbing you of the view of his face relaxed with sleep.

Another time, hopefully. Without words, you both began putting everything back in its place, pulling on your now dry clothes and packing up.

Your stomach twinged with hunger. It had probably not been the best idea to have drunk with only a few bites of jerky scavenged from Joel’s pack yesterday.

The bottom of your foot throbbed, a constant reminder of your clumsiness.

Once everything was set in place, you gathered the two bottles of alcohol and some of the rags near the couch.

Joel had been in the garage, making sure Whiskey was ready for the task ahead and when he wandered back in, he came bearing gifts in the form of two empty beer bottles he had scrounged up.

You nodded your approval, taking them and beginning the task of crafting four Molotovs. Hoping against hope that this would fucking work, you gathered two in each hand after you bundled back up and headed to the garage, Joel following close behind after he gave the place one last glance.

The mood had turned somber. You needed to be at your best. Joel needed to get back to Ellie safely.

You turned to Joel, locking your eyes with his, an unspoken understanding passing between you.

Before your face could fully harden for the task ahead, Joel leaned forward, capturing your lips in one last drawn out kiss. You tried not to think of it as a goodbye. You weren’t sure how many infected were waiting for you outside. You weren’t sure that if you survived Joel would even want whatever this was to continue.

That couldn’t be your focus right now. A mask of stoicism fell over your face as you swung yourself up onto Whiskey with some difficulty. Settling on his back, your hips and thighs protested the movement, but you ignored them. Joel opened the garage and handed you the bottles and your guns. You urged Whiskey forward and Joel closed up behind you.

You both took a moment to look beyond the gates ahead. Large drifts of snow had formed during the last 24 hours, but there were no infected in sight. It was eerily silent aside from the ever-whispering wind.

Your eyes slid back to Joel, who was still looking resolutely out into the rolling mountains of white and trees before you.

“As soon as I relock the gate, we go.” He stated. “No need to stop on the way back. I’ll hold the bottles. You focus on leading us home.”

Nodding, you faced forward again. As soon as you and Whiskey passed through the gates, a cold dread began eating its way up your bones. You willed Joel to pull the gates closed faster as your eyes scanned the horizon.

Nothing stirred, and there was a horrible part of you that wished that you saw something. Then you would feel like you would know what you were facing. But as it was, the uncertainty was buzzing inside of you.

Joel finally clicked the lock in place before swinging up behind you and grabbing two of the bottles back from you. Immediately, you urged Whiskey into motion, careful not to push him too fast as he might need his energy later on. You each placed a beer bottle in your pocket, holding the larger bottle in a free hand.

The first leg of the journey was mostly silent save for the crunch of the snow and the sloshing of the bottles, but you could feel how tense Joel was behind you. Hyper alert, your eyes constantly scanned the horizon, expecting threats around every corner and thankful that you weren’t too distracted by the solid chest pressed against your back.

Just before you reached the lookout you had visited early the day before, Whiskey halted abruptly beneath you. In the stillness, you heard the unmistakable croaking of infected but the wind was halting your ability to place where it was coming from. You felt Joel curl around you, tenser than ever. A moment of stillness settled between you before chaos ensued, the wind picking up at the same time that four runners ran at you from the treeline, leading three more clickers behind them.

Spurring Whiskey forward urgently, you felt Joel twist behind you, struggling to light his zippo in the wind.

The way forward was slightly blocked by the mounds of snow and stalled vehicles in the road, making the path zigzag slightly.

“I can’t light it. They’re gaining on us!” He yelled over the wind. “I need to shoot!”

You blindly grabbed behind you, yanking the bottle and lighter forward. Hearing him unholstering his guns, you focused on both maneuvering Whiskey and lighting the lighter.

Thankfully, it seemed that Whiskey understood the gravity of the situation, picking up speed and leading himself more than he usually would. Balancing both liquor bottles in your arms, you tried to block out the wind by hunching over slightly, your first few tries failing miserably.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath despite the hurried necessity of the moment. As you kept trying to light the zippo, you tried your best to ignore the shots behind you, hoping they were hitting their marks.

You could feel the lighter heating up beneath your gloved thumb from your repeated attempts, a rip forming as you pressed down hard for what felt like the twentieth time.

Finally, the lighter lit long enough for you to catch the end of the cloth sticking out from the bottle on fire, but in your haste, the cloth from the other bottle also ignited.

Frantically, you turned behind you, startled with how close the infected still were, throwing their bodies over the obstacles to keep up. It felt like a dream where you couldn’t run fast enough no matter how hard you tried and terror seized your heart. Joel had managed to get one runner and two clickers, but the final clicker was getting closer. Holding your breath, you aimed a bottle at the clicker, exhaling as you hurtled it forward, turning forward before you heard the shatter and whoosh of it working. As you were getting ready to turn around and send another one before it had burned too far, a terrifying sight caught your eye. You were running straight toward more infected, and there was no way around them.

You quickly launched the other bottle as hard as you could, hitting two clickers up ahead and taking the reins back under control to maneuver you around. Joel jerked around to face front as you galloped through town, one hand gripping your hip as Whiskey jumped over a fence.

The scene before you was both comforting and concerning. More infected lay up ahead, but a fight was already underway. Six patrolmen were in the thick of it. Spotting Tommy among the group, you directed Whiskey there. Tommy looked relieved to see you, shouting orders at those around him.

Just as you arrived at their side, knifing a runner as you ran by, a horrific roar hit your ears, freezing your blood cold. Joel grabbed the reins from you as you set about lighting the remaining bottles.

A massive bloater stomped its way towards you, and you threw the first bottle at it, hitting it squarely in the chest. Tommy shot it with his shotgun as it staggered, slightly stunned but still very much alive. You threw the remaining bottle at its face, the fire more like an explosion this time, the heat of it forcing your head to turn. You felt Joel curl his body around you protectively. The fire was enough to startle Whiskey, who bucked up.

Without a saddle, Joel and you both slid off. Turning your body sharply to not land on top of him, you hit the ground hard for the second time in two months, dazing yourself but thankfully mostly landing on the side of your ass. Your shoulder took a bit of impact as well but you rolled immediately, pulling out your pistol and firing right away.

You saw the bloater in a heap on the ground and heaved a sigh of relief. You all had a chance now. The eight of you were able to pick off the rest of the group. Joel got to his feet with a groan before holding out his hand to help you up, Tommy coming down to grab your other arm as well.

You could barely focus as Tommy and Joel rapidly fired off questions and answers to update each other, only realizing that they had asked you something when it got quiet for a moment. Panicking, you signed that you were fine quickly as you lifted your gaze. Both Miller brothers wore skeptical expressions, but no one had time to argue. There was no way to know if another wave of the horde was coming. Eugene rushed over, leading a settled Whiskey back to you, crushing you in a quick hug before urging you back up onto the horse, Joel following behind you.

The ride to Jackson was rushed, your ears ringing slightly as the people around you yelled commands and answers at each other. You felt Joel’s arms squeeze tightly around you, starting to ground and reassure you as you reached the gates, which swung open before you.

You heard Ellie before you saw her, calling Joel’s name and pushing her way through the small crowd that had formed near the entrance of Jackson. He slid off Whiskey without hesitating, absorbing her energy as she crashed into him. Tears sprung to your eyes at the action. It felt like a delicate moment; a personal one not meant to be viewed by all of the people gathered. You quickly looked away, sliding off of Whiskey yourself and handing him to a flustered looking Jessie. You signed that he needed food and water, thankful that those signs were easy for people to understand, and patted Whiskey’s nose a few final times before he was led away.

You heard Eugene call to you and whipped around. He had handed his horse off as well and trapped you in a bone-crushing hug.

“Don’t ever fucking do that again, Charlie,” he whispered in your ear. “Or I’ll have to kill Miller.”

You let out an exhausted, surprised laugh at that, squeezing him back slightly and ignoring the twinge in your shoulder. Why were you always a wreck these days?

You could see Maria walking towards you both and you pulled back to greet her, surprised when she pulled you in for a hug as well.

“Thank god.” She breathed.

You squeezed your eyes tight unable to process everything that was happening.

Someone patted your injured shoulder from behind and you hissed. Maria pulled back immediately to look you over.

“Aw, shit, I’m sorry.” Tommy apologized as he walked into your field of vision. “You two best get over to the clinic.”

A small weight barreled into your side, almost knocking you over, and you looked down to see the top of Ellie’s head pressed to your side. You smiled and wrapped your arm around her, squeezing her back.

“Let Charlie go, Ellie,” gruffed Joel as he sidled up to you. “You’re probably hurting’ ‘em.”

Ellie stepped back wiping her red-rimmed eyes as your group made their way to the clinic. Maria was talking a mile a minute, planning to run home and bring you both some food for when you got home. Exhaustion was creeping up your limbs with every step.

When you finally plopped yourself onto a cot, Ellie’s face swam in front of you.

“Soooo, do you always get hurt on patrol?” She asked, smirking.

You pushed her shoulder slightly before lazily signing ‘Only with Joel’ while smirking back. A strange noise from the side caught your attention, and you turned to see Joel’s face crumpled somewhere between anger and sadness.

Scared that you offended him, you quickly signed that it was a joke, Ellie backing you up and teasing him further about being an old man, but the damage had been done.

He wouldn’t look at you.

Fuck.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@powellssaturn

@silas-aeiou

[zeke-fanfucs]

OKAY OKAY! BIG BIG BIGGGG GHANK YOU TOO @soup-sloth for making my baby!!!

So as payment. I made three fanfics with their character “Sibren” and their Version of Karmor! I hope you like this! 😋😋😋😋😋😋😋

Fanfic 1: “Claws and Cheers”

Colt had tracked the bastard through two settlements and three wrong turns, teeth grit from the sting of wind and dust on his eyes. He’d been expecting a fight. Maybe a chase. What he found instead was blood—slick and fresh—painting the warehouse floor in splatters and pools that led to the back room like a breadcrumb trail of carnage.

He knew this kind of mess. Not from blaster fire. Not from panic.

This was personal.

Colt cocked his gun as he stepped in, but the sound of laughter—low, sharp, too delighted—froze him at the threshold.

Someone else was here. Someone already working.

The man he’d been tracking was sprawled on the floor, breathing in hitching gasps, bleeding from the legs, the ribs, the arms. Avoided the vitals. On purpose.

A figure crouched over him—short, lithe, steady hands glowing with a soft, unnatural orange heat. One claw traced up the side of the target’s neck, slow and deliberate. A warning. Or maybe a tease.

The guy doing it was humming..

Colt blinked. The stranger’s hair was shaggy, curls falling over his face and catching in the sweat at his temples. A scarf tucked against his throat. Mechanical arms glinting in the dark, one finger tilting the target’s chin like he was inspecting bad meat. When the stranger laughed again, it lit up his whole face—sharp canines, metal fang glinting, eyes full of something beautiful and wrong.

Colt knew rage when he saw it. Knew what it looked like when it had style.

He leaned against the doorway with a low whistle. “Damn. You always work this gracefully, or am I just crashing your highlight reel?”

The figure paused.

Then turned.

Not startled. Not even annoyed.

Just curious.

“You’re late,” he said, voice roughened by heat or laughter or both.

“Wasn’t aware we had a date.”

“He touched a kid,” the man said, voice flat. “They let him walk. I don’t like that.”

Colt’s lips quirked. “Yeah? That why you’re playing Operation with your fingers?”

The guy grinned, something wild and proud in it. “Just warming up.”

Colt finally let his eyes drag lower. The way the claws danced across skin—not erratic, but calculated. The heat of them left flesh bubbled and weeping, but not fatal. The mechanical precision. The control.

It was beautiful.

And familiar. Too familiar.

Then it clicked.

Hipswitch’s wolf.

Colt had heard the name in passing. Something about a bounty hunter with claws and a temper. Switch always got soft in the voice when he brought him up—“You’d like him, Colt. Got teeth, but knows how to use ‘em.”

Colt never bothered to listen. Wolves didn’t interest him. Not until now.

Because this one?

He was art.

Colt stepped closer, slowly, deliberately placing his boot on the bounty’s flailing wrist. The man screamed again, but neither of them looked at him.

“Mind if I help?” Colt asked.

The wolf raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even know my name.”

Colt smirked. “Don’t need it yet. We’re makin’ music just fine without introductions.”

He pressed his boot harder, holding the man down.

The wolf gave him a long, appraising look—and then a grin that curled Colt’s stomach in a way he didn’t expect.

“You’re cocky.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Lucky for you,” the wolf said, claw tips beginning to glow again, “I like an audience.”

Colt watched him work, unable to tear his eyes away. He wasn’t sure what lit his chest more—the thrill of the scene, or the way the wolf’s eyes sparkled like a match just struck.

One thing was certain: he wasn’t letting this one vanish into the dark.

Not now that he’d really met him.

(Colt need to really stop referring Sibren as “Wolf”—

SHUT UP, he’s “Wolf” to me! Or puppy~ hehe- OW! You hit me with a frying pan??!!

Yeah! GO BACK TO YOUR CLOSET WHORE!)

———————

Fanfic 2: “Don’t Touch the Scarf”

The bar was loud. Warm. Packed.

Sibren sat alone at a corner booth, a fruity cocktail sweating in his hand, scarf pulled close. His smile was thin. Too polite. It was that time of year.

The guy came out of nowhere, half-drunk and trying to be cute. “Nice scarf. Mind if I—”

He reached.

Sibren’s whole body snapped back, a low snarl already curling his lips. His claws flexed with the soft whir of metal priming. The guy didn’t notice. He kept reaching.

Suddenly, arms closed around Sibren from behind—tight, unrelenting.

“Don’t,” Hipswitch growled, voice sharp enough to cut.

The man stepped back fast, finally catching the wrongness in the air.

Sibren struggled for a breath, then sagged. His fingers trembled, claws retreating. Then he cracked.

Shoulders shaking, he let out a broken sound—somewhere between a growl and a sob—and buried his face into Switch’s chest. “I told him not to—why do they always—”

Switch held firm, rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades, quietly whispering, “I got you, Wolf. Let it out.”

———

(Well that’s hurt. …. COLT GET BACK HERE AND DROP THAT SWORD! YOU DONT EVEN USE THEM—

THAT FUCKER MADE SIBREN CRY, HE WILL PAY WITH HIS PENIS—

… welp I’m too tired to stop him. HIPSWITCH COLT GOING TO KILL SOMEONE)

——————

Fanfic 3: “Velcro Karmor”

“Is he stuck?” Albus asked flatly, glancing down at the blue crop-top-clad barnacle attached to his side.

Karmor didn’t respond. Just nuzzled further into Albus’s arm with a big, drowsy grin and a stolen jacket hanging off his shoulders.

“He’s just… expressing comfort,” Mahatma offered. “I think.”

“I think he’s turning into a weighted blanket,” Attila muttered, trying to flick Karmor off his leg. Karmor just draped himself further, limbs like spaghetti.

Switch strolled in and stopped short. “Did you guys let him eat sugar again?”

“He cooked sugar,” Mahatma said. “Caramel pancakes. They were good.”

Karmor, beaming up at Switch, reached for him too. “Switchyyyyyy—”

“Oh no,” Switch said, stepping back. “I already got his hoodie thief grease on my sleeves last time.”

But he didn’t move fast enough. Karmor latched, arms around his middle, humming like a satisfied cat.

Albus took a sip of his drink. “You’re stuck now.”

Switch sighed, defeated, as Karmor clung to him like a baby koala. “We’re never getting him off, are we?”

“Nope,” said Attila.

“Not until he powers down,” Mahatma added.

Karmor just yawned. “I love you guys.”

They grumbled—but no one made him let go.

————

( WHY THE FUCK DO THEY GET TO HUG KARMOR? Where my hug at?!

That sounds wrong- whatever. He will hug you later. And— is that a head in your hand?

No it’s a luxury bag— duh no shits a head. It’s that fucker’s who made Sibren cry

THROW IT OUT, ITS FUCKING DRIPPING ON THE CARPET! IM RENTING ASSHOLE!!!!)

[of-sinners-and-seas]

A Song of Spirits

OF SINNERS AND SEAS - BOOK ONE

A WIP INTRO

From the minds of @isabellebissonrouthier and @lady-grace-pens !

GENRE: adult. high fantasy. dark fantasy. dark romance.

POV: third person limited. past tense.

STATUS: writing.

CW: gore. strong language. explicit sexual content.

VIBES: ruby hearts and obsidian eyes. crashing waves and thundering skies. the bile of regret. the seduction of sin. tired eyes. heavy sighs. old photographs. tarot cards whose edges are worn by love. a broken body in a black room. clashing swords. a dusty throne. secrets exchanged in a back alley where the only judges are the street lamps that blind the stars above. pearls. jazz. rusted bars of a once-gilded cage. self-proclaimed godhood. bruises from lips that used to berate you. fresh ink from a letter scrawled in the dead of night. hidden longings. confessions. voices in the wind uttering words of destiny.

clotted emotions. a journal in tatters. flashes of light in the corner of your gaze. a pair of stilettos echoing down a rain-slick street. the stench of death. creaking wood. weapons that belong in your hands. the ache of nostalgia. the weight of the present. the sharp cracking of autumn leaves. milking blood from a wound that won’t heal.

THEMES: fate vs dreams. loyalty vs betrayal. history. secrets. self-worth. loneliness. mysticism and fortune telling. power and control. what do you want and how far will you go to get it? where will chasing it land you? In a better or worse position? Could you even handle it? How can you be sure?

SYNOPSIS:

Seven pirates. Seven thrones. Seven deadly sins.

All vie for dominance over their fantastical world, thinking themselves to be as close to immortal as could be. But the question of what, exactly, they are remains elusive, as is the reason why they crave a seat atop the world’s throne, battling to be the most dangerous sin of them all.

Some long for power. Some lust for a sense of identity. Others simply chase the thrill of the war they’ve locked themselves into.

Is not the root of all clashing swords a wretched cry for one’s own purpose?

It is for Katty, mistress of Envy. Her interest in the eternal war has been waning, and the figures roaming the streets of Eiffel have captured her attention more and more.

Families. Friends. Couples unscathed by the tests of time.

Her presence on her own pirate ship has become a rarity. Her lover, Delvan of Greed, has waxed on about his disapproval of her flippant desires, stressing the importance of what truly matters in their lives.

Fortune. Power. Status.

Katty knows this. And yet, she aches for more.

When the cards of fate unfold for her a passionate affair with the prince of Pride, Braven, behind the backs of their allies, Katty remembers the spark that being Envy once carried for her.

It’s only natural she chose him to accompany her on a secret mission to infiltrate the ship of Gluttony, also known as Flint. While Braven seeks information regarding Flint’s relentless search for who they are, Katty seeks a chest of personal valuables he’d stolen from her. More than either of them bargained for, Braven is captured and Katty is filled with regret. Sooner than she could even think to fall back on her own allies for aid, Flint captures them, too.

Katty must rescue them. And she must rely on Braven’s twin sister, wretched Morannah of Lust, in order to stand a chance against that giant, hulking man.

When the girls invade, cruel revelations are sparked: one calls into question the sins’ immortality, and the other permanently alters the nature of their war.

After all, what is an ally worth when all ends in betrayal?

•••

Pinterest Board | YouTube Playlist

INTRO TO THE SERIES

MEET THE SINS:

Envy | Pride | Lust | Greed | Wrath | Gluttony | Sloth

EXPLORE THE WORLDS:

Eiffel | Polarys & Lorallyn | Geldour | Valoma | Guisse | The Desolate

MEET THE FIRST MATES:

Gigi | Mikael | Désirée | Alusia | Marigold

•••

TAGLIST: @the-inkwell-variable @fifis-corner