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alltheirdamn · 1 month

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Rotten | cowboy!joel x f!reader

Part III

Summary: When it rains, it pours. You want to hate Joel so badly, but it’s so hard when he keeps fighting for what he wants. Rating: 18+ MDNI Word Count: 7.6k Warnings: No-Outbreak AU, heavy banter and arguing, brat taming, explicit language, mild violence, kissing (!!!), outdoor sex, fingering, orgasm denial, rough unprotected piv sex, squirting, choking, slapping, creampie, aftercare, a fuck ton of angst, a dash of fluff A/N: if you came for the smut, part 1&2 are always there for your enjoyment...but if you stayed for the angst and the ending they deserved, then this is for you. i'll never shy away from angst and the opportunity to deepen a story past pnp, so if you don't like it pls don't fucking bite it. anyway, a HUGE thank you to @lotusbxtch for helping me work this final part out, you are my partner in crime. and thank you @mermaidgirl30 for always screaming about these two with me <3 xoxo everyone, enjoy Part I & Part II

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Storm clouds brewed above you, their grey formation migrating together until the darkness blanketed the sky. The incoming rainstorm made the cattle restless in the fields, and you were fighting through the whipping wind, trying to wrangle them back into the barn. Usually, you’d let them wander through the fields during calmer storms, but the churning clouds made you nervous for what was to come.

Mac hesitated beneath you as thunder cracked through the air, the sound rippling through the rolling fields. He bucked against your grip on the reins, timidly backing away from the path you were guiding him on. The cattle were too spread out to control by yourself, but you could handle it. You weren’t raised to back down from a challenge, and that’s all this was—a challenge. The only issue was that there was little room for error before the storm reached its full potential.

“C’mon, Mac. Y’gotta work with me,” you said, frustrated.

You steered him toward the right side of the field, using him as a lead for the cattle to follow. It was useless; they only ran in the opposite direction and further away from you. You cursed at the sky, gripping your saddle horn as you leaned into Mac’s neck. The storm would come crashing down soon, and you’d be chasing the cows through the downpour alone.

“Y’want some help?” Called out a voice in the distance.

The deep timber of Joel’s voice frightened the herd, making them sprint through the tall grass in every direction. Fuck. You steered Mac around, facing Joel in the direction of him as he barreled toward you on his horse. He had one hand holding the reins, the other holding down his cowboy hat against the wind rushing over his body.

“Fuckin’ dammit, Joel!” You screamed. “I had it under control!”

You didn’t, but he didn’t need to know that.

His horse came into a slow trot beside you and Mac, and you whipped your head to the side to glare at him. Under the shadows of the storm clouds, his brown eyes glinted brightly, absorbing every ounce of light left above you in the sky. God, you hated him. You hated his stupid eyes, his smug smirk, and his broad body sitting atop his horse.

“Lemme help you,” he offered. “Y’can’t get them all wrangled alone. Y’need another horse helpin’ move them.”

“No, I fuckin’ don’t! I can handle it, Joel!”

“Darlin’, I know y’can handle most everythin’, but this storm is gettin’ too crazy to be out here alone. Lemme just help herd them together, then y’can take it from there.”

“Jesus Christ, why can’t y’just leave me alone?” You yelled, exasperated.

You glanced back at the cows, now several yards away and deeper into the fields than you wanted. Shit, this wasn’t good. Kicking your heels against Mac’s sides, you sent him into a full sprint through the open fields, distancing yourself from Joel and propelling yourself deeper into your endless expanse of land. It didn’t matter if you got caught in the midst of the storm; you just wanted to prove your point. You could do this. You didn’t need help. You didn’t want help.

Joel called out your name, the sound of his horse galloping behind you growing louder. You pushed yourself harder, forcing Mac to run faster. Lightning struck down into the field miles away, the blinding light causing Mac to rear upwards. You tried to steady yourself in the saddle, swinging the reins to the side to guide him back onto all fours. He only fought against your hold, jerking his head back and forth as he huffed out a loud whine.

“Mac, calm down!” You begged.

A hand came beside you, gripping the reins and tugging them firmly to the left. Joel steered Mac beside his horse, taking control and limiting your ability to calm Mac down. You tried yanking the reins from Joel’s large hands, but he only tightened his grip.

“This isn’t the time to be stubborn,” he barked. “You’re gonna get caught in the storm.”

“I have responsibilities!” You seethed. “I need these damn cows in the barn ‘fore it starts gettin’ bad. I can’t just leave them out here!”

“They’ll be just fine! It’s one storm,” he argued.

You grasped at the reins, tearing them from his hands. Another ripple of thunder shook the air around you, and you took it as a sign that time was running out. You needed to work against the storm before it was too late. Leaning into Mac, you pushed him into a long gallop toward the herd. You managed to gain the lead around them, zig-zagging Mac until they grouped together. Joel watched from a distance, his horse standing restless in the blowing wind. You were doing this without him, proving you didn’t need help.

The cows grunted as you urged them into a faster pace, the view of the worn-down barn drifting closer. You were acutely aware of Joel trailing behind you but couldn’t find the energy to care. Let him follow. You’d rip him to shreds when the cattle were safe. Mac continued his waltz back and forth, obeying your commands as you guided him in a rhythm behind the cows. You tuned out the sound of thunder rumbling above you and kept your breathing even as you pushed through the wind tearing at your face.

“Alright, let’s get y’all inside,” you said, coaxing the cattle through the open barn doors.

They rustled through the hay-covered ground, veering off in different directions. Some went straight for the water basins, while others huddled in dark corners behind the wooden beams creaking above you. You kicked your legs over Mac, sliding to your feet and giving him an appreciative pat against his neck. Softly kissing his jaw, you smoothed down his mane and waded through the cows to check them over. The sounds of hoofs pounding into the barn startled you—and the cows—and you clenched your fists together before turning toward Joel.

“I told you to leave me alone.”

Dismounting his horse, Joel waltzed his way into the barn, thunder clouds casting dark shadows over his large frame as he walked closer. Under the brim of his cowboy hat, you could see his smug grin and glittering eyes, just watching as you shook with anger.

“All I was tryna do is help,” he explained. “No need to get feisty with me.”

You stepped closer, rage boiling inside your veins. You hated him. You hated the help he offered because he thought you couldn’t do this alone. He thought you were weak—incapable. Well, you weren’t. You were more than capable of handling anything out on your land. That’s what you were raised to do.

“I don’t want your fuckin’ help, Joel. And I don’t want you ‘round here.”

“Why?” He pressed.

You were toe-to-toe with him, staring up at eyes that looked at you with anything but anger. Where was that menacing look he usually wore? Where was his dominance? Why wasn’t he fighting with you?

“You piss me off!” you yelled. “You come ‘round here ruinin’ my fuckin’ day. You don’t take no for an answer. You don’t let me live.”

“Darlin’, bein’ alone ain’t livin’ at all. Why don’t y’want someone ‘round? Why don’t you want me ‘round?”

His body crowded you, his hands roaming up your arms, squeezing your tense shoulders as you disappeared under his shadow. You shook him off, breezing past him and into the open space outside the barn. You didn’t want to give him the answer; you couldn’t explain it without being vulnerable. And Joel was the very last person you wanted to be vulnerable with.

“Hey!” Joel hollered. “Would y’come back inside? It ain’t safe out there right now.”

As if to prove his point, lightning struck the fields just a mile away, the instant clap of thunder rattling through the air. Drops of rain began to pelt the dirt around you, misting your hair and face as you glanced up into the sky. You worked at shutting the fences together, ensuring everything was tied down and secure before the storm hit full force.

Two strong arms braced themselves around your middle, pulling you away from the barn until your boots dragged through the mud. Your house was only feet away, and you knew that’s exactly where Joel intended to take you. Maybe he’d fuck you through the anger like he always did, but not even that sounded appealing right now. You wanted to be alone.

“Let me fuckin’ go!” You screamed, thrashing against his firm grip.

“No. I’m sick of this fuckin’ attitude y’always got. Ain’t gonna listen to it anymore.”

You drove an elbow into his stomach, forcing his arms to slip from your torso as he doubled over with a soft oof. You staggered away from him, staring him down through the pelting rain.

“I want to be alone!” You raged.

“Why do y’want to be alone so bad? Y’don't have to be alone, you know,” Joel argued.

He had a hand pressed into his side, no doubt to quell the pain from your jab, and a grimace twisting up his lips. You were soaked from the rain now, your hair matting down onto your forehead and cheeks as you stared at him. Humidity thickened the air around you, leaving you suffocating in your skin.

“I can take care of myself,” you defended. “I—.”

“I know y’can take care of yourself,” Joel interjected. “You’ve made that perfectly fuckin’ clear! All I’m sayin’ is, what if you didn’t have to?”

“And do what?” You laughed bitterly. “Have you take care of me? In your fuckin’ dreams, Miller.”

Joel dragged a wet hand over his face, his eyelashes weighed down by the heavy droplets. You folded your arms over your chest, your shirt soaked and no doubt see-through. It didn’t matter; too many emotions flooded your mind to even care about your appearance.

“Y’drive me fuckin’ crazy, y’know that?” Joel cursed. “Always gotta be so fuckin’ stubborn and pissy. I can’t stand it.”

“Then why do y’keep comin’ ‘round?!” You tossed your arms up in defeat, huffing out a cloud of air through the torrents of rain.

“Because!” He shouted.

“Because why?”

“Christ, y’just don’t fuckin’ get it.”

Joel tore his hat off his head, rushing toward you. His strong hands gripped the sides of your face, his nose brushing over yours. With a deep inhale, he crashed his lips against yours, the taste of rainwater and smoke falling onto your tongue. Everything inside your body tensed up, too afraid to cave into his embrace. But Joel held you closer, tangling one hand into your damp hair, coaxing your mouth open wider. His tongue rolled over yours, and a moan slipped from your mouth and into his. He swallowed every tiny noise you made, drinking in your vulnerability as it coated his lips. Every slant of his mouth over yours was a step closer to your undoing; he would ruin you completely if he kept kissing you.

“Stop,” you mumbled against his lips.

Joel pressed harder against you, his nose smashing into your cheek as he deepened the kiss. He was consuming you from the inside out, sucking out every emotion and bleeding you dry. You sank your teeth into his bottom lip, pulling it hard until he broke away with labored breathing. He brushed a finger over his mouth, finding blood seeping along the surface of his bottom lip.

“This how y’wanna act?” He questioned, his eyes a swimming pool of onyx.

There it was.

Your chest rose and fell as you tried to slow your breathing, watching Joel flex his fingers at his sides. You had torn yourself from his grip and left him empty-handed; if you did it first, then you wouldn’t have to face the pain of losing him. Christ, the realization hit you like a freight train.

You hated him… you had to hate him.

You wouldn’t let yourself feel anything else.

“Go home, Joel! I don’t want you!”

“Sure fuckin’ felt like y’did,” he huffed.

Then he was on you, wrangling you down into the mud until you were pinned beneath him. Sloshing against the wet earth, you clawed at his flannel, tearing your nails through the soaked fabric. Joel clamped a hand around your wrist, pinning it above your head as he lowered his face close to yours. Your other hand came up to his face, smearing thick mud over his scruff-covered jaw. Every time he leaned closer, you pushed his face away, distancing yourself from the addiction that beckoned; lips saturated in the rain, soft and inviting…a sweet promise of something you could never have. You wanted him to ruin you like he always did; you needed the pain. You needed the reminder that this was nothing but physical that kept you colliding together.

“Stop. Fightin’. Me.” He panted.

“No!”

You continued swatting at his face, mud caking into his mustache and over the bridge of his nose. Joel pried your hand from his face, pulling it above your head and clasping your wrists together under one large palm.

“Enough!” He barked.

He shredded your wet shirt apart with his free hand, the saturated pieces fraying into the muddy ground. With a snarl off his lips, Joel bent down and ravished your body with open-mouthed kisses, his teeth marring your neck and chest. You arched into his touch, hissing at the pain of each bite into your flesh.

“Fuck,” you groaned.

This. This is what you wanted. You wouldn’t fight this because this was what you wanted. Right? You mewled as he marked your body, leaving bruised patches of skin in his wake. Pleasure began to pulsate between your legs, a constant ache that only grew stronger the longer you lay beneath him. You needed him inside you—assaulting you with quick thrusts until your brain turned off.

Joel worked at peeling your pants from your legs, huffing out a frustrated breath as he fought with the denim plastered to your skin by the rain. Maybe you'd laugh at his struggles if you weren’t blinded by so much rage. But you were beyond desperate for release—release from the pleasure boiling under your skin and release from this constant painful ache inside your chest. With your pants and underwear lazily tossed into the puddle of water beside you, Joel smoothed his hands over your curves, his fingers pinching and twisting your pebbled nipples. Every inch of your body was drenched with rain, the droplets pelting your face as you tried to bite back another moan. His fingers roamed down your stomach, slipping easily between your legs and through your silken folds.

“Please,” you whined.

It was the first time you willingly begged for anything from Joel. You bit your lips to hold back any more desperate pleas.

“Look at you, darlin’,” Joel teased. “Finally learned some damn manners.”

“Fuck you,” you snapped.

You chased his fingers, lifting your hips as he brushed the pad of his thumb over your clit. Everything was so sensitive and heightened that you could hardly blame the rain for your eyes blurring as he drew slow circles over the aching bud. Joel coaxed small noises from your mouth as you writhed against the wet earth.

“You gonna be good for me, darlin?” Joel asked, his voice lost behind another rumble of thunder.

“Just make me cum,” you bit out.

“Y’think I’m just gonna give you whatever y’want right now? After the way y’treated me? Nah, I don’t think so.”

His lips twitched into a smug grin, his fingers teasing their way into your slick entrance. Joel paralyzed you with a heavy stare, and you turned your head away, staring off across the field to avoid his eyes. The longer you looked at him, the harder this would be.

He curled two fingers inside you, dragging them over the spongy spot that had your insides rupturing with ecstasy. Every stroke of his fingers was another tug on that pleasure unfurling within your core. Squeezing your eyes shut, you focused on the rhythm of his movements, the quickness of his fingers, the thickness as they stretched you wide.

“Gotta look at me if y’wanna cum,” Joel said, plunging his fingers deeper.

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes tighter. You couldn’t look at him, not right now.

“Look at me!” Joel demanded.

A sharp sting bolted across your face, sending your eyes flying open. Joel’s eyes were darker than the thunderstorm hanging above your bodies, emotions swirling deep within his irises. You saw it all—the anger, the pain, the need. This is why you didn’t want to look at him; it reflected everything you felt, too. His fingers pinched your chin, holding your face firm within his grip. You had nowhere to go. You were trapped—trapped beneath him, trapped inside yourself.

Joel worked his fingers harder and faster, pulling cries from your lips until your orgasm skyrocketed through your body.

“Fuck, Joel!” You cried.

His jaw twitched as he watched you unravel beneath him. Your core fluttered with phantom ripples of your orgasm, your body unwinding from its tension. You had enough of this—you didn’t want to be under his control. Not when his eyes softened and his body pressed closer to yours.

“Get off me,” you begged. “Fuck—get off!”

Joel tore his fingers from you, drawing them into his mouth as he cleaned your arousal from his skin. There wasn’t a single ounce of rage radiating off his body, which only angered you more. For how much fight you were putting up against him, he wasn’t giving in like he usually did.

Frustrated with everything, you shimmied your body far enough upward to twist your hips and swing a leg over his waist. Joel relinquished and allowed you to wrangle him to the ground; your hands splayed over his chest, his shirt soaked beneath your fingers. Joel gazed up at you with hungry eyes while he worked at undoing his belt buckle. Rain pelted his face, washing away the mud as it streaked through his graying curls. Christ, he looked so beautiful beneath you; you would kiss him if you weren’t so fucking scared. But you didn’t want that—at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. Above him, you could hurt him however you wanted; you could torment him until he snapped.

“This what y’want, darlin’?” Joel asked, breathless. “Y’wanna use me? Go ahead.”

You didn’t want to use him; you wanted him angry enough to snap back into his commanding nature. You wanted him to break you apart. You wanted his handprints seared into your skin and his filthy words in your ear. But he kept staring at you with eyes that could fracture your heart into a million pieces. There wasn’t a hint of darkness in his eyes anymore, all of it replaced by that deep-rooted need you couldn’t stand to look at.

Joel’s cock throbbed in your hand as you lined it up with your entrance, the velvety skin damp from the rain, sliding into your sex without resistance. You lowered yourself until his length filled you completely, the stretch rendering you speechless. Slowly, you began to grind against him, letting your body move fluidly until you buzzed with newfound pleasure. It coursed through your veins, igniting that fire low in your stomach you so hungered for.

You rolled your hips faster, leaning into him to thread your hands through his matted curls, your nails digging into his scalp. Joel wouldn’t move with you—he lay there with his hands gripping your waist, letting you take the lead.

“Keep usin’ me, darlin’,” Joel whispered. “I can take it.”

It wasn’t what you wanted to hear. You hoped your nails clawing in his skin would elicit a response…anything. You sped up the tempo, raising yourself along the length of his cock and pushing yourself down.

“I hate you,” you panted, throwing all your weight into each drop of your hips. “I hate you so fuckin’ much.”

“I know y’do,” Joel said softly.

You dragged your nails down his hair and over the graying patches of hair along his jaw. Dirt collected under your nails as tiny red welts rose to the surface of his skin. Joel wasn’t phased by any of it, not even a grimace of pain when you squeezed your hands around his throat.

“Hate me back!” You begged.

“No.”

You choked him harder, throttling him as your sex clenched around his cock. You couldn’t even focus on the pleasure curling inside your stomach, your anger suffocating every sensation in your body.

“Goddamnit, Joel! Hate me!”

His tan skin flushed underneath your hands, and your rage took hold of your body as you sent your hand flying across his cheek. Nothing. Not a single reaction from your anger. Joel should have had you on the brink of death at this point after all your yelling and fighting. That’s what he did best—he hurt you until the pain became pleasure, and your control slipped out of reach. But he wasn’t feeding into your pleas. He wasn’t even considering it. That stupid brow furrow softened, his eyes looking at you with a mixture of emotions, none of which you wanted.

“Fuckin’ hate me!” You screamed. “How much more can I keep hurtin’ you ‘til you hate me back?”

Joel lifted himself up despite your efforts to hold him down. Everything felt electrified with your bodies pressed together, sticky wet skin against wet clothes. Your body pulsed with pleasure…with anger…with everything you wanted to escape. His hands wrapped around your back, guiding you along his cock as you kept your hands squeezing around his throat.

“But I don’t hate you.” He was soft-spoken as if to coax you out of your aggressive haze.

You dropped your head onto his shoulder, sinking your teeth into his skin as you rocked against his body. Faster and faster, your hips moved, driving his cock deeper inside you; all the while he remained paralyzed against you. Small flexes of his fingers against your skin were all you could feel, and his breathy moans in your ear were enough to drive you mad. Your teeth were bearing down into his shoulder with enough force to draw blood, yet he didn’t move a muscle.

Releasing your grip, you jerked away from the warmth of his body with a snarl twisting up your lips. Why wasn’t he taking control? You deserved the torture—the complete domination of his body against yours. Why was this time different? Why wouldn’t he give you what you wanted?

“Why won’t you hate me?!” You wailed. “Why won’t you fuck me like y’always do?”

Joel silently watched as you pounded your fists into his muscles over and over again. You could keep hitting him, keep yelling, keep pleading…but what was the use? He wasn’t giving in, and you were growing tired. You were so fucking tired of fighting.

“Is this not enough?” You cried, your voice cracking. “Am I not enough?”

“Oh, darlin’,” Joel sighed.

His breath was hot against your ear, his lips dangerously close to your skin as you continued crying. His cock throbbed inside you, yet your pleasure dissipated. You didn’t want this anymore. You were broken.

“Why am I not enough?” You whimpered.

Your hands stopped their beating, and you let the emotions you had kept at a distance crash against the surface. Sobs wracked through your body as your head fell into the crook of his neck. Joel’s hands brushed up your back, caressing and holding you close. He buried his face into your hair, one hand tangling in the soaked tendrils, holding you flush to his chest.

“I got you, darlin’. S’alright,” he crooned.

Your tears bled into his shirt, untraceable within the wet fabric that clung to his strong shoulders. Your body shook with each wave of cries, and Joel just kept holding you, kept shushing you until your sobs turned into whimpers, and you had nothing left.

You were so scared to lose everything—your land, your generational responsibilities… Joel. Everyone in your life had vanished. All you had left was hundreds of acres of empty land and a hollow chest with a half-broken heart. You could take the pain he gave you because that’s what you deserved. You didn’t deserve this tenderness, not after the way you treated him. Anger and hate were enough for you; it was enough to pacify the ache of wanting more. You weren’t worth more than this.

“Please, Joel,” you muttered. “Please hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Joel whispered. “I can’t. Y’got yourself under my skin, and I don’t want it any other way.”

“No…don’t do that,” you mumbled. “Don’t say things like that to me.”

“C’mere, lemme look at you.”

Joel pushed your shoulders forward, peeling you away from his chest. You hid your eyes from him, lowering your head and away from his longing stare.

“Darlin’, look at me,” he coaxed, his fingers brushing under your chin and lifting your face.

The rain was falling slower now, large droplets smattering against your cheeks and forehead. You tried to avoid his eyes, watching the rain roll down his nose and over his pouty lips. For once, the thought of kissing him didn’t scare you.

Joel squeezed his fingers around your jaw, softer than you were used to but still effective in getting your attention. Through the tears still blurring your eyes, you gazed into his brown eyes, the softness crashing into yours. With his brows slightly pulled up in concern, Joel exhaled, finally seeing all the broken pieces he held in his arms.

“You are enough,” he vowed. “Attitude and all, you are enough. If y’wanna hate me, then hate me. Hate me all y’want ’cause I can handle it. Just please don’t hate yourself. I see how scared you are, darlin’. Ain’t got nothin’ to be scared ‘bout with me, ‘kay?”

You nodded solemnly, letting your forehead fall against his. Joel smoothed his hands down your back, slowly guiding your hips up until his cock slipped from you. Your core clenched around nothing, the ripples of your denied orgasm rolling through your body. Fucking out your anger was one thing, but you couldn’t fuck away your feelings. Not anymore.

“C’mon, darlin’,” Joel urged.

He lifted you to your feet, following suit and rising from the slippery ground. Bending slightly, Joel curled an arm around your back and the other under your knees, tossing you up and cradling you against his chest. You let your head rest on his shoulder, watching the mud dry on his tan skin. With bleary eyes and a heavy heart, you felt guilty for making him care for you. You were supposed to be good on your own; you were supposed to be independent. You didn’t need taking care of, yet here you were, limp in Joel’s arms and exhausted.

He waded through the muddy puddles around the barn and carried you toward your house. Water dripped down the patchy roof, rattling against the storm drain as it rolled down the side of the walls. The smell of the thunderstorm wafted over Joel’s body, invading your senses with each heavy inhale. He walked up the porch steps cautiously, kicking the door open with the toe of his boot. It didn’t bother you when it smashed against the wall, the wood rattling at the force.

Still keeping you close to his chest, Joel walked through your tiny farm home, familiarizing himself with the layout until he found the door to your bathroom. Propping it open with his knee, Joel guided you inside, gingerly lowering you to your feet.

“Let’s get you in the shower, darlin’,” Joel urged. “Needa get y’warmed up.”

“I’m okay,” you croaked, wrapping your arms around your bare chest.

Joel huffed a quiet laugh, bending his head down to kiss your dirty forehead.

“Stubborn lil’ thing. C’mon, I’ll join you.”

You glanced around the bathroom, staring at the yellow wallpaper peeling around the crown molding. Time—and weather—had done its damage to your home, but no one ever visited, so you never thought about fixing it. But now Joel was standing there, truly seeing your house and not just focusing on you pinned to the couch, and you were awfully insecure. Every paint-chipped crevice along the wooden walls, every creak in the floorboard, every water stain along the corners of doorways… was just another reminder of how bad you were at existing. Focusing on the land and keeping the animals cared for was easy, but it was hard to care for yourself. You didn’t matter; you never had.

“Hey.” Joel’s voice was soft in your ear.

You looked back at Joel hesitantly, watching his clothes drop to the floor. Piece by piece, Joel slowly materialized into a reality you hadn’t imagined. Without his cowboy boots or worn flannel, Joel was soft everywhere. His dark chest hair curled around his torso and down his navel, his stomach soft and moldable. His tapered waist looked much better out of his jeans, and his thick thighs were worth spending hours kissing. All his rough edges and calloused skin morphed into something so much more tender and inviting—something you yearned for in unspeakable ways.

“Do I need to carry you into the shower?” He asked, half teasing.

You didn’t have the energy to laugh, so you only stood silent, waiting for him to run the water until the steam fogged the mirror. Once it ran hot enough, Joel pulled back the curtain and dragged you under the spray of the water. Mud slipped off your skin, swirling down your body in dark rivulets and into the drain.

Joel’s body pressed against yours, his arms snaking around your waist. You felt his warm lips press into the skin of your neck, trailing further down as you leaned into his touch. The longer you spent in his embrace, the more pliant you became—malleable.

“Can I help wash you, darlin’?” Joel muttered into your neck.

You wanted to decline to prove you didn’t need help, but Joel was just as stubborn as you. He’d persist, and you were terribly close to hitting your limit on how many times you could tell him no. So, you gave him the tiniest nod and let him steer you under the water. He reached around you to grab the shampoo, pumping enough into his hands to massage over your scalp. The drag of his fingers through your tangled hair was enough to loosen the tension in your muscles. Your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling of his hands on your body the only sensation you could focus on.

Joel remained silent, moving soapy hands over your body until there wasn’t a speck of dirt left. Eventually, your body hit its limit, and you sagged into his chest, your eyes tired and heavy. He reached over and turned the water off, the immediate chill in the empty air sending shivers down your spine.

“Stay here,” Joel muttered. “Lemme grab a towel.”

“Y’don’t even know where they are,” you grumbled.

Joel chuckled, slipping a hand down your chest to hug you closer. His scruff tickled your neck as he nestled into your body, swaying you softly against him.

“Then show me,” he whispered. “Get me used to this house.”

Tears stung your waterline at hearing his words; he wanted to be here with you. Not just in this moment. He was thinking about the future, and you couldn’t understand why you were worth more than this.

“They’re up in the cabinet outside the bathroom,” you offered. “Just don’t slip on the tiles, old man.”

“There’s my girl,” he laughed.

You hid behind the shower curtain, watching Joel’s ass leave the bathroom as he roamed into the hallway. He was only gone a moment, returning with two towels in hand. You couldn’t help but stare at how water clung to his chest hair, curling the brown hair in swirls as they trailed down his stomach. His cock hung low between his thighs, half hard and thick. You still didn’t get your last orgasm, and maybe that was something you could rectify later. Later.

“Sure starin’ a lot for someone who hates me,” Joel quipped, holding a towel.

“Shut up, Miller. I can do whatever I want.”

“Don’t I fuckin’ know it,” he smirked.

You stepped out of the tub, turning around so he could wrap the towel over your shoulders. His arms wound around your body, rubbing the fabric into your skin and drying you off. You twisted the towel over your chest and returned to watching Joel in all his glory. He used his towel to dry his hair, the salt and pepper curls sticking to his forehead. You liked Joel like this—soft and natural. As much as you enjoyed the fire in his eyes and the aggression in his actions, this was something so enticing. Slinging the towel around his waist, Joel beckoned you closer and hauled you into his arms.

“Wanna get in bed with me?” He asked.

“Now you’re askin’ permission for things? That’s new,” you scoffed, peering up at him with an eyebrow raised.

“Alright, have it your way,” he huffed.

Bending down, Joel tossed you over his shoulder, making you squeal as his hands planted themselves on your ass. He waltzed out of the bathroom, hauling you down the hall until he found your bedroom. The overcast sky shadowed your room through the windows, and you were so ready to curl up under the covers and hide away.

Tossing you onto the comforter, Joel climbed over you, caging you between his arms. You shied away from him as he leaned closer, his face dangerously close to yours. You were unsure if you were ready to kiss him again, though your body thrummed with the aching need to feel his lips against yours. He roamed a hand over your chest, his fingers dancing up the column of your neck as they squeezed softly around your throat. Instinctively, you arched into his touch, relishing the slight dominance back in his movements.

“Y’gonna fight me if I kiss you?” He teased, bending down closer.

“Maybe,” you whispered.

Joel’s lips twitched into a grin as he pressed his body into yours, his mouth a breath away from yours. With a flex of his fingers around your neck, he closed the gap, his lips colliding with yours. It wasn’t frenzied like the first time; his mouth was warm and soft against yours. He moved slowly, letting you adjust to every slant of his mouth, his tongue sliding across your bottom lip. You opened your mouth as an invitation, allowing him to steer this kiss in whatever direction.

Roaming your hands up the expanse of his muscular arms, you dug your nails into his shoulders, dragging him closer until you were flush with his body. He broke away from your lips, trailing his mouth down the hollow of your neck, sucking marks into your skin.

“Joel,” you whined.

“Hmm?” He muttered.

“I need—.”

Your begging was cut off short as he pulled down your towel, his mouth suctioning around your pebbled nipple. Your fingers tangled in his wet hair, pulling slightly to guide him off your body. He bit the sensitive bud, rolling your nipple between his teeth. He was relentless, and you found yourself caving into his desires the longer he spent ravishing your body.

“I know y’can be demandin’, darlin’,” Joel said, releasing your nipple from between his teeth. “So, let’s fuckin’ hear it.”

“Fuck me, Joel,” you begged. “Fuck me, and don’t be gentle.”

“Y’like it when I’m rough with you? Y’want me to fuck you into the mattress?” He questioned.

“Christ,” you exhaled. “Please.”

Joel wasted no time tossing his towel across the room and lifting your legs high into the air. You didn’t care that he had you pinned beneath him; you wanted to see his eyes wild with lust while he fucked himself into you. Shuffling his knees up, he maneuvered both of your legs over one shoulder, his hands sliding under your ass and lifting your hips. He slowly eased himself into you, and you let a moan slip from your lips as his cock brushed against your cervix. Yes. This is what you needed.

“S’fuckin’ pretty when you’re stuffed with my cock,” Joel grunted, rocking his hips against yours.

“Mhmm,” you whined.

You couldn’t formulate a coherent sentence when you were struggling to breathe. You were so fucking full of him, and the angle he had you molded into only shoved his cock further inside you. Joel rutted against you slowly, but each drive of his hips hit hard against yours. You reached for his hand that gripped your calf and pulled it down until it wrapped around your neck.

“Greedy lil’ thing,” he smirked.

Joel flexed his fingers around your throat before fully gripping it, stifling your breathing until your vision darkened. He snapped his hips harder, speeding up his thrusts until your bed frame smacked into the wall. Arousal dripped down the seam of your ass, coating Joel’s cock as it slipped in and out of you. Coils of pleasure twisted inside your stomach, and you let out strangled whimpers as you tried to swallow around his fingers.

“Y’enjoy bein’ fucked like a lil’ slut?”

“Y—yes,” you choked.

“Louder for me. Wanna hear ya’.”

But his grip tightened, cutting off your words as they lodged in your throat. Tears slid down your cheeks as you chased the burning pleasure coursing through your body. The orgasm you lost earlier was surging back to the surface, and you clawed at the feeling as it wracked against your core. Joel could sense it, too, his pace ruthless as he assaulted you with powerful thrusts.

“S’my girl need to cum?”

My girl.

The sentiment alone could have skyrocketed your orgasm to the surface. Joel’s eyes gleamed with pride as he looked down at you, satisfied at your reaction as your lips tipped up into a timid smile. The sound of being his girl didn’t sound so bad…but you’d think about that later. You needed this.

“Please,” you begged.

“You gonna be my good girl, darlin’? Gonna make me proud right now?”

Joel unwound his hand from your throat, threading his fingers into your hair. He bent down, forcing you further into the mattress as he captured your lips in a hungry kiss. He leaned in closer, your body nearly folded in half against his, your thighs pressed into his sweat-slick chest as your calves still rested over his shoulder. Every inch of you was covered in him: his musky scent, his smoke-tinged breath, his deep grunts lost inside your mouth. It blanketed over your fears, and you lost yourself in him. He was consuming you from the inside out, and you couldn’t help yourself when you deepened the kiss.

“C’mon,” Joel urged, his words lost against your mouth. “Make me proud.”

Your orgasm erupted through your body, stare sparkling behind your eyelids as you seized up. Your core fluttered around Joel’s cock, milking him through each ripple of your orgasm as it passed through.

“That’s my girl,” Joel praised. “Fuckin’ drenchin’ my cock.”

In a blur, Joel had you flipped onto your stomach, his cock vanishing from you for only a moment before he was yanking your hips up high and driving back into you.

“Fuck!” You cried out, your fingers clawing at the comforter.

“Ain’t stoppin’ yet, darlin’. You’re gonna give me one more.”

You weren’t sure if you had anything left to give, but with Joel ramming into you from behind, you had no choice but to relinquish all control. Slick arousal ran down your thigh as Joel plunged deeper, his cock spearing into you and tearing you apart.

“Please don’t stop,” you panted. “So close, Joel…I’m so close.”

“I know. I know,” he crooned. “Doin’ so good for me.”

Joel’s fingers dug into your hip bones, anchoring you into the bed. His touch was bruising—brutal. Your head dropped between your shoulders, your tears falling onto the sheets. Euphoria thrummed in your veins, ready to explode at any given moment. The loud echo of Joel’s hips slamming against yours battled against the storm still brewing outside; each thrust its own sound of thunder erupting inside your tiny bedroom.

Pleasure fractured through you, your skin lit on fire as your orgasm lapped up your spine. You seized around Joel’s cock, arousal gushing from you and coating his length as he slipped in and out of your sex. Joel grunted in satisfaction, pinning your hips to his as he let your orgasm flutter through your body.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned. “Makin’ such a mess of me, darlin’. Filthy lil’ thing just squirtin’ all over my cock. Y’want my cum deep inside you now? Want me to fill you up, darlin’?”

You nodded vigorously; your mouth opened in a silent plea despite Joel towering over you from behind. He couldn’t see the way you mouthed please, but he felt the desperation in your body as you pressed your hips back against his. Joel took you hard, barreling deeper inside you with each thrust until you felt him shudder with a breathy moan. Your name slipped off his lips as he buried himself to the hilt, his release filling you to the brim. It dripped out the sides, mixing with your arousal as it rolled down your thighs. Christ, you were so fucking full of him in every single way.

Joel slumped over your body, his mouth warm against your spine as he left small kisses on your skin. You sunk into the bed, your legs giving out beneath you and leaving you exhausted and listless. Time passed slowly, and Joel finally slipped from you and tumbled onto the bed beside you. He quickly pulled you into an embrace, tucking your head under his arm and against his chest. Though your body was still unwinding from the way he fucked you, you felt yourself tensing back up. To feel this close to someone felt foreign and unsure; every fiber of your being fought against this, yet you were too tired to overcome it mentally. Joel’s fingers curled into your waist, digging softly into your skin as if to beckon you closer.

“You doin’ okay, darlin’?” He asked, his voice hoarse and tired.

You buried your head into his chest, refusing to look at him. How could you voice your fears when everything inside his eyes scared you the most? You could run from your feelings, but you could never outrun the softness of his brown eyes.

“I don’t know how to do this, Joel,” you mumbled into his chest.

“Do what?”

“Be with someone,” you confessed. “I don’t know how to be anythin’ other than alone.”

He nudged you softly, trying to coax your eyes to meet his. There was no point in hiding; at this point, you’d lose any battle against him. Lifting your head, you caught a glimpse at his eyes, their soft brown color shaded by clouded a deep sense of concern.

“Let me show y’what it’s like,” he offered. “Let me care for you the way you deserve.”

“I’m just scared,” you whispered.

“What’re y’scared of?”

Joel raised a brow, the furrow above his nose deepening. He was silently trying to understand your hesitancy, which you appreciated, but it didn’t feel right to be this vulnerable with him. The moment you spilled your heart to him, you’d never have it back. Your walls would be broken down, and you’d have nowhere to run and hide. Sucking in a breath, you allowed the words to tumble out of you.

“I’m scared that if I let myself fall for you, I’ll lose you like I lost everyone else.”

“Darlin’,” Joel sighed.

He tilted your chin up, placing a gentle kiss against your trembling lips.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere. You showed me how strong y’can be. Now it’s my turn to be strong for you, ‘kay? Can I do that?”

“You aren’t supposed to be like this,” you said, shaking your head.

“How am I supposed to be?” He questioned.

“You shouldn’t be this nice to me. I don’t deserve this after everythin’ I’ve done. I deserve all the mean shit y’been doin’ to me.”

“Why can’t I do both?” He chuckled lightly, squeezing your side. “I can still be mean as long as I get to love you, too.”

You propped your head onto his chest, watching him for any fault in his words. You truly didn’t understand how he could feel all these things for you when you’d been nothing but awful. You pushed him away constantly; you got on his nerves. Why did he want you?

“You love me?” You asked, tears welling in your eyes.

“Yeah, maybe I do. Got me wrapped ‘round your bratty lil’ finger, darlin’.”

Joel leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead. His lips traveled down your damp cheeks until he captured your mouth once again. You slid your hands up his chest, your fingers tugging at the curls at the base of his neck. He pulled you in closer and maneuvered your body over his, your chests pressed together and hearts beating in the same rhythm.

“This doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop givin’ you hell, Joel,” you smiled, breaking away from his lips.

“Oh, I’m countin’ on it, darlin’,” he chuckled.

Outside, the storm continued barreling through the fields, the quiet sound of rain tapping against the windows. Joel kept you tangled around his body, his warmth never leaving you as time drifted away. The fear still lingered in the back of your mind, but it wasn’t as powerful anymore. You had your land, you had your responsibilities, and you had your man.

You could have it all.

You did have it all.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel x f!reader #joel x reader #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel tlou #cowboy!joel #no outbreak!joel miller #no outbreak au #smut and angst

868 notes · View notes

charlizekkelly · 1 year

Text

hungry like the wolf

Spicy Prompt: “Look how well you’re taking me.”

Pairing: Reader x Dwayne (The Lost Boys 1987)

Word Count: 2167

TW’s: Size kink, slight somophilia, dub-con (??), non-con, pet names (sweet girl & good girl), biting and blood play.

Author's Note: God damn. This got out of hand and like Dwayne, this is a big one (I'm sorry I had to). Who wouldn't want to be fucked senseless by him? Let's be honest, he's the man and would fuck like a God.

Tags (Dwayne's hoes) : @ghoulgeousimmaculate @britany1997 @misslavenderlady @dwaynesluscioushair @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @lostinsantacarla

!18+ CONTENT - MINORS DNI!

The alkaline-infused breeze skittered down the tunnelways of the cavernous home, carrying the scent of the ever-changing tides of Hudson’s Bluff through the cave, blustering the flames within the fire barrels or the candles perched upon rock crevices. Not that it mattered to her, tucked beneath the assortment of blankets on Dwayne’s bed with soft candlelight illuminating the room. Oblivious to the path his thoughts had taken as he peered down at her with dark irises, lingering on the dark fabric of his shirt and the white-lace panties he glimpsed from where her leg stuck out from beneath the sheets, his shirt riding up her body in a way that made him want to groan.

Dwayne was many things–patient, caring, attentive, coolheaded and loyal–but with her, he found himself obsessing over the way she smiled up at him whenever they spoke. Or the way she laughed and he had to feign nonchalance like the sound hadn’t sent blood rushing to his dick and a multitude of thoughts to careen through his head. Of how she tasted, the way he could make her squirm, the sounds she made or the way she felt wrapped around his cock.

This isn’t helping me, at all, he thought, watching as she shifted on the mattress and he gingerly slipped from beneath the sheets.

Heading toward the room’s doorway before her voice rippled to his ears and he came to a jarring halt, his head turning ever-so-slowly back to where she lay, sound asleep. He waited a moment, locked in the doorway with his gaze pinned upon her, wondering if this was a cruel mind trick played by Paul and Marko. Hell, he wouldn’t have been surprised if David was a part of it–all three blonds notorious for their love of mind games.

But then, the saccharine call he thought he’d heard from her lips filled his ears. A sound so sweet, it almost brought him to his knees. Something his companions continuously taunted him about, the trio aware of his infatuation with the human woman he cared about. But neither of the trio was game enough to cross him, knowing the ease with which he went from coolheaded to protective–possessive–but it didn’t deter their playful jests.

“Dwayne,” she called again, her voice all breathy and laced with lust.

As hard as he tried–which wasn’t very hard at all–he couldn’t fight the smug grin that crept across his face, approaching her with wolfish ease. He knew she was a moderately light sleeper but still, he reached out and pulled the blankets away from her body, baring her to his hungry eyes as he sunk onto his jean-clad knees at the end of the bed and admired her for several moments.

It was as she shifted on the mattress and his dark irises locked on the pearl-white lace that contrasted perfectly with her skin, that his deeply timbered voice filled the room. “Fuck.”

“If you’re going to fuck her, can I watch?” Came Paul’s husky voice through their pack’s bond.

Dwayne’s eyes rolled at the hopeful edge of his companion’s voice–and where he wasn’t opposed to sharing her with him–he didn’t want to share her right now. “Paul,” he warned.

“Is that a yes?” Paul questioned, an audible sigh skittering down their bond when the brunette didn’t immediately respond. “Dwayne?”

Dwayne’s large palms smoothed over her bare legs, up her thighs until he grasped the soft flesh and gently pulled her to the bed’s edge, careful not to wake her as his stare traversed her features.

“Not tonight.” Came his distracted response before Paul’s presence vanished from his mind.

With a tenderness he reserved for her and her alone, he parted her legs until the flesh of her thigh pressed and bracketed his shoulders. Careful not to nick her skin as he lithely cut the lace from her body, tossing it over his shoulder with little care before he settled his hands upon her inner thighs. Kneading the flesh for a moment as if to savour the feel of her, his ebony tresses tousled and framed his face like a wrathful god whilst his umber gaze remained trained on her face as he dipped his head and his tongue dragged a sensual trail over her labia.

A soft noise tumbled from her lips as he focused his attention on her clit for several seconds, his fingertips sinking into her skin when he dragged a slow stripe up her cunt. He couldn’t stop the low groan that emanated from the depths of his chest if he tried as the taste of her cloyed on his tongue, the sound vibrating into her clit in a way that drew a soft, sleepy gasp from her lips, and for her eyes to groggily blink down at him.

“Dwayne…what are you–what are you doing?” Her brows furrowed as a breathy moan tumbled from her mouth and she subconsciously ground her cunt into his face, his grasp tightening on her in response.

His head lifted from her cunt, grinning up at her whilst his fingers leisurely toyed with her clit. Like he had all the time in the world. “Oh, this?” He drawled, feigning confusion, fingers dragging the mix of his saliva and her arousal up to circle the sensitive nerve ending, a sharp breath sucked into her chest as a single, thick digit salaciously sunk into her cunt. “I’m taking care of my sweet girl. I’m worshipping her.”

His finger dragged torturously slow, his eyes locked on her face and the way her head tipped back into the sheets when his thumb pressed into her clit, a second digit slipping into her cunt as his pace never faltered. Dwayne’s fingers continued their steady strokes, fingertips curling in a way that wrenched a guttural moan from her lips and a dozen curses to rent off the cavernous walls.

“Fuck, Dwayne. Don’t stop,” she said, hands bunching the sheets beneath her.

“And refuse you of what you want? I don’t think so. I do have a better idea that’ll benefit us both.” A dark chuckle filled her ears, his eyes flashing with something sinful as he pulled his fingers from her cunt and they nimbly unbuttoned his jeans, shoving the fabric down his muscular legs and kicking it off to the side.

“Benefit us both how?” She said, holding his dark gaze.

“Spread your legs for me, sweet girl.” Came his response as his lips tugged into a wolfish grin.

Without much thought, her legs dutifully parted for him, creating more space for him between her thighs as he discarded his boxers in the same direction as his pants. She watched with heavy-lidded eyes as he wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked himself, stepping into the space between her legs before he teasingly dragged his tip across her cunt and one of his hands grasped the flesh of her hip, the other pressed into the fabric beside her.

“Please,” she murmured as he lowered his head and his lips brushed hers, drawing circles into her clit with the head of his cock.

The muscles of his abdomen rippled beneath his skin, capturing her attention before his voice filled her ears. “What do you want, beautiful? Tell me what you want. Use your words.”

“I want you,” she breathed out against his lips, pushing herself onto her elbows so she could connect their lips, kissing him whilst one of her hands skittered over the chorded muscles of his arm and tangled in his dark locks.

And like it took everything in him to pull away–his lips hovering above hers a hairsbreadth away–the hand by her side balled into a fist and his voice lowered several, heady octaves. “Where?” He grounded out through clenched teeth, the action seeming to sharpen his jawline.

Her brows furrowed with confusion for a moment. “What?”

“Where do you want me, sweet girl? Where do you want my cock?” He rasped, pressing a sensual kiss to the underside of her jaw before he nipped at the soft skin.

“Inside me,” she said, gasping as the first few inches of his cock plunged into her cunt, his girth stretching her insides in a euphoric way. His lips met with hers for a moment, kissing her with ravaging quality before she pulled away from his mouth. “Dwayne,” her gaze darted to where they were connected and the inches his cock still needed to enter her–every glorious inch of him that sent her mind reeling–as he slowly pressed more of his cock into her. “You’re so…big.”

He hummed in response, pressing firm, adoration-filled kisses to her throat. “You say that every time, my love, but look how well you’re taking me.”

His words clamoured in her mind, dousing her in a lust-filled haze when he slowly drew back and plunged the rest of his cock into her, his thumb drawing circles into her clit. A breathy moan–part curse, part garbled moan–fell from her lips, body sinking into the mattress as he quickened the pace of his thrusts and the head of his cock brushed a spot inside her that made her squirm.

Dwayne’s dark tut traipsed across the room, hands grasping her hips to prevent her from squirming. “Not so fast. You wanted me inside you and I gave it to you. So now, you’re going to take it like a good girl.” His thrusts deepened as he peered down at her, revelling in the way soft pants escaped past her lips. “Are you my good girl?”

“Yes,” she breathed dazedly, gasping as his cock pressed against her G-spot and the budding tide of her orgasm crept to the forefront of her mind. “Fuck, Dwayne. I’m your good girl.”

A deep groan fell through his lips, head tipping up to the ceiling as he purposely thrust his hips in a way that he knew would collide with her G-spot and his thumb pressed into her clit, mounting her orgasm as he felt her clench around his cock.

“That’s it. That’s my good girl,” he praised, tearing his gaze from the roof to traverse her body before his thrusts seemed to falter and he hurriedly freed her from the dark fabric of his shirt. His mind short-circuited for a moment when his stare landed on where his cock thrust steadily into her, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip before he refocused on her bare body.

A large hand cupped her breast, mildly irritated at himself for not paying them any attention sooner as he rolled one taut nipple between his fingers whilst his mouth captured the other and he alternated between circling her nipple with his tongue and sucking hickeys into her skin.

“Dwayne,” she moaned, all breathy and filled with a desperation he recognised.

He knew what she wanted the moment her strained plea met his ears, pulling away from her breasts as the hand at her hip tightened and he rolled his hips in a way that drew another moan from her lips, her cunt clenching around him. “Yes, my sweet girl?”

His lips brushed against hers, her soft pants warming his face as he peered down at her with wolfish delight and she managed to form a coherent sentence through the lust-filled haze of her mind. “I’m going to cum. Fuck, let me cum…please.”

“With manners like that? Who am I to deny you?” he drawled, his hand trailing over her chest to grasp the nape of her neck. Supporting her head as he drew her closer to himself and his teeth elongated into fangs, sinking into her throat in the same moment the head of his cock brushed against her G-spot.

A pleasure-riddled moan echoed across the room and down the darkened tunnelways, no doubt reaching Marko, David and Paul’s ears as she came and he swallowed languid mouthfuls of her blood. He pulled away from her throat in the next heartbeat, head tipping back to the ceiling as he came with a guttural moan, fingertips sinking into her hips.

Her blood coated his chin, dripping down his throat to the chiselled plains of his stomach when he refocused on the room around him and he nimbly hooked her legs around his waist, climbing onto the mattress and situating them in the middle of the bed. Dwayne dragged the assortment of blankets over her body as he tucked her into his side, fussing with the pillows until he was satisfied with her comfort and his blood-stained lips pressed a loving kiss to hers, arms woven over her waist.

A content hum tumbled from her lips as his fingers grasped her chin and he angled her head to bare his marks to his gaze, lathing his tongue over the weeping indents he left behind, ensuring they closed beneath his dark stare. The taste of her cloying on his tongue as he forced himself to refrain from plunging his fangs into her throat once more, always craving her like an untapped hunger that couldn’t be quenched.

Hungry like the wolf.

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syoddeye · 2 months

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the warren, part four - nothing

price x f!reader | 4.5k words part one - bait | part two - fix | part three - trouble tags: harassment, alcohol, violence, weird and unsettling vibes, darkfic. a/n: peeling away reader's layers. mdni banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

Light beckons you out from the makeshift burrow you furiously dug beneath your bed, breaking through pilled walls of linen. It pulls you from sleep, reluctantly at first, then all at once when visions of the night before rush back in a deluge. It’s enough to momentarily forget your shelter, wincing as you smack your skull into the timber frame. Your muscles ache from laying awake for hours, curled in a tight ball, both cowering and vigilant. Prepared to defend yourself from whatever clawed the walls, should it have climbed in through the window.

You hold your breath, count to ten, and listen. The hammering of a woodpecker. Robins, wrens, and bluebirds singing. Squirrels and chipmunks chattering. The idyllic sounds of nature are not enough to banish the deep scratching from your ears. Not enough to erase the nightmare that the daylight apparently keeps at bay.

It’s privately embarrassing, fighting your way out of the sheets and blankets. Squeezing out from under the bed in a huff. You dress hastily into simple jeans and a t-shirt, somehow rationalizing that if whatever is out there is actually cathemeral, you won’t want to be caught in a dress.

Eyes wide and head swiveling, you make the short journey from the bedroom to the kitchen a step at a time. Nothing appears amiss. Your phone is in your bag on the table where you left it, and your wallet is undisturbed.

Summoning your courage with a chef knife, you steel yourself to check the exterior. You brace yourself for carnage, but only dull gravel stretches before you. Your car sits unmoved. The carport still sags. There are no downed trees or flattened brush on the perimeter. Even the cats, flitting about the yard, seem unperturbed. They stare, pupils constricted in judgment, as you start to circle the cabin.

You pause at the turn that’ll take you beneath the window of the cabin’s bedroom, where the scratching emanated. The knife is slippery in your palm from sweat, your stomach in knots. Inch by inch, you force your feet to move.

Nothing. More nothing.

The walls are unscathed. Devoid of any marks save by what seems natural. The discovery, or lack thereof, leads you to complete a loop, then another. You walk around the cabin four times looking for any sign of the nightmare, and find no scratches, footprints, or other signs of a large animal.

Inside, you feed the knife into the block by the sink and stare into your warped reflection in the faucet. Maybe you ate something bad at dinner.

In the washroom, you reach for your toothbrush and catch air. It takes a second to register why and another to race to the screened porch. You unbolt the door, throw it open, and…Empty. You check behind the glider and its ottoman. Nothing . Not so much as a splatter of toothpaste or dried spit.

The hair on the nape of your neck stands electrified, blood buzzing. Looking through the fine mesh of the screen, a thin calico struts past. It stops, assessing your dumbfounded look, then continues, ducking beneath your car.

You swallow, mouth dry and stale. John said he’d speak with you about the car, and the store ought to be open. Suppose you’ll visit him sooner rather than later.

John isn’t alone. A dirt bike occupies the spot beside his truck.. Through the door, you see a man at the counter, and rather than interrupt the conversation, you delay and check the kittens.

They’re behind the shop now, on the back porch of the connected living space. Curious heads poke over the ridge of their tub, and all but a brave tabby scurry clamber out to scamper under the steps. The remaining kitten allows a single touch, then tucks itself into the corner, staring as if it doesn’t know what to make of you. A half-eaten pile of wet food sits atop the straw. You imagine John leaving it, whispering to the little things. It’s sweet. For his backward opinions on animals, he doesn’t neglect them.

After a few minutes, you can’t dawdle anymore. Your mouth tastes sour. The single mint from the bottom of your bag is a poor substitute for hygiene. The man’s head turns when the electronic chime above the door sounds your entry.

Pushing your sunglasses to the top of your head, your eyes widen at the unobstructed view.

The man is big. The term ‘cornfed’ comes to mind, but that doesn’t seem fitting. He looks like he’d give Paul Bunyan a run for his money in a cage match—taller and broader than John, with buzzed blond hair and enough scars to suggest he fought a wood chipper and won.

In your gut, it feels as though you shouldn’t look at him directly.

John straightens, chest puffing out. “Be with you in a moment.”

You nod in response and duck into the first aisle, though the man turns his head, getting a good look at you with how he towers above the shelves. It’s a standoff for all of three seconds before the corner of his mouth twitches, and he turns back. You pretend to find the canned tuna fascinating after that. This isn’t any of your business.

The men talk in hushed tones. Not a word rises above a whisper. Minutes pass, and you’ve memorized everything between the tuna and green beans. Peeking between tins, you see John’s brow low and stern, mouth flat, painting a picture of disappointment. He cards a hand through his hair. Whatever stresses him, his exasperation breaks the quiet.

“The second you know, call me.”

It’s at this moment, of course, he catches you looking. He offers a quick smile, then jerks his head. The man moves, and you scuttle as nonchalantly as possible to hide behind the endcap. You watch his head float above the shelves until he exits and stay there until John speaks.

“Got a sweet tooth?”

You blink, taking stock of the colorful display of cookies and candy in front of you. Sheepishly, you emerge from your hiding spot. “No. I just didn’t want to intrude.”

John chuckles, head bowed. “So polite.”

The toiletries have a clear view of John. In his hand sits a phone, much newer than the brick you’ve seen him use before. Whatever’s on the screen holds his attention. He pinches something—an image or video?—and zooms. Curiosity grips you, but it’s really not your business, though questions itch your throat. It isn’t until you pluck a toothbrush from a hook and step in his direction that his eyes flick up. He locks the phone, casually tucking it into a pocket. “That’s it? Did you misplace yours?”

The question makes the tips of your ears hot. You slowly dig out your wallet, cobbling together a white lie. What are you supposed to say? That you dropped it because of a bump in the night and subsequently, something, probably a rat with your luck, stole it? It doesn’t make sense, and you don’t want to be labeled nuts. You don’t know what you heard. You didn’t even see it. On the walk down, you concluded that it was most likely a cougar or bear after a cat and that you were very, very lucky. That a critter found a hole in the screen and made off with your toothbrush. Somehow, it all comes out as—

“I once read you’re supposed to replace them every six weeks, so. Oh! I’ll take one of those, too.” The lie rushes out. Hopefully, the novelty fish-shaped pocket knife you point at distracts him.

John smooths a finger over his mustache, eyes twinkling with an amusement you know means he doesn’t believe you, but he lets you get away with it. “Right.”

As he clips off the tag, you maintain a distance to spare him your breath.

“Don’t s’pose you’ve heard from Nik, have you?”

He slides the folded blade across the counter. “I have. He’d like to meet in person at his shop. Noon work?”

The sooner, the better. “Yes. Can I get a lift?”

John grins. “Well, I’m not gonna let you walk.”

Your car is down for the count, but nothing that Nikolai can’t fix, or so he claims. The rundown of its issues is lost in translation, a dizzying volley of jargon. The Russian man’s another mystery you can’t afford to press, given he’s the only mechanic in the area willing to do the work on the cheap. It doesn’t soften the blow when you learn the necessary parts won’t arrive for weeks. But what other choice do you have? You fork over an eye-watering amount of money, knowing precisely how lean your account will stand when the transaction clears. John and Nik excuse themselves to the office afterward, and the former politely asks you to wait by the truck.

The auto shop slash junkyard sits deep into the woods, nestled at the foot of a ridge at the base of Mount Grouse. A labyrinth of rust and metal that snakes into the surrounding trees. Boat hulls, machinery, wrecked cars, and the like litter almost every square inch of the ground. You wander around, scanning crumpled plates on flattened cars. Crouching to examine one such plate from New Jersey or New Hampshire, something New , a prolonged meow draws your attention. You catch the tip of a tail as it disappears around the corner of the shop and inwardly sigh. Another feral cat.

A path wraps around the building, and a hefty tomcat sits at the far end. His tail twitches, beckoning, if you didn’t know any better. The men aren’t finished, so you follow.

Of course, he darts off as soon as you’re close. He scurries toward an upturned pallet leaning against the sheer rock wall—next to a heavy-duty iron gate. You’ve attended enough family days and mine tours to know an adit when you see one. Memories as sharp as a pickaxe hook your ribs, stealing your breath away.

The sight pulls you forward, but a voice calls you back.

“Taking yourself on a tour?”

Nik stands at the opposite end of the path with an amused smile.

Shaking off the sudden swell of emotion as best you can, you glance at the sealed entrance. This is Idaho. This is a mountain. It’s simple math to deduce it’s an old mine shaft. You drag your feet toward Nik. Apprehension unseats the grim memories swirling in your head.

“Sorry. I saw a cat.” You confess lamely, looking past him to see John slowly pace a short distance down the drive, phone to his ear.

“Ah, one of my employees.” Nik humors. “They help keep the rats out of my business.”

“Well, I haven’t seen so much as a mouse.” You attempt to appease and shove your hands in your pockets, fiddling with the puny knife you bought.

Nik nods. “Yes, they’re very good at their jobs. Good thing you’re not a rat, hm?”

Your smile falters, but you politely laugh. “Yeah, good thing,” You dig your nails into the knife handle until it hurts, wishing John’s call would end already.

Nik’s lips thin in a sage expression, then huffs, clapping a filthy hand on your shoulder. “Yes. Not a rat, no.” He ignores your wince. “You strike me more as a rabbit. A bunny.” He throws his head back and laughs, coughing a bit as it crests. A word or two of Russian slips out.

“What's so funny?”

Finally, John crosses the shop’s yard, and Nik immediately lets go.

“He said that I strike him as a rabbit?” You respond, hoping he can shed light.

John’s face pinches, then he shakes his head. “It’s a bad joke. Is she set, Nik?”

The Russian affirms with a wheeze and waves his hand as if to sweep you away. “Yes. Hop along now, rabbit.”

You stiffly climb into the truck, grateful when the junkyard disappears in the rearview, swallowed by the trees. John doesn’t speak until he turns onto the road.

“Sorry about Nik.”

“I know he didn’t mean anything by it.” You’ve met worse men than Nik, with far worse ‘jokes’.

Another brief silence passes before John cranks the window and invites the cool breeze to cut through the truck’s cab. He takes a deep breath, an uncertain look on his face. “That was a friend on the phone, the one who’s gonna assist with your paperwork, if you’re still interested in the job.”

The contents of your stomach churn. The job slipped your mind, what with everything else.

“I am. They’re fine with, um, taking creative liberties?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, there’s a catch. I’ll need some legitimate information for my own records to create a believable paper trail. He’ll take it from there.”

Your head spins, forcing your eyes shut for fear of car sickness. It’s been years since you filled out a form with your legitimate information, you didn’t need to. When you purchased your fake ID, the man asked for a phony name and address, and you bit your nails to the beds as Kate processed your application. It’s a mix of luck, half-assed security, the average person’s everyday indifference, and your dwindling cash that you’ve made it this far. And the confidence with which John speaks, as if it’s all really that simple and routine, doesn’t help. But it’s like the car: what choice do you have? Scrape by on shady writing jobs posted to message boards or allow the man with no qualms of committing fraud and forgery, a man who likes you, to do you a favor?

You don’t notice the truck’s stopped, idling, until John settles a wide hand over your knee. He gazes at you, eyes the softest you’ve seen, and wears a sympathetic smile. “You can trust me.”

Someone else’s face eclipses his for a split second. You push it away. John’s the first person to stick their neck out for you in a long time. That is worth something. You lay your hand on his and squeeze.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

You ‘pass’ the ‘background check’ with flying colors. John takes you to the Foxhole to celebrate and introduces you to its regulars as his new shop girl. It’s a bit much, but the buzz from the beer and excitement from securing actual employment keep you in high spirits. He summons you to work the next day and spends the morning showing you the ropes of what he promises to be an uncomplicated job. By that afternoon, you’re on duty.

Time passes with relative normalcy. The possible bear or cougar incident fades to background noise. The shop is as straightforward as promised. Business rapidly picks up shortly after you start, as does activity across both towns. The lake teems with boats. The Foxhole’s parking lot fills every night. The Lakeshore Arms motel is booked.

You haven’t worked regularly since you were a teenager, but it’s strangely pleasant. Akin to those early days on the road, savoring the taste of independence. Out from under a steel-toed boot and reacquainting yourself with personhood. Sure, you’re not changing the world stocking shelves or chatting with tourists, but you’re earning money, and John’s a better boss than he is a date.

John’s also a better handyman, and Kate keeps him busy with a laundry list of improvements and repairs for the cabin. He turns up bright and early on weekend mornings with his toolbag in hand. Kate apparently worries about energy costs and regularly tasks him with installing energy-efficient features across her properties. A new shower head, LED bulbs, and another dozen minor fixes. He even patches the mesh on the screened porch. You do not complain, luxuriating in longer showers without an ounce of guilt.

Weeks go by before John leaves you alone at the store. He’s been making inventory trips to Ponderosa in the evenings to avoid it, but a beer shortage necessitates it. It takes convincing, but he eventually piles into his truck, waving a hand in departure. Manning the ship alone proves smooth sailing. Mostly.

You hear them before you see them. A trio of raucous voices and whooping laughter—sounds you and the lone female customer share a look at. She hustles to the counter just as three men burst in, shirtless, reeking of beer, and delightfully, blasting music from a phone. Plastering a smile to your face, you ring the woman up and watch her hurriedly exit before the men notice her. You wish you could follow.

The first man to spot you elbows his buddy, the clear ringleader. They make a show of browsing the aisles, tossing various items at one another, lobbing them over the shelves. As you pretend to be utterly engulfed in an old hunting magazine, you see them exchange smirks and obscene gestures in your periphery. They’re smart enough to keep whatever comments they make quiet, but your disinterest isn’t enough to deter them from their shopping. A couple of six-packs, chip bags, and energy drinks appear in view on the counter, covering the magazine and forcing you to finally acknowledge them.

“Hey babe,” The ringleader grins. “Sorry to interrupt your reading, but mind grabbing that apple chew for me?”

Disgusting, unsurprising, and dreadfully reminiscent. “Sure thing. ID for it and the beer?”

He forks it over with an indignant huff, his friends snickering. Unfortunately, Nash is of age. You turn and rise on your toes, only for a bolt of humiliation to surge down your spine at the sound of a low whistle.

You nearly fumble the tin, cheeks aflame, and you spin and slam it on the counter. The men laugh at your embarrassment, eyes lit up with booze and cocksure grins on their sunburnt faces.

Nash leans, encroaching on your space. The scuffed laminate makes for a poor shield. “You a local?”

“Yes.” You hiss out, terse.

The man on the left elbows Nash again. “Ooh, a country bumpkin.”

“More like a country pumpkin. You’re pretty cute, you know that?”

“Thanks.” You fly through checkout and reach for the chew. Nash’s hand flattens over it.

“Just trying to make conversation, Christ. What happened to smiling for the customers, baby?”

You force a painfully fake smile. “Can I ring you up for that? Or are you no longer interested?”

Nash straightens and sneers, voice booming louder and meaner. “Oh, I’m interested. Interested in what’s got your tits in a tangle.”

How quickly you shrink. You swallow, and a meek apology promptly slips out.

“That’s more like it. Jesus. Here.” He aggressively slides the tin to the scanner, and you finish the sale. He grabs the receipt roughly, too, crumpling it into a ball. As his friends tote their purchases out the door, he lingers, smirking when you meet his gaze. “I’ll see you later, babe. At close. Seven o’ clock, right?” He tosses the receipt over his shoulder as he leaves, calling for his friends as they climb into a Wrangler.

For the next hour, you stare at the door and grip the knife in your pocket. Only when a familiar truck pulls into its usual spot, do you relax. John rumbles out a greeting with a tired smile, fetching the dolly.

You can’t stop what spills out.

“Some creeps came by.”

John pauses inside the door, half-turning toward you with a confused expression. His eyes scan the air, then drop to his watch. Without looking, he reaches for the door sign and flips it to ‘Closed’.

“Right. Let me finish unloading, and then you tell me what happened.”

He’s irate, which is encouraging and refreshingly normal. Thankfully, he keeps it in check, but you see it in the set of his jaw and hard, focused stare as you recount what happened. Closing is a tense chore, one that passes quickly.

“Gonna make a call, then I’ll take you home.” He ducks out front, not offering a chance to refuse.

The call is brief. John beckons with a crooked finger within minutes. He locks up, and it’s in no time you’re parked outside the cabin. Fifteen minutes before your would-be suitor’s visit.

“Thanks, John. You didn’t have to do that.”

He waves off your words. “Nonsense. You won’t have to worry about somethin’ like that again. You’re gonna start accompanying me on inventory runs.”

Your brows raise. You won’t turn down weekly visits to Ponderosa. Aside from the diner, they have a library, and you’re out of books. “Really? But what about the store?”

“I’d rather close for a few hours a week than leave you alone.”

You’re keenly aware of all that John’s done for you. Tracking his favors and assistance in your head like a ledger. Finding your ID, fixing the light, helping with your car. Ferrying you about. It’s a helpful reference, tangible evidence that despite his faults and deficits, he is, on the whole, a good man.

“Will you stay for dinner? As a thank you for this and for the job?”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not. You’ve been nothing but good to me. I owe you.”

John looks pleasantly surprised. He kills the engine. “If you insist.”

Dinner is lackluster. You know it is. You’ve never been a cook, and you didn’t learn when you were thrust into the kitchen and told to prepare food. To host. No one taught you, and the cookbooks borrowed from the library or neighbors might as well have been written in a dead language. With time, you learned to coupon and to stock staples. That the basics kept the peace and deflected ridicule. And, above all, as long as meals are hot and served on time, nobody’ll complain.

It doesn’t stop you from hunching over the stovetop, overthinking simple biscuits and gravy. Feeling John’s eyes from the table. The biscuits are rushed, and the gravy’s nowhere near as rich as you’d like, but he polishes his plate clean. He only asks if you have a beer, and you have precisely one.

After, it’s the date all over again. Having found your way to the couch to chat, you’re overly conscious of your proximity to John. Your attention is torn between his story and wondering if you should be so close. How it feels wrong, traitorous. Still, you’re careful with active listening, encouraging him to speak and nodding appropriately. Yet, he calls you on it, pausing with a wry smile.

“I’m not boring you to death, am I?” He gestures at his face. “Got a dreamy look in your eye. Somethin’ on your mind?”

Yes. Something in your stomach, too, and it’s not just your abysmal cooking. It’s strange, the onset of butterflies. It’s been ages since you felt their flutter. You’re undecided if their reemergence is a good thing or not. Experience says it’s too soon to tell, but in the moment—

“This is nice.”

“Yeah?” His smile stretches, pleased.

You worry your lip. How to put it. “I don’t…host people. At least I haven’t in, um, a long time.”

“Since before…?” The ‘Coming here’ is silent. Implied.

“Yes, when I left—” The next word lodges in your throat, caught in a sieve. You lick your lips and push to your feet. The dishes need doing. You shouldn’t’ve sat without washing them.

John gives you several minutes, a mercy. You can blame the heat in your hands and face on the piping hot water and its steam. He reaches around you, turns off the tap, and steals the towel on your shoulder. His hands engulf yours as he dries them, then lifts both to his face to kiss each scalded knuckle.

“I don’t know where you came from, or who you might’ve left behind,” He murmurs, his timbre deep and inviting. “But I can be patient. You’ll tell me in your own time, won’t you.”

Your eyes are open right up until his mouth slots over yours. Body shaking until he touches you. His lips are a little chapped, and his beard tickles, but it’s nicer than expected. Practiced and unhurried. He waits until you melt and slump against the counter to press further.

His tongue is warm and heavy, gentle yet intrusive. He hums, mapping your mouth at his leisure. Taking you apart with a single muscle. Like he’ll find the answers he wants, wedged between your teeth.

“John.” You gasp as his palms find your waist and drift south. His thumbs tuck under the hem of your shirt, rubbing circles into skin. Your fingers curl over his chest, feeling his groan before you hear it.

“That’s it, say my name.” He encourages.

Your breathing grows embarrassingly loud and labored. He chases every whimper and hitch, his kisses turning hungry with teeth. Your jaw finds the ground when his hands slide down to cup and squeeze your ass, hauling your hips together. He lazily grinds against you, dragging his hardening cock across your thigh, into your crotch. He noses your neck, grunting. You think you might pass out.

Instead, you think of him. His mouth and his hands and his body. His words, his promises—

A dingy pawnshop.

Your fists unfurl and push, then brace for the worst. “John.”

He pulls away instantly, and you can hardly see the blue in his eyes. Beneath your palms, his chest shudders. Your heartbeat jumps. This is it.

“I’m—I’m sorry. I can’t.”

It’s gentlemanly, you think, his efforts to hide his disappointment. He lets it pass over his face and replaces it with an understanding look. “Alright.”

The warmth is unexpected and unfamiliar. You want to bask in it, but you shouldn’t.

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I’m not ready.”

His thumb traces the apple of your cheek. “Like I said. I can be patient.”

~~~~

The call comes after midnight.

“Yeah?”

The purr of an engine competes with Simon’s stolid voice. “It’s done.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Hour away.”

Good. A decent distance. “All of them?”

“Two, instantly. Soap’s climbin’ a fuckin’ ravine to see to the third. Impaled on a tree, poor bastard.” Simon chuckles. “No one’s gonna see the car ‘til morning, maybe.”

John doesn’t answer immediately. From what his rabbit said, there ought to be enough alcohol in their systems to make the crash convincing. Another group of pissants who made the tragic mistake of getting behind the wheel absolutely smashed.

“Sir?”

“Finish up, and take the long way back.”

“Understood.”

The call ends, and his thoughts return to his rabbit. His little prevaricator. He pulls up the feeds on the smartphone, tapping through cameras to ensure she’s alone. A smug smile spreads across his face at seeing her nestled in bed, coiled in a ball. She’s slept better these past weeks and hardly stirs when his dog makes his rounds. Possessiveness curls in his chest, though he can’t help but covet the empty space beside her.

One problem solved, another to go. She’s a clever thing, more resourceful and cunning than he initially assumed. Her reluctance would discourage him if he did not know better. It’s of no consequence in the long run.

He can sate his needs elsewhere for the time being.

#price x reader #price x f! reader #john price x f!reader #john price x reader #the warren

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dandelionandkrindle · 5 months

Text

REDRIDGE MOUNTAINS

An idyllic region of rushing rivers, towering elms and rising elevations, the Redridge Mountains are under Stormwind's protection. Their inhabitants supply Stormwind with timber, fish, and crops. Only a handful of dangers trouble it: the usual monsters of the woods and the small matter of the Alliance keep overtaken by orcs.

#world of warcraft #warcraft #wowedit #gamingedit #wowlocations #crossing that bridge for the first time and feeling a sense of peace and calm come over you #and then getting ganked by a lvl 80 undead rogue :')

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ask-pastkeirastarlight-discord · 4 months

Text

Hesitantly, Timber used his magic on one of the other pots. Sure enough, the same thing happened, only this time, the Dark Nightmareshade spread all over the pot and onto the floor.

Keira: That's it! I knew we were onto something! I think the flowers sprouted after Heartistry watered them because that was the right plant. For whatever reason, it just needed your magic to make them grow! Keep going!

Timber: Umm... Sure!

Just as Keira suspected, the pot containing Galaxia's Ghost and the Golden Persimmon seeds started to grow rapidly as a reaction to Timber's magic. The Galaxia's Ghost grew as if there was more than one seed in the pot and the Golden Persimmon tree practically exploded out of the pot, its roots scattering across the floor and its branches bearing fruit.

While this was happening, Discord took a peak outside of the room and let out an excited whoop as he dashed back into the room.

Discord: Keira, my darling! You've done it! Both you and Timber managed to solve the puzzle here! The section of the corridor that was missing is back!

Moon Dancer: Hey, I helped too!

Hearistry simply shrugged, knowing she didn't do much to help out in this situation.

Keira, in complete disbelief, ran out to see that her husband was indeed right! The section of the corridor that was once missing and blocked off by the barrier was there again!

Keira: Discord's right! I can't believe we actually did it!

Heartistry: Well, what are we waiting for?! Let's keep going!

Without hesitation, the group continued forward, celebrating amongst themselves on a job well done.

#ask me #askme #mlp ask blog #ask-pastkeirastarlight-discord #story #keira starlight #timber rush #heartistry #moon dancer #discord

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highhhfiveee · 10 months

Note

please i need some dubcon mike schmidt ..,,, like he picks up drunk reader from a party n takes her home n fucks her throat ..,,, ‘you’re so easy to control when you’re all stupid like this’ ..,,, she’s got tears streaming down her face n she’s clawing at his thighs but he just holds her head in place n strokes her hair n tells her how good she’s making him feel ,,

okay okay okay. shiver me fuckin timbers lmaoooo. this is so brothersbestfriend!mike. switched it up a little but i hope you still enjoy! [had this set to post at 12 but tumblr failed me lmao]

sangria

pairing: brothersbestfriend!mike schmidt x blackfem!reader wc: 4k tags: brothersbestfriend!mike, fem!reader, intimate touching, choking, wild dick sucking, deep throating, spitplay, degradation, dubcon (reader is plastered, and while she does consent to be taken advantage of, she is still under the influence); mike is such a protector and i'm starting to think that this is megasub!reader x protector!mike in addition to bbf! [let me know if i missed anything + this has been proofread but there’s always still a chance for mistakes lmao]

link to the original fic, mimosa, here 🍹, and the first part of the finale here, tequila sunrise, here 🍸

okay, so maybeeeeeee you two didn't actually get caught that day.

you’re panting in each other’s faces as you come, clean yourselves off, and exit the shed like your brother's best friend hadn't made you squirt all over the garden tools and pool supplies.

the feeling of mike's come pooling in your bikini bottoms makes you tingly all over again, and you're squirming while you both ease your way back into the fold of cookout attendees, diverting into separate paths so no one can catch onto your attachment; clandestine and kept between the eyes, lips, and bodies of you two only.

you'd wished mike nothing but hell while you were away at school, doing anything you could to get the thought of him out of your head. even though you'd been the one to catch feelings, you never wanted him to have any part of you ever again, restricting him from you.

you'd wanted him erased from the entire galaxy then, but from the cookout forward, nothing excited you more than the thought of being mike’s plaything. you snuck around with him more than you should've; giving him handjobs in the backseat of his car, letting him eat you out in your bedroom with the door open---risky things that made your heart pound with adrenaline and need, a rush to the very end.

you could only get that feeling with mike. it made you sick to your stomach with taboo butterflies, fantasizing about all the ways he could have you thrashing, eyes rolling back, toes curled until your feet cramped.

he'd hooked you on him once again, and this time, he'd decided to go with the flow. he wasn't pursuing anything with anyone else, and feelings had begun to bloom in him. nothing like love, he'd told himself (even though your flirty smile made his heart palpitate before making his dick hard), but like...safeguarding.

you were young, unversed with life, vulnerable; mike could see people taking advantage of you, mistaking your soft, impish act for total naivete. even though he'd hurt you himself, he'd never allow anyone else to treat you that way, or put you in a situation to harm you. there was this urge in him to keep you safe, keep you protected from the mean world that ate girls like you for breakfast.

mukrrrrrrrrrrrr

molwwwwwwwwww

gahdmn i cant tYpe LoL

exhibit a.

y/n are you drunk

….

………..

…………………………….

y/n

4 F R E E dwinks

downnnnnnnnn thw hATCH

pArTyz rool xp

mike's about to ask about your location when your picture floods his screen, phone vibrating in his hand with a call. he answers it with a displeased, "where are you?

"she’s at 8203 harrington circle," someone yells over loud, bass-riddled music and scattered conversations. mike hopes it's a friend of yours, and not a complete stranger. “she was fine, but i think that fourth drink tipped her over!"

mike's been putting on clothes and grabbing for his keys and wallet since your first text message, already sulking to his car as your friend finishes her statement. "stay with her and keep her upright, i'll be there in fifteen."

he can't get rid of the deep scowl etched on his face while he drives, both hands clasped tensely on his wheel at ten and two. he wants you to have fun, of course. he isn't going to tell you not to go to parties, or not to drink---you’re your own person, and he has no right to tell you what you could and couldn't do, but something about you utterly hammered around so many people you probably don't know makes his heart pound against his ribcage with agitation.

harrington circle was a street on a state school campus, one that you'd opted not to go to all that time ago. maybe you'd known some people there, but mike was sure you didn't know your way around, where to go if something went wrong...

he pulls up to a tall, red brick house smack dab in the middle of a cul-de-sac, immediately throwing his car in park and exiting when he sees two girls walking alongside a guy carrying you out the front doorway. he has his hands hooked under your armpits, pushing your boobs together and "covertly" staring at your amplified cleavage as he leads you down the short stone path.

your head lulls back a little, and you're smiling up at the sky with your eyes closed and your cheeks flushed to death. your legs drag under you, and mike's quick to grab for your waist, removing you from that perv's grasp with haste and a grimace.

you droop into him, body leaden with alcohol, and he slides one arm under the back of your knees, bending his own to lift you into a bridal style hold.

you squeal as he turns away from the house, throwing your arms around his neck and dreamily sighing at the way his hands feel carrying you, strong and vigilant and possessive. "mikeeeeeee," you mewl, pulling yourself into him so you can nudge at the column of his throat. your words are slurred almost beyond comprehension, and he commands one of the girls to open the passenger door so he can ease you inside.

he sets you down in the seat, or at least tries to, whispering, "let me go" when you keep your arms wrapped around him. the position has him hunched over, and it hurts his back so badly, but you whimper, "nooooo, want you close" while nearly making him trip and fall across you, splaying his entire body over yours. he smells so good, all warm and musky and mike, and you don’t want to separate from him.

"y/n, please. i wanna get you home," he reaches back to wrench your arms off of him, placing them in your lap and closing the door before you can complain. he walks around the front to the driver's side, monotonously thanking the girl who'd helped you as he grumpily enters the car.

he grabs for your seat belt, stretching it across your torso as he does his own and drives away from the annoyingly illuminated house and party commotion in silence.

you're so gone, but even drunk, it's unsettling to you how quiet mike is, keeping his eyes focused on the road without a hint of a glance or a word to you. his jaw is clenched deeply, and he's stiff as a board against his seat, so opposite from his usual sullen, suave nonchalance. you frown at him, fingering with your strappy, well-tied sandals. "hey, grumpy,"

"not grumpy," you huff at his tone, sour and unwavering, and wiggle your toes as you finally free them from the entrapment of footwear. "i'm fine."

"you've gotten very, very bad at lying," you demur. your head slacks again, but this time against your headrest. you ogle mike through the film in your eyes, digging your teeth into your bottom lip. "mad at me?"

mike writhes in his seat, his jaw muscles flexing at your coy lilt. you know how to manipulate him with your words, sweetening them in just a way that would have mike bending to your will. the way you're gazing at him with your big, unfocused eyes makes him makes him press down on the gas a bit harder.

"i'm not mad," he mutters, all pseudo-nonconfrontational and collected, but you know that he's not telling the truth. something about the circumstances bothers him, and you want to know why. the car comes to a stop at a red light, mike shaking his head as he scrunches his face and rubs his eye with a knuckle. "forget about it."

"i won't. don't like me having fun without you?" he doesn't answer, staring ahead at the empty streets around the two of you. it was so late, nearly 2 am, and it only fuels the exasperation he feels burning in his stomach. he doesn’t like you out here like this, without him to keep you out of harm’s way.

"is it the drinking?" you pout, frustrated with the way he's ignoring you. "i admit, maybe four drinks was overkill, but i feel sooooo good. my body feels like..." you make a subtle buzzing noise, similar to tv static, and cut it off with a giggle, reaching over for one of mike's hands while the light turns green.

you inch it towards your lap, dragging it across the skin of your thigh that skims the end of your skirt, mini and gold and matching with the white corset top you wore. "you should feel."

"y/n..."

"c'mon mike," you pout again, dipping his hand between your opened legs. you let out an astounded moan when his cold fingertips connect with your bare clit, and now he's scowling at the fact that you’re not wearing any panties. he thinks about how many people would keep note of that, combined with your docile, inebriated state, and see it as a way in. it’s clear, with how those drinks have you begging him to ease his fingers into you, caressing your tight, warm walls so he can add another check to "car" on the list of places he's made you squirt. “don't want you to be mad at me anymore."

"i'm not mad at you, y/n," he finally says, fingers still against your skin. you're soaking his seats, the excess of your slick dripping down to the cloth, and he has to pull himself out of thinking about someone else feeling you in this way. his eyes stay low on the road as he continues, "did you know anyone at that party?"

"mhm, like one person." mike sighs, a low grumble in his throat. he pulls his hand away from you, putting all of his attention on driving so he can get home. he just wants you inside, away from the world and in his charge. he doesn't say anything for a long while, eventually taking a deep breath and mumbling, "just want you safe, y/n. i'm glad you called me to come get you. there are bad people out there, and i don’t trust them in situations like this.”

"yeah," you purr, leaning against the center console and resting your head on the side of his seat. "you're my knight in shining armor, hmm? keeping me away from all the bad bad people looking to destroy messed up princesses like me?"

mike side eyes your tone, nearly scolding you for treating it like a joke and not something that could actually happen.

"...that's one way to put it, but seriously—-“

"wanna be destroyed though," you interrupt, unbuckling your seatbelt once he cuts the car off in the driveway. he’s turning to you, dark eyes gazing towards your pouted lips. you're reaching your hand across his lap, massaging it over the press of him in his sweatpants. “especially by you. wanna be your little fucktoy. let you use my messy holes however you want because they're yours."

your filthy mouth and shameless confession have mike turned on and hard and thinking about how you've called your holes his. he's seeing you bent over the couch, stuffed to the hilt with his fingers pressed against your tongue while he smirks down on you, veins coursing with lust. he squeezes at your hand, and says,

"let's get you inside, okay? then we can talk more about my messy fucking holes."

you're dizzy, giving him a big, woozy smile and letting all the craving you feel inside pour out through your glazed over eyes when he swoops you up again, carrying you and your shoes to his front door. your arms are back around his neck, and you're placing soft kisses on his lips, jaw, and chin as he drops your shoes by the entrance and carries you all the way to the couch, settling his body into one of the corners.

you're adjusting yourself on him so your bare mound drips over his thighs, and he's got his hands around your hips again, digging his fingers into your flesh as you mindlessly grind against him. you're still kissing against his lips, so uncoordinated and sloppy, and he pulls on the wispy strands at the nape of your neck, disconnecting you from him so he can leer at you with a look that tells you he will be destroying you tonight, guaranteed. "no panties was really bold of you, baby."

"can’t have panty lines in this skirt," you frown, placing your hands on mike's shoulders for leverage to move on him a bit harsher, eventually grazing them over his back and arms as you do. "not cute."

"but it's really not cute for you to have my holes on display for anyone to have, especially not when you're like this."

"mikey, please,” you coo, hunching down to press wet, suctioned kisses on mike's bare neck and rolling your hips into the weight of him. he feels so good against you, and you're aching, the alcohol sending shocks to your clit with every second of friction. "want you in me or something. no more talking, just use—-.”

"aht, don't rush me. trying to get you to understa---" one of your hands goes from roaming his shoulderblades to placing pressure around his throat, shocking him stiff against the back of the couch.

he doesn't think anyone has ever choked him before, and while his eyes burn at you with frenzied astonishment, you're causing him to have a revelation. his dick pulses against the material of his sweatpants at the feeling of your dainty hand squeezing his throat, and he's reaching to grab your wrist and bring your hand down before he comes all quick like he’s 18 again. you stop him with your other hand, coming in close to his face.

there's such a ferocity in your stare, and he knows that you're not going to let him lecture you all night. you need him to fuck you, need him to do something with you and your drunken arousal.

"are you really gonna keep talking, or would you rather just fuck my throat?" you slide your arms down his back, lips placed by his ear as you whisper, "show me how depraved people really can be when i'm like this."

he knows it's sick, but it doesn't take much past that for mike to have you on all fours beside him on the couch, back arched into a 45 degree angle as you drool all over his lap. you're begging for it, whining about how good he feels in your mouth, and he doesn't want to miss an opportunity to give you something you want, even though you're in this state. he's glad that it's him using you in this scenario, and not someone genuinely looking to hurt you. it's his rationale for giving in to your immoral desires.

you pull away from your mess with a sharp inhale, your jaw trembling as you sit up and give mike an eager, spit-slick smile. your eyes are even more distant than before, and it's almost like you’ve checked out. mike can see all the brashness and attitude you give him on the regular is gone, currently replaced with servitude and the intent to please, nothing less.

"wanna feel you ruin my throat, mike," you rasp, grabbing his dick in your hand and stroking at the soft skin, suckling on his tip as you flash him the hunger you feel inside through a grin. "please."

he's silent, having a quarrel with himself as he takes in your blank, mindless expression. it’s so wrong of him, but you look so pretty like this, and he reaches out to hold your cheek as you pout at him again.

"pleaseeeeee," you whine, tears nearly welling in your eyes. "want you to wreck me, use me however you wanttttt. gonna be your obedient, drunk little whore, do whatever you ask."

mike loses all resolve then, and demands you to drop to your knees in between his own. you're quick to assume the position, letting him put one hand on the back of your head and feed his dick into your throat.

"shouldn't like this," mike mutters, wrapping your hair up into a ponytail with both of his hands, watching you rub his dick over your face after slipping it from your mouth to spit on it. he almost can't take you like this, spacey and pliant and all his to destroy. so drunk and willing and--- "shouldn't let me take advantage of you like this."

your face is stained with tears and spit, streaks of dried liquid overlaying your burning cheeks and swollen lips. the neckline of your top is soaked too, saliva glistening on your chest.

"maybe i wanted it," you muse, winking leisurely as you wrap both of your slim hands around his base, smirking up at him. "maybeeeeeee i went and got plastered cause i knew you’d come get me if i called," you're feeding him into your mouth again, and without warning, mike is holding your head stationary, shoving his hips up into your warm mouth while you gulp every time he hits the opening to your throat. of course you'd do something like this. your admittance makes mike feel a plethora of things, good, bad, ugly, but right now, all he's focused on is making you feel like the toy you wanted to be.

"you're a fucking slut, y/n," he hisses with gritted teeth, throwing his head back as he feels you open up for him, allowing him to raise his hips and sink further into you.

the muscles of your throat flutter around his length, and it makes his toes curl, tangling together in his socks. "only sluts go to a party to get drunk so they can be turned into pretty little fuckdolls later...like being fucking mindless for me, huh?"

"love it, mike," you whimper, laying your tongue flat so his dick can slip in and out of your mouth with less resistance. it's covered in thick spit, a droplet resting on the tip, and mike leans down to collect all of it in his own mouth with a sloppy, obscene kiss, before releasing it all over his pelvis with a groan.

it was a fucking mess, and he loved it. he knew you loved it like this too, and your enjoyment of the raunchiness is reflected in the way you patiently wait for him to plunge his dick in you, eyes twinkling with everything and nothing at the same time.

your hand is moving under your dress, fingers stroking along your sodden walls, but he doesn't care; not when your eyes are rolling back into your skull as his dick infiltrates your throat again, filling the room with a persistent gluckgluckgluck as he rhythmically slams your face into his base.

you're sure you'll have no voice after this, but fuck, will it be worth it. you're basking in every second of this, so happy you decided to go out tonight. you were unexperienced in some ways, but you knew how to get to people, or at least to mike. you could get him to do whatever you wanted under the guise of him being in control, and all it took was a bit of sweetening with your voice, a flutter of your eyelashes and a crooked, "innocent" smile for mike to be wound your finger, abusing your face in a way you shouldn’t have dreamt of. you're running out of breath, and your fingers dig into his thighs with the message, but he ignores you, gripping your hair so that your mouth gently snaps up around him every time he pulls his hips back. the sensation is godly, and mike's not sure if he deserves this really. you'd fallen so hard for him at one point, and he'd crushed your hope to be with him under his thumb, but now you're here, letting him have you like this despite those memories. he's lucky, for whatever force is keeping you in his orbit.

"letting me do this to you while you're fucked up...letting some older guy take your throat like you're just free use...you're not getting into heaven," you laugh around him, forming your mouth into a makeshift smile as he slowly slides you off of him, overstimulated by the ridges of your throat muscles clinging to him. he doesn't want to come on your face, not this time. he wants you to beg for him to come in you, for him to fill you until you're overflowing, leaking down your thighs while he gives you more and more and more and more...

"i know," you mewl, pretty face smeared with saliva and pre-come. "i'll be in hell with you. wouldn't have it any other way." mike sits up, thumbing at your bottom lip and hissing as you unhinge your jaw and suck the tip of it inside. your eyes are getting dimmer by the second, but you're still wanting everything mike can give you.

he won't stop until you say so, and he strangely finds himself buzzing with lust at the thought of you bossing him around for his pleasure and yours. how had you gotten in his head like this?

"go in my room and strip, baby. sit in the middle of the bed and don't move." you're on your feet in a flash, clumsily dashing down the short hall without a look back.

it gives him time to get some towels, a washcloth to clean your face up, some lube, and grab waters for the both of you, thinking about all the ways he's gonna contort you. he might even make you watch in the mirror, make you take in your glassy eyes and lack of autonomy, the way you're letting him, your brother's best friend, have you in such an obscene way.

he cracks the door open with all the items in hand, and scoffs when he sees you naked, but stretched out on the bed, mouth hanging open with soft snores.

he walks over to the edge, dropping the things he's holding onto the comforter and shaking your shoulder softly. "baby," you lurch awake, murmuring "huh?".

you blink the bleariness out of your eyes as he uses one of the towels he brought to wipe off his drenched groin, and he smirks at you. you two are done for the night, and that's fine with him. something about your small figure, safely sprawled against his sheets has him seeing hearts and stars and rainbows and everything else he's tried so hard to push away.

when he's dry, ditching his shirt and boxers, he leans against his headboard, cradling you in his arms and lap as he begins using the washcloth to wipe at the dried spittle on your face. "here," he announces, cracking open a water bottle and bringing it to your lips, tilting it so you're able to get some water between them without much effort.

you swallow the sips he gives softly, wrapping your arms around his neck again. you loved being skin to skin with him, and right now, you felt tranquility.

this is but a fraction of that 100% he wanted to give, you think. something has changed in him, and now he wants to show you care. he still wants you to need him, need him to keep you protected from the world outside while he corrupts you in his own. you want that, too.

"mmmmmmm, you're so boyfriend," you muse, placing pecks on his collarbones as he continues cleaning you up. he's able to maintain a pokerface towards you, wiping at your cheeks with passive strokes, but inside, he feels nothing but chaos. why does he like hearing you call him boyfriend, like having you in his arms like this? why did it all seem to fill a hole in his heart, one he always thought would stay a cavity?

"really do love you, mike," you add, staring at him full on now. you might as well be sober, with your attentive, doe-like eyes. "tried hard not to, but i do."

you've broken him down, so easily, and somehow, he's giving into you with a deep, irrevocable sigh. he has nothing else to do but finally accept the truth.

"me too, y/n. me too."

this was rough for me to write because my brain just couldn't work properly, so i hope it's not the dogshit i think it is lmao hope this satisfies you anon!

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites-@mikeschmidtgf-@jun1p3rlol-@xyzstar-@aquamarine001-@atrociouslybear

#fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf fic #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #faire's mike schmidt <3 #faire is writing stuff #josh hutcherson #faire answers asks #this man is sweet and gross and that's hot tbh #like...to ruin someone so close to you....having to keep it secret #lord jesus christ

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cr4yolaas · 3 months

Text

blue spring — something sweet

prev: monkey tie at the exhibit | masterlist | next: coping mechanism

"what prompted this?" she asks while taking a sip of the coffee he got her. it's filled to the brim with ice, much to her dismay, but the hints of lavender and cinnamon make up for the inconvenience. she's still dressed in her pajamas, lace-lined and adorned with ribbons, but she's wide awake.

"as thanks," he claims, but truthfully, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. "for inviting me the other night. and for returning my jacket." she shakes her head at his reasoning. her hand motions to their spot on the floor, signaling him to situate himself while she prepares her materials, and as she does so, kageyama soaks in her room again, this time with more intent. the papers that were on her desk a few days prior have been neatly stacked up and stored in a container beneath her desk, and the clothes that once piled up on the floor are nowhere to be seen. most importantly, though, the canvas isn't bland anymore. there's a sketch of a girl with her arms wrapped around an unintelligible creature in the center, and the face vaguely reminds him of her. this time, he questions it. "what is that?"

her movements come to a swift halt, and her eyes dart towards the easel. he can see the tension settle in her bones at the realization that the unfinished piece is on full display. "it's nothing," she replies, and instead of leaving it alone, she moves quickly to hide it in her closet.

his head tilts at her actions. "it looks great, though."

"thank you, but-"

the call of her name from the living room cuts her short, and she's escaping through the door before he can say another word. his fist curls in on itself subconsciously while he waits, the hushed talks on the other side of the wall failing to reach his ears.

when she returns, the air around her is heavier. a soft sigh leaves her lips before she settles herself on the ground and delves into the lesson for today. he doesn’t fail to notice the slight stiffness about her.

the time slips through kageyama's hands, and unbeknownst to him, wisps of warm golden sunlight are peering through her window. his legs have fallen asleep a long time ago, and his posture is unsalvageable. regardless, he listens. he listens to the soft timber of her voice as she explains each diagram, and he listens to the enunciation of each syllable that falls from her tongue. he's entranced, to say the least, but he doesn't realize it. all he can feel is the thump, thump, thump of his heart against his chest and the airiness in his stomach.

his notes have grown cleaner, compared to the last session. she compliments his organization, and embarrassingly, a barrage of heat hits his face. the change in dynamic shakes his awareness back into place, and he realizes the sun is already disappearing into the horizon, the hue of the sunset long gone. seemingly, his awakening draws her attention to the time, and she breathes out a small apology for dragging on for too long.

he's rushing to pack his things, realizing he'd overstayed his welcome. he can't read her expression -- it's an amalgamation of emotions he can't put a name to, and it bothers him slightly. nevertheless, she bids him farewell, this time following out to the front door.

"thank you," she whispers, her arms crossed against her chest to fight against the breeze. "for the coffee and sweets. i'll have to pay you back sometime soon." the small smile on her lips almost makes him forget to respond.

"you don't have to," he replies hastily, his words tumbling out all too fast. "you're already doing me a huge favor. y'know, by tutoring me."

she shifts her weight to a different leg, her gaze attached to his face. "okay. just get home safe, alright?"

he nods, pivoting around to walk down the hallway, to the street, and back home. the trip is quiet, save for the whirring of cars on his right and the hum of evening owls on his left. when he returns, the thumping of his heart dissolves into a softer noise, and the airiness in his stomach disappears.

𝜗𝜚 incoming family trauma :3

𝜗𝜚 tsukki is very caring behind the scenes as u can see (he wants to look nonchalant and cool for his bf but i didnt tell u that)

𝜗𝜚 yachi may or may not have eaten half of the pastry box

𝜗𝜚 yn orders the same noodles every time tsukishima says he's getting takeout and he uses the add-ons as a mood indicator. no add-ons means she's doing fine, the more add-ons equate to how badly she's doing

𝜗𝜚 kageyama is like a cat exploring a new area every time he enters yn's room LOL she's noticed it she just hasn't cared enough to mention it

taglist: @mfcherry @eggyrocks

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sluttysanemi · 7 months

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Hii! I was wondering if you could do a fluffy/goofy story of Sanemi and the reader practice sparring. They both are close to winning, but then it leads to them play fighting. The reader is able to get behind him and instead of winning the spar, she just slaps his ass 💀 I just need to know his reaction to that.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

PROVOKED

c/w: jst ass slapping, more fluff!!

a/n: i wrote this while drinking sparkling wine... so tasty... do you think sanemi would be into anal

In the pleasant afternoon, you, along with Sanemi, stood outdoors. Upon his training ground, your fingers hooked strongly to the wooden material of your swords of practice. The air filled with the echo of curbed blades clashing. Fighting fiercely, every strike delivered swiftly and precisely; Sanemi's unwavering and piercing movement encouraging immense concentration.

You studied before as Sanemi's tsuguko. Though he developed an enduring attraction to you, he would not ease his movement for you, ensuring you strained yourself to the limit. His rigid guidelines and high expectations pushed you to be the finest rendition amidst battle.

As your sparring continued, a sense of tension began to rise. Movement began to grow more playful, as a prideful grin contorted Sanemi's expression.

“Sloppy.”, he teased suddenly.

You felt provoked, as you narrowed your eyes. You felt a surge of competitive adrenaline as you positioned to embark on his challenge. The rush of triumphing over hardship drove your will to achieve.

“Asshole.”, you retaliated, rotating your body slightly swifter.

The crashing of wood escalated as your shared drive to win grew. The sound of splintering timber filled the air, echoing through the space.

This had truly been a spar. Your opponent was formidable, yet you maintained your ground with tenacity and skill.

Sweat began to dampen foreheads, and breathing grew heavy.

Muscles began to ache, as a rise of tension are imposed upon them. Pushing through the discomfort, persistence and perseverance the feeble sources of motivation.

Upon an unexpected maneuver, you had placed yourself before him. Your gaze set upon his firm back, you had caught him in a brief moment of weakness.

And you struck.

…Though, rather unusually.

With a firm strike of your palm, you spank the plush skin of his ass, displaying your victory.

Sanemi blurted a quick groan, as the sudden hit caught him unprepared. A moment of silence, followed by a sudden surge in tension.

Though you chuckled proudly, it hadn't been for long; your echo of laughter subsided as you sensed the strain in his body.

His head slanted in your direction, his anger, and possibly humiliation, pulsing through his neck. His eye twitched as he gazed at you with menace.

“You really wanna go, huh?”, he challenged, his tone ominously low. “You’re on, bitch.”

He raised his practice blade, striking at you once again.

His vanity would not allow defeat to disgrace him. He'd take vengeance.

And you knew that, all too well.

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nicomoon69 · 6 months

Text

I js KNOW that one night early on during timber dating that Tim freaks the fuck out because Bernard has not sent a single text to him all night which is strange bc Bernard basically texts Tim every thought he has

anyways panicked Tim rushes to Bernard’s apartment, ready to fight only to find Bernard high as fuck three hours into an iceberg video with hot chip powder all over him (it’s genuinely everywhere somehow)

I think this would be even funnier if it’s Tim as Red Robin mid patrol and the next day he’s just gaslighting the fuck out of Bernard bc “no babe, it was probably just the weed. why would Red Robin break into your apartment?”

#timber #timbern #tim drake #bernard dowd #stoner bernard dowd #timber hc #timbern hc #dc hc #my brain

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kpopaussieline · 3 days

Text

𝔖𝔞𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔢𝔡 | 𝔗𝔴𝔬

A/N: Ayy part two's here!! I just realised it's been a few weeks since part one, my bad y'all I'm releasing these as I finish them, so updates might be a little slower. I had fun writing this part, I hope you enjoy it!

And a massive thanks to my editor/cheerleader @un06 for everything she's done so far <33

Synopsis: You live in a village where girls are offered to the vampires that live in the woods that border the town. You're next. And you're in for a surprise.

Warnings: None (yet)

Part one / part two

┆✯✡◔♱◔✡︎✯┆

“Oh, you wanna run, gorgeous? Go ahead. We love a game of chase.”

You barely register his words through the pounding in your ears. You’ve never been this afraid. This desperate to get away. Your entire body is thrumming as you sprint toward the road out of Riverfield.

You finally reach it and for a moment you feel a sense of hope. Like maybe you can do this. Maybe you will be okay. You’re aware of the self-generated breeze fanning your face and tousling your hair. You’re aware of your feet barely touching the ground, and it feels like the closest you’ll ever get to flying. It feels like a taste of freedom.

Then you see a flash of movement out of the corner of your eye.

You look. Just a glance.

Your heart almost gives out. You don’t notice much about the man, just that he’s a few feet to your left and quickly gaining on you. You also catch the wicked smile on his face and his black eyes locked on you like an eagle targeting prey.

You push yourself to your limit, willing your legs to move faster.

You hear a chuckle. “Scared, princess?”

Another voice, more confident. “We’re gonna get you, love.”

Your throat seizes up, and you know– heart sinking past your stomach– that he’s right. You’re struggling to breathe, stitches cramping your sides. Your legs ache, feeling heavier with each step. You can’t keep this up much longer.

Tears build in your eyes, blurring your vision as you desperately try to continue running. But you’re slowing down, your body slowly giving up on you.

No. No, no, no. Please.

You feel an arm wrap around your waist and you let out a strangled scream. There’s a split second before you hit the ground. The impact knocks the wind out of your already worn form.

You’re flipped onto your back and the man straddles you, pinning you down. You force your eyes to stay open. Try to focus on his face, his words.

He studies you, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. He grabs your jaw and tilts your head so you’re meeting his gaze. “Tag,” he says in a low voice. He leans down and whispers, “You’re it.”

Your chest heaves as your consciousness begins to fade.

No. Stay awake, stay awake, stay–

Your eyes flutter closed as you feel all your energy draining away.

The man lets go of your jaw and your head drops to the side. “Sweet dreams, princess.”

***

You wake slowly, drifting away from sleep despite wanting to remain there. Even once you come to, you keep your eyes shut, nestling your face into the pillow and drawing the covers up to your chin. It’s so warm and comfortable here, there’s no way you’re getting up just yet.

You shift onto your back. Pain shoots up your spine and through your limbs. A dull but noticeable ache all over your body. You wince, going still.

Then… gradually… it all comes back to you. It starts with a feeling, like something is off. Then a few murky memories– nothing more than blurry images, like you’re trying to recall a dream. Then everything comes rushing back, hitting you like a truck– the images as vivid as when they were happening.

Sam and Ray. Your nanna. The Offering. Running away. The vampires–

You open your eyes and sit upright, ignoring the pain in your muscles.

The room you’re in is fairly simple. A timber dresser with a mirror hung above it. A large window covered with a lace curtain. The double bed that you are currently in and a rug underneath it.

You tenderly pull back the covers and swing your legs out of bed. You stand cautiously, hoping the floorboards beneath your feet won’t betray your movements. Silence. You tiptoe to the window and peer through the lace at the outside world, wondering where you’ve ended up.

The woods. Of course.

You move the curtain aside and study any possible route for escape. Getting down should be easy. There’s a balcony right there and if needed, you can tie sheets to the railing and climb down. You duck behind the lace curtain and grip the top of the window. You try pushing it up, but it’s jammed. You try again. It still won’t budge. You inspect the frame, eyes narrowing when you spot a translucent yellow stripe connecting the window to the sill.

They sealed the window shut? Jesus.

You run your finger over the material and it feels slightly rubbery. You might be able to cut through it, if you can get your hands on something sharp enough.

There’s a knock on the door and your muscles tense, your body going into fight, flight or freeze. The door swings open and a tall man strolls in like he owns the place (well, technically he does), carrying a plate of food. He uses his foot to close the door behind him, then places the plate on the bedside table. Only then does he finally look at you, sliding his hands into his jean pockets.

“Good morning, sunshine. I figured you’d be hungry.” He nods to the food.

You stare at him for a moment, brows furrowed and suspicion in your gaze as your eyes flick between him and the food. “You really think I’m going to eat that? Who knows what you could’ve put in it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Look, eat it and risk it being poisoned or don’t eat it and starve yourself. Your choice.”

You blink, surprised by his attitude. You don’t know what you were expecting from a vampire, but it sure as hell wasn’t sass. You quickly gather yourself. “I’m good.”

The man shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He turns and picks the plate up, taking a bite of scrambled egg.

Your caution almost melts away as you continue to stare at him with mild disbelief. This is what you were so terrified of?

“Stop staring,” the man says without looking up. “Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?”

You cross your arms. “Of course they did, but I’m not going to waste them on some bratty vampire.” The words just spill out. You’re so used to using sarcasm, it slips your mind that you’re talking to one of your captors. You freeze again, worried you’ve just pissed him off.

But he just laughs, looking at you. “I’m bratty? I’m simply doing what I have the right to do, seeing as this is my house.”

He puts the plate down, walking slowly around the bed, and you instinctively take a step back.

“You’re like a frightened cat. It’s cute.” He smiles teasingly and it emphasises his youthful features. You hadn’t taken much notice, but he looks young. Like, the kind of young where maybe referring to him as a man is a bit of a stretch. If you had to guess, he’s probably close to eighteen or nineteen.

“What is it?” he asks, stopping a couple feet in front of you. He towers over you, looking down at you curiously. It would be more intimidating if he wasn’t so… normal. He doesn’t appear much different from any other teenage boy. You’re not sure he’s even a vampire.

You clear your throat, looking up at him. “It’s just– I– You–”

His grin widens at your stuttering and it irritates you. You take a second to compose yourself.

“How old are you?” you manage to ask.

He puts his hands in his pockets again. “As in how old should I be, or how old do I look?”

“Um... the second one?”

“Nineteen. What, am I not what you were expecting?”

“Well, not really, no,” you admit.

He smirks. “Let me guess. You were thinking Edward Cullen? Or maybe Dracula?”

Your lips twitch and you almost crack a smile. “No. I don’t know what I was expecting. But it wasn’t you.”

The guy smiles. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“So what’s your name, anyway?”

“You first.”

Really? You cross your arms again. “Y/N.”

His eyes narrow as he thinks something over. “Hm. I’m going to call you neko.”

You frown. “What does that mean?”

“It’s Japanese for cat.”

Your arms fall by your sides. “What? I’m not a cat!” you protest.

“You are now.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Why are you so offended? Cats are cute.”

“I don’t want a nickname from you.”

“Well now I’m offended,” the guy says, but he’s still smirking.

“Are you going to tell me your name or not?” you shoot back.

“Riki.”

You scoff and he crosses his arms, frowning at you.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you say, fighting a smile.

He shoves his hands back into his pockets. “Whatever.” He takes a step back, turns around and walks over to the plate of food. He picks it up, then heads for the door. “See you later, neko,” he says on his way out.

You grit your teeth as he shuts the door, not missing the smirk on his face at your reaction.

***

Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the last time you saw Riki. He came back the next day. And the next.

And now he’s back again, not bothering to wait after knocking before waltzing in.

You look up from your spot on the bed and eyeball today’s meal. It’s a sandwich. A rather delicious looking sandwich, loaded with fillings.

You’d had to give in a couple days ago, when the hunger became too much and you realised you’d have to eat eventually anyway.

Riki hands the plate to you and you take it, picking up the sandwich and taking a large bite.

“Mm… Thanks.” Your voice is muffled as you chew.

“No problem, neko.”

You roll your eyes, but don’t waste energy arguing with him about the new nickname. It seems to have stuck, and it’s probably going to stay that way.

Riki makes himself comfortable on the end of the bed. “The guys are getting impatient.”

You swallow and look up. “What?”

“The others. It’s day four. They’re not going to wait much longer.”

“For what?”

“You may be dumb, but I think you know.”

You ignore the playful jab and glance at the closed door. Yeah. You know. “They want to meet me, huh?”

“That too.”

You frown. “What do you mean, that too?”

Riki pauses for a second. “We’re due to feed again,” he says.

Just this once, you wish he wasn’t so blunt. The sandwich churns in your stomach. “Right.”

“Don’t worry, neko. It’s not as bad as people think. You didn’t even notice last time.”

You squint at him. “Last time?”

He gestures to your right arm. “The night we took you, we drew some blood while you were passed out.”

You look at your inner elbow, at the faded mark there. It’s just a dot. You’d barely noticed it at first. “You use an IV or something?”

He nods. “Something like that. It’s called venipuncture. It’s the least painful and messy method.”

“Careful there. You almost sounded considerate.”

He chuckles, then the light-hearted sound fades into the silence.

It’s funny. Apparently, there’s six other men in this house, but you’ve never heard signs of any of them. Except Riki. And if you’re being honest with yourself, as irritating as he can be… you enjoy his company. Truthfully, you don’t know what you’d do without him to break up the monotony of the day. If you were just left to sit here for hours on end with nothing to do apart from stare out the window, at the trees and maybe the occasional bird. You’re pretty sure Riki has been the only thing keeping you sane.

“Want me to be honest, Y/N?” Riki asks, breaking the silence.

You sigh. “Not really, but we both know that’s not gonna stop you.”

His lips curl slightly, then his expression goes serious. “You’re right to stay here.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is hide,” you say, pushing the sandwich aside.

“Whatever you want to call it, it’s a smart move. I don’t think you would’ve coped well throwing yourself in the deep end and going out there on the first day.”

You look at him, genuine worry swirling deep in your eyes. “Is it really that bad?” you ask quietly.

Riki studies you and his expression softens. “Depends what you define as bad. But I can assure you, we won’t hurt you. But– that said– the others won’t go easy on you. They’re going to toy with you, try and get in your head, break through any walls you put up until you give in. I’ve been with these guys a long time. I’ve seen a lot of Offerings, a lot of young women just like you in this house, and I know the boys treat this like a competition. Like a game. Vampires are possessive, that’s the one thing the stereotypes got right. Every man in this house is going to want you, and there’s not much you can do about it.”

“Including you?” you ask with a weak smile, attempting to use humour to distract yourself from the dread winding in your chest.

Riki smirks softly. “No. I’m not saying that you aren’t pretty, but I won’t try anything. With you or any other girl that comes through here.”

“Wow. So you do have some respect.”

He laughs. “Look,” he says, tone turning serious again. “I know you’ve only known me for a few days. And that even then, you barely know me. But I want you to know I’m here to help you whenever you need me.”

You meet his gaze, not missing the shift of the energy in the room. “Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?”

“Because,” he says. “You’re about to go through a lot and you’ll need someone in your corner.”

He notices you staring absent-mindedly at the wall and he shuffles closer. “I’m sorry for freaking you out, that’s the last thing I wanted to do. I’m just trying to prepare you. I promise it won’t be as horrible as whatever you’re cooking up in your head right now. It will just be… intense, at times. But you seem like you’re strong enough to handle it. And you have me. You’ll be okay.”

Another beat of silence passes before you speak up. “Will you do me a favour? Will you go with me when I finally go out there?”

“Of course.” Riki pauses. Glances at the door. “Why don’t we go now?”

You look at him wide-eyed. “Are you crazy? After everything you just said?”

He smiles. “May as well get it done, right? Besides, you’re better off meeting the others before they get fed up and storm in here.”

“Stop saying shit to scare me!”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Sorry! It’s not my fault you’re a scaredy cat.”

“We were having a moment and you ruined it.”

He shrugs a shoulder. “What can I say? I speak my mind.”

“Well then get a filter.”

“Stop procrastinating.”

You sniff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not procras–”

Riki stands up, adjusting and smoothing out his clothes. “Come on, Y/N.”

You hesitate, looking up at him like an animal putting their trust in a stranger. You don’t see much difference, really. They’re the people, you’re the deer. Maybe they want to hunt you and put you on display, or maybe they just plan on admiring you. But you won’t find out until it’s too late.

You feel the paranoia start to creep in, like fog settling over a crisp morning. What if… Riki’s like the bait? What if he was sent in here just to lure you out? You’ve been taking his presence for granted the past couple days, but… it could all be fake.

Riki’s smile drops and he looks at you with concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

You stay quiet, feeling restless all of a sudden. You glance around the room, at the dresser, the wall, the window–

Wait.

The window. You remember the seal, the only thing preventing you from getting out.

You have to get out.

You look back at Riki. “Yeah, sorry. My mind was just…”

He shakes his head. “It’s alright. I get it, this is a lot.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“So… are you ready?”

You take a moment, chewing your lip, before getting off the bed. You wobble slightly, your legs taking time to wake up after you’ve spent so long sitting down. “Not really, but… I guess you’re right. Might as well do it sooner rather than later.”

Riki quirks a brow. “You’re sure? I wouldn’t want your heart giving out or something.”

“Shut up before I change my mind.” You walk over to the door, your fingers wrapping around the handle. You take a breath, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

You swing open the door, the smell of aged wood and old wallpaper wafting up your nose. It’s familiar. It reminds you of home, of Nanna. Your newfound courage wavers for a second before you take another quiet breath, drawing back your shoulders and straightening your spine.

You look over your shoulder and see Riki watching you with an impressed gleam in his eyes. He offers you a small smile, comes over and stands beside you. He nods, silently nudging you to go out.

Just go.

You step out into the hall and Riki follows. There’s a window at the end, letting in some light, but it’s still dim. The dark floorboards are slightly worn, the panelling on the walls faded. There are several other doors lining the hallway, all of them shut. You glance at Riki again and he gestures to the left, stepping in front of you and leading the way.

As you walk down the hallway in Riki’s shadow, you feel skittish. Like a scared mouse. Like if there’s any sudden noise, you’ll startle and run in the opposite direction. You hate this, feeling so wound up with anxiety you could cry.

God, what happened to you? You’ve been through a lot, but you always managed to pull through. You were always strong– it was one thing people always admired about you, especially at such a young age. And after all that, now you’re going to cower and hide?

You know if Nanna were here, she’d tell you the same thing– albeit in a gentler way.

And that– the thought of your Nanna and the last time you saw her– is your turning point. You’re never going to see her again if you don’t get out of here. And how are you ever going to get out if you’re avoiding everything and everyone, rotting away in a bedroom?

You and Riki reach the end of the hallway and descend the stairs.

At the foot of the staircase, you see it opens up to a living room. It’s nice, in a vaguely ‘old money’ sort of way. There are two leather couches and three matching armchairs arranged around a wooden coffee table, all on top of an ornate rug. There are bookshelves stocked with hardcover volumes and paperback novels. The walls are painted a dark red, with the same dark wood wainscoting as the hallway, decorated with tapestries and oil paintings.

Riki leads you through the living room, and a wooden louvre door and a matching serving window come into view. You assume they lead to the kitchen.

You can hear soft shuffling on the other side of the door. You try to swallow, but it’s difficult when your mouth is running dry.

Riki grabs the doorknob, looking over his shoulder at you before opening the door. You step through after him and the first thing you notice is the man leaning against the kitchen counter. The first thing you register is that he’s tall. The second– despite yourself– is how he’s the kind of handsome where he’s pretty.

The two of you make eye contact and reality seems to slow down. Not because of how dreamy he is, or because it’s love at first sight, but because of how intimidating he is. You see the look in his eyes and you realise everything Riki warned you about is most definitely true.

The man smirks. “Look who it is.” He puts down the glass in his hand. “Finally come out of your burrow, love?”

You clear your throat quietly and step forward, standing at Riki’s side. “Yes.”

“Y/N, this is Heeseung. He’s the eldest, acts kind of like the leader around here. Heeseung, this is Y/N.”

Heeseung’s eyes sweep over you, and you have to strain not to shrink under his predatory gaze. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. It’s good to see you gained the courage to finally face us.” He picks up his drink again and takes a swig.

You grit your teeth, picking up on his condescending tone. “Pleasure to meet you too,” you say, making sure to insert some venom into your tone.

He smiles. He must be one of those types. The ones who get a kick out of riling people up.

Okay, calm and collected approach it is then.

“Can I get you anything?” Riki asks, interrupting the passive-aggressive exchange.

You tear your gaze away from Heeseung. “I’m good, thanks.”

He nods and walks over to the fridge, opening it and grabbing himself a can of soda. He pops the tab and has a mouthful. “Where is everyone?”

“Helping clean up the yard.” Heeseung places his glass in the sink.

“And you’re slacking off why?”

He chuckles. “I was going to head out after I finished my drink, and then you brought Y/N down.”

“Don’t let me interrupt anything,” you say, attempting your best polite voice.

Heeseung looks at you again. “You’re not interrupting anything, love. It’s just yard work, nothing the boys can’t handle.”

Riki claps him on the shoulder. “How about this? We can go give the others a hand, and neko here can take some time to look around and get comfortable.”

You hold back a snort. Comfortable, your ass.

Heeseung glances between you and Riki, arching a brow. “Neko?”

“It’s her new nickname. She loves it.” He grins playfully at you.

“Clearly,” Heeseung agrees, taking in your expression with an amused smile. “Well, love, I guess I’ll see you later. Feel free to explore. If you need anything, we’ll be out back, the door’s just through there.” He gestures to a doorway off to the side. It must lead to a mudroom or something.

With that, and a small wave from Riki, they head through the door and disappear from your sight.

You look around the kitchen, unsure what to do now. Then, as you stand there in the silence, something occurs to you.

You glance around once more, cautious this time. You strain to hear any signs that someone is nearby, but you only hear the birds outside.

You duck out of the kitchen and back into the living room. You notice a doorway by the staircase. You head towards it, your steps quick but light. As you draw closer, you see– with a flood of hope– that it’s the entryway… and the front door is mere metres in front of you.

You spot a deadbolt on the door and your heart sinks, but when you inspect it, you realise it’s unlocked.

It’s too good to be true. The whole situation suddenly screams trap.

You chew your lip, looking over your shoulder. Should you turn back around and stick to the original plan of cutting the seal on the window? That might take hours, days. You’re right here. The way out, your chance of escape is staring you in the face. You can’t let it slip through your fingers.

You decide to take the risk, your fingers wrapping around the handle and slowly twisting it. A fresh breeze drifts through the crack, carrying the scent of oncoming rain and decaying leaves. You breathe it in, using it to ground yourself and steel your nerves.

You get ready to run as you open the door. Looking outside, the coast is clear. All there is to be seen is tree after tree, dead leaves covering a good portion of the ground, and dirt broken up with the occasional patch of grass.

You jog down the steps, going to turn left and run for it, when someone appears out of nowhere, blocking your path.

“You actually fell for that, huh, princess?”

You freeze, your eyes making their way from the dirt floor to the man’s face. Short dyed-blond hair, and fox-like amber eyes. He has the kind of features that give him the opportunity to appear youthful and innocent, or mature and attractive. And right now, he looks anything but innocent.

“Cat got your tongue?” he taunts, leaning down to whisper in your ear. He grabs your arms and turns you around.

You see Heeseung approaching from around the side of the house. The rest of the men are behind him. Your heart starts to race and your eyes dart between them all like a cornered animal.

“You know, love, this is the second time you’ve tried to run from us.”

Heeseung stops directly in front of you, crowding your space. You feel claustrophobic, caught between the two men with nowhere to go, the adrenalin making your skin itch with the need to run. You feel like you’re overheating, like the air is evaporating and you’re struggling to breathe.

He grabs your chin, tilting your head so you’re looking up at him. “It’s also the last time, I hope you realise that,” he says in a low voice. There’s a tense pause before he speaks again. “You know, Y/N, these woods are extremely easy to get lost in. But we know them like the backs of our hands. If you try to run again, we will catch you. And trust me, you won’t like the consequences… but we will.”

He releases his hold on your face and steps aside, letting the blond steer you back inside.

As you’re led up the stairs and down the hall, you can’t help but feel like a prisoner being taken to their cell. The man opens the door to your assigned bedroom and pushes you inside, slams it shut, followed by the click of the lock.

You stare at the door, mind reeling. As your heart slows, clarity replaces the adrenalin. You clench your jaw, feeling a sense of anger rise in your chest. You bite down on the inside of your cheek as you feel tears building behind your eyes. Without thinking, you turn around and kick the dresser as hard as you can.

You yell a curse as pain shoots up your foot. Simultaneously, the mirror above the dresser falls off its nail and crashes to the floor. You jump back to avoid the broken glass, eyes widening with surprise. You kneel beside the shattered mirror, gingerly picking up a decent-sized shard of glass. You look over your shoulder at the window, the pieces clicking together in your head, and a smile creeps across your face.

┆✯✡◔♱◔✡︎✯┆

To be continued...

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