#hope. it's unendurable

[orpheuslament]

Night Walk, Franz Wright

[gothiclit]

I Have A Normal Relationship With My City

[moonhoures]

Merciless

🕷️ kinktober — day 5: bondage 🕸️

pairing: hyunjin (stray kids) + reader (g/n)

genre: non-idol!au, smut, the tiniest amount of fluff

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, explicit smut, established relationship, bdsm dynamic, bondage (rope & mouth gag), pet names: ‘honey’, ‘good boy’, ‘baby’, ‘pretty boy’, ‘my love’ (all for hyunjin), oral (m receiving), brief handjob, mentions of spit/drool (lots of it), ball fondling, mild edging, cum swallowing

word count: ~1.7k

synopsis: your boyfriend looks the prettiest when he’s tied down

a/n: this is v short and a teeny bit 🤏🏻 out of my comfort zone since i’m not used to writing bdsm-themed stuff, but i hope it’s still enjoyable for you guys 🫶🏻

posted: october 5, 2023

kinktober masterlist

It’s unfair. A downright act of injustice for him to look as beautiful as he does in this moment. Long, raven-colored hair perfectly tousled, strands delicately fallen over his forehead and in front of his eyes, some of the ends catching on his eyelashes. His sculpted face tinted was with natural blush and his glimmering eyes shined in the dim light from your lamp in the corner of the room. His body looked like a statue chiseled from the finest piece of rock by the most-talented of sculptors. Though, you had the bigger hand in his posing tonight.

Hyunjin sat naked in the black iron-framed chair before you, his arms expertly tied down to each arm of the chair with a rope made of safe (but intriguing) material. The cords wrapped around his muscles and wrists, holding him down, but you left just enough room to keep his circulation intact. The same cords were coiled around his upper body, intertwining up and over his chest and shoulders, anchoring him to the seat. Even his calves were tied to the legs of the chair, giving him no way of escaping on his own. He was completely and utterly at your mercy, whenever you decided to give it to him, but it wouldn’t be any time soon.

His chest was flushed, light red marks appearing over the skin from his previous orgasm and the chafing of the rope. It was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t unendurable. He breathed heavily through his nose, nostrils flaring with every intake and outtake of oxygen. His eyes were fluttering closed. His orgasm had only just started to subside, but you were already wanting to give him another.

His eyelids shot back open when he felt your fingertips graze his knee. The hairs on his leg stood up and goosebumps prickled from the skin of his thighs. His eyes had a hint of nervousness in them when they met your own.

“What? Too soon?” you patronized him, an eerie smile creeping in from the corner of your lips. You found his deer-in-headlights expression very cute, “Oh, come on, honey, I know you’ve got another one in you. Don’t you?”

He didn’t bother attempting to respond. It was futile. With the gag in his mouth, even the loudest of words he could muster wouldn’t be comprehensible. The best he could do was shake his head, but that was no good. You had already decided his fate for him.

“Hm, I thought so.”

You sunk down onto your knees in front of him. There was a sparkle to your eyes as you watched him watch you. His fringe swayed in front of his dark, lust-clouded eyes, making him look like a model. His beauty was astonishing. You would never tire of looking at him, you thought. And he only got prettier when he was like this, tied up just for you. It wasn’t fair. It was selfish of you to keep his beauty all to yourself, but that’s what made having him like this so special. You knew you were the only one to ever behold such a sight.

“Don’t give me those eyes,” your voice sounded like honey when you spoke. Your fingernails traced aimless lines up and down his exposed thighs, leaving pale marks in their wake. They came to a stop right at his pelvis, briefly leaving his skin before you took his half-flaccid dick in your grasp. You looked up at him again, seeing anticipation in his eyes now, “You know you want it.”

I do, he thought to himself.

“You want my mouth. My tongue. You want me to choke on your cock, don’t you?”

Yes.

“You want to stuff my mouth full until I gag?”

God, Yes!

“You want to cum down my throat?”

Fuck, just do it already.

“Huh, Hyunjin? Answer me, honey.”

Despite the humiliation he felt, he tried his best to do what you asked. But his reply came out in muffled nonsense. The spit from his attempt seeped into the fabric you used to gag him, and created a wet spot on the corners of his mouth.

“Good boy,” you praised him.

His heart beat quickened as he watched you lean forward and press fluttering kisses along his thighs. They trailed upwards, until you were at the base of his cock. He was still a little soft, but nothing you couldn’t deal with. You kissed him all over, up to his tip. Your lips puckered, peppering small smooches against his slit. You let spit bubble up and drip down his shaft—lots of it.

Hyunjin loved messy blowjobs.

He didn’t tell you that, but you could just tell. There was a glint of excitement that settled in his gaze as his eyes trained on your every move. His breathing pattern picked up in pace, and his fingers twitched, having nothing to grab onto.

“You’ll be good for me, right? You’ll let me suck your cock, and you won’t cum until I tell you to.”

He nodded furiously, pathetic little ‘mhm’s being eaten up by the fabric between his lips. You smiled, eyes returning to his hardening shaft in your hand. You opened your mouth and sucked in his tip, loving the way he filled your mouth as you went further down. When you got as far as you could go, you hummed, and a small whimper sounded from Hyunjin’s throat.

You pulled your mouth almost completely off, then took him in again, and repeated that a few times, slowly. His erection leaned a little to the left naturally, so your right cheek bubbled with the tip of his cock pressing into it. The sight made his head spin.

Soft gagging noises filled the room as you took him in deeply again, his tip touching the back of your throat. It was uncomfortable for you, and it was getting harder to breathe, but you didn’t care about that. You cared about having him on the brink of a raging orgasm. So you added your hands to the mix, using one of them to massage his balls. He let out a whine, like a sad puppy, and his eyes closed for just a moment before opening to watch you again. He couldn’t help it; he needed to watch you torment him.

You made eye contact with him while you sucked him off and fondled him. You made sure to let your drool pool up at the corners of your mouth and drip down his cock. Once you had enough of his balls, you started to pump the bottom of his length, using your drool as lube. His arms and legs were flexing with unbridled energy; he was itching to get out of his restraints. He wanted to touch you. He wanted to caress your face. He wanted to feel your spit all over his hands as he pumped his cum into your mouth. He wanted to hold your head down his cock until your nose brushed his pubes. He needed it. But he couldn’t have it, and it was killing him.

“You’re doing so well, Jinnie. Just a little longer.”

The tears were brimming in his eyes now, creating sparkles in the corners. You felt your heart become mush at the sight. Despite your act right now, you had the biggest soft spot for your boyfriend. Because at the end of the day, that’s all this was: an act. As soon as he decided he had as much as he could take. As soon as the safeword left his mouth. You would praise him and give him the most comforting hug you could manage to give him. You would rub his skin where the ropes held him after you took them off, and he would thank you for treating him so well. You both would get the sexual gratification you wanted, and you would both be happy.

“Where do you want to cum, baby? My mouth? My face?”

His eyes widened and his brows upturned at the first option, so you repeated it. He nodded his head vigorously.

“Okay, pretty boy,” you held his eye contact like you had him under hypnosis. He wasn’t even watching your ministrations anymore, his eyes solely existed to look into yours in that moment. He wondered what he looked like in his current state. You always told him he looked beautiful, but he wanted to see it for himself. He needed to remember to ask you next time to bring a mirror.

“Cum.”

Hyunjin’s eyelid twitched and the flood gates sprung open. Just like that, at the uttering of the word, ropes of his seed jetted onto your tongue. You had taken his tip back into your mouth just in the nick of time, and as he continued to cum, you sunk yourself further down his length. You went as far as you could, but with his semen filling your throat, you could only do so much.

You swallowed it all, holding back a cough as you let the bottom half of his shaft out of your mouth. The fat tip sat on your tongue for a moment, poking your right cheek again. Your tongue laved his malleable skin, feeling the faint veins in it. The salty, creamy essence was vaguely left in your mouth as he fell out of it with a wet ‘pop’. Rugged breaths and humidity clouded you as you felt your face growing warm.

Hyunjin was absolutely spent, his eyelids growing heavy. He was exhausted, and he only had two orgasms so far. He watched, in shock, as you reached for the gag in his mouth, wet to the touch from his saliva. You pulled it out from between his lips, and you took a second to admire the puffiness and redness in his lips. The faintest pink lines at the corners of his mouth made you smile. Gorgeous.

“Ready to use that pretty cock of yours, my love?”

He wasn’t. If you fucked him now he would be so sensitive. He would go insane. But a big part of him wanted to feel your insides so badly that he couldn’t think straight. Lust was the only thing that stayed consistent in his head, and it plagued his every thought. It plagued his lips as he spoke the first and only word that came to mind.

“Yes.”

— taglist #1

@jaylaxies @xiaoting999 @kookthief @zaddywilk @wonrangwoo @pedriswrld @ikykleeknowww @odisdad @abby-grace @jungwonloveer @pinklemonadeflav @celestialplatinum @luvkpopp @nlklstan @kisses4denji @jenos-eye-smiles @a-l-i-y-a @channiesprincess @bekah931215 @mrsdacherry @heerinnie @fairygirl18 @cinnikoi @im-ur-calico-cat @unlikelysublimekryptonite

[thistlefaethfort]

anyway I hope you all know that doubt isn't married to rage, doubt is married to hope. over and over again when you are unsure, the human spirit finds reasons to believe in the good and ways to hope that it will be okay in the end. kristen applebees is unrelentingly hopeful, she chose doubt because she believes that not knowing is better than being wrong, but when she doesn't know she is hopeful that she can fix things or things will be good in the end. cassandra, you deserve to be married to unendurable hope, elpis if you wanna get more of the greek pantheon that brennan keeps bringing up in there.

[slavonicrhapsody]

Let’s talk about Mt. Gelmir

Mt. Gelmir is one of my favorite locations in the game because of its striking environmental storytelling… the minute you start exploring the slopes of the volcano, you can just FEEL that something awful happened here. The imagery is so potent that I wanted to go through every detail of the region and explore how it supports and expands the story we’re told through dialogue and text. Let’s start with the text on the Mt. Gelmir sword monument:

“The Assault on Volcano Manor

The squalid, the sick, the blasphemous;

A wretched, unending war with no glory”

This dismal description refers to Leyndell’s attack on Praetor Rykard’s forces at Volcano Manor. After the Shattering war broke out, Rykard declared his intention to take up arms against the Erdtree itself: this was not just treason, but blasphemy, marking him as “an enemy, never to be forgiven.” We can conclude that Rykard’s blasphemy was so unacceptable that Leyndell made it a priority to silence him as quickly as possible, sending an army straight to his doorstep. I believe it’s implied that Rykard had the Mt. Gelmir Minor Erdtree burned as his first act of blasphemy; we find the tree destroyed amidst a smoking ruin:

The assault on Volcano Manor, introduced to us by Gideon Ofnir as “the most appalling battle in the entirety of the Shattering,” was the site of some of the most horrific violence in the entire story. Traveling around Mt. Gelmir, we can observe the gruesome aftermath of the battle and the remnants of the armies continuing to struggle — some scattered groups of Leyndell soldiers remain, while the only troops left to Rykard are his marionettes and iron virgins, since his knights have long since deserted him after his hideous transformation. (Side note: I love the detail that Rykard uses marionettes and avionettes, which were “crafted to serve the sorcerers;” it further cements his identity as a sorcerer and his connection to his Liurnian heritage.) Despite having no real soldiers though, Rykard’s grim constructs seem to tear through the remaining soldiers of Leyndell with ease, which we can observe in real time:

The death toll of this conflict cannot be overstated — the slopes of Mt. Gelmir are literally piled high with bodies.

Within a pit of corpses, we can find the spirit of one of Rykard’s men, who says this:

“Lord Rykard… If this putrid field of death is what your blasphemy would bring, then I can no longer abide. No one can.”

These unspeakable horrors are enough to make Rykard’s followers question if the cost of resistance is too high a price. Leyndell’s armies are just as badly affected — stranded on the mountain with no hope of reinforcements, we can observe several soldiers feasting on the bodies of their fallen comrades:

These soldiers have long abandoned any hope of achieving glory, and are little more than mindless husks at this point. Furthermore, if we return to the sword monument, something you’ll notice as you make your way over is that there are several Leyndell soldiers who are affected by the frenzied flame. At the same time, the troll soldier guarding the door to the Manor is also affected by the frenzied flame:

The frenzied flame is affecting soldiers of both sides of the conflict here, which tells me it wasn’t being used as some kind of weapon, but that it took hold independently… I believe that the frenzied flame was embraced by the soldiers here due to the sheer hopelessness of those who have experienced this uniquely horrific battle. The ethos of the Three Fingers is essentially that the world is full of unendurable pain, so it must all be melted away so no one will suffer ever again: “the Greater Will made a mistake. Torment, despair, affliction... every sin, every curse. Every one, born of the mistake. […] Those who gave me grapes howled without words. Saying they wished they were never born. Become their lord. Take their torment, despair. Their affliction. Every sin, every curse. And melt it all away.” (Hyetta)

The soldiers who fought on Mt. Gelmir have experienced untold suffering, the very worst of humanity… it makes perfect sense that such people would be susceptible to the essence of the frenzied flame; to want to burn this tormented world to the ground.

[a-memory-a-distant-echo]

do you ever think about how when we see their backstory, di feisheng and jiao liqiao are both victims? jiao liqiao physically restrained and surrounded by jeering, threatening men about to assault her; di feisheng restrained by mind control and jeered at, threatened, until he has no choice but to fight? both of them trapped, her knowing that she can't even hope for the escape of death, him knowing that if he dies here, he'll never be free?

and jiao liqiao takes that terror and violation and sees how it could be a tool she could wield.

and di feisheng takes that terror and violation and sees how it is an unendurable moral injury that has to be eliminated.

do you every think about how they were both so focused, both so driven, both so fully fixated on the single person who was their goal, their reason for everything?

and jiao liqiao let her obsession with di feisheng turn her into someone who would destroy the world, would destroy di feisheng himself, as long as it meant he would be hers.

and di feisheng let his obsession turn him into someone who would save a world he doesn't care about, would give up everything he's worked for, if it meant that li xiangyi would live.

[hellowoolf]

on strawberries and masonry: chapter v

series summary: you atone for your sins, now, in a jackson garden, learning to care for soft things and yourself. joel miller is a lethal sort of similar, and misery loves company

OR

you live in jackson and meet joel and you’re both damaged little babies and fall in love (but i’m drawing this shit out🫶🫶)

warnings: angst, age gap (reader late 20s/early 30s, joel 50s), maria is pregnant, the dinner party trope™️, joel picks reader up (but its actually been foretold that he can hold any weight ever, so don’t even worry about it), jealous!joel, possessive!joel, SMUT !!!!!, fingering, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected piv, breeding kink (don't...even start), creampie, FEELINGS !! (as always, let me know if i missed any !!)

word count: 7.9k

authors note: an epilogue will be (probably) on the way but this is our last full chapter !! gag !! this is my first ever series and i'm so elated i decided to write and release it. this last chapter drained me mind body and soul and i don't know how i feel about it but i really hope you enjoy <3

series masterlist | masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the realization of your feelings for joel, that against all better judgment you’re tumbling somewhat unceremoniously in love with him, nestles itself between your ribs to scratch at your bones. it’s a tolerable ache, at first, and because you refuse to give into anything, you let it remain while joel fucks you on his tongue and fingers. you let him cover your skin in his spit and your slick and the marks of his fingernails, and inch closer to the doom of loving him, believing yourself capable of handling it, willing yourself to handle it. and you do. mostly.

what comes first is a need for him you’re unequipped for. his refusal to fuck you properly again (a promise he has continued to hold himself to) becomes increasingly unendurable, and you’re pushed beyond even the lust for him you’d fought against months earlier. you need him, daily, at least, pulling him behind the stables or coming to slam on his door so you can live another day. you want to please him, to mend him, to save him, even though you know you are incapable, and you try what becomes embarrassingly often to get on your knees for him, but he always denies you. yes, this is the first symptom of your almost-love, a wanting that reaches your innermost self and expands beyond the edges of you.  

the second symptom is anger, a nefarious deviousness against him, a spiteful resentment for the small ways he rejects you. you are less cautious with him, nipping at him on patrol or in the dining hall with your own sexuality, constructing heavily unsubtle innuendos and whispering them in his ear. you’re looking to punish him, so irrevocably that he’s compelled to kiss you again, to fuck you again, but until now you’ve failed at ensnaring him fully. you barely recognize yourself this way; you have never been one for this wild sort of flirting, the obvious kind, but you succumb to it regardless. 

the softness of him is the worst part. you skim your hands up his thighs and pull on the loops of his belt to tempt him to you in the ways he still refuses to give, and he’ll deny you orgasm as punishment, but still he materializes on your porch, or sits you next to him in the aftermath of the pleasure he does allot you, wet with your arousal, and lets you tell him about your life, leaves you breadcrumbs of his. he likes that spot he found on your neck that night when you cut the strawberry, wraps his palm around the base of your skull to feel the warmth of it, and with his callouses circling your skin you know that this is the most awful thing, the most terrible. it’s shameful, really, that he should show you this kindness when you’re this close to complete devotion to him.

“what d’you think, little wolf?” 

little wolf. maybe this trumps even his hand on your head. last week, with three fingers in your dripping cunt joel had stilled his hand in you, let you thrash against him while he smiled into your hairline, and you bit hard into the flesh of his shoulder, leaving the marks of your canines there. easy, little wolf, he’d grunted into you, and he felt you pulse when he said it, so he’s kept the name, uses it often.

“hm?” you lift your head from his thigh, bare legs curled up along the couch while he sits back on the cushions. he’d tugged you from your walk to your garden into his home, licked into you while you pulled on his hair, made you come on his sofa like he’d savor the stain. his hand comes from around the back of your head to your face, thumb sweeping across your chin and along your bottom lip. you take it in your mouth and suck, eyes on his as his own mouth drops open.

“bout the jam. you want me to show you how to make it?” he repeats, voice low and broken as you swirl your tongue along the pad of his thumb. you’d brought the strawberries up again, how many you have and the white fuzz they grow; noah helped you remove the heaters from inside the greenhouse as temperatures rose outside, but a chill remained, and so your plant began a slow death. you’re left now with a small batch you like the idea of preserving in sugar and heat. you like the idea, too, of joel teaching you things, of him watching you learn. you nod slowly. “when?” he tilts his head as he asks. you pull from his finger and trail little unhurried bites along his palm, down the inside of his wrist. you want to suck his blood.

“tomorrow? evening?” 

he nods, eyes hooded over as he watches you. slick drips between your thighs and sticks them together, wetting over the dried come he’d pulled from you minutes ago. you smile against his skin, teeth grazing his pulsepoint. 

“you a good teacher?”

he grins and grips back at your head, tilting your chin up to his face as he leans down to you. “a real delight, i swear it.”

your noses bump and you want to kiss him (the whole of it is you’d like to suck his tongue into your mouth and hold it there, feel behind his teeth, let him spit onto your tongue), another vice he’s denied you since that first time. he sees it in you, this wanting, so he threads his fingers through your hair to hold you in place. the tug at the roots makes you rub your thighs together and he inches closer, close enough to whisper onto your lips “go home, little wolf,” and pulls himself off the couch. he’s practically limping with how hard he is, the strong outline of his cock casting shadows as he walks away from you, and it only serves to make you wetter, but because you’re certain he won’t let you help him (you tried in the stables this morning, hay softening your fall to your knees, but he’d hauled you back up with a gruff quit it) you pull your pants back on and retreat to your home. 

stepping down his porch you bring a hand to your stomach, joel’s refusals of you burning green and orange there. the flames heat your skin and lick through your fingers, and the warmth indulges the part of you that hates him, but the rest of you (the part that loves him, lord help you) bends under the pressure. you drop your hand as you approach your house and find tommy leaned up against the fence post. panic seizes you for a moment, but you tamp it down sharply; surely, he can’t know where you’ve come from, surely he can’t smell him on you.

“isn’t this a little past your bedtime?” 

he looks up at you with a smile as you come to stand fully in front of him. “yeah, well, i figured you’d be comin back from the garden right about now.”

something sparkles across your cheeks and you hope he doesn’t notice. “mhm. how’s maria doing? she’s in the, what, second trimester now?”

tommy nods, that boyishness and the pride of fatherhood puffing his chest. “that she is. she’s a wonder, i tell ya. don’t know how the hell she’s doin it. but the nausea’s gone away now, so she’s just restin up.”

“i’ve been wanting to come by and visit, but i didn’t know if she’d want me there.” it’s the truth; you’ve seen very few pregnant women in your life, and the magnitude of it frightens and delights you. besides, as little as she seems to enjoy your company, you suspect it’s a lonely existence, cooped up by the windowsill growing little arms and fingernails, and you’re self-aware enough to know you owe yourself to her. 

tommy scratches the back of his neck. “well that’s what i wanted to come ask about, actually.”

you tilt your head. “me coming to visit?”

he hums. “maria’s been wanting some socializin, some…” he waves his hands around, looking for the word, “interaction. i figured you could come over for dinner.”

“just me?” you can’t help the surprise in your voice.

“...no. noah, too. and my brother.”

your throat dries out and you stifle a sputter. yes, indeed, dinner by candlelight with your most long standing existing friends, of which you have only two, a pregnant woman who sees you as you have been (a knife, with a girl on the end), and the man you’ve been fucking but not fucking (and you think you may be in love with him, also, but you try to keep this bit irrelevant). yes, yes. a fantastic idea! what a delight!

“i don’t…i don’t know, tommy. maria’s never been my biggest fan.” please, don’t make me come.

“come on, don’t say that.”

“i don’t mean any offense, i just don’t want to disturb her.”

“you ain’t disturbing her! i’m telling you she’d like it if you came!”

“tommy-”

“she barely tolerates my brother as it is, at least you’ll be there to occupy him. please?” and he asks with such sincerity, such unknowing of the things you’ve done to joel, and you know there is no way out.

“yeah, okay. okay. i’ll be there.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“so you’re goin to this…what is it? dinner party?” 

joel’s halfway through a bite of something red and meaty when he asks, and you clamp on his moving jaw with your palm.

“don’t talk with your mouth full, sting, it’s not very southern gentlemanly.” he flips your hand away with a grunt and you bite your tongue between your molars to keep from smiling. “yes, i will be there.”

he shakes his head and leans back in his chair, looking out at the milling people filling the dining hall. “i still don’t understand the point of it anyway. the hell we playin family for?”

“joel, you are family.” his eyes flit to yours. “tommy’s family, i mean,” you clarify. he nods, some sort of relieved, the disappointed sort, you feel. you do your best to shake the stick of it, of that feeling, off.

“then why are you goin?”

“well, as it happens, i was invited. besides,” you snort, an unattractive thing but you let it pass, “i think your brother hopes i’ll keep you entertained.”

“entertained? you bein serious?”

you’re golden and beaming with how he looks at you, so incredulous and muscled and stiff with restraint from touching you, you can feel it. “i think his exact verbiage was occupy. he wants me to occupy you.”

“jesus.”

“buck up, cowboy, i’m a delight.”

“uh huh.” you think it’s meant to jab at you, that little grunt, but one end of his mouth turns up as he says it, an imperfect cover of his grin. “he ever do this kinda thing before? before i came?”

you bite the inside of your cheek and look to the ceiling. yes, he did, once. he’d been patrolling with pete mcneilson (a scrawny thing, squirrelish and panicked, but as young as you are) and decided you were fated to be wed, worked his hardest for weeks to set you up. he’d planned the dinner in hopes it would serve as a first date, but your halfway abnormality and owlish inspection of him—tommy’s words, really; he said you looked straight through the poor thing—had frightened him, you suspect. you consider lying, though these days such attempts rarely come out right with joel. you sigh. “yeah, once. maybe two years ago.” joel raises his eyebrows, urging you on. you sort of mumble, “it was a ploy to set me up, really.”

he drops his fork onto the plate, lets it rattle, and you nearly flinch. you’re somewhat surprised to find yourself expecting him to be angry, not that he’s under any obligation to be. really, you might like him to be angry, but he chuckles, instead, biting and smug as he is. “set you up with who?” 

“don’t laugh.”

he raises his hands in surrender, grinning, still. “i ain’t, only askin for a name, baby.”

how often he uses it hasn’t dulled the sharp spasm of want that word seizes you with. “no laughing.”

“what did i just say?” he leans closer. “gimme the name, darlin.”

“pete mcneilson.”

joel does not keep his promise. he chokes on his laughter, heaves with it, tenses his ribs to keep it in the box of his chest, but it tears out between you anyway. oh, how gorgeous he is this way. “christ almighty, pete?” and then, shaking his head to himself, he adds “he’d be fuckin helpless.”

you scoff. “the fuck you mean by that?”

joel continues eating again, self-satisfied with some glorious victory that lays itself over his face. “helpless with you, darlin. you’re too damn vicious for him.”

you think for a moment. “little wolf, and all that?”

he clears his throat, laughter dead in the back of his throat but eyes still pinched a little in the tension of his smile. “somethin like that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you think it’s a mistake, going to this dinner, as you walk out your door, smoothing your jeans down your legs. you know it’s a mistake when you walk in and see them all, the whole lot, milling about tommy’s home, your varying degrees of relation to each clashing violently. tommy rushes through the kitchen, mashing boiled potatoes and checking on meat that pours steam from the oven when he vents the door, and maria watches his frenzy with a pleased sort of smile. you know she’ll tense when she sees you here, and so you allow her another moment of secluded safety with her husband, and look around for joel; you’re almost embarrassed at how desperately you search for him, but all of it drains from you when you find him standing next to the dining table with noah, being what could only be described as talked at. you’re filled instead with a gripping warmth, pink and new, at the sight of him, so big and disinterested. he may remain mostly secretive of his feelings with you, but joel is intrigued by you, this much you are certain of, and the picture of him this plainly un-intrigued makes you feel singular, selfish, important to him. yes, tonight is a mistake.

“i can’t believe my eyes, the town ghost has appeared,” noah calls out from across the room. you give him your best attempt at a grin, eyes pulled like gravity and lust to joel but working to keep them ahead.

“in the flesh,” you dip your head in a bow, and noah pulls you into a hug. over the slope of his shoulder you see joel, hip cocked and brittle, and you both have the same thought simultaneously, that he’s never held you like this, not once. for all his increasing softness, he has never held you like this. he’s already angry, you think, gnawing on the figure of you in noah’s arms. you pull away and position yourself between them, nodding to joel, mainly for show. “i haven’t seen you in ages, noah, how are you?” and your sincerity is barely there, so slippery with joel so close, but enough to convince noah.

“haven’t you heard? i’m a mentor, now,” he smiles with sarcasm and a little pride, too. “been showing jesse how we run the patrols and all.”

you’re trying, so hard you are trying. joel is watching you precisely, hawkishly. “so i’ve been told. you started on our patrol route your first day, i think,” and you gesture to joel, but you can’t look at him, knowing you’ll twitch too damningly in his direction.

“ah, yeah, yeah that’s right.” with a playfulness he continues, “of course, we’ve moved onto much harder routes now.” 

in the compendium of near-family you’ve concocted in jackson, noah serves as the spirited sort of brotherhood you imagine was normal decades ago. when you met, skittish and cut open as you were, noah found great joy in poking at you; your hardness grated against the easy youth he’s clung to, and you think he liked the challenge of it. as you melted more into the jackson scenery, though, became more earnestly open to friendship with him, he learned instead to lend you this ease, the sarcasm and good humor. there’s something lovely about taking it up when you speak to him, though it’s difficult now, what with the distraction at your side.

you cross your arms. “oh have you? you’re that good a teacher?” 

joel coughs next to you, nearly chokes, and you feel the gentle thrum again of a shared thought between you, of yesterday on his couch, of his thumb in your mouth, of the jam (oh fuck, that was meant to be tonight). noah pays no mind, a sweet thing but dull around the edges. “you know it, baby.”

with a squeak of his boots and a grunt under his breath, joel storms into the kitchen and out of sight. you and noah watch him go, your stomach leadened with his absence, and you pull a breath in to lighten the weight, but it’s no use. baby, baby, you know it’s baby that’s driven him away. you feel noah step a little closer to you.

“speaking of, how’s your patrol been? i can’t believe maria finally let you do it.”

you shift: joel, his hands, his voice, the man you killed for him. “they’ve been fine, i guess.”

noah bumps his shoulder into yours. “details, details! you spend every morning with the big bad wolf over there, i mean how does that feel?”

you tilt your head at him. “noah,” you scold.

he brushes off your tone, craning his neck to get a look at joel in the kitchen, continuing, “he seems fucking scary to me. doesn’t he scare you?”

you huff and shove him back, but he looks back at you like he really means it. you’re startled with the sudden urge to tell him the truth, blood and spit and all. it rises in your throat like bile, but you swallow it all back down. “no, not anymore. not…not really.” your voice is heady with the history you and joel have carved with lips and tongues, and you wonder how gory it would all become if you had indulged yourself fully, let the acid of your feelings spill out. as you think it, noah scans your face, looks through it, and you worry for a moment you’re caught, that the whole of it is spread plainly on your features, but tommy comes barreling out of the kitchen with food cradled in his arms, maria in tow, and you’re spared from any further investigation. tommy laughs out your name from the head of the table.

“jesus, i didn’t even see you come in, come sit down!”

you nod, give maria a smile, glance at the globe of her stomach. she’s glowing with it, hand along the curve of her tummy, and she does her best to smile back at you, as soft as she is capable of. noah pulls the remaining empty chair next to him out from the table and you sit, finding joel across from you, biting on his tongue and furious, quietly, desperately furious, looking between you and him. fuck.

like the love, joel’s fury fissures you in two. you are, most viscerally, delighted that joel should be so angry at noah’s arm around the back of your chair. he watches the space between you, daring it to close further, shoulders strung taut like you’re his to fuss over. your heart expands and knocks on your ribcage, arteries singing with the pleasure of it, and arousal pools between your thighs and sticks there.

toe to toe with this delight, though, contends your own boiling rage. how desperately his gaze claws at you serves as a reminder of the ways he denies you of him, of his cock and his tears and his lips on yours. you would gladly give him this, let him bark and snarl like a wild animal in some unhealthy possession of you, if he let you possess him back. but, as it is, the edge of his eyeline cuts you irreparably, marks you with an indictment of you as a lover and him as something less. it makes you fucking furious.

“ellie helps you a bunch in the garden, don’t she?”

you look up to tommy. you haven’t been listening. “hm?”

“ellie. i’m always seein her in the greenhouse.”

you nod, grin at the thought of her. “mhm. she’s been a real help, actually, and it’s nice to spend the time with her. i think a lot of the other kids are sort of afraid of her.”

joel’s eyes gleam over for a moment. he loves her, you know, and whatever rift exists between them has persisted. noah grips your shoulder and shakes it a little, and the shine dries on joel’s brown eyes.

“sounds like a bit of you.”

tommy barks out a laugh and you push noah’s hand away. “yeah, yeah.”

maria lays a hand on tommy’s bicep. “i think it’s good for her. she needs to get acclimated here. she’s not like the other kids.”

you all look to joel. he hasn’t said a thing since you all sat down, actually. he clears his throat, and the rasp of it goes down hard. “no, she ain’t.”

“from what i’ve heard she’s got a real sailors mouth, big brother. that your doin?”

joel’s face pulls into offense. “no.”

“well she musta learned it somewhere,” noah sings. so very sweet, so very dull. joel looks like he might skin him.

“she came like that.”

“came like that?” noah repeats.

this is so very off limits. tommy and maria give each other a look, and they glance across the table to share it with you. stop him, for the love of god. you turn to noah, plead quietly, “just drop it, noah.”

“what? i’m asking him about himself,” and then to tommy and maria, “i can’t ask him about his daughter?”

what began as a wholly good hearted attempt at conversation has morphed, you realize, into the same sort of bear poking noah used to do with you. he’s calling joel’s prickliness and raising him a teasing interrogation. but for all your similarities, joel is not like you now, he will not absorb it as you did. he stares, lethal and still, at noah, elbows on the table. 

“come on, we know nothing about the man. i want to hear your stories! give me something.”

joel scoffs and you ask again, “noah, please.”

“how am i doing anything wrong here?” his words devolve into childlike mumbles, unused to being denied this way. “i’m trying to make some fucking conversation.”

voice resigned from subtlety, all desperation, you call across the table, “maria, how’s your pregnancy coming along? tell us a long story about it.”

tommy snorts with your bluntness, but all three millers soften with a breath. maria rubs along her tummy, smiling down and speaking, but you go deaf to it as noah brings his arm all the way up, slinging it across the line of your shoulders. and you know, like all the other touches and like his antagonizing of joel, that he means nothing real by it. but joel takes the world in as meaningful: all of it, including noah. you can’t bear to look at him, but even still you burn with the steaming point of his gaze, frenetic and livid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“joel, jesus, slow down,” you call out as you hurry after him. tommy and maria had let you all loose to the jackson twilight, and with a smiling salute noah pranced off home, brushed already of the dust he knocked loose from joel at the dinner table. but joel eats up the ground in front of him with large, pacing strides, muscles corded in the back of his neck. you want to ride him, punch him in the stomach.

“go home.”

you catch up to him, grip a hand on the sleeve of his coat. “i will not go home. i want you to have a conversation with me first.”

joel doesn’t stop, drags you with him through the front door of his house by the fabric of his jacket. the door slams behind you and as the sound rings out joel whips around, boxing you against the wood. he heaves, little hurricane in his chest, casting shadows on you, even in the dark. “i’m not in the mood for a conversation.”

“yes, sting, i gathered that, but you’re being a fucking asshole.”

he huffs and looks to the ceiling, praying, you think, for divine intervention, or perhaps a lightning bolt to set the house ablaze. he can’t look at you when he asks it. “have you fucked him before?”

“jesus christ, no!”

he laughs, a little insane and swinging like a church bell. “seemed damn cozy in there to me.”

“yes! i’m sure we did! he saved me from bleeding out in the middle of winter joel, i told you that.” he adjusts his stance and peers back down at you, looking almost sorry with the thought of you red and unmoving, but because your fury is insatiable you poke him in the chest, adding, “besides, what if i had? what’s it matter to you anyway?”

he grips your wrist, asks incredulously, “what’s it matter to me?”

“no really, why give a shit? i promise i’ll still let you stick your fucking ring finger into my–”

“not another fucking word.”

the diseased part of you laughs with the irony of this moment, at the anger and jealousy you’d hoped for in the dining hall this afternoon; it isn’t exactly what you’d pictured. you sag with that thought. “please, baby,” his grip on your wrist tightens when you call him that, “throw me a bone. you seem entirely disgraced by the fact that we do…what we do, god forbid anyone found out, you won’t even,” you push a quick breath from your nose, “you won’t even waste the fucking energy to fuck me, kiss me. so tell me, please, what is your problem with–”

“you wanna know my fuckin problem? you drive me fucking crazy. i am clinically fuckin insane, darlin, and it’s your fuckin fault. beggin me to fuck you, fuck your face, i mean jesus, the things you ask of me.” and then, mainly to himself, “i ain’t strong enough for this shit. the hands and the eyes and the,” he remembers you in front of him, faces you again, “and the looking, i mean what—shit—what kind of fuckin look is that? you look at me like–like–”

“like what?”

“like you love me. you look at me like you love me. do you know how fucked up that is darlin? and i’m doin my goddamn best to keep you at arms length and it’s damn near impossible but i knew that first time that i–” another heave, “that i’d fuck you again and i’d love you too. be in love with you. and i couldn’t be that selfish. how could you ask me to be that selfish?”

his fingers around your wrist have formed more into a desperate sort of hold, thumb reaching up into the cup of your palm. the weight of his admission presses through your diaphragm, that i’d love you too, but the rift in you, the love and the anger, is growing savage, and you lash with it. 

“i’ve never asked a fucking thing of you. i’ve wanted, jesus joel i’ve wanted, but i never asked you to go on this emotionally stifled quest to prove—prove what exactly? that you’re good? i mean, christ, we’re both awful!” you poke him hard in the chest. “you’re awful and i–i’m awful, and,” the momentum of your fury is slowing, you can feel it dragging its feet, “and you won’t let me get close to you. i’d let you in anywhere. and you won’t,” the loving is thawing from you, and like snow in your hands it drips into water and dirt, down your front, and you’re crying suddenly, caught up in the great tragedy of what you’re about to say. “you won’t let me do it, you won’t let me love you even a little bit. but i can’t help it.” you flatten your palms on his chest, gentle, nearly losing it at the hummingbird winged hum of his heart. “if you can’t do it, i’ll leave you alone. i promise you, sting, i will leave you alone, i won’t ask again, i won’t beg it of you. tell me you don’t feel it and i’ll go.”

he takes a stilted breath in and looks down at your fingers on his front, runs his rough hands up them slowly, feeling you here with him. “i–i…” 

you nod, tears hot and fat running lines down your cheeks, and move to pull away. you open his door behind you, facing him still, but he jerks something frantic and closes it again. his hands come up next to your head on the door, and the both of you are so silent you can hear the wood creak with the press of his palms. you wait.

it comes out with a great pain at first, a terrible ache you see in the grimace of his face, but it eases as it goes, eases as he tells you, “i love you, little wolf, i do, i do.”

and then there’s a moment of stillness, of unsureness. what do you do now? what does anyone do now? oh, but he loves you, he loves you, you have to write it on a wall somewhere, burn a forest and bottle the ashes, wreak some irrevocable havoc. he loves you. 

you drag a hand from his chest up to his face, and with a shudder he leans into the warmth of it, nods against the skin, affirming some wordless agreement, and leans down to press his lips to yours. and it’s been so long you can’t help the whimper that escapes you, squeaky and wet still with the damp residue of your tears, but he’s soft and hot against you, pulls his hands down around your waist and squeezes into your spine. you say his name against his lips and he nods again, presses harder, groaning when you pull the hair at the nape of his neck. you open your mouths to one another, hoping to suck each other’s souls out, you think, and he licks into your mouth with a moan. you’re still whimpering his name somehow, over and over, meaning nothing by it other than you like the taste of it along with his tongue, joel, joel, joel, and he replies with the heated moving of his hands along your body. 

joel grips under your ass, pulls you against his cock as he ruts you into the door, speaks gruffly against your lips, “tell me again.”

and you do, somewhere between your moans, “i love you, i love you,” and he seizes with the sound of it, ducking his head to suck marks into your neck. you hitch a leg over his hip and he takes it as an invitation, dragging his cock through his jeans again along you. 

with his face still in the crook of your neck and a muffled up he hoists you fully into his arms to take you up the stairs, and if you were more lucid you would notice you’re in the same spot you were months ago, the first and only other time he let you have him, but as it is you swirl your hips as best you can against him as he walks, biting the skin that beats with his jugular. you’re drunk on the scent of him, on the pressure of his body. he lays you down on his bed and leans over you with wild eyes as he drags the fabric of your shirt up. he mouths along the skin as he bares it, mumbling into your skin, “so pretty here, baby.”

you raise your back from the bed to pull your shirt and bra off fully and he groans, hands flying to grab at your tits, tracing a line between them with his nose. “and here.” you lift your hips and he pins them with his own, the heft of his cock dragging against your clit through your pants and you mewl with it. joel moves back up to your ear, still pulling at the flesh of your breasts and rolling your nipples between his fingers, to whisper, “i’m gonna take you slowly. can you do that, darlin?”

and no, you’re not sure you can, but you nod breathlessly anyway.

“good girl.”

that drives you fully to madness, you think, and you tilt your head back into his bed, writhing into a moan. he smiles into you as he moves his face back down, down, past your sternum, hands moving to pull at your jeans. “can i take these off?”

“yes, please.”

he nods and pulls them from you, and runs his hands back up your legs. you can feel your own dripping, the gusset of your panties soaked through with arousal, and his smile drops as he looks at it, a single finger coming to run down the fabric. you shudder, and so does he, you think, hand still on your thigh tightening as the pad of his finger wipes along the dampness. “fuck. this for me?”

you’re already nodding. “yes, yes, you, please, touch me, please.”

and with that joel is pulling them down your legs, leaving a trail of glistening slick where the fabric sticks to your flesh, and joel heaves you to the edge of his bed, kneeling with a grunt to the floor. you hum around a whine as he bites and licks up the insides of your thighs, his own moans reverberating back to you. his fingers, wrapped around the crease where your legs meet your torso, will leave bruises, you’re sure.

“joel,” you plead, but he doesn’t really hear it, heaving open mouthed around your cunt now, breathing you in.

with a long inhale he drops his forehead to your navel, squeezes you between his hands. “so good, baby, this pussy is so good.”

your eyes slip shut and you feel yourself pulse with his words. joel sees it, too, and finally, fucking finally, closes his plush lips around your clit, slurping and sucking as you all but scream into the space of his room.

“fuck joel, fuck, oh my god.”

“yeah?”

you thread your fingers through his curls and tug, and his groan makes your hole flutter. he circles his tongue around your little button, flattens it, flicks over it with the tip, and the drool of his own spit mixes with your slick as it slides from your hole to his sheets below you. you’re fucking aching now, so empty as he sucks around you, but before you can even plead for them, you feel his two fingers slip inside you, gliding in easy around the wetness he’s pulled from you and the slip of his saliva. he curls them, petting against someplace only he has ever reached, and you keen.

“that’s it, huh? there?” and it’s only halfway smug, all the rest earnest, and you pull harder on his hair. your nerve endings flare up and catch fire, his scissoring fingers within you, his taste buds on your clit, his sheets bunched at your head, it all tears at you with unbearable feeling, you feel with an intensity that blurs your vision. with the pulse around his knuckles, joel can feel how close you are, raising his lips from you with eyes hooded. “oh, you’re close, darlin, i fuckin feel it,” he rasps, and you nod again, delirious and mouth open, as he circles his thumb in the path of spit his tongue left. the noises you make would be humiliating in front of anyone else, you think, but his brows furrow with each of your blasphemous little whines, and so you let them claw out as he watches his fingers thrust in and out of you. “c’mon little wolf, let it go, let me have it.” and you do, you throw it at him, really, pulsing around his fingers and gushing down his hand, moaning wildly something that sounds like his name as he groans with the squelch of it.

he pulls his fingers away only as you relax, spine released and flat again on his bed. he drags his eyes up and down your body, spent but not yet satisfied, as he rids himself of his own clothes, and your pussy shudders with her own heartbeat again as you take him in. his cock reaches stiff between his legs, blushing and pearled with precome, and you lick your lips with finally, finally. he pumps himself once, twice, stalking towards you again, but you stand from the bed with shaky legs, sit him in the wet spot you made together. as you sink to your knees he curses and squeezes the base.

“jesus christ, baby.” but you only smile as you run your nose up the underside of his shaft, tentatively pressing the flat of your tongue along his head to collect what’s escaped him there. the salt and musk of it makes you whine and you fit your lips around him, laving along his skin and watching his hands bunch in the sheets. you smooth your lips down his head, lower, lower, and suck, cunt fully dripping again at the noises he makes. a broken version of your name leaves him as you start to bob your head, spinning your chin as you come up, letting your teeth graze the vein along the underside. 

“oh fuck, you—shit—your mouth is so fuckin good,” and he brings a hand, now, to collect your hair and wrap his fingers around it, anchoring himself more than you, “yeah, yeah, that’s it baby, fuck.” you moan into him and his hips twitch as it moves through his skin, and fuck you want him to fuck your throat. you bring your fingers up to move his other hand, clenched taut at his side, to your head, pushing it down to show him. his fingers tighten in your hair as he starts to move you on his own, pulling you into him as you gag and swallow around his head. “oh fuck, oh fuck,” he grunts, hips starting to rut up to meet your face, and your hand finds its way to your clit, rubbing in tight circles as he thrusts deeper, sputtering as he grits out, “fucking gag on it.” you hum, so gloriously pleased with yourself and the taste of him, feeling him twitch in your throat, but with one final drag of your tongue on him he pulls you off. you start to whine but he’s heaving you up by the elbows to straddle his lap, grabbing you by the jaw to bring your face to his. your tongues meet and circle, the both of you groaning at the taste of the other, and he drags his wet cock along your seam. you angle your hips so he catches on your opening and his hands tighten on your waist.

“you still want it, darlin?”

you almost laugh, maybe you do, nodding with your hands on his shoulders. “yes, yes, please.”

and when he pushes in it is not like last time. he’s slow, agonizingly so, as he lets you sink down, your forehead dropping to his as you groan in unison. you clench and throb when your thighs meet, fully seated, and he pulses inside of you, but he doesn’t move yet, brings a finger from your waist to between the wings of your shoulder blades. as you breathe together, chests meeting in full flex, he drags the pad of his finger down, your body open and seizing with feeling of him. 

“you like to touch me there,” you whisper.

joel nods. “it holds you up.” and something about it makes you wail. when his finger reaches the bottom, he bands his whole arm around your back, pulls you impossibly closer against his chest and moves his head next to yours, asks into your ear, “can i move now?”

you twitch as his breath fans over the side of your face, whispering back some sort of please, please, and he starts to thrust into you, slowly but deeply, so deeply that his tip kisses your cervix, and you both hold each other tighter as he drags back out.

“fuck, joel, so good.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

“you’re fuckin—ah—soakin me, baby.”

between the whispers in your ear joel takes your lobe into his mouth, biting and releasing, kissing the spot beneath it. your body tenses in his arms as his cock ruts in and out of you, still so slow and still so much, and his bicep around your back flexes to keep you in place. 

“what is it?”

“fuck me faster, please,” you whimper. you feel his little smile into your skin.

“you said you could take it slow.”

“and i—fuck—i’m trying.”

he groans, long and with the movement of his cock in you. “one more second like this, just like this.” you try to roll your hips again but his grip stills you. “you have no patience, do you?” you shake your head. without a word, he reaches up to push your elbows up and over his shoulders, and you wrap your arms down his back. he nods a little, whispers just like that into your skin, and you throb around him.

the slap of his skin on yours rings through the room as he speeds up, thrusts meeting you, and you scream like this is salvation (you think it might be). neither of you can control your noises now, not that there was much control to begin with, and joel grits out agonized moans into the arc of your ear. your nails scrape up and down the skin of his back as he pounds up into you, clawing marks and holding there. again you’re on his name, repeating it with a fever and a cry, joel, joel, joel.

“fuck, i fuckin love the sound of my name like that, baby. you sound like you’re mine.”

you do your best to nod, head bobbing at his shoulder, i am yours, i am yours, but still it’s only his name coming out. he fucks you harder, holds you harder, moves like a zealot into your softness. he brings a thumb to your clit, circles it tightly, eats up your noises with a gluttony that pulls you right there, right there. 

“i’m so close, joel,” you whimper.

“fuck, i know, i fuckin feel it. come on, darlin, come on my cock.”

again, you do, you do as he asks, pulled tight into him as you pulse and thrash, ecstasy washing over you.

“yeah, that’s—oh god—that’s it, that’s it,” he rasps, thrusts unrelenting, slapping against the wetness dripping between you. as the rigid pleasure runs through you and your body relaxes again, he picks you up, knees his way up the bed to place you down beneath him. you watch his face pull together as he forgets his plan for a moment, fucks you into the bed with a hand on the headboard, but he collects himself again and heaves you over by the crook of your knee so your stomach is to the mattress, keeping the head of his cock inside you. you hold yourself up by your knees and elbows, feel his hands spread down your back and around the globes of your ass before he picks up his pace again, hips meeting your ass in harsh bumps that make you scream into his pillows. the kick of him inside you is coaxing your body again towards orgasm, and you arch your back for him. 

“such a tight fuckin fit, ain’t it?” you whine in response, pushing your hips back against his. he pulls you up, back flush against his chest, spreads his knees a little to rut deeper up into you. with what sounds like waning sanity, he grits into your ear, “you make it fit for me, darlin, i know you do.” your bag arches off his chest as you go stiff, so startlingly close again. you’re defying your own anatomy now, gone from the confines of your body, submerged fully in a rapture that beads like sweat down your skin. “fuck me, you gonna come again?”

“yeah, yes, fuck” you heave.

he nods against your shoulder and slides the paw of his hand down your front to rub you, using the flat of his hand to press into your clit. “i’m gonna—oh fuck—you’re gonna make me come, where do you want it?”

and you know you shouldn’t, but you’re so fucking close, and you want it. “inside, joel, please.”

his thrusts are stumbling now, losing rhythm. “yeah? you want me to fill you up? fuck,” and he laughs breathlessly, “tha’s how we’ll tell everyone, i’ll fuck you full of my fuckin baby.”

the both of you vibrate with that notion, buzzing together, barely human anymore, and suddenly you’re falling into climax, a third and quick and jolted one, pulling him with you as you clench and flutter, and the pump of his warmth inside of you feels like the most wonderfully selfish thing you’ve ever done. and as his cock softens inside you, a mix of your come sliding out, he’s really just holding you, wrapped up in his arms on his bed. he kisses you in the silence, up the line of your shoulder and to your ear. “stay here, baby,” and he pulls out as you lie all the way down, wipes you both with a rag before climbing up behind you and cradling you in the crook of his body. 

night has fallen fully now, but the moonlight peers through his window and marks the wall ahead of you. joel’s hands are warm as they run up your sides, draws his name on your hip. you smile.

“sting.”

J–O–E–L. “hm?”

“will you tell me again?”

he stretches out his fingers and leans his head over yours. you turn to meet his face. and you think it hurts him, still, to say it, but he does, forehead creased with sincerity and a will to tell you anyway. “i love you, little wolf.”

“i love you, too.”

joel thinks a moment. “are you…” you sit up a little to see him fully, and even in the darkness you can see the flush of red around his ears. “do you still want me to show you how to make the jam?”

oh god, he is so tender for such a violent thing. “mhm,” you hum, but turn all the way over to situate yourself into his chest. through the hair spattered there, you add, “later.”

his thumb finds your spine again, traces it like he’s done before. in his arms here, you can admit that this, now, is your greatest achievement, the closest you’ve ever been to sacred. the puffs of his breath on the top of your head, the slowing of your heartbeats as you both drift towards sleep, yes, this is holy, a sanctified thing, the loveliest thing you’ve ever grown.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

aaah !! i can't believe this story has come to a somewhat-end !! i can't thank you all enough for the support on it. as my first fic it was fucking terrifying to put out, but i'm so glad i did 🍓🤍🤍

taglist: @koshkaj-blog @limerence4u @shotgun-shelby @5oh5 (let me know if you wanna be added or removed !!)

[lumism]

mike's parents commission a painting to send to his fiancée, jane. mike is much more interested in the painter.

Moonlight breaks through the branches of the tree, and falls onto the old swing set. Mike sits with his legs hanging over one side, while Will's are thrown over the other. The collar of his shirt is unbuttoned, and Mike’s eyes keep traitorously falling to the exposed skin.

The night breeze brings a relief from the warmth of May, and an unendurable feeling of hope. Mike holds it in his hands, and just for a moment, thinks that he might see things with perfect clarity. The world, it seems to him now, is infinite- and yet no larger than this garden. The two of them. The freckle on Will's throat.

And perhaps that is why, once Will makes a casual comment about the weather, he responds with a feverish request of: “Run away with me."

Will looks up at him, blinking. Mike swallows. The words don't disappear, and neither does the hope. "Run away," he repeats, more steadily. "With me?"

[lastlymatt]

Julia Rothman's Letters

These are my quick transcriptions of what we can see of Julia's letters. John's handwriting is atrocious in places, and some parts were either too blurry to read or covered up, but I've done my best.

Edited after receiving some very lovely and helpful messages. Thanks, everyone!

Top letter

27 July 2004 w, When I close my eyes, I can still taste the wine we shared and smell incense on the air. I can still picture you in that exquisite gown, your golden hair, your eyes on mine Am I alone in these thoughts? It feels like only yesterday since we first met and yet nearly three years of service have passed that, without you, I feel sure would have been unendurable. I found the enclosed photograph of the two of us at the 'school'. Keep it safe and close. with love, xx

Small yellow letter

27/12/[01?] My dearest w, A dreary time without you. Can't wait to be at the palace with you again. H [or JR]

Bottom letter

Dear The temperature here is cold enough, but I feel it all the more acutely for not being near you. I can't decide if the memory of our [illegible] blessing or a curse it plays over and over in [illegible]

I hope that this helps anyone

[tansyuduri]

From the latest chapter of "Our Stars Still Shine Together."

Arthur pulled Merlin into his arms, cradled him against his chest so he could see his face “Merlin! Merlin, can you hear me?” There was no response. Merlin’s expression was one of unendurable pain. His eyes were still squeezed shut, black lashes brushing his pale cheeks.

“Clotpole!” Arthur tried insulting him hoping for a response. Any response. “Dollop head! I’m using your words Merlin!”

Merlin gave no sign of hearing him. He was lost in the pain and anguish that showed so clearly on his face.

Arthur kissed him as he had done in the crystal cave. This got the slightest response from Merlin… stirring very slightly but nothing else.

Arthur lifted him up, nodding to the others briefly before heading straight to their rooms with Merlin in his arms.

He sat on his bed, used an elbow to draw back red curtains, and looked down at his warlock. He didn’t know what to do. Besides that, he had to ask himself what could bring Merlin that much pain. I can be here for him , he decided. 

Arthur carefully removed Merlin’s shoes and dirty clothing, getting him into something soft and clean before laying him on the bed and changing from his own clothing. He wet a washcloth and lay next to Merlin on one side, carefully cleaning the blood from his lover’s face with a gentle hand. He moved closer to him as he did so. “Merlin.. I’m here.” 

When Merlin's face was clean Arthur wrapped an arm around him pulling him even closer to himself helplessly as they lay there on the bed. “I don’t know what you are going through Merlin… I don’t know what's happening… but I want you to come back…” 

Arthur cleared his throat and added hollowly. “I order you to come back…” 

When that got no response he continued. “Until you do, I'm going to lie here with you. You might want to come back soon or we’ll both miss breakfast.. You know how I am without breakfast.” Arthur cleared his throat again.

After a several minutes he finally admitted, “I’ve never seen you like this…I don’t know what to do…”

Arthur didn’t want to think about the amount of pain that could make someone like this. He didn’t want to think about Merlin in that much pain… 

“Merlin! Please… I don’t know what to do.” 

They lay there, Arthur internally panicking and Merlin lost in some world of pain inside his head, Arthur watched his face, his profile lit by the new electric lights, and smoothed messy black hair from Merlin's face. “Come back to me… Don’t you dare stay like this.”

Finally his hand slipped into Merlin’s, giving it a gentle squeeze.

And Merlin's hand squeezed his. 

“Merlin!?”

Merlin’s hand gave his another squeeze. A squeeze that said I’m trying , and so much else.

Find the fic here!

[orpheuslament]

tony kushner the man that you are (source)

[regalevansworth]

Little Fawn

Pairing : Lloyd Hansen x Male reader

Summery : When your own father's exploits lead upto you being kidnapped by a tyrannical sociopath, there is no way you are getting out of the man's den in one piece or worse. But when the said man has a look of undeniable lust and claiming desire upon the first glimpse of your innocent being, would you be able to deny those inappropriate urges? Or you'll be the man's little fawn for the rest of your live?

Warnings : Passionate SMUT 18+, hint of non-con, oral sex, unprotected anal sex, age difference, size difference(you're cute n tiny)-sort of a kink too, daddy kink, dirty talking, biting, choking, rough manhandling, belly bulging, pet names(pretty boy, baby), possessive Lloyd(duh!) — remind me if I miss any.

Words count : 5.3k+

A/N : Here it is! My first ever fic that I have the courage to finally post. Actually, I had some other plans for my first fic, this idea came outta nowhere thanks to 'The Gray Man' and delicious Lloyd Hansen. Idk if it's too much cliche or rustic(self-deprecation talking, not me) but I've enjoyed writing it. I profusely apologise for my mistakes and story longevity (cz I love things slow). My special thanks to @chrisevansxmalereader for your endless support and love and all other authors up there who's writings inspired me so much! I genuinely hope you enjoy my writings as well. Likes and comments are highly appreciated. Love you all and- here goes nothing ;)

________________๑♡⌓♡๑_________________

You must be dreaming. There is no way of deeming this sudden horrible turn of events otherwise. Because, one moment you are arranging all the notes for your upcoming biology test and the next, you are slumped down on a huge sofa with an unendurable throbbing in your head.

After what felt like an hour of blinking slowly and trying to adjust to the surrounding lights, you come to your senses. Your first instinct is to scream— at the top of your lungs– for help because you know damn well that you've been abducted, mercilessly. But you hold back knowing that it'll only bring more catastrophe if it hasn't already.

You cautiously take in your surroundings and make yourself acquainted with pristine and somewhat historical looking structure. A room surrounded by walls that are dark-ish white, reagal furnitures and huge doors and windows with white see-through curtains.

Said doors burst open with a sudden clattering of footsteps- resulting you to jolt in surprise. "-agency should know that the fucker's son- well, hello pretty boy!" came a deep but somewhat amused voice, forcing you to look in the eyes of the source. You meet with the bluest of eyes that are now laced with something questionable.... dangerous....something like insurmountable hunger. And also something sinister like a predator eyeing it's prey. It is surely enough to make you squirm in discomfort.

Then you took in the sight of the handsome specimen with an equally handsome face, manly jaw, huge biceps, wide shoulders, thick neck and a splendid silhoutte going down to a tapered waist- all the things accentuated by the tight black turtleneck t-shirt he is wearing. Thick thighs and long legs draped with a pair of off-white chinos. But what caught your gaze the most is the weired looking moustache underneath his nose which makes him look rather funny except for his substantial presence being quite threatening.

The man- Lloyd Hansen, a former CIA mercenary, psychopathic killer, tyrant, ruthless barbarian an so on.....can't take his eyes off of the beautiful sight before him. You- with your dilated (e/c) eyes, soft (h/c) curls, pretty (s/c) smooth skin, plush soft lips and thin but elegant limbs totally left him out of breath. The light purple oversized hoodie you're wearing exposed the smooth expanse of your shoulders and neck that he'd absolutely love to cover with hickeys and bite marks.Oh, the things you make him want to do to you

Instructing his men to leave, Lloyd slowly stalks towards your frame—now curled up into a ball by hugging your knees to your chest. Never in his life has he ever been derailed from his mission this quickly. But just a single glimpse of you looking up at him so innocently, has him forgotten all about the task and what he has been hired for in the first place. It's like a lyric-less song resonating from your core and luring him in. And he knew there and then, he wants to— scratch that— need to have you. Inhibitions long thrown out of the window.

Watching him advance upon, you try to scoot backward but instantly meet with the headrest of the couch. He carefully leans in to your visage level. You make a futile attempt look away only for him to grab your chin and make you look him in the eyes. To say that you're scared would be an understatement when you are utterly terrified because every bit of the man's expression is screaming danger and that you're in trouble.

“My my, what a pretty little thing you are! Didn't know that the bastard had a full bloomed dahlia in his garden!” the man commented with a perilous grin. “What are you talking about?” you whimper out. You know that your father isn't some sort of noble-man working for humanity, if the abundance of his wealth is anything to go by and that he definitely has some secrets. But what in the hell is this?

Then the man let out a dark chuckle, “Aww, you don't know anything about your daddy's petty business, do you littlle fawn? That you're here because of him?”

“I don't understand. Who are you? Where am I?” You frightfully demand, raking your head around the room.

Without another word, the man ducks down and licks a long stripe across your shoulder and neck with a soft but firm kiss behind your ear, his moustache tickling the path. You let out a sound somewhere between gasping and whining before gripping the man's shoulder with both of your hands. “Mmm...your skin tastes just as sweet as it looks, baby. Fuck!” He slids a thumb right under your bottom lip and continues, “Unfortunately, a sweet thing like you should also be ruined, don't you think?”

The dark edge to his voice accompanied with his hot breath against your neck make you shudder in timid anticipation. “Please, don't hurt me” you feel tears prickling your eyes. If the man has something bad planned for you, you only hope that it doesn't include actual manslaughter. “Oh, baby! You're such an innocent little lamb, aren't you?” The man drawls. “Don't worry, we're gonna have so much fun together” he states with the same smirk.

Your confusion only augments when he pulls you up to your feet and picks you up without a warning and starts to stride towards the nearby king sized bed. You gasp in surprise and try to wriggle out of his grasp. The next thing you know, the man lies you down gently on the bed. He starts to run his palms up and down the sides of your torso, making your thighs quiver in it's wake. His dark and hungry gaze burning through your skin, crawling like a raging fever.

All of a sudden, a pair of soft chapstick tinted lips crashes onto yours and all of the air from your lungs have been abruptly kicked out. He's devouring you like a drowning man for air and all you can do is clung to those ridiculously huge biceps for leverage. The kiss is frantic, urgent with need, smacking loudly in the otherwise silent room. You make a sound at the back of your throat which makes the bigger man groan and deepen the kiss. You're having a hard time keeping up as the man kisses and nips your bottom lip, it's all harsh teeth and tongue. Having no experience on the act of kissing makes your moves sloppy but it does little for the man to back out.

A fresh tear slids down the corner of your eye. You're still trying to make out the situation and trying to figure out what is happening. What is he doing? Is he going to have his way with you? Without your consent? Defile the innocence you've been carrying all through your life? Are you going to forcefully loose your virginity to a man who is all but gentle? Or is this some kind of cruel nightmare?

Before you know it, a thick tongue is prying you lips apart and seeking access to your mouth. Your disapproval sound goes totally ignored as the tongue roams the inside of your mouth, tastes every nook and crevice making you moan and whimper shamelessly. Your responses only intensifies the man's hunger, drawing an aggressive growl from him. By the time you both are panting, taking in rugged breath as he breaks the kiss.

“Wai-wait-wait, please! Don't do this to me, I'm begging you. I-I-I... don't wanna get hurt” You outright beg and try to shove him off of you by his shoulders but he grips your wrists just as tightly. When you look him in the eye, you see the same daring darkness returning, blue orbs eclipsed by the blown wide pupils, then returns that toothy smirk.“It's okay, sweetheart. I can see it's your first time. Let me take care of you. Let me make both of us feel good” He suavely persuades.

The juxtaposition of his words and expression is making you uncomfortable, totally perplexed and beyond frustrated. But before you have the time to protest, he is attacking your neck with open mouthed kisses and bites, leaving a trail of hickeys all over your shoulder and collarbone. Bright purple bruises are forming on your skin by his harsh suction and lastly in a manner of soothing he licks over the marks.

By the time he is finished with your neck, you are a writhing, moaning and whimpering mess. As much as you loathe to admit it, but all these intimate actions, physical contacts have somewhat left you craving for more. You are absolutely mortified by your eagerness but the man is attending to you, giving you the attention you longed for so long after being shielded and preserved, grounded for the sake of your own safety. So, you don't essentially put up a fight when he starts to undress you even if you're still a bit unsure.

When the last part of you clothing has accompanied the rest of your attire on the floor, you are completely naked before the man. Cheeks flushed pink, you try to cover yourself up as much as possible with your palms but he takes your wrists and swats them away. Lloyd- is totally awestruck by your beauty, sprawled under his heavy gaze, spit slicked lips-bitten red, neck and collarbone marked prettily, you are like an angle to this god forsaken world. Delicate like the wisps of autumn.

“You truly are a work of art baby, so beautiful!” he rasps as he ducks down to peck you on the lips. He slowly trails his kisses down your body. Your neck, shoulders, chest and special attention to your nipples. He sucks on them as if determined to draw anything that must be kept underneath. You can't help but moan at the sensation making the bigger man groan against your soft skin. Oh! Not to mention that you're painfully hard by this point, cock leaking and twitching against the curve of your belly- all thanks to his little ministrations. Even if your sub-conscious mind is still alarted, your body is responding, appreciating and seeking more. Your nipples are all puffy and red and glistening with saliva after he finishes.

Then he stands upto his knees. Eyes still glued to your heaving figure, he pulls his shirt over his head before going to unbutton his pants. Your mouth goes totally dry at the sight of his hard-muscled form. Comically broad chest and impeccable pecs with some light dusting of dark blond hair, cheseled abs going down to the v-shape of his groin, a trail of hair following the skin and disappering under the band of his black boxer briefs. Arms looking extra huge now that they're accompanying the whole package. He notices that you're staring and smirks to himself making you blush to the root. Then he tugs at the waistband of his briefs and-

“Oh!” There sprangs free the biggest cock you've ever seen. Although, the only cock you've ever seen is obviously yours but still, you can guess the comparison. Standing there proudly, the cock is thick from base to the tip, long and veiny, mushroom shaped head flushed an angry shade of red making you gulp involuntarily. The thing is unblemished and has a slight upward curv. Balls looking heavy and full, hanging between his parted thighs. And suddenly you're very(very) nervous. Thighs closing instinctively.

Sensing your nervousness, Lloyd gently nudges your thighs apart and gets between them. He noses at your jaw and purrs, “You're gonna get this cock, baby. No matter you accept it or not. I'm going to have you the way I like. But first, you have to work for it”

With that, he stands up again but this time moves out of the bed and stands at the edge before beckoning you closer. Your perplexed state remains as you crawl towards him on your hands and knees who is now lazily stroking his cock all the while eyeing you hungrily. He then places the tip of his cock at your lips and traces the soft petals, smearing the precum all over them. You stare at him through your fluttering lashes the entire time and as if you're expecting further command. His dick jumps at the sight.

“Open up” he orders and you obey like a good boy. Then ever so slowly, he pushes his gargantuan cock past your lips and you experimentally give the tip a lick. Grimacing at the bitter taste of his precum you move your tongue at the under side of his dick, moving up again swirling around the tip and hear him groan in pleasure over you immediately. Then you take him in hand and embolden by his groans and moans, lick his cock from the base to the tip before kissing the head and closing your lips around it. “Fuck” he curses and shoves his whole length down your throat.

Before you have the time to adjust he starts to thrust his cock over and over in your mouth. You desperately grab at his strong thighs fot support. “Fuck, baby just like that. You look even more beautiful like this. Mouth stuffed full of my cock. Taking everything I give you” he groans overhead. “Are you gonna drink all of my cum too, little kitten? Gulp down all the thick milk I give you? Hmm? Like the good kitten you are?” You can do nothing but to whimper in response. All of this filthy talking is making you more aroused than it should.

“Yeah, I know you will. You're practically gaggin' for it, aren't you? My sweet, greedy boy” the last two words are punctuated by deep thrusts that have you choking on his length. Drool and spit dripping down your chin which is also making his cock glisten, looking even more intimidating and enraged. Looking up through your lashes, you take in the sight of his heaving chest, quick deep breaths are leaving his nostrils like some sort of lifeline. Pecs and abs are already sweaty and shining from the laboured thrusts.

Gripping the sides of your head, he starts to thrust in more urgently.soon you become light-headed from the lack of oxygen and can do nothing but to relax your throat that is now achy from the intrusion, hollowing your cheeks to make it easier. Tears stinging your eyes, gagging and gargling sounds leaving you mouth as you choke on his cock.

“Breath....nghh...thr-through your nose, baby. You're doing s-so good” He instructs or more like grunts with all his might and with one last particular shove, he pushes his cock all the way down your throat and keeps your head firmly in place where your nose is planted against the thick bush of his pubic hair, taking in his clean musky scent. You gag and choke the entire time and paw at his strong thighs. With a shuddering groan, he pulls away, a few strands of saliva connecting his cock to your lips, and smacks his hardness against your cheeks, drenching them with your own spit. You try not to feel too humiliated by the action.

“Fuck, that was amazing baby! Now, it's time for your reward” he breaths out and pushes you on your back on the bed. Taking both of your legs in his hand, he lifts them up and presses them on your chest, nearly bending you in half. “All flexible and bendy for me, huh? I like it” he chuckles, a little breathless from having you fully exposed before him. Your pink little hole winking at him, fluttering from the sudden contact of cold air. Groaning at the sight, he fully dives in starts to lick and lap at your sensitive furl of muscles, the most private and sacred place of a human being.

Your eyes widen at the sudden action. Mouth falling agape with a silent scream from the knowlege of how filthy and dirty this whole thing is. But when a thick tongue pokes it way in your entrance, you lose all the battle of resistance and let out a loud moan clutching the sheets either sides of your head. You hear the man groan, sending vibrations through your body making you arch in complete pleasure. Cock leaking a generous amount of precum and ready to burst at any moment. Just a few tugs would be enough to pull you colser to the edge.

That's why when you start to reach out, a strong hand shooes it away.“Nuh-uh, no touching yourself. Let your pretty little cock weep a bit more!” you hear the man chiding from underneath you. Then he again dives in, this time with much more vigour. He licks, slurps and sucks at your hole, prodding it with his tongue. Occasionally kissing at your inner thighs and entrance. The coarseness of his moustache making everything a lot more sensitive. Your entire body heats up when obscene slurping noise reaches your ears. Your own hands shoot down to grab the head between your legs, not knowing if you want to push away or keep it into place as choked out moans leave your bitten-red lips.

“Pl-please, I can't take it anymore, please!” You sound so wrecked already and you feel Lloyd smirking against your hole. Your entire world seems to stop spinning as he finishes making a meal of your entrance and comes back up with a kiss on it. “Yes, you can take it. You can take everything I give you. You'll be so good for me, won't you?” His every coaxing sentence is punctuated with a kiss, hands gripping either side of your head as you shook it back and forth.

“Yes you will. You will be a good boy—” The man continues. You still shake your head violantly, eyes squinted close and mumbling coherent words. “—Daddy's baby boy” at that, your eyes snap open. Cock twitching and drooling uncrontrollably on your stomach. Those last three words making you go into a full body shudder.

Lloyd grins at your obvious daddy issues. If only had he known this earlier. “Yeah? You wanna be a good boy for daddy? Let him take care of you? Give you what you want?” You nod eagerly even before you can think about it. “Come on baby, say it” He orders as he grabs a bottle of clear liquid, seemingly lube, from the bedside table drawer simultaniously lubing up his fingers and pressing one aginst your hole. “Yes, daddy!”, you gasp out as soon as the finger breaches your tight ring of muscle. Lloyd starts sliding his pointing finger in and out of you, relishing every soft little sound you make.

It's like a sweet torture for you every time he inserts his finger. Uncomfortable yet pleasurable. But when he pushes in another finger you nearly scream from the immense discomfort. “It's okay, relax. Relax for me baby” the man cooes gently but it does nothing to alleviate the burn. Your tight virgin hole is arrogant to keep the fingers away. But the man is also like a mulish horse, plunging in his fingers despite the resistance.

It's when those fingers touches a certain bundle of nerve inside you, your back arches and cock explodes instantaniously, the filthiest sounds exiting your mouth which you're too oblivious to care about. Like in a matter of seconds your primal pain gets replaced by a world shattering pleasure tremor. Body spasming from the aftershock. Lloyd's booming laughter pulls you back from your daze to actual reality, blinking twice you look at him and frown in confusion

“You just came from my fingers alone? Oh, the things you do to me, baby boy”, Lloyd rumbles and as if to make a point he tugs at his cock, making it jump up and down. He's hard like never before. And just right after, he adds a third finger, further stretching you open. When the copper taste of fresh blood hits your tongue, you come to realize that you've been biting harshly on your bottom lip to suppress your screams. Lloyd, who has been observing both your hole stretched wide around his fingers and facial expression, leans down and sucks on your blood coated bottom lip, a smug smile on his own lips.

Suddenly, the moving fingers inside your body come to a halt and leave immediately. You glance down in time to see Lloyd leathering up his massive cock with lube, eying your gaping hole. Eyes wide with realization of what's coming next, you let out a pitiful whimper. But Lloyd is already upon you, kissing your neck and slowly guiding himself in your entrance. “Shh- beautiful. Relax, open yourself up for daddy. There is no going back now. Let daddy have you” he gently coaxes against your neck.

When the fat bulbous head of his cock makes it's way inside, you are shaking bodily. A deep gutteral sound leaves Lloyd's lips which prompts you to shake even more. The stretch is painful, burning every inch of the skin around. Your head is buzzing like several crickets are jumping around your skull, throat dry from the way you're screaming. But Lloyd isn't stopping and sliding every inch of his monstrous cock inside your perineum. It feels like an eternity untill he sheathes himself to the hilt, cock buried till every single inch.

Lloyd is in heaven. Nothing he felt in his life is as exquisite as the tight grip of your virgin hole around his cock. Even all the chicks he has fucked before can't compare to the feeling he is relishing right now. Their eager pussies which gave their way for his rutting feels absolutely numb. He is having a hard time to restrain himself from start pounding into that tight heat.

Some minutes have passed since your screams turned into ragged breathes. Slowly, the cock inside resting inside you makes room for itself. Your inner walls widening to accomodate his garth. “I'm gonna move now, baby. Try to relax for daddy, hm?” Lloyd said as he pressed his palms either side of your head. Without waiting for your response, he starts to moves. At first he rolls his hips languidly to make more room. Then he starts to pull out untill the crown of his cock is the only thing inside and shoves back in. Your body attempts to jerk back by the power of his thrust but your hands fly up to surround his neck immediately to avoid it. Wrecked sounds seem the only thing your vocal cord can emit.

With wild abandon, Lloyd finally starts to fuck into your body. From slowly inserting inside to slamming back and forth furiously. Your breathy raw sounds are like music to his ears which only rekindling his vigor. “Yeah, you like that, don't you? You like having your daddy's fat cock inside you?” he asks you as he sets a steady rhythm. The only response he gets is another lengthy moan. “Yeah I know you like it. Your greedy little boypussy is hungry for it. Hungry for everything Daddy's going to give it. Do you know what it wants, baby boy?”

You surprise yourself by shaking your head, although you can't blame yourself when you are being fucked within an inch of your life. “Your pussy wants to be owned. It' hungry for daddy's cum, it wants to be stuffed so full of daddy's thick cum untill it can't take anymore” he says those words like he's stating some facts. It's extremely filthy yet does't fail to make your body heat up even more. The movement of his hips gets even faster. Then he grips the headrest of the bed with both hands, practically hovering above you and starts to pound relentlessly. The whole —fucking massive— bed is literally shaking by the force of his thrusts, leaving you dumbstruck by the sheer power the man holds and you can't help but arch up from the bed and whine louder.

When his hands return to your hips, your eyes roams over his face. Thick veins popping up from everywhere, his forehead, neck. Nose flaring like a beast, eyes rolled back in pleasure. His biceps and forearms are also bulging with protruding veins. And then suddenly, he slows down his thrusts. You don't get the time to contemplate before he flips you over onto your stomach, pulls your ass up into the air and one hand pressing onto your shoulder to keep your chest firmly pressed into the sheets. Now you're fully exposed to him, ready to be taken from behind— this realization should be for your utter shame not arousing.

“Fuck! That's a beauty” Lloyd groans as he slaps his cock several times on your cheeks and spits on your hole before shoving back inside in one go. But this time, due to change of angles, his cock brushes that exact sweet spot inside you. Your eyes immediately roll back from the sheer pleasure rippled through your body. Your clench the sheets so tightly you can see your knuckles turning white under your chin, along with a moan that evaporated all your vocal abilities.

Lloyd, encouraged by your euphoric moans starts to hit that spot repeatedly, mentally patting himself on the back to find your prostate without much effort. It's surely drawing out all kinds of sounds that are evident of your ecstasy. “Yes, just like that, baby. Daddy wants to hear more” he encourages. If it wasn't for the jack off earlier in the shower this morning, Lloyd knows that he would've come by now. His cock is being stimulated in the most delicious way possible. Along with the most exotic picture you're making right in front of his eyes.

The onslaught of sensations is making you dizzy. The bigger man hasn't relented his merciless pounding, which is ensuring his cock to hit your g-spot in precision. The drag of his heavy cock along your velvety walls making you both see stars. Lewd sounds of sweaty skin slapping against each other occupy the room. Slowing down his movements abruptly, Lloyd snakes his arm around your chest and draws you up towards him. Back flushed with his chest, he once again starts to move his hips. In and out, in and out, in and out, it's like his body moving on it's own accord that somehow prompts you to push back in return. Meeting his thrusts halfway, it's near contagious. He's panting on your neck, breath hot and wet against your tender skin where he sucked upon not long ago.

Lloyd's one hand grips your hip, another one snaked around your neck, choking your lungs system momentarily. His biceps bulging under your chin obscenely. Skin gleaming with sheen of perseparation. You grip his forearm with both of your palm from one particular thrust he delivers and realize suddenly that the pressure in your lower stomach is palpable! Your belly swells and flattens in time of his thrusts. Eyes wide, you slowly move your another hand down to your stomach and feel the swell. A choked moan ripped through your mouth as you press on his huge cock over your stomach. “Daddy!” you whine loudly. Cock leaking precum and pooling on the sheets.

As if on cue, Lloyd also moves his hand to yiur lower belly and feels the exact pressure. “F-fuck” he curses under his breath and stops his thrust to shove his cock as deep as possible and the press on his palm grows more wider. Halting, he flips you over onto your back and drives his cock in immediately. And sure enough, there's a gentle swell on your flat belly that only his cock able to make. The sight is so captivating and arousing that his cock throbs violently inside you. A sheer possessiveness seizes his mind and soul as red flashes before his eyes. He lowers himself down to your level all the while bucking his hips and growls on your ear, “You know what that means, baby? Hmm? It means you're mine! No one can ever have you like this. You now belong to daddy”

Then he grips his jaw and makes you face him, “Tell me who you belong to” he snarls through gritted teeth. You gulp involuntarily but say nothing. The man looks like a devil, at least a personification of the devil himself. Corrupting everything, your innocence, body and soul. The cock moving inside you taking your sanity from your core. But, these all are objective. For once in your life, you feel owned, wanted and equally important. So when he asks again, “Answer me! Who. You. Belong. To?” the emphasized thrusts only make you to moan out, “You, daddy”

“Good boy” He praises, making you preen in instinct. Then he goes fast, faster, harder. Muscles tensing and relaxing as he pounds deeper. He again starts to kiss and nip your throat. Marking you up entirely. Claiming as his own territory. So that everyone can know that you belong to the infamous—one and only— LLOYD HANSEN. He occassionally taps on the bulge on your lower belly created by his cock, making you arch up from pleasue. He latches his mouth on your nipples and sucks and bites untill they're puffy and raw.

It doesn't take long for you to reach the edge. As he mercilessly rims on your prostate and bucks animalistically. White hot pleasure surge through your nerve system and vision goes blackened as your cock erupts. Scrambling to get hold of something, you grip his biceps and moan as loud as possible. This orgasm is more intense where your body contorts and jerks by the sheer force of it. “Yes, that's it. Let it out baby. Fuck! you're so beautiful. Cum for me” Lloyd groans above you which indicates that he isn't far away either. Mind delirious with aftershock, you just lie there and take it.

And sure after, his thrusts go sloppy. Hips bucking in spasmodic fashion as his big—cum filled— balls draw up. “I'm gonna cum,baby. Shit! You want my cum? Want me to fill you up with my cum, baby?”. Not wanting him to pull out just yet, you nod hurriedly. Satisfied with your reply, Lloyd starts his aimless thrusts. Shoving in balls deep one last time, he starts cumming.

Long, thick spurts of warm cum fill you up from the inside. Soaking up your inner walls. There is so much of it that they're forcing to gush out around Lloyd's cock which is still buried deep. He's all the while biting down on your shoulder to muffle his moans. It's like eternity untill he stops coming. When he's done, he pulls out and watches as the creamy white spunk leaking from your gaping hole.

Lloyd slumps down on the sheet beside you and stare at your wrecked form. Absolutely cum drunk, fucked out, frenzied mess that you are. Without any warning, he pulls you closer to his chest and strokes your cheeks with his thumb. It's an odd gesture of gentleness coming from a man like Lloyd. How can he not be when the most beautiful, pretty and precious boy is beside him. Now that the initial lust has faded (well, mostly for him) he just knows one thing, “You're mine”

Not knowing what to say, you just stare at him and wonder, is life going to be really bad if you decide to be his? The weired sense of possessiveness and protectiveness radiating off of him do nothing to alleviate your confusion. As sleep slowly creeps on your exhausted eyes, your subconscious mind delivers, “I'm yours”

～⁠～⁠～ ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ ～⁠～⁠～

[etudiantfantome]

Night Walk

by Franz Wright

The all-night convenience store’s empty and no one is behind the counter. You open and shut the glass door a few times causing a bell to go off, but no one appears. You only came to buy a pack of cigarettes, maybe a copy of yesterday’s newspaper — finally you take one and leave thirty-five cents in its place. It is freezing, but it is a good thing to step outside again: you can feel less alone in the night, with lights on here and there between the dark buildings and trees. Your own among them, somewhere. There must be thousands of people in this city who are dying to welcome you into their small bolted rooms, to sit you down and tell you what has happened to their lives. And the night smells like snow. Walking home for a moment you almost believe you could start again. And an intense love rushes to your heart, and hope. It’s unendurable, unendurable.

[netherfeildren]

FEAR OF GOD : Chapter VI : The indignity of suffering

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: Go into that dark wood, but do not lose yourself.

Content Warnings: canon typical violence; gore; angst

A/N: I just wanted to say that you all have been so fucking kind and lovely and supportive to me. I’ve read and tried to reply to every single one of your messages and cherish them so so much. I can’t even tell you what it means to me to receive this type of response to something I’ve written, my very first thing I’ve ever shared publicly, at that. I seriously thought this thing’d have two hits, me and my burner account and that’s it. I appreciate each and every single one of you to the end of the earth, and hope I can continue to write things that you all relate to and are moved by and find solace in. Thank you so so so much. I love you and I wish you all nothing but the most amazing things in the whole world.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 3.5K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER VI: The indignity of suffering

Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.  -Richard Siken, War of the Foxes

You sit now in the dark quiet of your living room, facing straight forward, unseeing, feet planted firmly on the floor, trying to ground yourself and count the sounds of your breath. Feel the inhale pass all the way into your body, deep down to your toes, back up again through your abdomen, whistle through your lungs, up your throat and out, back into the world. A repetitive exercise to try and soothe your racing heart. 

You need to leave.

You need to leave.

You need to leave.

Birdie, I love you. Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie. 

Your nails are splintered bloody, the tips of your fingers rubbed raw from the fight in the woods. It hurts, and you pick at the broken skin trying to distract from the other pain writhing within you. Something, something else has to exist in the world that can hurt more than this, than him. Please, please, let there be something else worse than this. You pick harder at the skin. You still possess enough clarity of mind to be cognizant of the fact that your thoughts are slightly unhinged. Something to hurt more? Why? For what? What good would that do you? For the girl who’s always tried to have the answers to every question that came her way, you find that there are no discernible solutions to this. No reason, no way to conceptualize it. There was no easy way to color within the lines in this moment, tuck it all away neatly into a drawer. Your edges are frayed, savaged, bloody and torn. 

He had done this to you – true. But in many ways you had also done this to yourself. You could only go on accepting the way others treated you for so long before it got to be too much. And you knew, once again, that it was all about the choices you made. What were you willing to put up with? What were you willing to let go of? What was necessary for your survival? What would you die without?

I will die without him, you think. 

Asking for things for yourself had always been excruciating. You’d gotten better at pushing that piece of yourself away – that deficit – with age. You saw it for what it was now, something to hurt you, rather than, naively considered, to protect you. And it was time now, to ask for this, to demand he love you out in the open. He could not say the words to you, fuck them into you with his body and his touch, press them into your skin – and then take them back? No. His terror at the possibility of losing you, of you getting hurt sent him over the edge, robbed him of rational thought, you could objectively understand this, but the agony of having him and not having him – of being able to only brush your fingertips along the phantom idea of him, never being able to hold on tight — dig your nails into his skin and draw blood; well that provided grounds for cowardice. Surely, it excused it, even. Because, you think: this is unendurable, unendurable. 

The two of you were made up of so much fear in equal measures. Him, afraid of his own feelings, of showing his softness, of putting that softness in someone else’s hands. And you, you, sometimes you terrified yourself. The lengths you could go to swallow your hurts, to repress the things that broke your heart – you couldn’t live like this anymore. It was too painful, abnormal – emaciating yourself in the name of being strong and stoic. 

So perhaps Joel was right, in this instance. You did. You needed to leave. As a means of self preservation, you needed to do as he’d told you. You needed to get out, away from him. From yourself. From all these people who knew you, and how much you wanted and needed and loved him and fucking prostrated yourself at the effigy of him you’d created in your mind.  You wanted to scream and thrash and gnaw your teeth through the very marrow of who and what you were, and you wanted to say that you hated him and yourself and everything, everything, everything. Why did you have to be this way? Why did he have to be this way? You felt angry and resentful with the world, with life itself. But you didn’t, you couldn’t, say or do any of those things. 

None of them were true. 

What was true was that it was not your responsibility to step between him and his daughter. To defend or protect him from her. That was not your place. Not right now, at least. The struggle between them was their own, could only be mended by them two. 

What was true was that you loved him. And he loved you. You knew this now, without doubt. What was true was that he hurt you. That he was terribly afraid. That he could not allow himself the vulnerability of being hurt again himself. 

Beth. Beth. Beth.  Where are you, sister? I need you.

You needed to go back out. Despite what had happened tonight, and your very real fear that there could be more of those men out there, that woman and her baby were out there somewhere. You needed to find them; there was something inside of you urging you out there to them – the look in her eyes, the sound of the child’s cries – and there wasn’t anything that could stop you from going. The idea of leaving the safety of Jackson’s walls without Joel, without his reassuring protection and competence, caused a fear to surge up inside you that was almost debilitating. But you had to do this. You had to find them, help them in any way you could. The desperation in the woman’s eyes – it was like a mirror of your own terror the night Beth had died. You saw yourself in her gaze in that moment, the terrified reflection of your past self. 

You’d gone straight to Maria from Joel’s. The look on your face, enough to tell her this was something you needed to do now. She’d gone straight to Noah first, then another girl in town, called Vero, both were competent trackers and hunters, and Noah was your friend. You knew he’d help you. They’d agreed to go. You’d head out tomorrow at first light, search the greater part of the day, go as far out as you could and still be able to make it back before dark.  Easy and quick. 

He wanted you gone. He wanted you to leave. Then you would. It wasn’t in your nature to be petty or lash out, but it was in your nature to hide, to swallow a hurt, to run. This was self preservation at its core. You needed to get away from the humiliation. The burning rejection of knowing that you loved him, and that even though he’d said the words, he still saw you as something apart from himself and the things he held close. Not family. 

There was a more level headed part of you that objectively knew he’d be furious to know you’d gone back out without him. That he’d lose his mind when he found out. You couldn’t bring yourself to care. The petty and hurt part, the part he’d just trampled all over, would win tonight, wanted to lash out. If Maria was letting you go you knew your plan wasn’t suicidal – at least not in terms of what you might run into out there. You both knew the three of you could take care of yourselves. Joel, though, he might just kill you himself when you returned. 

But you needed time to conceptualize your feelings. Fold things away as neatly as possible – the things he’d said to you – you needed to shut this love away in a drawer, put it to rest as best as you could. Dissociate from it if necessary, from him. 

You wished desperately for Connie in this moment. For his clear logic and calming baritone. Use your head, honey. The answer’s right there in front of you. For him to pet your hair and tell you it’d all be okay. But he wasn’t here. And neither was Beth or Ellie or Maria. No one you felt could understand, not truly. Really, you knew you wanted to talk to Joel. Knew he understood this overwhelming feeling of having absolutely nothing left to give. That he knew how someone who knows what it’s like to go without, is always willing to give more. Even if they don’t have anything left for themselves. That this feeling you were experiencing now was exactly what held him back from you. 

He understood the sentiment intimately. As hard as he’d tried to push you away, keep you at arms length, shield the softness within himself from your prying eyes and grasping fingers, you’d seen it. You’d even felt it brush up against you. And you knew, you knew, he had so, so much left to give. Even if he couldn’t see it himself. Even if he couldn’t bring himself to share it with you. He’d done it for Ellie. For that little girl all that time ago who’d needed him, and despite his reluctance, fear, trauma, his painful, painful past – he’d given himself to her entirely. 

It wasn’t in you to judge him for holding himself back from you. As much as it ripped you to shreds, you understood him with a profoundness and an empathy you surprised yourself with. Of course he was fucking scared. Of course he was terrified of the risk of pain. Of the risk of loss. 

The mistake was to assume that any person you loved would be, at all times, without fault. Never cruel. Never selfish. Would never hurt you. In love or friendship or family, you now considered, with experience, the real test of longevity to be acceptance of that occasional mistake – whether it be cruelty or selfishness or hurt – it didn’t really matter. The people you loved would hurt you sometimes. They’d say the wrong thing. Do the wrong thing. Make the wrong choice. To err was human. No one was ever perfect one hundred percent of the time, and to allow for that margin of error, was to be merciful in your love. Not only for them, for the person you loved, but for yourself, as well. The capacity – the space to make mistakes and forgive yourself for it, own it and move on – that was true mercy. That was the true promise of longevity. Especially in a world like this, one so full of cruelty and danger and casual hurts. Risk, always risk just around the corner. And Joel, he was not a man who took risks lightly. He was an animal cornered – and a threatened creature does not think of consequences. It considers only survival.

It was in the way you proceeded after your mistakes, the choices, the actions you took to make reparations, that the true test lay.  

All of this understanding, however, didn’t mean his rejection was painless. All the self awareness in the world still wasn’t enough to soothe the sting of rejection. And it stung like a bitch. 

You feel yourself start to tilt sideways onto your sofa, glassy eyes taking in the warm corners of your home. The piles of books, your tacky orange plaid throw over the armchair by the fire, the drawings Ellie’d given you to put up. A life strung together with sheer determination – a safe space. It didn’t feel as safe, as warm, in this moment, without him. Autonomy over your body lost to grief, your shoulder hits the green cushion. You turn your face into the darkness and let the hot press of tears break free. Muffled and quiet, you let all that hurt you wished you could erase, out. The pain in your throat is strangling, trying to keep yourself contained. There is a savagely broken place within you that forces you, even in this moment, to remain subdued, and you wish you could let it all out in a messy explosion of tears and howling. That your mind would allow your physical reaction to reflect the seething pain you’re feeling inside, to let go of restraint for even just a moment. 

When you’ve lost everything, how do you muster the bravery to hold onto something new?

You had it in you to run – to sneak away in the dark. This you knew. To be cowardly – even if only in his eyes. To be selfish. Even if you knew that running away, even after he’d told you to go, was the worst possible thing you could do to him. Be selfish, Birdie. Be selfish for me, just a little bit, he’d said once. Well, you would be. You needed distance and space to lick the bleeding wound your heart had become, and you had something you felt you direly needed to do. That woman was waiting for you out there – you felt it in your bones, the baby’s cry resounding in your memory over and over again.

Perhaps your anger was useless. After all, an animal cornered could only react on instinct, and Joel had cornered himself with his confession. 

But you were so, so tired. You couldn’t fight anymore. 

It’s the end of the goddamned world, Joel. Just love me like I know you do. 

-

You pull the cinch of the saddle, checking it’s secure. You’d slept like shit, the events of the night before replaying in your mind on a loop. His words clanging against your skull over and over again. The dark woods – Beth’s dying screams. The clicking. The look on Ellie’s face – so concerned, scared for you. Scared of what would become of you without him. Dawn hasn’t broken over the horizon yet, but you’re ready to get out of here. 

Sometimes you feel like he isn’t actually real. A figment you’ve created in your imagination. And really, if you’re being wholly honest with yourself, isn't that the most honest truth between the two of you? Isn't everything you think you need from him merely something born from your own yearning? Haven’t you been half-existing without him this whole time? One foot in, one foot out. If you’d never had the whole thing, had you ever really even had it at all?

Perhaps that isn’t fair, to either of you. You can’t tell what’s right or wrong anymore, real or imaginary. Your mind, blanketed by exhaustion, coherence gone out the door like an old lover.

Have I been walking in circles again?

“You ready to go?” You’re snapped from your reverie at the sound of Noah’s voice. Nausea churns in your gut on a low, threatening simmer. Everything held in a tight knot at the base of your throat. Vero’s saddled and ready to go – waiting for the two of you to mount, as well. 

Maria’s old adage, her overused one at that, sounds in your mind: The only people who can betray us are the ones we trust. How right she always is. After all, hurting someone is an act of reluctant intimacy. Who knows your soft spots, where to strike hardest, better than someone who loves you?

Leaving was probably a mistake. In the cool clarity of the damp morning, you’re worried you’re walking into something the three of you are ill prepared for, incapable of handling. But you know that baby is out there – you know the desperation in the woman’s eyes wasn’t feigned, couldn’t be. You had to find them. And Joel’d done most of the heavy lifting, killing, last night – that man’s skull crushed beneath the violent weight of his fist, the stray clickers done away with. All you had to do now was find that woman and her child, and hope nothing worse waited for you out there.

So much had happened in the span of such a few, seemingly short hours.

You mount your horse, and your belly sways with nausea you have to grit your teeth against. Concern nips at your heels, but you can’t think about that now. Not after last night, not in light of what you’re about to set out to do. Perhaps not ever. Perhaps you can ignore your anxieties and suspicions indefinitely. Perhaps then, they can’t hurt you, won’t be made real. Can’t remind you of how alone you’ll be after this is done. 

You have much to do: you must make yourself into stone, kill your memories, kill your desires, find your future. Change the very nature of your soul, if you must, learn to live without him. 

Noah settles on his mount, and you click your tongue, the three of you start to move forward. You’re afraid. A huge yawning pit of trepidation, of terror opening in your gut. This is how Joel must feel all the time. But there’s also the voice in your head, telling you this is something you need to do. No matter what. You feel so keenly, in your very marrow, that they’re waiting for you. There was no discerning evidence as to why you knew you needed to do this, why you felt you’d recognized her, but you did. 

It seemed empirically impossible that the two of you’d have met each other at that precise moment last night. In the tumult of chaos that had crashed around the two of you in that dark wood, that the night had cleared for one precise second to allow you to look at her face, to see all she needed to voice but could not say; that she was terrified, that she needed help. There had to be a reason for that.

You’d been searching for reasons in meaningless things for far too long now. You knew this. You should apply your rational mind to questioning this hair-brained plan, tell yourself that leaving without Joel, despite the things he’d said last night, was suicide. You could very well die, either out there, at the hands of some monster, or in here, after he murdered you for going out there without him. Part of you didn’t really care anymore. A blanket of numbness clouding your judgment. 

You’d always been a girl that had done as she was told, inhabited the place in life assigned to you. Perhaps now was as good a time as any to do something you weren’t supposed to. 

-

You ride for several hours before you’re attacked. The silent woods surround the three of you, moving slowly in the general direction of the clearing from last night, and then further on towards the way which she’d fled. It’s peaceful, the steady cadence of the horses hooves, the wind disturbing the stillness of the trees like a whispered song of the leaves; you think they might be telling you to turn around, to go back to him. And then, as if you’d been struck by lightning, coming to after, only to discover catastrophe of the highest order. You tell yourself you won’t regret your choice to come out here, you won’t, no matter what happens, you all can fight, this was something you had to do. There’s chaos circling you, Vero and Noah’s shouts, a gun sounding, and then you turn to see Vero’s body falling to the ground. There’s a bullet wound straight through her skull, dead center, brain matter splattering behind her in a sick mockery of strewn life. You’re shocked into utter stillness, all thought, all understanding wiped from your brain as neatly as the bullet through hers. This is your doing. 

And then fire, fire, fire, suddenly – shockingly. Pulverizing your ribs, your flesh, your very self. An inferno climbing up your chest, down your hip, and through your arm, spreading uncontrollably. You lose your seat on the horse, and then you too, are plummeting to the ground. The unyielding ground surging up towards your face like a cold wave. You feel as if you fall for centuries, and then your body is slamming sickeningly against the forest floor, your shoulder crunches and you want to howl; your head rebounding so hard you feel your very brain jostle inside your skull. Your vision flashes in and out, blurred and unfocused, and all you can discern are the mammoth figures of the trees around you. Looming over you like monsters in the dead of night, come to devour.

My secret, my secret, I never got to tell him.

You try to curl in on yourself, protect whatever remains of a body you’re not sure you possess anymore. More resounding shots of a gun, again, again, screaming and howling. Perhaps the wolves have descended. He’s going to be so angry, you think. My friends, my friends are dying because of me. Noah, where is Noah? Please, please, don’t be dead too.

You think that if you die, Joel and Ellie have to make up. They have to. He’ll need her so much. 

Birdie, I love you. Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie. 

You should have never left. You should have stayed with him. No matter what he said. What the hell did he know anyway? You should have fought harder. You should have stayed with him. 

The dark lake of unconsciousness swallows you whole. 

Chapter VII

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[89words]

And the night smells like snow. Walking home for a moment you almost believe you could start again. And an intense love rushes to your heart, and hope. It’s unendurable, unendurable.

Franz Wright - “Night Walk” from God’s Silence

[onekisstotakewithme]

As Time Goes By... (Six Years, in Fact)

Each year, January 13th rolls around, and each year I think of something I can write.

I jokingly called today one of my my "M*A*S*H high holidays" even though unlike the others (GFA Day, Party Day, etc.), this one only matters to me.

This time, six years ago, I was in what was (at the time) the most unendurable situation I'd ever been in. Isolated, away from home and deeply depressed... and my dad had gotten me the boxset of M*A*S*H for Christmas, knowing how much I'd loved catching the reruns.

Without M*A*S*H, I wouldn't be here.

That sounds like hyperbole. But it isn't. The show... pulled me out of the terrible mental hole I was in, showed me that even in the dark times, there can still be joy and hope and laughter. It's why I'm so glad so many other people discovered it during the pandemic - yeah I didn't know 2018 would not be the worst thing to ever happen to me haha :/ - and why I've loved seeing the community blossom over the past six years.

I have met, truly, the most wonderful people, thanks to M*A*S*H. Truly, each and every one of you are the finest kind.

So no, today is not the anniversary of the first time I watched M*A*S*H (I started watching it probably eight years ago), but it's the anniversary of the first story I posted, the first proof that I survived that year. 💜🍸