#haunted hoedown

[tripleyeeet]

BLEED YOU DRY (1)

SUMMARY: When you awake to find Astarion attempting to drink your blood, you find yourself making a interesting decision.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader (reads as Gender Neutral but future chapters will be femme focused, just a heads up!)

WORD COUNT: 3,273

WARNINGS: Bloodsucking, that's about it?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so I'm aware I'm way ahead of schedule for this Haunted Hoedown thing but I'm going to be gone for a few days in the middle of it so I figured I'd get a headstart now to make sure I get every day done but also to build the hype? Maybe?

Basically this is going to be a little twelve part miniseries based on prompts from this writing challenge. I'll make a masterpost either tonight or tomorrow with all the ones I chose, plus some other stuff, so you guys know what's going on!

The prompt for this particular day was "I want to watch you bleed."

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

The squirming tadpole behind your eye is what wakes you up. Its constant movement, wriggling from edge to edge quickly prompts you to groan and palm your eye, attempting to suppress the feeling as you blink through the darkness. It takes a moment to adjust —to feel that twitch of the creature die down— and when it does there’s a sigh of satisfaction that leaves your lips.

Despite how long it’s been, you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the fact that you have a parasite living inside your mind. Even after experiencing the insertion firsthand, you often forget it’s there, looming behind your retinas, awaiting use every time you run into another. Normally it’s so still, barely inching out of place; sitting there, incubating within your thoughts. Tonight though, something’s urging its presence. Keeping it awake as you close your eyes again, scrunching up your face once it moves a second time.

Angrily, you sit up and turn your head, suddenly catching Astarion’s gaze, noticing the open-mouthed grin he offers in response. 

“Shit.”

You narrow your eyes, focusing on his teeth. How bared they are; ready to strike at a moment's notice despite the only food lying around being you. “Were you just about to bite me?” you ask and almost immediately he attempts to play it off as if it were nothing, scoffing and rolling his eyes. 

“I wasn’t going to hurt you if that’s what you’re insinuating. I was only going for a nibble.” 

You can feel your tadpole squirm. He’s telling the truth, albeit for reasons that are more selfish than he lets on. Despite seeming otherwise, he only wants to drink from you for strength —for energy. His desire to kill you is minuscule, lingering in the shadows of his mind for a potentially later day but surprisingly such notions don’t scare you. Astarion may be a bloodthirsty creature but for now, he’s an ally.

“And you didn’t think to just ask first?” You raise a brow at him, watching his expression twist into something bordering between confusion and interest. 

“I’m sorry, just ask?” he parrots, exploring your features and how they remain calm despite the context.  

He was expecting you to be angry. To throw some kind of fit and deny. It’s what any normal person would do, but considering the circumstances, offering up a little blood to build up the strength of someone on the same side is worth more than the annoyance that forms across your face. 

“Yes, like a normal person,” you chastise, taking in the scowl he offers in response. 

His brows furrow at the sound of your words, angling upwards to appear as sinister as possible, and you can’t help but snort. Something about his constant disapproval is almost humorous at this point.

“Normal? Darling, I’m a creature of the night. A blood sucking fiend. A—“

“Vampire, yes, we’re all well aware given the teeth.” You poke at your own canine, tapping the enamel with open lips just as he swallows hard and narrows his eyes. 

“Yes, well, obviously considering such details I thought it inappropriate to ask. People don’t typically agree to such perilous sounding terms,” he says, voice light and airy. Casual, you might say, despite the context. 

“So instead you were just going to go for it?” You raise your brow, a smirk playing across your lips as he rolls his eyes. 

“Seemed like the best possible option… at the time.” 

You offer him a quiet ah, nodding your head as the two of you remain still, watching each other. Trying to gauge how the other is feeling without the use of your tadpoles. 

Based on what you know about Astarion you assume he’s too stubborn to ask. Now that he’s caught, regardless of whether or not he needs the blood, he’ll never find himself in a position to be desperate enough to say those simple little words. Being a man of persuasion, he’ll most likely just talk his way into it —make it seem like the whole thing was your idea in the first place before diving right in. 

It’d be respectable if you weren’t the victim. If it were Wyll or Gale and you were to bear witness to his deceptions, you’d fully support it. Encourage it even if he were to ask your opinion.

Since it’s you though, you can’t help but feel a bit frustrated. Astarion and you have never been particularly friendly. Having only been around each other for a few weeks, all you’ve talked about is the Illithid and how you plan to get rid of it —what you’ll do after it’s gone. But even the latter conversations hardly spark specific details. Mostly they’re just brief mentions of wanting to run away. To become hidden after the war is over. 

You assume someone’s looking for him based on the way he speaks and carries himself. When you’re on the move he hides within the pack, using you all as a shield while he looks around. Always on high alert, his ears twitch at any foreign sound, his eyes dart to meet the faces of anyone you may come across. At night, he’s always the one to keep watch and over time you’ve come to realize it isn’t just because he doesn’t sleep. It’s because he’s looking for someone. 

Even now, as he stands above you, you can see his eyes looking past you to focus on the underbrush. The way they narrow with focus, pushing past your face. He can sense something that you can’t —feel the eyes of some foreign presence staring at the two of you. 

You’re tempted to use the tadpole to find out what exactly it is but quickly refrain once you hear the shuffling of branches behind you followed by Astarion’s breath of relief. 

“You alright?”

His eyes shut for a split second. His chest heaves a single breath and in that moment you’re struck with an odd sense of sympathy. The feeling of pity laces throughout your thoughts as you imagine Astarion’s life before all of this. You imagine it isn’t great. Considering he’s a vampire, there’s probably at least an inkling of trauma there after living, dying and coming back as something other than yourself. No sane person would be the same after that, especially when taking into account all the symptoms. Before his transition, he could do mundane things. Enjoy the pleasantries of life like the sun and sleeping and food. 

Nowadays, all it seems he craves is blood and power. Flesh of whatever he can get his greedy little hands on. The upper hand in any possible argument. Both make what Astarion is on the surface, but looking at him now, wondering what else lies behind that thick, defensive coat of first impressions, you know there are other things. Nicer ones he refuses to showcase. 

They’re the details of his life before everything. Traits reserved only for himself, and for some uncharacteristic reason, you’re tempted to find out what they are. 

“If you need to…” Trailing off, you feel your stomach twist at the realization of what you’re about to offer. The consequences are high, maybe even too high, but perhaps the benefits could be deemed higher. At this point, you’re certain no one else will give him what he needs. They’re all too noble or guarded to allow Astarion, regardless of his current allegiance, to drink. 

They don’t trust him. And even though you find yourself in the same boat, feeling the skepticism of your words start to echo in the back of your mind, you know it’s the most logical thing to do. Sure, it may not be the right one. By a long shot, it’s probably one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had, but you know deep down that it’s necessary for your survival. To ensure that, when all this blows over and the potential of you going your separate ways occurs, Astarion doesn’t view you as an enemy.

“If you need to drink, you can.” 

His eyes widen only a bit. Just enough for you to notice the slight shock that spreads across his features. “I can?” 

There’s a reluctance you feel begin to bubble up but instead of acting on it you merely shut it down, nodding your head. “Yes, but only a little. Don’t want you bleeding me dry before this whole thing is all over.” 

Somehow that makes him laugh. “Oh, darling, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.” 

You force yourself not to smirk as he lies through his teeth. Knowing him, he’d suck you dry if it weren’t for the fact that there’s safety in numbers. “Unfortunately for me this isn’t a dream.” 

“Fair point,” he replies, taking a short step forward. After that he slowly begins to crouch towards the ground, watching you closely —focusing on the rise and fall of your chest as his face falls mere inches from yours. “For now though, I promise to do no such thing.”

“And you’re certain you’ll keep it?”  

He hums, a grin pulling at his cheeks. “For now,” he muses. “In the future though…”

He’s so close you can feel his breath. Hot and heavy puffs pushed through a low, far too sultry tone of voice that has you pressing your lips together in a thin line. 

Out of everyone, Astarion’s always been the most intriguing. The one you’ve had this constant back and forth with, debating whether or not to approach or run. Aside from the obvious vampirism, it’s quite obvious that he isn’t like the others. From what you’ve been able to piece together, he doesn’t have a cause. A God or some sort of leader he’s willing to lay down the law for. He’s not noble like Wyll or faithful like Shadowheart. He’s just Astarion. A bloodied wolf all by his lonesome, following the rest of the pack. 

You’re sure he has desires like the rest of them. Wants and needs that’ll inevitably be gifted to him at the end of this —so long as you all survive. Like everyone else, he has a purpose in mind, but what that purpose is is unbeknownst to you thanks to the charm he offers in replacement of the truth. Because of this, he feels almost like a treasure chest. A trove of untold riches kneeling before you, tempting you to open. 

“I’m sure the future will have us far enough away from each other where that doesn’t happen, so I won’t worry.” 

Almost immediately, he can tell you’re fishing for information. The way his brow slightly upturns and the flirtatious grin across his face transitions into more of a smirk. It makes you internally curse, knowing that no matter how hard you try you’ll never beat him at his own game. His way with words is too precise. Too calculated, even for someone like you who grew up convincing people of your lies. 

“You never know. Perhaps after this is all over I’ll follow you. Linger amongst the shadows until the time is right.” 

You can’t tell if he’s kidding. His voice is too convincing to be completely certain, so you merely roll your eyes. “Yes, well, if you do decide to drink me to death, be sure to make it quick.” 

He clicks his tongue, leaning slightly further in. “What would be the fun in that though?”

There’s an unfamiliar ache inside your chest. A rupture of pain that wreaks havoc against your ribcage, pounding. Now that he’s close to you, you can assume it’s always been there but because he’s so good at posing a distraction you weren’t fully aware of it until now. 

“Fair point,” you repeat his words back to him, deeply inhaling just as the tadpole suddenly shifts in tandem with your chest. Ebbing and flowing across your inner eye in time with your shaky breath, you notice Astarion pick up on it, humming knowingly. 

“You fear me, don’t you?” 

Despite the answer being blatantly obvious, your lips remained sealed. Closed off, regardless of the truths the rest of your body spills. 

“It’s quite alright, darling. It’s normal. Creatures of the night are hardly meant to be trifled with.” 

He’s in your face now, a mere hair’s length away, once again baring his teeth. Against your lips, you can feel the movement of his words pushing through the air, coating you in further reluctance as the withheld breath inside you finally releases. As it hits his face, he blinks and pulls away. Ever so slightly giving you the space you need to recollect your thoughts and swallow back the fear. 

He’s terrifying. Even you have to admit that. Unlike Lae’zel he’s more calculated in his intimidation, opting to pull you in —to make you feel comfortable— before he ultimately strikes. Because of this, his threats feel more authentic. Less like simple tactics used to get you to back off. They aren’t words of warning —they’re promises. Declarations of a moment he’s more than willing to make a reality if given the chance.

“Do you want my blood or not, Astarion?”

Your patience is thin. Your chest is in pain and while the tadpole inside unwittingly reaches out to his, driving you both closer as he instructs you to lie back down and get comfortable, all you can feel is temptation. Desire. 

Upon resting your head, you feel the connection between you grow stronger. Inside, your head flashes with icy sensations that trickle down towards your neck. Small tremors of what’s to come as Astarion positions himself around you. 

When he leans down, there’s a moment where you think of retracting. This is all too sudden, you think. A mistake made in hopes of gaining the upper hand. Just moments ago you were made unaware of the full potential of Astarion’s charms, but now that you’re lying beneath him, awaiting the moment he sinks his teeth into your flesh, you can feel the regret begin to build.

“It won’t last.”

Pulling yourself from your thoughts, you look to see him staring over top of you. Both of his arms are planted on either side of your head, bending at the elbow so that he’s low and close. “I’m sorry?”

“The pain. It won’t last long, I promise.”

Strangely enough, he sounds sincere. Not that that means much when a good portion of the words that exit his lips are lies. Still though, instead of returning to that previous headspace you merely breathe and nod, waiting for the moment the tadpole’s connection vibrates with confirmation and Astarion begins to lean in. 

It’s a slow process. Above you, his shoulders shift, pushing his arm to cup the back of your head and expose your neck. Against your skull, Astarion tightens his grip to steady the endless thoughts that race through your mind as you share a glance. It’s small but important. A moment of recognition that tonight is not the night you die at his hand, but merely a preview of what might come if your paths wrongfully cross. 

At the last second, you give him a curt nod and feel him dip, running the tip of his tongue along your jugular before the presence of teeth poke holes through your flesh. At first, it's painful. The blood that’s sucked through your veins pulsates through the open wound in stinging waves as you feign a soft groan. Then Astarion’s grip around your head tightens at the sound, pushing you further into his mouth. Further into the euphoria he takes as the feeling transcends into something numbingly cold. 

Your eyes flutter shut at his continued feed. The feeling in your hands begins to fade even as you somehow find them moving to Astarion’s back, one of them pressing against his shoulder, the other finding purchase in his locks. At that point, you can feel Astarion moan against you, desperation filling his every cell as his teeth shift further into your neck, prompting your eyes to shoot open. 

He’s going to kill you at this rate. To drink you drier than an insect's husk, so, through half-conscious pushes, you tell him to stop. To let go and to keep his promise as you grip the roots of his hair and pull. 

As it happens you see his eyes shift to yours. They’re blown out completely, the whites of his eyes stained red to match his ruby pupils. For a moment, they remain locked to your half-lidded ones, honing in on the way they start to flutter again before you see them tightly close. Then he finds himself ripping away and gasping for air. Coughing through the thick blood that coats his tongue as he stares down at your neck.

The wound is only slightly gaping. Two well-defined puncture wounds sit side by side, but at the moment you can’t feel them. Instead, there’s still only numbness. A space of nothing that lingers between your head and chest, making you shift to sit up and place your hand there, finding more blood. 

“See? Over before you know it, right?” He laughs but all you do is glare. 

“You almost killed me.”

“Ah, yes, but notice the key word being almost.” 

If you weren’t so heavy-headed you’d punch him in the throat. Maybe strangle him if you could get the right angle. “Yes, fine, you’ve had your fun. Now, do you need anything else or am I fine to pass out now?” 

You expect him to say something else. To make some quip about the safety measures of post-bloodsucking, but he doesn’t. Instead, he merely inches closer, staring at you as he reaches for your bloodied hand and pulls it close. 

Once again, your tadpole wriggles against your will. Throughout your skull, it practically dances as Astarion glances down, taking two of your fingers into his mouth with careful precision. If anyone were to see they’d most likely faint at the mere lewdness of it. Frozen in time, your body refuses to move as he laps the blood off your skin, staring at you through hooded eyes that make you want to scream.

You’ve never been in this kind of position before. Sure, you’ve experienced many kinds of intimacy, both sexual and not, but somehow this feels different. Forbidden, in a sense. As if sharing this moment is not only wrong but also against some sort of ethical code. 

At first, you wonder if it’s because blood isn’t necessarily something that’s given. Always taken. In battle, it’s ripped from your skin through the means of injury. Punctured or sliced out of you at the hands of a sword. No bond goes along with it. No mutual agreement that any life will remain once the deed is over. 

But then you begin to think of Astarion. The elven vampire now infected with the Illithid. Like you, he’s been changed. Subtly shifted into something new. Overall, your transformation isn’t nearly as different as his. Before the infection, you could still enjoy the pleasantries of being human, but still, there’s this connection that draws you towards him. It makes its presence known within the tadpole. Throughout the movements that echo in your minds as Astarion cleans the last of the blood away, looking at you with soft eyes.

“I consider this a gift, you know,” he says, dropping your hand, and moving away to stand without so much as a thought. 

You blink back your confusion, trying your best to focus on the genuine-looking smile that appears as he takes a few steps backwards, never breaking eye contact until he telepathically adds I won’t forget it then stalks away. 

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x reader #astarion x you #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fan fic #bg3 fan fic #haunted hoedown #writing challenge #summer writes

[saradika]

— BLEED FOR ME MASTERLIST

[complete] | [playlist] | [preview]

mand’alor!vampire!din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 20k

prompts: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+ 2 to be revealed!)

tags: vampire!au, blood/drinking blood, shared memories, angst, death/violence, biting, body worship, possessive!pleasure!dom!din, implied aphrodisiacs, mind meld, praise kink, oral, piv, marking

For the haunted hoedown, hosted by @psychedelic-ink and @inklore! References some themes from this fic & also inspired by this post.

When it's revealed that the Mand'alor is seeking a companion, you find yourself among those hoping to be chosen. A life of luxury in exchange for your blood seems a fair trade - even if you're hiding a closely-kept secret. One that would certainly put your life in danger.

Though, you are not as alone as you think.

Because he has one, as well.

❧ part i

❧ part ii

❧ part iii

❧ part iv

❧ part v

❧ epilogue

❧ just a taste - vampire!boba fett x f!reader

❧ bound version of this fic

(And a huge thank you and lots of love to laur and sil for making such an amazing event!! 🥀)

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin imagine #vampire!din #haunted hoedown #hauntedhoedown

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊.

DAY ELEVEN OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: cyberpunk au + fallen angel au + “i will keep hurting. i will keep killing. anything to protect you.”

pairing: fallen angel!joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, romance

summary: you and tess go in to dismantle a cult, neither of you were expecting to find a rugged fallen angel being experimented on.

word count: 5.2k

warnings: possessive!joel, piv, creampie, breeding kink, dirty talk, violence

a/n: this was heavily inspired by miyazaki's on your mark music video! also we're almost add the end babes, only one more to go, isn't that exciting!

Ash sticks to your skin. The air is warm and damp, the scent of it churning your stomach and making you want to vomit. You observe the city as the aircraft inch closer to a particularly fancy and tall building. Purple and blue neons bleed into the night sky, blurring the sight of the stars. Both you and Tess are standing at the edge of the opening, ready to make the jump down below. You look at her and she nods with a fleeting smile. 

“Let’s get these fuckers,” she says, her voice modulated as it echoes in your earpiece. “See you on the other side.” 

She extends a fist and with your heart still beating madly in your chest, you bump it. Without speaking, she counts down, one finger going down at a time.  Your gaze flits between the building and her hand, sweat building at your temples and sliding down your spine. You’ve heard of this place before. A religious cult famous for abducting people and in some extreme cases experimenting on them if they refused to follow the leader’s guidance. 

The last finger goes down and you both jump in unison. 

Your visor comes down, blocking the vicious wind from cutting your skin. Tess is slightly ahead of you, her helmet also fully materializing around her skull, brunette hair fluttering at her neck. The mission was simple. Go in and arrest who you can find, shoot those who resist. 

The two of you touch down on the rooftop of the target building and quickly pull out your weapons. Tess leads the way as you both enter the building through a concealed access point. The interior pulses with a neon-laden atmosphere, where every corner is bathed in vibrant, shifting hues. Holographic information displays punctuate the surroundings, casting an ever-changing cascade of colors across the sleek, polished surfaces. 

You and Tess navigate through the dimly lit corridors, guided by the faint hum of machinery and the eerie whispers of cult members echoing through the halls. The air is thick with tension, and every step feels like a potential trap. It almost feels like a labyrinth with the way the halls constantly turn and twist, you faintly hear Tess cursing from underneath her visor. You share her sentiment. 

Moving deeper into the building, you finally encounter the cult's followers. They wear a strange blend of traditional robes and cybernetic enhancements, their faces obscured by eerie masks that display holographic symbols and patterns. 

The confrontation escalates quickly. They don’t even have any weapons on them yet they jump you, before you can start shooting one of them gets the better of you and knocks you to the floor. Tess is there in an instant, a laser blade to the throat is all it takes for the person to go limp on top of you. 

The room erupts in chaos but it doesn’t mean much to either you or Tess. This wasn’t your first mission together, and the two of you had adapted a fighting style that complimented each other’s strengths. The deafening blasts of energy illuminate the room with dazzling bursts of color. Bodies fall, and the cult's resistance begins to crumble. 

You press on, determined to reach the heart of this twisted cult. Along the way, you discover hidden chambers filled with bizarre experiments and technology. You take a mental note to come back later on and investigate. The air is thick with the smell of chemicals and the unsettling hum of machinery. Tess makes a sharp turn and you follow, entering a dim room. More cult members attack you, they look like scientists, they fall just as easily as the rest.

“What the hell is this place?” Tess mutters, walking ahead and looking around. A blue hue coats the entirety of the room, the sound of liquids making up for most of the background noise. 

You notice a table right in the middle and without a second thought you head towards it, ignoring Tess’s warnings to be careful. Something draws you to it. To him. Your pulse quickens as you notice a man lying on top of the metal surface, eyes closed, seemingly sleeping. His chest is bare, the lower half of his body covered with a thin, dark pair of sweatpants. 

He’s beautiful. Rugged features scorned with cuts and bruises, but still stunning. His hair is a mess, lips chapped. He’s barely breathing, a sudden worry surrounds your heart, turns your stomach sour. 

“Hey, check it out,” Tess says, walking around the table. Her hand moves over a lifeless wing, feathered and dark as night. You hold your breath, eyes going wide. “Do you think these are real?” 

You don’t touch the wings, feeling like it might be disrespectful to the handsome man. You eye them warily and think about all the things these maniacs must’ve done to him. “They look real to me,” you murmur. “What should we do?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“If we bring him with us surely the government will experiment on him too,” you point out. “He’s been through enough.” 

Tess drops the wing and raises an eyebrow, “You in love with him or something?” she shakes her head. “We really need to find you some good dick.” 

“That’s not what this is,” you hiss, cheeks burning up. “You know it’s not right. He can stay at my place.” 

“And you think they won’t come looking for him?” 

“They can’t look for something they don’t know that exists.” 

Tess contemplates your words for a moment and you worry this might be where she draws the line. Her kind eyes flit between you and the half-naked man, then her shoulders drop, yielding, she lifts her hands. 

“Fine, let’s get this hunk of meat out of here.” 

However, neither you nor Tess had calculated how heavy he would be. 

“Holy fuck, how much does he weigh?” Tess groans, holding him by the ankles. You had your hands tucked under his armpits, barely keeping him from dropping to the steel ground. 

“Maybe the wings add to it,” you answer, short of breath. Using the strength from your knees, you jerk him up so your arms can get a better grip. Sweat beads at your temples and slides down your cheeks. “Fuck—” 

“He’s gonna suck your fridge dry,” Tess huffs. “All the gadgets in the world and not one to carry a heavy. . . what is he? A damn bird?” she shook her head. “I don’t think I wanna know.” 

“If you could shut up for two seconds,” you say, gasping for air. “This might be easier. Besides, we’re at the door.” 

“Oh fuck, we actually are.” 

Tess manages to kick it open and you both peer down the rooftop, you hold on to the unconscious man tighter, scared he might fall. 

“What now?” you shout from over the wind. 

“Now,” Tess says, her gaze meeting yours, she flashes you a smirk. “We jump.” 

Despite the multiple rules you’ve broken by taking in Joel—a fallen angel he’d explained when he woke up, much to your disbelief— to your home a week ago, your mornings start surprisingly calm. You have a small apartment and as you head to the kitchen, you watch the trickles of the morning light warming the floors. You enjoy these silent hours in the city. No bright neon light burning your eyes, no constant buzz of huge billboards humming in your ears; just the sun, the soft sound of birds chirping and soft wind carrying notes of clattering dishes. 

You fill the kettle with water and place it on the stove, turning the flame on to let it slowly come to a boil. While waiting, you reach for your favorite coffee mug, the one with a chip on the handle that you can't bear to replace. As you retrieve the mocha pot from the cabinet, you notice a slight, fleeting shadow out of the corner of your eye. You turn your head to see Joel standing in the doorway, his wings tucked neatly against his back. He hadn’t been able to open his wings fully yet, his wounds too deep to heal. 

A sudden anger simmers in your soul. The things he must’ve endured and all for what? For a bunch of people to feel good about themselves? For the to find out how to be immortal? All of it was absolute bullshit. 

You pull out another mug. 

His dark eyes meet yours and you swallow, a shudder rolling down your spine, “Good morning,” you choke out, pouring some ground coffee into the mocha pot's filter basket and assembling the pot. The soothing sound of the kettle on the stove fills the room as you watch Joel walk closer, his steps nearly soundless. 

“Mornin’,” he grumbles, standing right behind you. His presence frying your nerves and making your hands tremble. “What’s that?” 

“Coffee,” you answer. You place it on the stove and turn on the heat. “I’m making you some too. You can try it,” then you turn, eyes going wide upon noticing just how close he is. His eyes bore into yours, observing your soul and every inch of your face. Your eyes trace the bridge of his nose and linger on his lips; so lush. The divot in the middle of his bottom lip entices you to come closer but you hold your ground. “Are you hungry?” 

He nods, eyes untrusting. 

“Okay,” you say slowly. “I’ll make us breakfast. How are your wings feeling?” 

He licks his lips, “Better.” 

You nod and look towards the fridge, your lips pressed tightly together. He finally backs away, allowing you to prepare an omelet for the both of you.

Joel silently watches as you crack the eggs and mix in the basil, tomato, and cheese.  He watches as you pour two cups of coffee and bring out the plates. He watches as you sit and finally turn to look at him; still standing in the kitchen, watching. . . observing. 

“Come sit,” you say and pull back a second chair. “You watched me prepare it there’s no poison in it promise,” you give him a playful smile and you swear the corners of his lips twitch. 

He sits and picks up his fork, you cut the omelet in half, sliding it over to his plate, “So since you never had coffee before I didn’t put any milk and sugar in it, you can taste it and if it’s too bitter I can add some.” 

Joel picks up the mug, his wings slightly raising in alarm as he sniffs the hot beverage. He raises a brow, eyes meeting yours, “How do you drink yours?” 

“With lots of milk.” 

“I feel like that defeats the purpose,” he closes his eyes and takes a sip. He smacks his lips slowly, eyes fluttering open to give you a look. “Not bad,” he says. “I like how the taste alerts me.” 

“Well,” you answer with a smile. “Don’t have too much of it or you’ll be up all night.” 

“Who says I’m already not?” 

You stiffen at the words, meant to be a playful quip turn real in mere seconds. Joel seems unaware of the sudden pressure forming in your shoulders, around your spine; he bites into his omelet, moaning at the taste—which adds a whole different kind of pressure. . . mostly gathered between your legs.

“Can’t you sleep?” you ask silently, looking down. “Because of. . . what they’ve done.” 

Joel lowers his fork, lifting his gaze in hopes of meeting yours, he furrows his brows upon realizing your downward-looking lips and your eyes that don’t meet his. 

“That’s a small part of it,” he says, the soft authority of his tone bringing your gaze back up. “I remember those moments in bits and pieces, they come and go. . . It’s the fall that still keeps me up at night. ” 

“The fall from. . . heaven?” 

“Yes.” 

And that’s it. He continues to eat, continues to drink until all of it is wiped clean in front of him. 

“Let me clean your wounds,” you say and stand up from the table. Joel hadn’t been able to fly at all since you and Tess busted him out of that hellhole. He had been reluctant to treatment but realized quickly that he needed modern medicine if he was going to get better. “I’ll be right back.” 

When you come back you find him sitting on his usual stool. It was high enough so that his wings wouldn’t drag across the floor. He sits silently, eyes like those of a hawk as he watches you place the supplies on the coffee table. You start by delicately peeling off the old bandages, ensuring they don't cause any pain or pluck a feather. The only sign that he feels any discomfort is the rapid pace of his breathing

You find that you enjoy these moments of vulnerability. Some part of you doesn’t want him to go. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, crumbling the old bandages and throwing them to the floor for later cleaning. 

His spine straightens, “For what?” 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

“You didn’t.” a moment of silence stretches between you before he speaks again. “You saved me.” 

“Tess did too,” you add, a small smile tugging at your lips. Those two had been butting heads as soon as Joel woke up. 

“She told me on multiple occasions that she would’ve left me to rot.” 

“That’s how Tess cares.” 

“Humans still confuse me.” 

You snort and begin cleaning the wound, he winces a bit, “We’re not all bad.” 

You’re happy to see that he’s nearly completely healed. His red, wet wounds from before now a tender pink. Your eyes move up to his neck. You’ve always stared at his neck since the very beginning. It reminds you of the columns of old temples that now lay in ruin thanks to the new world. His sun-kissed skin is a temptation, your lips tingling with the need to feel bare skin, wondering if it’s as warm as you thought. 

“I don’t think I should bandage up the wounds anymore, they should breathe,” you murmur, your voice coming out hoarser than you thought. “But still, you need to be careful.” 

Joel doesn’t say a word but his wings twitch as if they can sense your sinful thoughts. Maybe they do. You have no idea how angel powers work, or if he has any. 

He’ll leave soon, you remind yourself. You’ll be alone again. 

You don’t know what it is that guides your hand, but you realize in shock that your fingers start to dance along the exposed skin of his nape. Indeed it is as warm as you thought. You feel the way muscles tense under your touch, hear his heavy breathing. 

Reality comes crashing in and you pull away with a sudden flinch, an apology ready at your lips— 

He’s fast. Inhumanly so. Joel takes a hold of your wrist and pulls you to his lap, you fall sideways with a sharp yelp. The angel doesn’t say a word and tugs your head back, exposing your neck to him. You shudder at the touch of his lips. Whimper at the way he runs his nose down your collarbone. 

“I can smell the arousal on your skin,” he drawls and tastes your skin with the flat of his tongue. “I can taste it too. Such a sinful little thing.” 

“I—I’m—” You’re what? Sorry? You don’t feel sorry. 

“Tell me what you want.” 

“You don’t have to. . .” 

Joel snorts, “I know I don’t have to. I want to,” he answers, he grips at your shirt and tugs you down while grinding up, the heft of his cock rubs against the swell of your ass. You both groan at the contact. “You feel that? You feel what you’re doin’ to me?” 

Your heart leaping, you guide his hand to the waistband of your sweatpants. His eyes flashing with desire, he slips his fingers under the fabric, you shudder at the drag of his fingers between your folds. Joel burrows his face into the crook of your neck, his chest rattling with a growl. 

“So wet,” he musters, the pads of his fingers stroking your throbbing clit. 

“Now you know what you do to me.” 

His wings suddenly stretch out from one side to the other, making him look even larger if possible. Your eyes go wide, lips parting with a soft gasp. You imagine if you stare at them long enough you could see stars. 

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” he breathes, nostrils flaring. He pulls his fingers out and holds your waist in an iron grip. You whimper at the loss. “You don’t know me. This ain’t a game.” 

“That’s right I don’t,” you answer. “I only know what I feel. And what I feel, Joel, is something I’ve never felt before. Something that both excites me and makes me want to run and hide because soon enough, I’m going to have to deal with it all on my own. You’ll be gone and I’ll be here, trying to gather the pieces of my bleeding heart.” 

You think you might be imagining it, but his wings become a shield, caging you in. His gaze seems almost broken. Distraught. He mumbles something inaudible. Your brows furrow and you ask him to repeat himself. 

“My wings are healed. I lied to you.” 

You think you misheard him but at the same time you know you hadn’t. You blink rapidly. You don’t understand, how can be healed? 

“You can fly?” 

“I can, sweetheart.” he pulls you closer, your covered nipples grazing against his firm chest. Your breath catches in your throat. “I lied to you because. . . I don’t want to go.” 

“Joel. . .” 

“You still want me?” he asks, cutting you off, voice rueful. “I’m selfish. I get what I want and do anythin’ to make it happen. Why do you think I was cast out? Not exactly one of god’s favorites.” 

You feel his breath on your skin as he speaks. His voice deep, dripping like sweet molasses. You brush your lips together and his chest heaves, his grip on you tightens, his cock throbbing. 

“You’re my favorite,” you whisper. 

The dam breaks. 

You find yourself bent over the low coffee table, the wood creaking under your weight, your cheek smooshed against it. Joel holds your arms behind your back, rutting against your ass like some wild animal in heat. Arousal pools between your legs and you feel a fresh wave of wetness spreading within the threads of your underwear. 

“Do you even know how to fuck?” you ask, hoping to gain some kind of edge despite the obvious difference in strength. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you’d be surprised.” 

He pulls down your sweats and the heft of his cock weighs heavily between your ass cheeks. Slick gathers between your folds. A soft whimper trembles in your throat. You can’t see him but you can imagine him looking down at you, seeing how desperate and needy you are. Joel parts your cheeks and presses forward, his cock gliding between your soaked tighs. He groan rattles in his chest and you feel the bulbous head of his cock stretching your entrance. 

“Oh god. . . Joel. . .” 

A choked-out sound drops from your lips as he wraps his fingers around your throat and pulls you up, it’s harder to breathe in this position, your body bent in a way so that your eyes can meet. He kisses your forehead. 

“Not god,” he says, thrusting forward and filling you to the brim. Your face goes slack, brows pinching with pleasure and a hint of pain. Your moan is loud and long, your eyes still glued to his. You shudder at the intimacy. “It’s just me, sweetheart. No one else. I’m the only one that get’s to fuck this pussy—the only one that gets to see your face like that.” 

You lick your lips and breathe heavily. When you nod, Joel releases you and you fall forward, bracing yourself with your elbows at the very last second. 

“Look at you,” he groans, large hands stroking your cheeks. “Do you even know how soft and warm your insides are?” 

He doesn’t expect an answer as he pulls back, your body is set a flame, pleasure building and winding you up like a doll. Your thighs shake, he just watches you drown in your lust. He’s intrigued, you think, because he just waits with the head of his cock still inside. You wiggle your ass, hoping for him to move, to fuck you senseless. 

You’re reprimanded with a sharp smack to your ass but you welcome the pain, embrace it. 

You can’t see it yet you feel it. The vicious drip of his spit on your stretched-out hole. You shiver and your eyes roll back into your skull, his thumb traces where you two connect, smearing his saliva, “J—Joel, please,” you beg but you know it’s futile. He’s going to take you apart only to piece back together. 

“You still think I don’t know how to fuck?” he hisses, a cruel taunt you didn’t expect. You shake your head and close your eyes. Another smack follows, prompting the clench of your cunt. He groans. 

Joel finally gives you what you want. What you need. 

His pace is brutal, fast and hard, desperate, just like you feel. He knocks the air from your lungs with every thrust, the smack of his hips bruising. Joel has no shame in the voices he makes, he groans, moans and fucks you harder, forcing you to be loud with him. When you let out a particularly high-pitched whimper, he covers your body with his own like a blanket and ruts into you. His wings rustle and shake, the tip of it touching your lips before it moves away. You see bright starts when he grazes upon a particularly sensitive spot, your jaw dropping and body tensing. He mouths at your neck, hand sliding between your legs, the pads of his fingers brush against your puffy clit—

A knock. A loud one at that.

The sound startles you both into stillness, and you let out a hiss from under your breath. You’ve forgotten that Tess was going to come by. Apologetically you reach back and manage to squeeze Joel’s thigh, your fingers sliding over the muscle from sweat. Joel understands that this will have to wait but instead of letting you go like you expected, he lifts you up from the coffee table, your back flush against his chest. You both face the door and another knock follows, your body tensing. 

“I’m not gonna stop fuckin’ you for no one,” he groans, pushing even deeper. Your head falls to his shoulder and your nipples tight. “She can come back.” 

“Joel, she might hear us,” you hiss but make no move to actually stop him. You feel him smirking against your skin. He slowly draws his hips back and thrusts into you—hard. Your body jerks and you cover your mouth last second before a moan can slip out. 

“That’s it, just keep quiet and she’ll be none the wiser.” 

Tess’s voice calls out your name through the door and knocks again, louder this time. Your eyelids flutter, your orgasm rapidly building from the thought of being caught. If Tess decides to break the door, which you don’t put past her, she’d see you in your full naked glory; your breast swaying with every ruck of Joel’s hips, your face dazed as you attempt to keep your noises to yourself. . . 

“You’re so fuckin’ wet—you’re turned on, aren’t you? Filthy thing, you like the idea of your best friend seein’ you gettin’ your brains fucked out?” 

You don’t dare answer and instead, you just take it. His fingers toy with your clit, swirling and drawing shapes over and over until your entire body is trembling and your core is tight. Joel’s hips stutter, pacing frantic, “Yes yes yes yes—come for me, sweetheart. I wanna feel you so bad, come on, that’s it—that’s it—” 

It happens both suddenly and torturingly slow. Your body locks up and you squeeze around him, gushing and moaning helplessly into your palms. Your nostrils flare. Joel holds you tight, preventing you from accidentally jerking away and falling face-first into the table, you think Tess is still knocking but it soon ends. Your body is quivering, slick dripping, and sliding down his length. He kisses your cheek, then drags his lips down to your neck, sucking the sensitive skin. 

He starts to move again, “Joel,” you whimper and he stops, lips decorating your skin with more kisses. “I want you to come inside me.” 

You swear his cock swells even more. 

“Yeah?” he sounds amazed, almost. “You want me to fill this pretty pussy up?” 

“Please.” 

“A’right sweet girl, I will, I will,” he bites the tender flesh of your shoulder, hips drilling into you even harder than before. Your brain short circuit. Your poor, sensitive cunt tingling with overstimulation. With every snap of his hips you feel slick gushing from your core and your hands fully drop from your mouth, your body pliant with pleasure. 

It doesn’t take Joel long to come undone. He fucks into you one last time and keeps you still on his cock. Another orgasm rips from you at the pressure, his come filling you with violent, desperate spurts. His hips twitch. Joel licks the salt off your skin and then kisses the damp skin. You sigh with relief, hand dropping to your stomach. It feels good. So fucking good for him to claim you in such an intimate way. 

“Mine,” he growls, fingers biting into the flesh of your stomach. Again, his wings form a shield around you, trapping you two together. 

You smile and thread his fingers with your own, “Yours.” 

Note to self, always go to the door when Tess comes over. 

But honestly, how the hell were you supposed to know that she came over to warn you? 

You’ve seen the text first. You were out on the street doing some quick shopping before you returned home to Joel, however, before you could process what she had written you were surrounded. Familiar symbols of the cult decorated their suits and before you knew it, your vision blacked out. 

When you open your eyes once more, you notice that your hands are bound to the ceiling to keep you up. You hear the familiar buzz of the purple binds, much stronger and deadlier than regular rope. The back of your head throbs, an unpleasant pressure behind your eyes, you hiss and look down. 

The door opens. 

“Where is he?” a man with a white mask asks, stepping into the dingy cell. 

You raise your gaze, “Who?” 

You can’t see his face but you know he’s angry underneath the cheap plastic. He balls his hands into tight fists and before you know it, his knuckles hit you square in the jaw. You groan and spit up blood. 

“Where. Is. He.” 

You cough, the taste of iron overwhelming your taste blood. Still, you don’t yield. You look him straight in the eye and force a broken smile. 

“Who?” 

Joel knew all of it was too good to be true. 

The good food, the sex, the woman who loved him despite what and who he was—it should’ve tipped them off that it was only the calm before the storm. The solitude before ruin. He’d seen it many times before, why had he ignored it now? 

His eyes narrow and his wings fold, aiding his sharp dive to the building Tess had described. The wind slices at his cheeks, deafens him.  

Joel knows why he ignored it. 

It was because he was happy for the first time in forever. 

He crashes through the glass ceiling, shards of it bursting across the hard marble floor. He sees familiar people in suits covered in symbols. Joel snarls at them, his wings close to him. They’re the same people that imprisoned him—and now they had found the only thing he cared about to lure him into the wolf's den. Well, his capture won’t be easy this time. 

He’ll make them pay. He’ll make them all pay. 

Joel spreads out his wings and watches the foot soldiers cower in fear. He feels the dark energy pulsing in his palms, adding to his strength, and without a second thought he unleashes it, sharp arrows of darkness spearing their hearts, making them see their worst nightmares before falling.  

He kills, kills, and kills. They all feel his eternal pain before they fall, a fall that is much kinder than the one he had to endure. Joel leaves a trail of corpses on his way to you, his heart locked in fear of what might have happened to you. 

Joel senses you—your fear, your pain, your hope. He follows those strong feelings. You lead him to a hard steel door, and with the flat of his palm, the door turns to dust. 

Joel’s heart stops beating. 

You’re strung to the ceiling, your temple caked with blood, your body battered and bruised. You can barely breathe, your lips parting with short gasps. 

His rage is sudden and blinding. His shoulders raise with his wings, he sees the other man in the room with you, his gloved hands wet with your blood. The man turns to grab a weapon but Joel doesn’t grant him the favor. In the blink of an eye, he’s in front of him, his hands on his jaw, he forces the snap of his neck, a sickening crack echoing in the small chamber. 

He deserved something worse than death for hurting you, momentarily Joel regrets giving him the easy way out. 

“Joel,” your voice drags him away from his thoughts, his heart breaks at how soft it is. “Is that you?” 

Joel’s wings drop. He realizes his hands are wet with blood and shadows, he shakes the shadows off but the blood remains. 

“Joel?” you say again, and this time he snaps out of it fully, making his way towards you. He cradles your cheeks, kisses you deep before shattering the cuffs around your wrists. You sigh when you feel the familiar broad chest against your cheek, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Joel.” 

“It’s me,” he answers. “I’m—I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” 

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. In the end, you got here, didn’t you? That’s what matters.” 

He should’ve come sooner. Shouldn’t have waited around for Tess, he should’ve broken into every building and burned this city down until he found you. Leaving the chamber, Joel is careful not to make any sudden movements. His eyes soften, a hard knot in his throat when you nuzzle into him while he carries you away. 

“I’ve got you now, sweetheart. You’re safe, you’re safe,” his grip tightens around you. “I will keep hurting. I will keep killing. Anything to protect you. Never again.”

His steps come to a sudden halt as he feels your weak touch on his cheek. Joel looks down in worry but you’re smiling, his chest lightens. 

“Same goes for me,” you say, voice hoarse. “They can break every bone but I’ll never let them take you. Never again.” 

Joel looks at your weathered body. Humans were always so fragile, so prone to death. You’re nothing but a speck of dust compared to the dangers that lurked in this world—compared to him. But human resilience has always been something that immortals had feared. 

He smiles and nods. 

Joel firmly believes, deep within his heart, that he is safe as long as you’re here with him.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller au #fallen angel au #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #hauntedhoedown #haunted hoedown

[sweetenerobert]

𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐏𝐔𝐙𝐙𝐋𝐄

DAY THREE OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

dean winchester x vampire!male reader

genre: vampire au, explicit, minors dni

prompt: vampire au + "i can see how badly you want this, so i'm going to make sure you get it."

summary: trying to remember the last five hours of what happened after your transformation, you suddenly remember having sex with a stranger and you try to retrace your steps

warning: strong language, mention of blood, mention of dying. unprotected P in A, dirty talk, oral (m giving/m receiving), pet names, spanking, choking, creampies

word count: 2.3k

a/n: TWO POSTS IN ONE DAY?? yep! if this seems rushed my apologies.

The night sky cascaded down on you as you were shivering. The night was beautiful, but it was cold as each step you took made everything feel like you were walking closer to death.

Your blue work shirt is coated in your blood — near where your collarbone and shoulder blade rested. Your black and white canvas shoes have drops of blood on them. Tears running down your face had dried up. You hated this feeling — you felt the after-effects of coming back alive after getting your throat ripped out. This process was painstakingly slow. And you were scared — scared that you may never be the same again, scared that you might do something to hurt someone. You needed guidance from someone — anyone could help you forget about the stressful night you had.

You hear a car engine behind you, and you want to hide from the person driving behind you, but you are too weak to even jump into the bushes next to you, so you keep slowly walking. Your emotions wanted to come out; you wanted to cry a river right now. And you didn't understand everything currently, and it freaked you out how bad you wanted to cry.

The car’s engine was slowly creeping behind you, and you snapped your eyes shut, hoping that it would pass you; you didn’t want to be around anyone at this moment. You just wanted to walk — you had no idea where you were going, and you didn’t care as long you were away from everyone.

You slowly opened your eyes and saw the car driving past you, and you exhaled a breath you were holding. But then you felt the wind get knocked out of you as you saw the car approaching you in reverse. Feeling a mix of confusion, sadness, and rage all at once, you wanted to throw up, but you managed to keep yourself calm as the car slowly drove next to you and the passenger window was down.

“Are you okay?”

You glance to your left and see a dirty-blonde-haired man sitting in the driver's seat and glancing at you. You had to admit he was attractive, but you could be near. Your emotions were all over the place, and you didn't want some totally stranger being in the middle of that.

“Um—” You almost jump about how normal your voice sounds. It doesn't sound raspy or gruff, just your normal voice.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” You dismissed.

“Are you sure? I mean, I could take you back to my room and make sure you are safe— It’s no —”

“I’m okay, sir. Just a little out of it.” As persistent as this guy was, you didn't want him to be in the middle of this experience; you needed to be alone, not held up in some guy's room.

You suddenly hear his car screech as he stops and gets out, jogging towards you. He steps in front of you, and you halt your walking.

“Let me help — you need it. Whatever you are going through, you shouldn't go through it alone.”

You couldn't tell if the man’s tone was genuine or commanding, but you wanted to cry either way. You nodded your head. “Okay, I’ll go with you.”

The man guides you to his car and opens the passenger door for you. As you slip into the passenger seat, he closes the door. He was walking around the car and returning to his previous position — closing his door and looking at you. You reluctantly smile at him.

“Is that blood on your shirt?”

You glance at your shirt and look back at the man. “It’s mine?” You shrug.

You were in a motel bathroom shower, letting the water hit the top of your head as it dribbled down your body. The sadness you felt eventually disappeared as the drive here calmed you down. You found out what the name was — it was Dean. And that he was looking at his brother — younger brother, and has a love for rock music.

You weren't feeling the sadness, but you were feeling another feeling, and you couldn’t figure out what it was, and it was bugging you a bit.

The hot water weaved around your body almost like a dress made of water, and it was the heat you needed. You were sick and tired of being cold; you miss feeling warm. The soap leaving your body made a creek of bubbles and water. It almost looked majestic in your eyes, and you appreciated how it looked for a second that you were fine, but how you felt wasn't okay.

Turning the faucet off and letting the rest of the water go down the drain, your feet hitting the porcelain tile ceramic flooring as you walk towards the mirror — grabbing a towel and wrapping it around your waist. Bringing your hands towards the mirror, wiping the condensation, and seeing yourself in the mirror, hands on the porcelain sink.

You start to sniffle because of the steam messing with your nose, but you catch the scent of something you’ve never smelled before. You look around the bathroom as you try to find the source of the smell, and you can't seem to see it, but the smell intensifies as you look at the door. Whatever the smell was coming from behind the door.

You open the bathroom door, and the steam above you rises and travels along the ceiling. You see Dean looking at something in his duffle bag. You notice he’s not in the same jacket as before. He’s now wearing a flannel shirt. But with each step toward Dean, the smell becomes more intense and almost deafening in a sense.

Dean hears the floorboards creak behind him, turns around, and sees you in nothing but a towel. “Oh, hey. How was the shower?”

“It was good,” You nod.

“That’s good. I can see you're doing a lot better,” Dean nods.

“Do you smell that?”

“Smell what?”

“I don't know. But It’s almost intoxicating.”

“Huh, I wouldn't know what you're smelling. That’s how I am with pie though,” Dean chuckles.

You crack a smile and walk around Dean, and that's when the smell draws behind you. You turn your head as Dean walks towards the small table in the room.

“It’s you,” You mutter.

“What?” Dean questions.

“The smell — It’s you.”

“I stink?”

“Well, no, You smell intoxicating, and a sense a strong desire from you and — It’s lust.”

“What’s lust?” Dean asks, confused.

“What I’ve been feeling and this stupid smell and — are you horny, Dean?” You ask.

It was like a teenager who hit puberty. Dean looked defensive and scared at the same time. He didn’t know how to answer your question, so he looked at you.

You walked towards him, wanting to hear his answer, but you couldn't ask him again. You needed him to tell you. “Sorry If I overstepped my boundaries, Dean. But I would like to know.”

Dean scoffed, crossing his arms. “So what? I’ve been horny for the past couple of days. My hand isn’t helpin’ as much as I think it is.”

“You need help?”

“From who? I’ve been so busy. I can barely find the time for anyone.”

You unwrap your towel, and your cock sprung out hard as a rock, walking toward Dean, who can't seem to stop glancing at your cock. “From me, you could use me any way you want.” Days ago, you would’ve never had the confidence to tell anyone this, but this feeling sent you into overdrive, and you needed to get rid of it one way you could only think of.

Your hand finds Dean’s denim-covered cock already hard. As you rub your hand against the material, Dean inhales a breath and exhales a shaky breath. You unbutton Dean’s jeans and slide them down to his ankles. His cock leaps from the constriction his pants were torturing with. You were on your knees, and you took the tip of Dean’s cock in your mouth.

Dean slowly made his head go back as he enjoyed your warm mouth on his throbbing cock. He forgot how this felt; he hadn’t felt this relaxed in so long, and you provided him with a number one muscle relaxer.

His hips slowly start going back and forth into your mouth. You lightly gag on the tip as his thrusts hit the back of your throat. You notice Dean breathing through his plump lips; your cock throbs seeing him like this.

“Damn, baby. I’ve missed this so much,” Dean groaned.

You slip his cock out of your mouth, lick the slit of his dick, and he moans. You could taste the light pre-cum forming from it.

“Such a fuckin’ tease. I should fuck you just for that,” Dean seethed.

“I did say you could use me, so why not?” You shrug. You attempt to slide Dean’s cock inside your parted lips. He lifts you from your armpits and makes you stand up. Dean glances down at your cock and sees pre-cum leaking from your cock.

“I can see how badly you want this, so I'm going to make sure you get it." Dean kisses you passionately as his height makes you feel safe and protected, feelings you never thought you would feel again.

Your calves hit the back of the bed frame. You sit down on the edge of the bed — breaking the kiss. “Head on the pillows, now!” Dean commanded.

You comply with his command, and on your hands and knees, you crawl towards the pillow on Dean’s bed — Dean smacking your ass as you crawl to the pillow.

Dean takes his jeans off around his ankles, boots, and flannel. As he sees you lying on your back in the middle of his bed, his cock twitches, seeing the beautiful sight before him. He crawls after you and kisses you passionately, your cocks rubbing together, making this moment more intense than it already is.

Dean’s kisses trail down from your lips to your jaw and neck. Dean starts to nibble on your neck, and you whimper in retaliation — gripping the sheets, you feel your teeth getting outstretched — making you scared a little bit. Releasing your grip makes your teeth go back into their original shape.

Dean’s lips travel to your nipples as he sucks on them and pinches your nipples as he sucks the other one.

His kisses trail lower as his mouth makes contact with your hole. His tongue becomes an explorer, and he wants to explore you more. Your moans sound like music to Dean’s ear as he grips your thighs. “You taste like fuckin’ heaven, baby boy.”

You could cum hearing Dean call you a baby boy again.

Dean crawls up back to your face and adjusts his cock. You exclaim in pleasure as Dean slides his cock deep inside you. With each inch pushing deeper inside you, your moans became the sweet song Dean yearned for. You could feel your walls getting looser and looser; your hole was aching in pleasure.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect, baby boy. Just what I needed,” Dean grunted. Dean was clenching his teeth. It was a sight that made your cock happy. Dean’s thrust became faster and more intoxicating with each passing moment.

“Fuck, Dean. You’re hitting so deep.” Your pre cum was rubbing against your naval. “Your pussy wraps around my cock so well, baby. I can't get enough of it,” Dean breathed. Dean leans his head closer to yours and kisses your lips more rough than gentle like last time.

Dean slides his cock out of you and flips you to lay on your stomach. You grip the pillows as he slides his cock in you — slowly.

“Such a fuckin’ tease,” You moaned.

“Only the best for my baby boy.”

Dean’s thrust becomes more intoxicating as you feel his balls clap against your ass. Dean makes a handprint on your ass — you yelp in response. You bring your head up, Dean wraps his arm around your neck, and you both share a passionate make-out between thrusts. You moan into each other’s mouths as you feel Dean’s cock twitch inside you.

“Baby, I’m going to overflow your ass with my cum,” Dean growls. Dean lets your neck go but pushes your head onto the pillow. You roll your head to the side to avoid suffocating. Your body starts to slide down, and you stop at an absolute point. The tip of your cock starts rubbing against the sheets, and you feel the lust almost shoot out of you.

“Dean, my cock — you're making my cock rub against the sheets,” You whimpered.

“Good, we get to cum together then, baby,” Dean growled.

You feel Dean’s cock get bigger inside you, and the throbbing intensifies. Dean’s thrust becomes more demon-like, and you're enjoying every thrust. You didn't want it to end this soon. Your teeth were feeling outstretched again, but you ignored it. You left your teeth stretched, and you bit down on the pillow.

“Fuck, baby boy. I’m cumming. I’m cummin’, baby boy!” You could feel his cum shoot inside you as you shoot strings of cum on the sheets under you. Dean clashes his hard chest on your back. “Thanks for that, baby boy.”

“Who said it has to end there? I told you that you could use me. I didn't specify for how long.” You turn your head to see a smirking Dean. “Well, then, you better get that pretty ass up. I’m going to fuck you against the wall.”

“That’s what happened hours ago?”

“Yeah?” Theo, your vampire “trainer” friend.

“Wow, does that happen to a lot of new vampires?” You ask.

Theo nods. “But, you should’ve seen me when I first turned.”

“Is that a story for another day?” You question.

“Hell yes.” Theo laughs.

“I would love to hear it then.” You smile.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x male reader #dean winchester x vampire!male reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x male reader #dean winchester supernatural #dean winchester smut #haunted hoedown

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

The World Ended

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Warnings: Joel Miller is hella manipulative, power imbalance, non descriptive age gap, Dub Con, smut, oral fem receiving, fingering, rough sex, P in V, Dom!Joel Miller, breeding kink adjacent if you squint and read between the lines, mentions of death of child, mentions of suicidal ideation (no more so than the show discusses), mentions of trauma, inspired by '10 Cloverfield Lane'

Word Count: 5,852

Summary: You wake up in an entirely new world, but you find comfort and love in an ally. He saved your life after all. Why wouldn't you trust him? Haunted Hoedown prompt: Stranded AU/Cult AU + "every moment might be our last, let's make the most of it."

[a/n: my contribution for haunted hoedown b/c i was inspired and couldn't resist (def cheated and ignored the days tho i just picked my fav parts of different prompts lol). 10/10 would recommend surfing that tag b/c people are making WORKS OF ART. This is just my toss it together addition lol]

"manipulation and control can sometimes be disguised as love." -abegail turingan

It was odd to wake up with no memory of going to bed. Disorienting was probably the more accurate word. Enough so that for a brief moment all you could do was stare up at the concrete ceiling above you. There was a headache lingering behind your eyes that no amount of blinking would clear away. Where were the stars? The thought drifted through your foggy mind. Your bedroom had glow in the dark stars plastered to the ceiling. A design choice that a nine year old you chose at the store, and one that your parents were never able to peel away no matter how many years had passed⏤ they were nostalgic in that sense. You must have been just like them considering you admired those cheap, plastic stars while staying in your parents’ home during this visit.

But the stars were gone.

Everything was gone, and the sharp smell of antiseptic and bleach replaced the floral scent of your mother’s detergent. You turned your head into your pillow in hopes that the comfort of your bed would ease the headache that seemed to worsen the longer you were awake. You found no comfort though because the pillow you laid on was not your own. 

Slowly, you began to sit up and you weren’t sure what was more distracting: the unexplained aching pain of all your muscles or the unfamiliar strange room you found yourself sitting in. The walls were like the ceiling, undecorated concrete, and the only bit of furniture was the metal framed cot you were now lying on. A hospital gown covered your otherwise bare body. 

The clarity that settled in your mind was stark and startling. Any of the fog you initially woke with vanished in a snap, and your breaths came in quick, hyperventilated gasps. Oh, God. Oh, God. You threw your sore legs over the edge of the bed to rise. Your feet only brushed against the cold tile of the ground before you found yourself sprawled on the floor. 

“Help…” The word left your lips in a breathless whisper as you tried to move your weak legs. You could only manage to sit up. “Help.” With every attempt, your voice grew stronger until you were screaming. “Help me! Help!”

A heavy, metal door, one across the room that you hadn’t even noticed in your panicked state, began to creak open. You sucked in a sharp breath, fear palpable, as an unfamiliar man stood in the doorway. He was older than you. Gray littered his brown, messy hair and facial hair, but it suited him. The man wore a dark green flannel that accented his broad shoulders. Everything about his figure exuded strength and intimidation from his build to the large hands that held a box of some kind. However, the moment his dark brown eyes landed on yours they softened. His shoulders hunched marginally, as if he were trying to look smaller than he actually was, and a line of worry formed between his furrowed brow.

“Hey! I need someone in ‘ere!” He barked over his shoulder, never breaking eye contact, in a deeply southern drawl. The man rushed into the room toward you, but when you flinched at his approach he slowed his pace. He took one hand off the box to hold in your direction, palm stretched outward, “It’s alright. You’re safe. Promise.” Coming from a stranger, and in this scenario, his words did nothing to calm your racing heart. You crawled backwards until your back hit the cot. Your name suddenly left his lips. “I’m⏤ My name is Joel.”

“How⏤ How do you know my name?” You gasped.

“Your license. It was in your bag. Didn’ mean to pry but…” Joel said slowly. “Are you⏤”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence as you blurted out, “Where the hell am I? Why am I here? What is going on? I⏤”

“Whoa, whoa.” Joel knelt down in front of you but kept his distance which you appreciated. “One thing at a time, darlin’.” He shook his head. “You were in a car accident… ‘bout two days ago now.”

“A car accident?” As the words left your own lips, there was a flicker of some forgotten memory playing in your head. The sound of a car horn, blinding headlights, the crunch of metal on metal, and the taste of blood. You flinched, “I… Oh, God.” You held your head with a trembling hand but winced as your hand brushed against a tender spot on the left side of your face. “Is this… Is this a hospital then?” The room resembled a prison more than it did a hospital room. Plus, it made no sense to you that your parents weren’t here. The man saw your license which meant they’d know who to contact. “Where is my family?”

Joel hesitated and you saw a look of what almost looked like regret in his eyes. You repeated your question more firmly this time. He sighed, “That’s… tougher to answer.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

A second later, a man and a woman dressed in bright orange HAZMAT suits came storming into the room. It was a blur of yelling and chaos and they descended upon you. Joel argued loudly with them and your head was spinning enough that it was difficult to follow what was happening. Gloved hands wrapped around your arm, ripping you up from the ground, but it was short lived. The man who had grabbed you was shoved away by Joel who gently sat you on the side of the cot before standing in front of you as a barrier.

“Don’ you fuckin’ grab her like that.” Joel snarled. The soft kindness that had been in his tone only moments ago was gone now. “You hear me??”

“Sir, you are not supposed to be in here.” The woman snapped. “Her wounds⏤”

“Her wounds are from the accident. I already told you.”

“We still need to test her⏤”

“Fine, but you don’ jus’ fuckin’ grab ‘er like that!”

There was nothing about this moment that could be called peaceful, but Joel’s defensive stance and his deep voice somehow managed to calm your racing heart. You didn’t know why the man was so protective over you, but you’d take any ally you could in this moment. The argument continued long enough for only a few more verbal jabs at one another. It settled on Joel sitting by your side glaring at the man in the HAZMAT suit as he used two separate swabs on you. One against the wound on your forehead and the other in your mouth.

“By entering without precautionary measures, you have bought yourself another 24 hours of quarantine, Mr. Miller.” The woman announced.

Joel didn’t respond but just glared at the woman instead. The second the two of them disappeared out of the room, Joel’s features softened again. You hugged yourself, trying to keep from shaking, and swallowed the lump that now sat in the middle of your throat. “Thank you. For that.”

“Least I can do.” Joel murmured as his eyes traced your face⏤ examining your wound, you assumed. You weren’t quite sure what he meant by that, but Joel didn’t elaborate. Sitting this close to him, there was something familiar about. You weren’t sure why because you were positive you had never spoken to him before. You’d remember a face this handsome. A voice that distinct and hypnotizing. “How do you feel?”

“Um. Sore. Confused.” You admitted. Recalling how the woman addressed him, you cleared your throat. “Mr. Miller⏤”

“Joel, darlin’. Jus’ Joel.”

“Joel…” You tested the name out. “Please⏤ Please tell me what’s going on. Where am I? Where is my family? Why⏤ Why were they in HAZMAT suits?”

The stranger you were finding comfort in let out a slow sigh. He rose from the bed to pick up the box he had brought with him. You had forgotten about that entirely. Joel sat back down after opening it and offered it to you. There was a simple set of men’s clothes in the box along with a water bottle and bag of chips. He shook his head. 

“All I had were a few of my spare things.” Joel said. “Figured you might be thirsty or⏤ or hungry.”

You appreciated the gesture, but it wasn’t what you wanted right now, “Joel. What happened?”

He let out another long sigh before meeting your gaze with a look of mourning, “The world ended, darlin’.”

The bunker was large enough to fit thirty or so people. It was an underground, concrete community made by a survivalist who went by the name of Ezra. You had yet to meet this mysterious man which felt odd since the community wasn’t that large, but it wasn’t too shocking since you didn’t do much exploring since your arrival. 

The world had ended. That’s what Joel told you. Hell, that’s what everyone kept telling you, but none of them could tell you concretely how. Every time the discussion came up, there was a new story involved. Aliens had invaded. Zombies had overtaken. A virus wiped out humanity. The theories were endless and since you couldn’t remember your last moments above ground you had no opinion on the matter. The last thing you could recall was leaving the house to meet some old friends who stayed local to your hometown for drinks. You got into the car, and the next thing you remembered was waking up in a concrete room.

You hoped your memory would come back gradually, but two weeks had passed and nothing was any more clear. You mourned a muddled memory. Families and friends ripped away from you in uncertain measures, and it left you reeling. The only pillar you had right now was Joel Miller. He had saved you in more ways than one. When the world went to shit, Joel was on his way to the bunker. All the people here were either friends or they knew this Ezra character in some way and that’s how they bought themselves a ticket into this sanctuary. Joel had been the survivalist’s contractor. Helped build this place and even mocked the man when first given the job. 

But, when the world did end, Joel was offered safety and on his way there he came across your wreck on the side of the road. He scooped you up and fought for your place here with him.

You owed him your life.

The sound of a door opening snapped you out of the daze you had fallen into. Joel stepped into the shared bunk space looking worn out. While your simple duty in this community was currently food prep, Joel’s was more labored. He helped with any repairs and upkeep to ensure everything was working as it should. He dropped his tool belt by the door with a groan.

“Long day?” You asked with a small smile. Joel grunted an affirmative. He crossed the small room to drop down onto the couch. Since you were technically an add on rather than one of the invited, you were forced to share the room with Joel. Though ‘forced’ wasn’t quite the right word. You honestly didn’t mind it at all. Having a familiar face, even if it were one you only just met, brought you comfort. Though you kind of felt bad he was now stuck with you. There was no way he could’ve known saving your life off the side of the street was going to chain your existence to him.

The room was decent though. There was a simple bed in one corner, a couch pushed up against the wall, a table with two chairs, and a mostly empty drawer. Over the last two weeks, you and Joel had collected or traded objects to make the room your own. You traded a set of spare socks that had come with the room for a small, blue vase that you set in the middle of the table. Joel had even managed to find a few books and magazines that he gifted you.

You pushed up from the bed to sit on the couch beside him. You pulled your legs in to tuck under yourself. The shirt you wore was one of his flannels, you still had limited clothing options, but you had managed to scourge up a pair of yoga pants that fit you well enough. 

“You?” Joel asked as he rested his head on the back of the couch.

“Food prep was exciting as always.” You joked. Joel breathed out a small, tired chuckle. You nodded toward the bed. “Lay down. Sleep.” Joel shot you a light glare. From the beginning, Joel was adamant about sleeping on the couch so you could have the bed. Even when you told him it made more sense for him to have the bed since you were smaller. Joel wouldn’t even listen to the suggestion of swapping turns. “Joel.”

“Couch is fine.” Joel replied gruffly and closed his eyes.

“If it’s fine then I should have no issues sleeping on it, right?”

“Ain’t gonna happen.”

You set your hand on his arm and felt him slightly stiffen at your touch. Joel cracked open his eyes to peek at you. “Please take the bed tonight. Please.” He furrowed his brow and you gave his arm a squeeze. “Nothing would make me happier right now. I’m serious.”

Joel didn’t say anything to begin with. He just held your gaze and under the weight of his stare you felt the back of your neck warm. The man was painfully attractive, it couldn’t be argued, but that wasn’t what made your heart skip a beat or your core secretly ache. It was the way Joel looked at you and spoke to you. The way he treated you. If his gaze were to be believed, you must have been a work of art. Joel stared at you like a dying man watching his last sunset. His voice was always deep and honeyed when he spoke to you. The words he chose put the respect and care he had for you on clear display. 

The world ended and everything in your life felt cold, but not Joel. Joel was warmth.

Joel’s other hand settled on top of your smaller one. His thumb traced your knuckles and your throat felt tight at the contact. He gave your hand a quick squeeze and then stood up with a groan. You heard his knees crack, but he made no comment on it. Joel just leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “Thank you, baby.”

You watched him kick off his boots and drop into bed. A soft groan left his lips and he fell asleep before the lights were even off.

 The sky was blue. Your head rested on Joel’s shoulder as the two of you sat on the ground leaning back against the wall. A total of a month had passed now, and you confided in Joel that you missed the sky. In response, he brought you here. It was a restricted space that he only had access to because he would come up here to do repairs on the electrical system. In the entire bunker, it was the closest to above ground that you could be. Only one staircase and a thick, metal door separated you from the world outside. On the door was a small window and from where you sat you could see a patch of sky.

“Do you think the world really ended?” You asked softly.

Joel glanced at you without jostling your position too much, “What’dya mean?”

“The sky is too pretty for the world to have ended, don’t you think?” You mumbled. It wasn’t just the sky that created your doubt. There was a woman who worked with the mysterious Ezra. She said she would type out anything he dictated to her. She didn’t think the world had ended. She thought it was all some conspiracy or ploy. You weren’t sure how much weight you put into her words, but it left the question in your mind. “What if the world is completely normal up there and we’re just rotting away in a tomb?”

Joel shook his head. “You hear the sirens an’ gunfire. The SOS broadcasts on the radio.”

“Couldn’t that be faked?” You asked. Joel hummed in a noncommittal fashion. You shrugged, “You never told me how the world ended. Everyone else has given me their two cents, but you never talk about it.”

“Cause it doesn’ matter.”

“Why wouldn’t it matter?”

Joel was silent for a few moments, but you waited patiently for him to speak. He shifted and with your head still on his shoulder, his hand found yours. “It doesn’ matter ‘cause… my world ended two years ago.” You lifted your head so you could face him, but Joel kept his eyes on the patch of blue sky. “I… I lost my daughter. Sarah.” You squeezed his hand as your heart ached for him. “Wasn’t fair. Should’ve been me. But… But nothin’ has made much sense since.”

“Joel, I am… I am so sorry.” You whispered.

“I lied.” Joel said and your eyebrows furrowed. He swallowed nervously and finally turned to look at you. “When I found ya, I wasn’ headin’ to the bunker.”

“Where… Where were you going then?”

“Home.” Joel shrugged. “The sirens were goin’ off, people were in a frenzy, Ezra texted me some freakish invite, but… I planned on headin’ home to jus’ wait for the end.” It was devastating to hear someone you had come to care so much for admit that truth. Your heart broke for him. Not a single shred of you could ever imagine the pain or horror of losing a child. “On my way, I ran into you. Saw your car flipped on the side of the road. Once I got ya out, it’s not like I could take ya to the hospital with the way all of it was so…”

Joel motioned to the bunker around the both of you. The rest was history. In the silence, you could hear the whirring noise of the motors working the fans and the pounding of your heart in your ears. You let the hand not in his lift to rake your fingertips through the scruff on his jaw as your thumb rubbed back and forth over his cheek. Joel’s eyes fluttered closed at your touch and a soft breath left his lips. He leaned into your hand.

“I… Joel, I don’t know what to say…”

“This is ‘nough.” Joel murmured. There was a tension that had formed the second you caressed Joel’s face and it only built the longer you were in contact with him. It was a long time coming and was only coming to a head just now. You could control yourself, you were sure of it, but when Joel’s sad eyes opened once more the breath was knocked out of your lungs. His lips twitched into a small smile. “You’re the first thing I’ve cared ‘bout in a very long time, baby.”

The world had ended, supposedly. What was the use of wasted time?

You leaned in and pressed your lips against his. The kiss was soft and hesitant. A brush of you against him as Joel breathed in a strangled gasp. He pulled back and your heart dropped. Embarrassment filled your very soul as you let your hand fall away from him.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have. I just thought, every moment might be our last, we should make the most of it. Or⏤”

“It’s not that, baby girl.” Joel immediately cupped your face and you felt yourself melt between his warm, coarse hands. “You don’ owe me this. You know that, right? I don’ expect…”

You gave a small shake of your head, your eyes glued to his lips, “I know, Joel. I know. I… This is my choice. I want you.”

Joel took in a slow breath through his nose as his jaw locked. His hands tightened around your face, caressing the skin along your face and neck, and one hand slipped to cup the back of your head as his forehead leaned against yours. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, “Say it again.”

“I want you, Joel.”

Joel initiated the kiss this time, and it was far from hesitant. At your consent, it was like he dropped all semblance of his self control. His lips were bruising against yours and Joel was desperate in getting you closer. He dragged you over so you were straddling his lap. His hands roamed down your body until they found your hips. Joel’s tongue slipped past your parted lips just as he dragged your aching core against his half hard cock⏤ thrusting up against you while swallowing the moan that left your throat.

He wrapped an arm around your middle and suddenly you found yourself on your back. The cool concrete floor was jarring to how hot you felt. Hands sunk into the waistband and with one firm pull both your tights and underwear were down to your ankles. You gasped in surprise, but Joel didn’t pause. 

“Jesus Christ, what a pretty fuckin’ pussy, baby.” Joel groaned and tugged a foot out from your clothes so both articles wrapped around only one of your legs. He roughly grabbed your thighs and dragged you closer so when he dropped to the ground his mouth was immediately buried into your warmth. You yelped at the contact but it was followed by a wanton groan as his tongue ravished you. It was messy and rushed. Joel ate you out like you were his last meal, and the groans and slurping sounds he made were downright sinful.

“Joel! I⏤ Oh, God.” You gasped and your hands buried in his hair. Your hips lifted to chase after his mouth, but Joel dropped his arm across your waist and pinned you to the floor with a chuckle. 

Joel lifted his face and turned to bite down on your thigh. You cried out at the sting of his teeth against your skin, but the drag of his hot tongue against the spot left you whimpering. “C’mon, baby.” You tugged on his hair to try and get his lips back where you wanted them, but he stayed firm. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”

“Want you, Joel. Need you.”

Thick fingers dragged up and down through the mess he’d already made and one began to prod at your entrance without actually sinking in. “Again.”

“Please. Please!” You tried to grind down against him, but his grip on your waist kept you in place. “I want you, Joel. Want you so badly. Please.” Joel had one fingertip circling your hole, but at your desperate pleas he sunk three of his large fingers right in. You screamed, both in alarm and at the sharp sting, “Shit! Joel, too much!”

“Shhh, baby girl. You’re okay.” His lips found your clit and the suction he applied there slowly took away the sting of his rapidly moving fingers. Just as he reassured you, you were okay. More than okay. Pleasure was clouding your mind and you were a squirming, sopping mess under him. Joel’s fingers curled up into you, dragging against your walls, and he made quick work in finding the spot that punched stars into your vision. “There we go, baby. Jus’ like that.” He kept his lips against your clit as he spoke and your wet flesh muffled his praise. “Lemme feel you squeeze ‘round my fingers so I can feel you squeeze ‘round my fat cock. C’mon.”

Teeth nipped at your clit, followed by the smoothing of his tongue, and combined with the pounding of his fingers you came with a shuddering cry. Joel didn’t stop his onslaught and he lowered his lips from your clit so he could drink up every bit of the soaking wet mess he made.

“Joel. Fuck.” You gasped for the air he had somehow managed to punch out of your lungs with his hand alone. “That was…”

“Not done, baby girl.” Joel sat up on his knees but kept his place between your legs. You weakly pushed yourself up onto your elbows and it only dawned on you then that this entire time he had been fully clothed. It was an almost uncomfortable balance between the two of you. “Get up ‘ere.” You began to push up from your elbows and the moment you were close enough his hand wrapped around the back of your neck so he could help you up the rest of the way into the seated position you now sat in. He gazed down at you, pupils blown in lust, and his dark stare soaked in the sight of you. “Say it.”

Knowing exactly what he wanted, you mumbled, “I want you, Joel.”

“Good girl. Open.” Joel grunted. The hand at the back of your neck grabbed you by the hair and he tugged down so your chin was tilted up. Joel shoved the three fingers he had deep in your cunt into your mouth. You closed your lips around him and moaned at the taste of yourself. “Belt, baby. Get my belt.”

You tried to glance down, but Joel kept his grip on you tight so you could only stare up at him as he pushed his fingers deeper into your mouth. Blindly, your hands groped for his belt and you struggled to get it undone as you gagged around his fingers.

“Shh. You can multitask, baby, I believe in ya.” Joel cooed and didn’t relent. “Work at it. Be good.” You traced his thick fingers with your tongue and your hands finally managed to get his belt undone. You got your hands into his pants, tugging down his boxers, and Joel groaned loudly as your hands wrapped around his hard, girthy cock. The size of him alone had you tense in surprise. “Hey, it’s alright, baby girl.” Joel’s fingers slipped out of your mouth and you couldn’t help but cough to try and clear the tickle at the back of your throat. He carefully pushed you down, onto your back again, but he followed with you so he was hovering over your body. One hand at the back of your neck, cupping it softly, while his other rested by your head to hold himself up. “You can handle this. I swear, this perfect pussy is made for me, baby.”

Joel lowered himself to capture your lips with his. The kiss was soft and tender. It was a sweet moment as his cock dragged slowly against you. His tongue licked against the curve of your lower lip just as the tip of him notched at your hole. You opened your mouth to ask him to start slow, but Joel shoved his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss, as his painfully large cock shoved into you. You screamed, muffled by his own mouth, as he bottomed out in one single thrust. Tears involuntarily sprung to your eyes at the intrusion and you pulled your lips away from Joel by turned you head. Your fingernails dug into his back.

“Joel, that⏤ that kind of hurt.”

“I know, I’m sorry, baby girl.” Joel buried his face into the crook of your neck. He left open mouth kisses there between reassurances. “Jus’ give it a minute. You’re doin’ so good. So good.” Joel was thankfully staying still inside of you and with the work he put in along the length of your neck you began to feel the sting start to fade. Joel shifted, just a bit, and you shuddered at the slight drag of him. His cock twitched and he moaned against your skin. “Fuck, you feel so good. So perfect. Knew you would.” Joel gave a short, experimental thrust and you gasped at the wave of pleasure you were pulled under. “Gotta move, baby girl.”

Joel pulled back until just the tip remained then rocked his hips forward hard enough to push you across the concrete floor. He roughly grabbed you by the thigh and pulled your leg up. You followed his lead and hooked your ankles around his back as Joel’s grip on the back of your neck tightened and he quickly fell into an unrelenting pace. 

“Told you, baby girl.” Joel grunted, the only other sound being your breathless moans and the wet sounds of your pussy sucking his cock in with every powerful thrust. “Made for me.” Joel sung praises as that band of want and desire tightened in your core by the second. His hand slipped between your bodies to find your clit once more and your eyes squeezed shut with a gasp. As soon as they shut though, his touch was gone and with that hand he grabbed you by the face. Your eyes snapped back open in surprise. “Nuh uh. Eyes on me. You hear me?” You nodded and he tightened his grip⏤ his fingers digging almost painfully into your cheeks. “Words, baby. Lemme hear you say it.”

“Keep⏤” You gasped. “Keep my eyes on you.”

“Good girl.” Joel’s hand slipped back down and when his fingers reached their goal it took every bit of strength to keep your eyes open. Your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train and a cry of pleasure slipped past your lips. Joel groaned loudly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Takin’ me so well, baby girl, just like I knew you would.” 

His pace ramped up but he lost his rhythm and in a brief moment of clarity you gasped, “Joel! Joel, you gotta⏤ fuck! Oh God. You gotta pull out, Joel.” He didn’t slow and for a brief moment sharp fear mingled with the overwhelming pleasure. “Joel!”

At last second, Joel ripped himself off you with a guttural groan and you felt the warmth of his release spurt on your hips. Your entire body went lax as he continued to milk the last bit of him onto your body and you felt the warm, sticky cum drip down the sides of your hip and down into your pussy as well. 

Joel tucked himself back into his pants, without clasping his jeans, and he rubbed a hand up and down your thigh soothingly. You were trying to catch your breath as Joel separated your underwear from where it was tangled with your yoga pants around your ankle. You lifted your head and watched as he used your underwear to wipe away the cum now drying on your skin. 

“C’mon, baby girl.” He tucked your panties, now a damp mess of your spend and his, into his flannel pocket and helped you slide your legs back into the yoga pants. When they were back in place, he pulled you to stand and grinned when your knees nearly buckled. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” You chuckled and clung to his shoulders. “That was… a lot.”

That had felt incredible, and the fact that it was Joel made it even better. But, it had been rougher than you thought it’d be. Not that you really minded. It just… caught you off guard. Your mind was still too drunk on pleasure to fully understand your feelings on it.

Joel leaned in to settle his lips against your temple. He hummed, “From the second I saw you, baby girl, I just knew you’d be my world.”

“The first second?” You teased. “Me bleeding in an upside down car?”

His lips were curled up into a smile you could only describe as boyish. Joel leaned in again to lock his lips with yours and you wrapped your arms around his neck to help hold yourself up.

The world had ended, but you had a new world now and everything would be just fine.

Right?

BEFORE

Joel stood at the gas pump staring at his phone as his truck was filled. His strange client, the survivalist who asked him to help build a bunker, had shot him a message that made little to no sense. He rambled about the “end of the world”, and invited Joel to join him in the bunker for the “start of something new”. Joel tossed his phone back into his truck with full plans to ignore it. He’d drive to the bar and spend the night drinking. It’d be nothing new. He was a regular at this point.

As he climbed into the driver’s seat his gaze lifted and he spotted you exiting a store across the street.

You from three days ago. You who he met at his usual drinking hole. You who had left him breathless. Joel had been drinking alone, the usual, when you and your friends drifted into the bar as an already half drunk mob. One of your guy friends had gotten rowdy near him, joking with another, and he bumped into Joel and spilled his entire whiskey.

Before he could even begin to lose his temper, you had swept in to save the day. It was obvious you were drunk yourself, but you cleaned him up, apologized for your friends, bought him a new drink, and just sat there and talked. You rambled about being in town to visit your family and catching up with old friends, and Joel found he could listen to you all day.

There was something magnetic about you.

Enough so, that he found himself following you down the road. You were driving toward the edge of town. Maybe to meet with friends at that new bar and drink some more. The roads grew less crowded as you got further out, and Joel thought about following you into the bar. Just to talk. It had been so long since he craved conversation of any kind. He realized though that you probably wouldn’t want anything to do with him. You were young and beautiful and clever. A ray of sunshine. Your options for company were endless and Joel couldn’t imagine being anywhere but at the bottom of that list. Drunk you had put up with him, but sober you probably wouldn’t spare him a glance.

Joel’s eyes darted to the passenger seat where his phone sat. A second passed, and a decision was made. He flashed his lights and laid on his horn. Your car slowed cautiously and he began to speed past you. He looked out his passenger window and the last thing he saw was your wide, confused and fearful eyes before he swerved into you.

He slammed on the breaks and watched your car flip a few times before coming to a stop at the edge of a ditch. Smoke billowed from the broken remains of your vehicle and Joel stared wide eyed at what he had just done. Guilt gnawed at him and he scrambled out of his truck to race to the driver’s side of the wreckage. You were hanging upside down from your seatbelt and blood dripped from a gash along your temple. A bruise was already forming at your hairline. But you were alive. Thank God. He hadn't even considered how wrong that could've gone. It seemed the universe was on his side for this.

Joel knew what he had done was wrong, but it was too late to go back.

He had made the decision⏤ your world ended and he’d be the one to build you something new.

[if you're curious the Ezra I mention is the Pedro Pascal character from Prospect (he just screams cult leader, doesn't he?) and i lowkey maybe have plans for a follow up on this but from the POV of a different reader and Ezra]

#the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #haunted hoedown #writing challenge #dark!joel miller #dark!joel miller x reader

[softlyspector]

Moss & Mushrooms

Written for Haunted Hoedown !

Prompt(s): animal shapeshifter au + "he's a monster" + "he's perfect". With the additional prompts of "I accidentally called you into this world" + gothic au

Summary: You are alone, always. Then, one day, a beast emerges from the forest you've never dared to go into.

Pairing: shapeshifter!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~4.2k

Warnings: toxically co-dependent, unhealthy, literal nightmare relationship, body horror (also shapeshifter transformation type of things), graphic descriptions of violence, lots of blood, smut, marking, pain kink, light choking, intense biting, possessiveness, devotion and loyalty that threaten to go too far, mentions of death, suicidal ideation, intense loneliness, the reader wears a dress, the reader is described with having scars, bruises, only very lightly edited

A/N: I wanna say thank you to @psychedelic-ink and @inklore for hosting the Haunted Hoedown writing challenge because this really got the creative juices flowing and it was also just a lot of fun to write. Anyway! I'm throwing this into the void and running away. Thanks for reading!

Something monstrous looms. 

It has claws and teeth, bristling fur. 

It emerges from the shadows with a growl, from the depths of the ever whispering forest, the ever murmuring leaves. 

Wind whips the trees back as darkness encroaches on the garden. You stand on the edge of the balcony, the widow’s walk, and watch it emerge from the forest, the writhing mass of dark trees, battered by the brewing storm, the thorny, irritated air. 

The wind sears your skin, so cold it burns, so violent it tears. 

The sky churns violet, navy, midnight. White moonlight cuts through the clouds, fingers of forked lightning spear through the roiling mass. 

The creature writhes. 

A wolf the size of a moose, you realize. Larger than any beast should be. 

It’s nails dig into the earth, a howl like a thousand years of pain wrapped in velvet echo across the yard, across the churning ocean that crashes against the seawall on the other side of the house. 

Your belly knots up, a thrill tingles at the base of your spine. You are alone on the coast. Your nearest neighbor is miles away. At least, they used to be, anyway.

 A storm is rolling in, the power flickering already in the ruinous house you call home, gothic and stately and in utter disrepair. 

It’s falling apart. Any moment it may fall to the ground, it may sink into the sea. 

The wolf’s howl breaks off, cracks, snaps. 

What if it prowled closer to the house? What if it came onto the porch below? What if it threw itself against the door, shattered its way inside? What if it attacked you? Consumed you?

All the blood in your face rushes down, gathers hotly in your chest. It thrills you, the thought of being trapped by the beast, the thing crawling closer to the house, lithe body sleek in the moonlight, in the gathering storm. It thrills you to think of it snapping you open, prying you apart, ending your misery.  

You have the urge to go downstairs, open the door and invite it in. It could carve your heart out with its teeth, you could eat it together. Blood dripping from your chin, it’s maw. 

You would no longer be alone on this stretch of coast beneath you, threatening to consume you and leave your bones behind, like all the others that had come before you. You could live inside the wolf. 

The cracking, snapping continues. A howl begins again, then chokes off. The smooth coat of fur jostles. The creature stumbles, falls halfway across the garden. The noise continues, like twigs snapped and rocks thrown. 

You watch the grotesque movement, fascinated, blood pumping, heart racing. The howl transforms into a moan, and then, the cracking, writhing stops. Your eyes are wide open but in the space of a blink the monster is replaced with a man. 

Before you can really consider what you’re doing, you fetch up the lantern by your elbow and fly back through the double doors to the staircase that winds down through the many floors of the ancient house. 

Something laughs, but you don’t pause to find out what. The fluttering wings of cobwebs and dust chase you down, down, down. Moss and mushrooms sprout from the damp of the walls, watching with hungry eyes. 

You know as your bare feet hit the main floor and the white of your dress swirls around your ankles, that even if you had paused to think it over, you’d still be here, pulling open the back door as the electricity flickers out and the rain finally comes crashing down from the sky. 

The lantern falls from your hand and you bolt out into the rain. 

The beast, the man, is beautiful. 

You can tell even through the sleeting, hammering rain blurring your vision. 

The whole world is dark and wet. The whole of the earth is soaked in chilled blood. And you and the creature are the last of the warm bodies to stand atop it. 

You curl one hand under his naked bicep and pull.

The man is nude. He’s hard to make out in the dark and the rain and the howling, snarling wind. 

He follows you though, follows the touch of your hand, the press of your fingertips, like you are a glow of light in a dark tunnel and he the moth.  

The earth squelches beneath your feet, mud squeezes between your toes and tugs at the hem of your dress.

He follows you up the decaying back stairs, straight through the still open doors, gauzy curtains fluttering in the storm winds, ripping at their fastenings. 

As soon as you’re inside, the din of the rain is muted. The air is heavy with salt, like blood is in the air, like a sea of red has spilled across the dilapidated floorboards. 

All you want is to look at him, but violence breaks loose from the monster turned man.

His hands are large, veiny and thick and crushing when he backs you into a wall. 

He is naked in his entirety, and you can’t stop your eyes from spilling down his body. He cages you against the wall, thick forearms and biceps pressing you in tight. His chest is broad, littered with a smattering of wiry, dark hair. Scars criss cross his arms, his shoulders. Broad shoulders lead to a tapered waist and strong thighs. 

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his cock, half hard and nestled in a thatch of dark hair. He’s big, thick. 

You should not want this monster, this man without a name that has been gifted to you by a storm that seemed to be conjured right out of hell. 

But he has been. He is yours. 

He has been gifted to you. 

Not the storm, you think. The forest. The dark green, solid black interior, has given him to you. 

You can feel him, feel his soul, like fishing line connects you, is tied to the ventricles of your heart and his. If you pull away, it will tear, it will rip. 

Your thighs ache. Tingling wanting sweeps from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. There’s a hollow space inside your belly, growling, hungry. Your pussy clenches and you almost reach for him. 

The force of the wind blows a window open, slams it into a wall where it shatters with the impact. You glance into the stranger’s face, your eyes jerking up to his. He’s dripping with rainwater, hair slicked back from his forehead, black and gray in the moonlight, in the darkness of the storm and the house and your heart. 

He looks, for all the world, like someone you once knew. 

You can’t place who, water dripping into your eyes. 

One hand curls around your throat, and your eyes flutter closed at the sensation. You shudder when your heels leave the floor. He lifts you until you’re left on your tiptoes, gasping. 

You’ve never been lifted before, not in any kind of way, and certainly not like this. He’s strong, much too strong. 

His eyes are dark, swallowed by black pupils. His teeth pull back from his lips in a snarl, white teeth flashing. 

Maybe you don’t recognize him after all.

The darkness in his gaze makes you want to sink into the blank spots flashing in your vision. You force yourself to suck in a breath, force yourself not to get lost like a little lamb. 

“Why did you call me here?” 

His voice is deep and gritty. It’s a voice you would like to plunge your hands into, tweak into a melody, or something far more sinister. 

“I didn’t,” you say. “How could I?”

He has crinkles by his eyes, the tops of his cheeks. His forehead is wrinkled with tension. His beard is mostly gray, his lips pink, like the only spot of color. 

He’s beautiful. 

And you want him so bad, you would let him pluck the veins from your body one by one if it meant he would keep looking at you, if it meant his attention was on you alone. 

His gaze slides from your face to your body. Your dress is plastered to your frame with rainwater, wet and sticking. The white has been made transparent and there’s nothing left to his imagination. You may as well be nude. Goosebumps race across your skin. 

The monster releases your throat and instead leans into you, his body so hot it burns. He inhales against you, his nose just below your ear. All you can do is hang on, dig blunt nails into the flesh of his shoulders. You feel the twist of muscle beneath your fingers, the sinewy pull of tendon along his spine. 

The scent of rain and earth surrounds you, blood and pine. Like the forest just bore him into the world, like he is new.  

Your taut nipples brush against his chest, lightning careening through your body. The ache between your thighs grows steadily, makes you twitch forward into him. 

His stiff cock presses against your center, and you feel him inhale against your throat, bitten off in a growl that rocks the floorboards of the old house. 

The earth shakes, like it’s thinking of cracking open to swallow you both down. 

When he sinks his teeth into the juncture of your shoulder and throat, you groan. His bites so hard, your vision blurs with the pain. Your pussy clenches hard nothing and your hips rock forward into him, seeking pleasure to go along with the pain. 

“This what you wanted?” He asks when he pulls his mouth away, hips rutting against yours. He licks over the wound, breathes you in again. 

The wet fabric of your dress does little to dull the sensation, does nothing to protect you from the fire that looms inside. 

You had it wrong, you are not a flame to his moth. You are a raindrop against a forest fire. 

“I can fuckin’ smell what you want.” Blood sweeps down your neck in a heady rush, it soaks the front of your dress. His lips are red when he pulls back. 

You tilt your chin back and nod, drunk on him, on the storm lashing at the house. “I missed you,” you say, and somehow it’s true. The twine that connects you to him pulls tighter and harder until you cry out, and you have to wonder if you did call him from some dark otherworld, if you made him from clay and darkness and saltwater and now he’s yours. 

His eyes are familiar, the amber ring so small his eyes seem black. 

Iron hot hands grip your hips, jerk you against him.  

You’re nothing in his hands, incorporeal, like a ghost, like the world ended a long time ago and you’ve just been waiting to be found again. 

Moss blooms on your soul, overtakes your lungs and your heart and your ribs, it consumes you and the house and the whole world. 

There’s a tenderness in the way he lowers you to the floor, rotting planks of wood pressed into your spine. Your dress is rucked up around your waist. 

The bulk of him settles heavily over you, his tongue sweeps against the mark he left on your shoulder. Something agonizingly loud chases the gods across the sky when he growls at the taste. 

“We’re going to drown,” you breathe, air caught up in your chest. You clutch him closer, feel the bare press of his cock against your cunt for the first time, strong hands cradling your thighs, your hips. A shudder rakes up your spine, slices you open at the throat. 

The monster answers, “Missed you, too.” He tugs down your bloodied collar, gaze sinking into your skin, sticking like a knife in your ribs. One huge hand passes over your breasts, pinches your nipples between rough fingertips until you cry out. 

He’s inside you in one thrust. It hurts but that’s okay, because it means you aren’t alone. It means someone is finally at home with you.

He sets a brutal pace, grips you by your hips and then your ribs. Clawed fingers sink into your ribs, carve out pieces of your flesh, until more blood blooms. It's beautiful, like flowers opening in rain.  

He covers your mouth with his when you scream and the whole world breaks apart. 

He doesn’t know your name. He doesn’t want to know it. Doesn’t want to know what to call such a lonely little thing. Doesn’t want to know what to call something so powerfully alone, something so lost in loneliness it called him from one world into the next. 

The rain hasn’t stopped. It pounds against the side of the house, against the weathered, creaking wood. 

You carry a candle, body and hair and clothes dry now. The flame whispers gently, gutters between your fingers. Hot melted wax trails over your knuckles. 

“Is there something I can call you?” You crouch and tilt your head, kneeling next to him where he lies on the floor. 

He thinks he’s on the third floor, the hallway. He doesn’t remember how he got there.  

He’d give you his name if he remembered it.

The side of your neck is bruised with his teeth, the outline of his mouth indented in your flesh. The sight makes his cock jump. 

He feels like he knows you, but maybe you just feel familiar because he’s broken you from the inside out.  

He doesn’t answer and you don’t seem to expect one. Your warm hand touches his shoulder. 

He wants to have you again. He’s hungry for the nectar of your flesh. You taste like the sea, like the gales that blow against the creaking, ancient house. Like salt and rainwater and lightning. He wants to dig his hands into you, into the meat of your lungs so he can feel you breathing, into the chambers of your heart so he can feel which direction your blood flows. 

He wants to be the one to stop your heart mid-beat, so it could always be his. 

Breaking open your ribs, sucking the marrow from the interior, taking a bite from your soul—he thinks you’d thank him for something like that. 

Your scent has mellowed out a little. You smell just like you taste, and now it's undercut with him, with the muskiness of him and the lingering want between your legs. 

Thunder cracks overhead, splits the world in two. You don’t so much as flinch and he covers your warm hand. The storm seems to perpetually hover right above the house. It’s been days, and it’s still there. 

He’s still coated in mud and you, his bones still hurt from the transition from beast to beast. 

You’re tempting, lit in lamplight and the reflected glow of the moon. 

He wonders if the sun ever rises here. 

“You can stay,” you say. “I don’t know how you’ll get home.” 

You voice is like a song that reminds him—

Joel. The name comes to him with a flash of lightning. 

“Joel,” he tells you. He wants you to know.  

“Joel,” you repeat. 

His name sets off something dangerous in his mind, kicks something possessive and protective alive. 

His. 

His, his, his. 

You belong to him. 

He twists, and pushes you back. The candle in your hand tumbles to the floor and goes out. “Joel,” you coo again. “Joel.” 

He pushes your skirt up, sees the shine of want on your pussy, your pretty cunt, still puffy from the last time he fucked you. Your thighs are rubbed raw from his beard. 

He licks you there, sucks your clit between his lips. You moan, your hips buck, and he doesn’t stop. He wants all of it, that musky taste of you in his mouth forever.  

You taste like crystal seas, like blackened skies and fire and darkness. 

“Joel,” you say his name, you pant his name. Fingers tangle in his hair, yank so hard he snarls against you. “I want it to hurt.” 

So, he makes it hurt. 

The water in the bathtub is warm. He can see the steam rising around you in drafts. 

He likes looking at you, softly bruised on your thighs and hips, perpetual bite mark on your shoulder.

Joel likes watching the way you move. He likes the soft curves of your body, the peaks of your tight nipples, the elegant curve of your waist and neck. Your body is like a music note, or a question mark. 

The house feels swollen, waterlogged and dense. Laughter and voices twist behind doors that lead to nothing and nowhere. Fungi and moss and creeping vines claw at the walls of the house, rotting wood threatening to give out with agonized moans. There are moldering photos and paintings in the halls and bedrooms that he can’t quite look at. Rainwater seeps through the cracks in the ceiling. 

“It used to be beautiful,” you say to him about the house, running a pristinely white washcloth reverently over the bite on your shoulder, then the scratches over your ribs. His scratches, his marks. “The sky was always blue. Everything inside was clean and light and everything outside was green and fresh.” You look at him, sitting in the dark beside the bathtub. “But that’s all over, now.”

The thread coiled around his head gives a twinge. “You were married,” he says. He knows things about you that he shouldn’t and he wonders if he really came from otherworld, or if you created him with grief and love and loneliness.  

“He died,” you confirm. “The world ended. And then the rot crept in.” 

Joel stands and your chest hitches as you stare up at him. He pushes down the trousers you gave him, that fit him just right, and climbs into the water with you. 

You gasp and then tears are sliding down your cheeks. You must be wondering the same thing—if you called him here or created him.

It doesn’t matter. 

What matters is that you open your legs and let him fuck you again, water spilling over the side of the bathtub, soaking the floor. 

What matters is that you are his and he yours. 

Your eyes flutter closed, your lips part, when his hand closes around your throat. 

The house is like a prison, but you make it into something livable.

The moon and sun do rise, here in this foreign, familiar place. Candles weigh down every surface, and the lights stay off. Neither of you seem to want them on.

The sea crashes violently against the seawall, the sharp teeth of jagged rocks jut up from the bottom, like the mouth of Charybdis. You loom in the window some days, watching the swirling water with lust in your eyes, like you’d like to dive into it. 

He can’t help but notice the widow’s walk is on the wrong side of the house. It faces the forest, not the sea, like the house has turned its back on the world, too. The forest whispers, trembles. 

He always pulls you back from the edge, fucks you until you can’t take him anymore, until you’re crying and limp and the wire tied up inside him goes loose.  

You ask him to leave once. You tell him he could figure it out, how to go home, but his devotion to you is total now, his loyalty is to you alone. Home is here, in the house swelling with moisture, with you picking herbs and sliding your fingers along the crowns of fungi like they’re beloved pets. 

You are his altar, his god; the vision, the future. 

Even thinking about leaving causes something in his chest to pang so hard he doubles over, that thing tied to you.  

“Are you still lonely?” he asks, when his cock is inside you and his mouth leaves a new bite on your bicep. “I enough for you?” 

“You’re everything,” your eyes roll back, slip closed. He cups your breast in his hand, sucks your nipple into his mouth and thinks of the straits of his heart. Your chest heaves against his lips. He still wants to break you, to tear open your chest, just to live inside it. 

Devoted.

It’s a good word. He’d keep you safe, even from himself. 

Your pussy twitches around him, clenching weakly. “Am I enough for you?” You make him lift his head, hands cupped under his chin. “Could I ever be?” 

You don’t know. You don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t know. 

You don’t know how devoted he is. That he would kill for you, die, that he wants to live amongst your bones now. 

The ancient house gives a groan, the rain comes down harder. He thrusts into you and you whine. “Will you leave?” Your voice is pathetically small. 

The house trembles, like it’s afraid too and is threatening to crumble into the sea with both of you inside. 

“Never.”

One day, the rain goes light and foamy, the sky turns slate gray. It's almost a sunny day.  

Someone else emerges from the woods. 

Joel turns to you. You’re still on the bed, snaked through with vines and green, naked, covered in him. His spend shimmers between your thighs, on your cunt. Sweat shines between your breasts and at the base of your throat and he wants you again. 

“What did you do?” He snarls. 

“Nothing.” 

He watches the man, not beast, stumble closer. 

Jealous heat rises in his chest. You’ve called forth another man. Consciously or unconsciously, he’s there. 

“What d’ya want me to do?” Joel sounds desperate and he doesn’t care. 

You don’t answer, you rise from the clean white of the sheets and go down the steps in all your naked glory. He follows, watches the jiggle of your ass, the movement of your back and waist, the weight of your breasts. The scars his nails left on your ribs reassure him. 

You belong to him, he is yours. He would kill you both, to keep you safe from others. 

No stranger would change that. Whatever your heart needed, that had conjured something else, another man, from the deep of the shimmering, knowing, rustling woods, he would become it, give it to you. 

The man is kind and soft. 

He needs help.

You talk to him, and Joel watches him lean in, eyes never straying from yours even though you are bare to the cold wind. “Is he hurting you?” The newcomer asks. 

Joel doesn’t hear your answer. He feels the wire around his heart tug, the sharp echoing sting makes you gasp and clutch at the railing. The new man has no reaction and all the jealous possessive feelings immediately settle. If his heart wasn’t tied to yours, he wasn’t meant to stay. 

He was a lesson for Joel. 

The man’s eyes go to Joel then to you. “He’s a monster, miss.” 

You shake your head. “He’s perfect.” 

You turn and walk back to him. You touch Joel’s shoulder, curl your fist into his t-shirt. “Joel,” you say softly. You touch his cheek. “I know why he came.” 

“I do too.” He stands there a moment longer, kisses your fingers when you press them against his mouth. “What d’ya want me to do?” He asks again. 

You glance over your shoulder, then back into his eyes. “I want you to kill him, Joel.” 

You watch the beast kill the man. 

Then, you watch the beast break its bones, reform its skin, to come back to you. 

And when he does, he tells you that was his lesson. 

His hands are stained red, blood seeps into your skin. Joel pushes into you, soft and slow. He doesn’t hurt you, even when you tell him to. “You need a kind hand, girl,” he tells you. “You’ve lived by the sea for too long.”

Tears come first, pleasure without pain for the first time in years comes second. 

He touches you with red printed fingers. The sheets are covered in the blood of a stranger that taught you a lesson. “Are you hurt?” You ask. 

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

He looks at you with those eyes, dark and knowing and loyal. He would never admit to that. Instead, he says, “I would do it a thousand times.” 

You stroke his cheek. “Do you think it was real? Do you think he was real?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Because I’m real, too.” 

The forest gave him to you, to each other, so it must be real. 

Joel must be real. You settle against him, and decide that’s true. 

But don’t you ever wonder, you want to ask as you kiss his bare chest, what is in the forest? What is in the sea? 

Don’t you wonder, you want to ask him, why you look so much like my husband? 

💕 Thank you for reading! Comments, replies, and reblogs are so appreciated. 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #haunted hoedown

[inklore]

🩸 — 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍!

since the spooky season is fast approaching, and as a little kinktober appetizer, @psychedelic-ink and i have decided to do a little writing challenge to get us all excited and in the mood to be gripping the sheets from the spooky thrills of course.

and to keep this fun we have given you many many options! we have compiled a twelve day prompts list you can go by, or if that's not your thing we have listed twenty three different pick and choose options to create whatever kind of fic you want, even if you want to do half the days daily prompts but switch out this prompt dialogue for that au or trope or kink, you can literally do whatever your heart desires!

THE RULES.

the challenge will go on from the 19th - 30th of this month. you can do as many or as little amount of days as you choose.

any fandoms are welcome, literally any characters, ships, but please no rpf.

no minors should be interacting with let alone posting for this challenge.

dark content, light content, dubcon/noncon, is all welcomed but please tag everything accordingly. grooming, underage, and incest however are not allowed.

there are no word limits but please use that readmore.

tag #hauntedhoedown so we can read and reblog your work!

DAY ONE: taboo au + "i'll be your dirty little secret, if that's what you're into."

DAY TWO: murder plot au (lets kill this person together) + "crawl to me"

DAY THREE: inspired by your favorite lana del rey song (if not a lana fan then any fav song of yours) + stalker / yandere au or love triangle gone wrong

DAY FOUR: artificial intelligence au + "here, you are. you tiny thing."

DAY FIVE: gothic au + “worship me. until i tell you to stop.” + a masquerade au or a good ol' priest au

DAY SIX: animal shapeshifter au + "he's a monster" + "he's perfect"

DAY SEVEN: stranded au or slasher / summer camp au + sex in the woods or somewhere public (added bonus if it includes knife, blood, hunter x prey kink)

DAY EIGHT: cosmic horror au + "you're a fucking nightmare. kiss me."

DAY NINE: “do you like it when i bleed for you?” + the toxic exes trope or cult au

DAY TEN: zombie apocalypse au + "every moment might be our last, let's make the most of it."

DAY ELEVEN: black swan au or inspired by your fav psychological thriller + “they die for love, you kill for it.”

DAY TWELVE: vampire court au + "forever isn't long enough for me to forgive you."

if following the above isn't your thing and you want to pick and choose yourself that's great! we also highly rec this random generator if you wanna live life by the edge, each category has 23 options to pick and choose from so customize the generator accordingly!

AUs:

steampunk / cyber punk

fairytale retelling

revenge

mythology / monster

virtual reality

gothic

taboo (see great options here)

slasher

game gone wrong

witchcraft

addams family

bonnie and clyde

spy / secret agent

assassins

x-files

circus / carnival

hitch hiking

basement wife

time travel

urban legend(s)

american horror story inspired

vampire / supernatural

pirate / mermaid

DIALOGUE PROMPTS:

"do you like when i touch you like this? i can keep going if you want me to."

"i can see how badly you want this, so i'm going to make sure you get it." 

“this fear you feel? it won't last.”

“you are mine, whether you agree or not.”

“why do you keep following me?”

"i can't stop thinking about how perfect we would be together."

"you're not actually scared are you? of me?"

"i'm so close, can you feel it?"

"tell me what you want me to do and i'll do it, no matter the cost."

"you're like a sickness, a disease, and the only way for me to be cured of you is to let you completely consume me until my body has no fight left."

"i want to see you bleed."

"they're dead...because of you."

“i will keep hurting. i will keep killing. anything to protect you.”

“everything i've done.. every horrible atrocity, it's been for you.”

"it's just a little blood."

“don't you know how sick with love i am for you?”

“i would burn the world for you.”

"this is so fucked up." "you like it."

"finders keepers."

"what's your favorite scary movie?"

"tell me you want me back. tell me i'm forgiven."

"you're a monster." "that's never stopped you before."

"i've killed for you, who else can say that?"

TROPES:

mob / mafia

soft!dark

dubcon / noncon

soulmate / fated mates

mind control / telepathy

cheating

final girl

once is not enough

haunted manor

dark academia

enemies to lovers

haunted object

vengeful ghost

coven

ritual / sacrifice / blood magic

unrequited love

creation / creator vs monster

'i'll find you in every universe / century'

reverse harem

cursed / fuck or die

curiosity killed the cat

theatre phantom

fate worse than death

KINKS:

biting

corruption / authoritarian

somnophilia

begging

dacryphilia

breath play

knife play / blood play

jealousy / sharing / possessive

aphrodisiacs

hunter / prey

humiliation / degradation

mirror sex

deprivation / immobilized / bondage

costume

size

orgasm denial / overstimulation / edging

body worship

shotgunning / swallowing / facial

gagging

torture / surrender

hate sex / make up sex / phone sex

magical healing [redacted]

soft!dom / pleasure!dom

ETC PROMPTS:

a summer fling gone horrible wrong, or right

1970s porno filming (turned into a blood bath)

touch her and die except who the hell are you and why are you obsessed with me?

a trip to the circus (or carnival) ends with you stuck there...forever

you just inherited this creepy mansion where people where murdered what could go wrong?

a ritual gone wrong and now i'm bound to a demon

if 'this person' ever found out about this they would kill both of us (literally)

oh no i'm dating the town serial killer

passionate professor tells me to prove my devotion to the craft / class by doing something insane

we're the last people on the planet and you will be mine

daydreaming about being with you is better than actually being with you because i missed all the red flags and now it's too late

i got casted out of my world and ended up wounded and bloodied in your backyard, convince me why i shouldn't destroy your world out of anger

vampire has a taste for specific blood and looks like you have it

the creepy neighbor is too hot to be insane, right?

i keep seeing them in my dreams and i wake up with bruises and marks on my skin, it's definitely just wild dreams, right?

loving you is easier than hating you

got stranded in some little town that seems so cute, until night hits

'this person' ordered me to kill you but i actually think i'm in love with you

my lover is wearing the same costume as you and i can't tell the difference but i'm pretty sure it's them i'm fucking in this closet...pretty sure

confessing to a murder via a silly little ghost story around a campfire (but someone reads through the lies)

how far would you go for love? for the one you love?

in a past life you were the cause of my death so i'm here to exact revenge now that i've found you

we're at a fun little horror movie reenactment except people are really dying

we tried to make this writing challenge as fun and very 'choose your own adventure-like' as much as possible because we know how hard it is to stay motivated when doing these things.

so please feel free to use any and all of the prompts, tropes, kinks, etc as you wish. we're just super excited to see what ya'll come up with!!

so good luck and stay slutty spooky <3

#if yall don't participate in this i will actually cry lmao #haunted hoedown #writing challenge #kinktober #! challenges

[fineprintedsunsets]

JAWBREAKER

This Is For Haunted Hoedown Day 1 | My Haunted Hoedown Master-List

Synopsis: Bucky's been hired to watch you as a favor to his best friend; your father. But when a game of spin the bottle has Bucky choking on his words, he just can't help himself anymore.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: age gap (both are consenting adults). dbf!bucky x f reader. mentions of violence against others (nothing undeserved) jealous bucky. unprotected sex. (wrap it before you tap it.) dirty talk. possessive bucky. p in v sex. is a hired bodyguard a stalker? maybe? idk. lots of praise + pet names.

taboo au + "this is fucked up" "you like it"

How Bucky ended up at a Halloween party for drunk teenagers was a mystery. A ghost-themed one at that. Kids who he wasn't even sure should be drinking clutched red solo cups filled with various alcohol, laughing obnoxiously and passing hushed whispers.

He rolled his eyes.

Teenagers.

He was sent here by your father, and although he loved the man (practically his best friend) this was the one event he regretted agreeing to accompany you to. You were 19, and why you wanted to go to a ghost-themed party with sixteen and seventeen-year-olds was beyond him.

Nevertheless, he agreed to supervise you for your father's sake. The second he steps foot through the frilly-decorated entrance, he smells the overpowering scent of marijuana and Axe cologne.

Thank god he didn’t grow up in an era where boys would wear that shit and think they were the coolest fuckers around. His nose turns up, turning to its source. It was indeed three teenage boys with what must have been a gallon of gel in their hair and crooked smiles splayed on their features.

They accompany a girl at the table, he can't see her features due to the blocking backs of the boys, but he can see one of them lift their fingers to brush ever so slightly against her arm.

The girl moves away, and when she does, Bucky's eyes catch on her.

It’s you, his best friend's daughter. He tries hard not to let his eyes linger on you, knowing he has only one job here tonight, and it’s to keep you out of harm's way. There was only one problem with that. Your father kept most of his work life hidden away from his wife and since he worked with a lot of cruel people, he decided not to involve you either.

Which means you had never met his best friend. You didn’t even know he had one. Bucky was sent here to watch you from afar, your dad didn’t want you to know he sent someone to supervise you every single time you went out.

You pass the boy a look, awkwardly shaking your head. You attempt to laugh it off and walk away, but the boy grabs your wrist. Bucky bristles where he stands against a wall, having just entered.

He can’t approach you, he couldn’t risk you finding out who he was. But oh how he wanted to break all twenty-eight of Jelly Hair’s pitiful knuckles.

“Let go, Jake.” You growl out, but Jelly Hair won’t let up, wrapping his digits around your tiny wrist and forcing you to sit back down. It angers him, how the other boys he’s sitting with laugh at his antics.

A loud crunching sound echoes from someone over at your table and Bucky leans away from the wall, getting ready to intercept, thinking he may have hit you. He should be ashamed of the anger that blossoms through his chest.

Jake’s fingers slip from your wrist as the other boys jump up. Jelly Hair turns toward the door where Bucky is standing, allowing him to spectate the blood now running from his nose.

He can’t help the smile that graces his features.

You hit him.

“My girl” Bucky finds himself whispering. He tucks his hand in his pockets, moving away from the entrance and more profound into whoever's house this is. White lights flash from the rooms as music blares from speakers in the living room.

Everyone is dressed like a ghost, some people; like you are wearing a t-shirt that displays a cute drawing of a supernatural creature. Others wear sheets with glasses placed overtop of them, or uneven eye-holes cut out of the white fabric.

Bucky grabs a solo cup and fills it up with Cola, the only non-alcoholic drink on the ping-pong table. His metal fingers grip the cup and bring it to his lips, only to spit it back into the cup.

“What the fuck.” He mutters, scrunching his face in distaste. He does a double take on the bottle, bringing the contents up to his nose, Rum.

It’s fucking Rum Coke.

He takes the cup anyway, having no intention to sip from it anymore. He blends in this way, holding a solo cup just like the other hundred people here. His blue eyes search for you in the crowd, spotting you right away, your body settled on the lap of a man, early 20’s he’d say.

A feeling he’s all too familiar with when it comes to you surges through his veins, seeing the white skirt you're wearing hike up, allowing him and everyone else to see his hand knead at your ass.

Bucky’s jaw clenches as he watches you lean into the man, your lips wrapping around his, your eyes closing. Bucky has no idea who he is, but whoever he is, his dick is growing hard under you, having very clear intentions of what he’s about to do. And Bucky will be damned if he allows you to get fucked by this piece of shit.

Not that it should matter to him. You should have a man that would treat you right, protect you, pleasure you. Not this dick-wad who wants a quick fuck. Your father wanted him to keep you out of trouble, and that’s exactly what he’s doing.

At least, it’s what he tells himself.

Bucky watches for a few more seconds as you rub yourself over his cock, painfully humping it. He knows you aren’t getting any pleasure out of it, it’s evident on your face. The dick-wad beneath you is, and that’s what makes Bucky’s fingers ball into tight fists, making him grind his teeth down again, on the verge of breaking his goddamn jaw.

That’s what you were.

A fucking jawbreaker, surely you were smarter than this. You had to have known you were worth so much more. You had to know dick-wad couldn’t make up for a quarter of that amount.

“Spin the bottles starting downstairs!” A girl announces from the banister. She’s drunk, very drunk, Bucky notices. She also must be the owner of the way her fingers wrap around the railing.

He could just tell.

Bucky feels the relief flood his chest when you turn away from the man, clearly seeing a good excuse for escape. He growls but lets you go as he soon follows suit. Bucky has no interest in watching you play spin the bottle, but of course, he has not all a choice.

He couldn’t decide whether it was his job, (why he was here in the first place, he’s had to repeat that to himself a few times throughout the night.) Or because he didn’t want to watch a bunch of horny teenagers shove their fucking tongues down your throat, heat bloomed in his chest, mixing with anger.

Either way, he would have to break more than fourteen knuckles tonight.

✪

Bucky’s already taken his place on the wall, going unnoticed as the kids gather around in a circle, sitting with their legs crossed, fixated on the bottle that is situated in the middle.

You sit on the right side, next to some other girls he recognizes.

Women.

You were 19 years old for god sake.

The woman from earlier, the owner of the house, Bucky had now learned the name of, Jess plops next to the man from earlier, her eyes analyzing all the players. Other people stand, just here to spectate the game, giving Bucky plenty of cover.

“We need one more player!” Her voice slurs, looking up from her sitting position, searching for the correct person to fill the gap right across from you. Your eyes search around with Jess’s until both pairs land on him.

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

“What’s your name?”

Bucky grinds his teeth together again, he’ll be very surprised if he has teeth after tonight.

“James.” He grits out, trying his very best to seem like he doesn't want to be here. Which isn’t very hard.

He doesn't.

“You look a bit old to be here, James.” Jess' eyes roam the others, looking for the attention she so desperately wants. The others let out faux chuckles. Bucky can still feel your eyes burning through his, even though over fifty pairs are now aimed at him, you stick out.

You always have.

“Who invited their dad, guys?” Jess pokes again, her ghastly features twisting in a terrible laugh. Other people laugh now, but Bucky doesn’t mind. You don’t laugh, your features scrunch at Jess’s words. The man didn’t look old at all, older than a teenager sure, he was quite handsome.

“Come on, James. Join us!” You call, and the man's eyes immediately meet yours. You can’t help yourself, you gasp at the intensity of them, the beautiful blue irises that stare back at you.

Bucky still didn’t move from the wall, it was very evident he had no choice in this matter. “A little party never killed anybody, James.” Jess’s cat-like mouth squeaks.

“Bucky-” He corrects, heaving a sigh. “Just Bucky.” Bucky walks over to the circle, watching the gathering crowd part. Allowing him to sit like the rest of them, occupying the spot across from you.

“Let’s get started, Anon, Why don’t you spin first?”

Anon, a very stereotypical frat boy reaches for the bottle, his companions cheering behind him. The glass spins as everyone's eyes follow it, even Bucky’s.

The end lands on Jess, which is ironic. Bucky is checking off his mental checklist, he’s no matchmaker but..

Obnoxious Voices. Check. Annoying Presence. Check. Feline Like Faces. Check. Rich Pieces Of Shit. Check.

Those two were made for each other.

The two kiss awkwardly, the whole crowd kicking and screaming taunts, acting like children who just touched a deceased insect. Bucky settles into the hard-concrete floor, getting ready for a very excruciating game.

✪

It’s about an hour before you finally get the bottle in your hands. Everyone waits on bated breath as you capture your bottom lip between your teeth. You grab the bottle and spin, watching the glass glide across the concrete floor.

It clicks and clanks before it stops, and the endpoints to the stranger.

The older man that’s been stuck to the wall the whole party. You’ve never seen him before but were quite intrigued when you caught him looking at you during the game, pretending as if he wasn't.

The stranger's eyes flick open, looking at the end pointed towards him and then where you sit across from him. You smile to yourself as Bucky stays in his position.

The chanting starts when Jess’s voice echoes through the room, “You have to kiss the old man!” She’s 20, but acts like a five-year-old.

“Kiss!”

“Kiss!”

“Kiss!”

People around you repeat, and so you do the only logical thing to do. You place your hands in front of you and crawl to Bucky, knowing full well your skirt is riding up as you do so.

You can see his jaw clenching. You arrive in front of him, propping yourself up on your knees, Bucky's eyes look up at where you slightly tower over him.

You reach your fingers to graze his jaw, and when your fingers meet his subtle, the fifty pairs of eyes disappear. Right now, it’s just you and him. “Come here.” You mutter, bringing his face to yours.

Bucky hesitates, but lets it happen anyway. He’s captivated by you, you can tell. He wants to pull away but can’t.

Time seems to slow as your eyes close and your noses touch, stopping before letting your lips meet each other. Heat builds in your stomach, anticipation and want bubbling deep inside your core.

“This is fucked up.” He whispers, his breath grazing your wet lips.

“You like it.” You answer, before pulling his face to yours, your lips colliding in perfect harmony. Heat fills your stomach, settling itself between your thighs. Bucky’s hand comes up to cup your scalp, molding his palm to your head, crushing his lips against yours.

Your tongue slides into his mouth, entangling with his own. Your breath heaves as your stomach urges for more, your thighs pressing together in your kneeling position. You pull away before you can go any farther, breath heaving, a string of saliva still connecting your puffy lips.

The words that exit his mouth are barely audible, but you catch them. “That’s why it’s fucked up.”

“Get a room, lovebirds,” Jess calls, laughing with the others. But you ignore them, your eyes are still pulled into that trance, still feeling Bucky’s lips on yours.

The next thing you know, Bucky is getting up, his hand reaching for your own. You gulp at his gaze now, seeing the intensity switch to something different.

Something primal.

✪ Somehow you ended up in a closet, with Bucky’s breath fanning over your neck, his cock painfully straining against his jeans. It took all but four seconds for your clothes to be off, Bucky’s joined yours short after, pooling on the floor of the large closet.

“Sweetheart-” Bucky sounds breathless as he reaches out, his metal hand (which you okay with, apparently) running down the curve of your breast, dipping in your bra to twirl a cool digit around your semi-hard peak. (Especially when they made you feel like that.)

“How old are you?” You press, moaning as Bucky’s other hand cups your waist, making sparks fly up and down your skin. This closet, which is bigger than the master bedroom, has suddenly gotten small.

Bucky fights the urge to smack your ass in response, you didn’t care about age when you were grinding on that man’s cock.

“106.” He answers thoughtfully, but you only laugh, catching he wasn’t going to tell you his age. Bucky’s face scrunches in wonder, but it quickly fades when you press your body into his own, running your smooth fingers over his muscled abdomen.

“You sure you want to do this, baby?”

“Positive.”

Bucky brings your lips to his, all while taking hold of your hips, backing you into one of the closet's white walls. You engrossed in his touch, the feel of his fingers on your bare stomach, pushing you against the wall.

“I’d make you hump my cock, ‘show you what real pleasure is. But there’s no couch in here, sweet girl.” You feel your pussy clench at his words, you hadn’t known he was watching you then.

“Just gonna have to take me bare,” Bucky mutters, his hands grabbing your back, flipping you around so your palms are planted above you, your ass jutting out. His fingers knead at the meat of your ass, making sure to erase any hand-prints dick-wad may have left. You moan, bucking into his touch, wanting more.

“Greedy girl, you think you deserve my cock? Bare, too? You think you can handle that type of pleasure?” His fingers ghost over your panties, barely hitting your clit.

“Bucky! Please.”

Bucky smiles, knowing what he’s doing to you. If he wasn’t about to fuck you in a closet at a party he would tease you a lot more, and make you pay for letting that man touch you. You both knew you couldn’t wait that long, and neither could he.

Bucky pulls down your panties, noticing how your slick coats the fabric. “These are drenched, all for me, hmm?” He was so hesitant at first, to kiss and touch you, but now he didn’t give a shit.

You were his now.

Your panties soon joined the rest of your clothes. Bucky’s breath caught when he looked down at you, making your thighs clench together. He runs a metal finger through your folds, collecting your slick.

You cry out from the spark of pleasure, attempting to keep yourself up against the wall.

“You're so wet for me, sweet girl.” You feel lightheaded as Bucky releases himself from his boxers, you can’t see anything, only the white paint of the wall.

You can feel his tip nudge at your entrance, as he leans down, placing soft kisses along your back. “I’m gonna fill you up, baby. Okay? You want to be filled with my cock?”

“Yes!” You buck your hips, your eyes tightly closed as you feel his cock slide itself to the hilt, using your gathered arousal to aid in his thrust. You cry out, the stretch is both painful and pleasurable. Bucky groans, feeling the way you clench around his cock, feeling the tightness of your cunt.

“That’s it, sweet girl. Taking me so well.” For a few moments, you just stand there, Bucky letting you adjust to his cock, to the feeling of being filled up completely. You had sex before, plenty of it, but you never took a guy bare.

But Bucky, the way his cock sat inside of you, not even moving and it still shooting sparks into your stomach, was something you’d never thought you’d experience.

“Can I move, baby? You alright?” You nod your head while Bucky places another kiss on your back, pulling his cock out to the tip, and pushing back in.

“Ahh-”

“Feel good, sweetgirl?” Words simply do not exist anymore, Bucky whispers against you with each thrust of his cock, his movements slow at first, allowing you to take the most pleasure out of it, trying so hard not to cause you any pain.

The wet noises of your body's meeting over and over again fill the air, and somehow it drowns out the music of the party. Bucky’s groans and your moans tangle together as you buck your hips to meet his thrust, accommodating his cock.

“So good, baby.” You clench at his words, milking his cock. Bucky smiles, looking down at you.

Bucky’s metal arm comes around your bare stomach, making your thighs fall open wider, “Like when I praise you? Your pretty little pussy loves when I tell her she’s doing a good job, baby.”

A single digit finds your clit, Bucky rubs at it, slow tantalizing circles as you buck into him.

“I want you to come on my cock, I need to see this pussy clench around me harder.” Your body involuntarily does as he asks, your cunt clenching down on his cock as his thrusts speed their tempo and his finger matches the torture at your clit.

“Fuck!” You cry out, feeling your orgasm stirring deep in your belly, the heat from the room going straight to your head, encasing you in its bubble.

“That’s it.” Bucky praises, dragging out both words, “Good girl, come for me.”

You do, moaning loudly as your orgasm rushes through your veins, as Bucky chases his release, making sure you get over the edge first. His breaths come out in pants as his cock pushes into your cunt at a punishing speed. “I wonder how your daddy would feel if he knew you just came on his best friend's cock.”

“What?”

#marvel #masterlist #fanfic #oneshot #fluff #smut #buckbarnes #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky x reader #buckybarnessmut #hauntedhoedownmasterlist #haunted hoedown #inklore #dbf!bucky #older man younger woman #consent

[always-andromeda]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐓

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Professor!Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ✯ 3268

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ taboo au + dark academia + “I can see how badly you want this, so I'm going to make sure you get it.”

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ✯ I’ve loved this man literally since I was thirteen…so it’s inevitable that I’d be writing something absolutely fucking filthy for him in my twenties…

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ smut (minors, do not interact), gaps in age and power, mutual masturbation, little bit of panty sniffing, a singular use of Y/N (I'm sorry, I hate it too but it was necessary), usage of pet names (sweetheart), general manipulation, slight praise kink, obvious disclaimer: the dynamic in this fic is just that, fictional, and should not be practiced in real life!! let me know if any other warnings are needed!!

(mdni banner template credit goes to @cafekitsune!!)

You’d rarely had luck receiving any sort of grace from your professors. Sure, there were a select few that only wanted to see you succeed. However, more often than not you seemed to encounter sadists who decided to take their kinks out on exhausted college students. But you were convinced that Professor Winchester wouldn’t be like that.

For starters, he’d always been challenging but never malicious. Despite the fact that you’d registered for his Norse Mythology course with the assumption that it would be easy college credits, you quickly learned that his assignments were difficult. Every week there seemed to be about a hundred pages worth of reading, frequent essays, and an emphasis on class discussion.

Oh, did he love those class discussions. While most were less than enthusiastic to contribute to lengthy examinations of Eddic poetry at eight in the morning, Professor Winchester seemed to be none the wiser of this.

He was always squinting over his thin wire framed glasses, surveying the class. He’d stand at his desk, brushing his long hair behind his ear while looking over papers. When he’d listen he’d purse his lips and tilt his head, expression rife with genuine interest. In all of these moments, he was the most gorgeous. But more than that, you were fascinated with his mind.

Professor Winchester knew this material like the back of his hand; was able to pull references and quotes from various pieces of literature at the drop of a hat. He was the only professor who could ever give notes that were actually helpful on essays and he’d always been generous with handing out extra credit assignments. Which is what you aimed to obtain on this visit to his office.

You looked through the glass of his office door and saw him inside, working diligently at a dark oak wood desk. Taking a deep breath, you turned the doorknob and entered.

The hinges squeezed but Winchester seemed so fixated on whatever was before him that he only raised a finger, indicating for you to wait. So you did. Awkwardly. You rocked slightly on your heels, your stomach starting to twist in time with the movement. God, he looked like a dream lit by the stained glass banker's lamp as he graded papers.

In another world you could see him coming home from a long day, his body warm behind you as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Smelling like black coffee and pencil shavings, you'd adoringly close your eyes, taking in his scent and ask him how his day went. He'd hum in contentment when resting his chin on your head; you're his rock, his soulmate, the reason he stays sane despite dealing with probably hundreds of students and the frustrating dance of academic bureaucracy. 

It's a fantasy that broke the second Winchester glanced up and said with a hint of surprise, "Miss L/N! Come in, have a seat," he nodded towards the chair on the other side of his desk.

Relieved that he can pick you out among the sea of students from his classroom, you move forward until you reach the chair. You set your bag down on the floor and settle into the worn leather of the seat as Winchester eyes you expectantly.

"What can I do for you this afternoon?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek. "Actually, I was hoping that you could help me out with something."

"Oh, what might that be?" he furrowed his brow.

"Um..." you started. "I'm sure you noticed that I didn't do too hot on the last exam."

"Ah, I did," he said simply.

"You did?"

"Yeah, I was surprised, actually." Winchester opened up one of his desk drawers and sorted through some files before pulling out a packet you recognized as the exam you'd taken the week before. "You seem so engaged in class discussion and you've been doing well on everything else. This...this felt rushed. What happened?"

The soft expression of concern on his face only increased your shame. In all honesty, you'd wasted half the exam time away staring at him. He'd worn a red sweater over a cream colored button up that day. Then he'd rolled up the sleeves before handing out the exam papers. It felt stupid to admit that you'd been distracted by his goddamn forearms.

But you had been. You couldn't resist watching him as he'd circled the room, keeping an eye out for cheating. With his arms folded behind his back, you got the best look at the back of him. His long legs clad in khaki. Strong, tanned forearms corded with prominent veins. Shoulder blades pushed back confidently as he walked. Everything about his solid stature had your mind far, far away.

You'd been good at making sure your daydreams wouldn't get the better of you. But this time, before you knew it, Winchester was glancing down at his watch and announcing that you had fifteen minutes left for exam time. You had no choice but to rush through the rest of it, writing down answers that hardly even made sense just to fill in blanks.

Now those answers laid before you, condemning you to a low D– that dragged down your entire grade.

"I honestly couldn't tell you, Professor. I thought I studied enough but I guess not."

Though you'd attempted to laugh off his concern, Winchester obviously wasn't budging. "But these are rookie mistakes. Number fifteen for example. Where do the gods live?"

"Easy. Asgard."

"Right, but here you marked down the answer for Valhalla," he slid the paper around so you could look at the question.

Sure enough, there it was, your frantic pencil marks filling in the bubble for the incorrect answer. Damn.

"And that's just on the multiple choice questions," Winchester continued, flipping through the pages. "You barely followed any of the directions for the long answer questions. Your response to the short essay portion was a paragraph too short. And it was too unfocused."

Unfocused is right, Professor Winchester.

"I hate to say it...but I was a little disappointed."

The sting of tears threatened to spill down your cheeks. So you cleared your throat and blinked them back quickly. Voice trembling, you answered quickly, "I'm sorry, Professor. I wasn't on my game and I thought I'd pay you a visit so I could plead my case. I'm willing to do any kind of extra credit assignment. I don't care how much work it is. I'll do anything to fix my grade because I really want to do well in your class and–"

Winchester raised a hand, urging you to stop. Then he spoke, "Listen, I can see how badly you want this. So I'm going to make sure you get it. Just...let me think."

With that, Winchester rose from his seat and began to gather the papers that littered the surface of his desk. He stacked them neatly before opening a different drawer and laying them inside. After he closed the drawer, he made his way around the desk. You tried not to look at him as he made his way around the room, especially not when you felt his hand brush against the back of your chair. But you couldn't not notice when he drew the shade on his door's window and closed the blinds to his window, leaving the room dim save for the yellow light of his desk lamp.

Once he'd made his round, he returned to his chair and rolled back, leaving a massive gap between himself and the edge of his desk.

Then he did something else you didn't expect.

He patted the wood and said, "Come. Sit on my desk. Let me look at you."

You almost wavered on the direction when he cleared his throat expectantly. That brought you to your feet and compelled you to settle waveringly before him.

With his lips in a tight line, Winchester studied you. He tilted his head every few seconds, letting his eye flicker from your uncertain expression to your body. You sat up a little straighter in an attempt to satisfy his observation of you.

You weren't quite sure what he was doing, but it made you nervous; made you vulnerable in a way you weren't used to.

"I may have one extra credit opportunity that I can offer. Special. Just for you."

"Yeah? What do you want me to do?"

"Well, you can start by spreading your legs."

Your eyes went wide. "Professor Winchester, you're not–"

He cut you off quickly, "First, after office hours, you may call me Sam. Second, I'm not going to touch you. I'm simply asking you to give me a– a presentation," he decided.

"What kind of presentation?" you asked.

Your feigned innocence made the man chuckle softly. "The kind of presentation I'm sure you give in your dormitory bedroom every night."

There wasn't an ounce of jesting on his face, but still you played dumb. "I have no idea what you're referring to, Sam." His name felt foreign yet familiar on your tongue. Probably because you'd whispered it many times before in the exact scenario he'd described.

"I'd hoped you'd tell me the truth about why you were so distracted during your exam. But since you haven't been forthcoming, I guess I have to spell it out for you, haven't I?"

You swallowed hard and blinked nervously.

"You thought I wouldn't notice, did you?" he chuckles again. "It's hard not to notice when one of your students, especially one so beautiful, is practically drooling all over their table."

The scraps of flattery were evidently working on you as Sam smiled when you fiddled with your fingers in your lap as your skin got all warm and tingly. So he kept going.

"Besides, you're too intelligent to do this terribly on something you should've aced. Maybe you wanted to fail it. You wanted to get my attention, didn't you?"

"Oh, no, I wasn't trying to waste your time, I was just–"

"You weren't wasting my time. Wasting your time is continuing this pointless back and forth when you could instead be proving yourself."

"Proving myself?"

"Yes. Spread those legs...and earn your grade," he ordered.

Breathing in and out slowly, you did what you were asked. The knots in your stomach told you this was wrong. But the smile of approval that slowly grew on Sam's lips said that this was exactly what you both needed. 

You'd never been more embarrassed to be wearing a skirt. One the fabric pooled around your hips, it only framed the damp patch on your underwear. Perhaps part of you had wanted something like this to happen. Because your pussy was already pulsing after simply being observed behind the cotton curtain that soaked up her anticipation.

"Very good," Sam breathed out.

"What do I do now?" you asked.

"Just...play with her. Show me what you like to do to make her happy."

You nodded, then pursed your lips as you thought. If you were going to present to him...you might as well go all out. So you shifted each of your thighs around, pulling down your underwear until your bare ass was planted on the desk and the garment was caught on one of your ankles. You lifted your left and held it out gently, the panty hanging in the air a little below Sam's face.

"Take them," you said. "Visual aid."

He smirked lazily at the offering before pulling them over your shoe, being careful not to actually touch you. Sam balled them up before bringing them to his nose and slowly breathing in the scent. You could tell he enjoyed it thoroughly as he let out a deep sigh from within his chest.

"With how wet these are...it's good to know you were prepared even for a surprise presentation. I knew there was a reason you're my favorite."

His words went straight to your cunt as a few drops of slick leaked from your hole and landed on the dark wood beneath you.

"Go on," Sam urged, gaze flickering to the drops of you on his desk. "She's waiting. And so am I."

You began to treat yourself with the same level of care as you did when you were alone. One of your hands reached up your shirt and you cupped one of your tits. You kneaded the flesh for a few seconds before focusing on the nipple, pinching it until it pebbled and poked through your shirt. The action made your breathing turn ragged. 

You finally let your other hand travel south, bringing warmth to the soft skin of your thighs. Wanting better access to yourself, you pulled your leg up, resting a foot on the desk itself. Then you reclined back and let your fingers roam where they wanted.

Using two fingers, you spread your outer lips, only exposing yourself to Sam’s scrutiny even further. The cool air hitting your most vulnerable part, you shivered as goosebumps erupted across your skin. You looked up at him, gauging his approval of your performance.

“You’re doing so well already, keep going,” he encouraged, hardly concealing the arousal that clung thickly to his tone.

You took the praise with pride. It emboldened you enough to slip your two fingers between your folds to gather up some of the slick. You couldn’t help but feel mortified as you involuntarily gasped when your digits brushed slightly against your clit.

Sam let a quick puff of air out his nose. “Sensitive?”

“Mhmmm,” you whined.

“Bet you can’t even touch that pretty clit directly without crying, huh?”

You nodded.

“Then be gentle. I want you to last for me.”

You took that to mean that he didn’t want you touching yourself there yet. So instead you switched to focusing on your entrance. It wasn’t often that you went straight for penetration. Rarely did it bring the kind of relief you craved.

But you had the feeling that Sam would want to see it; to see your fingers filling yourself up and stretching you out.

With your fingers practically pruning already, you pushed one in ever so slowly. It took a second to adjust to the slight pressure, but still you began to carefully pump. The slick squelch only intensified when you slipped another one in and sped up your movements.

Though the pressure increased and built up tension in your belly, you could already tell it wasn’t going to go anywhere. You bucked your hips pathetically against your own hand, trying to get deep enough to hit your g-spot. But no matter how far you tried to probe, it was useless. Your fingers simply weren’t long enough.

Your eyes went wind, catching sight of something that most likely could reach that spot inside you. While you’d been fucking yourself, your professor had undone the button and the zipper on his pants and slipped himself out. There he sat, your panties in his hand and wrapped around the thick length of his cock. The angry red tip poked up and out of the fabric with each slow thrust. And you could already tell based on how long his strokes were that you’d most likely be able to feel him poking against your belly from inside you. The idea made you moan and throw your head back.

Sam swiftly reprimanded you, “Ah, remember your eye contact. I want you to look at me.”

Shame spread over your body. What the fuck was going on? Were you really fingering yourself on his desk right next to papers that he was surely going to return to students? Was Sam really fisting his own cock with your underwear? And were you actually enjoying this?

“Sweetheart,” Sam’s self control faltered slightly with the name. But it grabbed your attention nonetheless. “I need you to look at me. Let me look into your eyes when you make yourself come on my desk, alright?”

This was about more than fixing your grade. This was about pleasing him…by pleasing yourself. And as you returned his look, you were all in.

Under his watchful, half lidded, hazel eye you allowed yourself to focus on your aching clit which laid in wait like a pearl beneath the hood of skin covering it. Carefully, you pulled that hood back before lightly spreading some of your slick with a finger. You let the skin settle back in place over the sensitive nub before going straight to work.

You began to rub slow circles on the hood and finally properly moaned. It took only a few seconds for the muscle memory of your nightly ritual to kick in as the pleasure started to mount. Finally, all of that pressure in your core had some actual weight to it; a weight that was already beginning to roll in shallow waves over your whole being.

"There you go, sweetheart. Let me hear you loud and clear. Don't wanna miss a single sound from you," Sam groaned and you caught how the grip he had on himself tightened, how his pace quickened.

While rolling your hips against your hand, you pulled up a side of your shirt, exposing even more of yourself to him. Now he could easily see one of your tits rise and fall with your staggered breaths. He could see how the ball of fat dimpled under your fingertips as you squeezed and pulled at your hardened nipple.

Both sources of simulation had you whimpering breathlessly, "Sam, I-I'm so close– Let me come, please?"

Sam glared and asked through gritted teeth, "That's not my name. What do you call me in class?"

"Professor?"

Sam nodded darkly.

You took the cue quickly and begged helplessly, "Please, professor, please let me come–" you were cut off by the sound of your pleasure starting to push you over the edge. 

Sam left you teetering, staring right over the border of this boundary. That boundary being an ethical nightmare that you had no clue how you'd navigate. But you wanted to be good for him; you craved his approval.

And thankfully, Sam gave it as he groaned, "There you go, good girl. You can come, you've got permission."

With that, you arched off the desk and burst with glorious clarity. A thin stream of your arousal drooled from your entrance as you rubbed yourself through the enormous implosions and the small aftershocks that followed. Your head was heavy with the fog of pleasure and you wanted to hang it back, give it a break.

But still, you were determined to keep your eyes on him, even as you pulled your fingers away from your trembling cunt and stuck them in your mouth. Your tongue swirled around the wrinkled digits, soaking up every bit of yourself that you could.

Any sort of professionalism Sam had been trying to maintain up until that point shattered completely when he rolled his chair forwards. Closer to you now, you looked down into his soft eyes and watched how his normally objective stare went personal; emotional. He looked at you with the kind of admiration that made your heart flutter with pride.

He took his hand, placed it on your knee, and spread your legs further. His touch was so light, so soft that you could help feeling electricity dance along your spine.

"I thought you said you wouldn't touch me?" you whispered, only a hint of a smug smile tugging at your lips.

Choosing his words as carefully as ever, he explained, "That was before I decided that you needed some of my...guidance."

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #hauntedhoedown #haunted hoedown #supernatural #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fic

[moonlight-prose]

LONG & LOST

a/n: this is part of the haunted hoedown event that i've decided to take part in. i saw it on @inklore's blog and immediately fell in love. when i saw that dark academia was on the list i knew it had to go to steven. i'm a dark academia fiend and sticking him in that trope has always been a dream of mine. so here's a slightly darker take on a love story with him. enjoy!

summary: you were the poison in his veins, the pomegranate seeds on his tongue. yet he wanted more. he needed it...just as he needed you.

word count: 4.8k+

pairing: steven grant x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, angst, dark romance (kind of but honestly not really), desperation, addiction to a person, dark academia setting, spitplay if you squint, body worship, p in v sex, cumplay, cumeating.

Lamps casted a soft glow throughout the library, giving you enough light to work by yet not enough to actually see anything else clearly around you. It filled you with a sense of comfort, your body sinking further into the chair as you flipped page after page in your book. In the distance, you could hear rain pouring outside, thunder rumbling in the sky every once in a while. If you weren’t mistaken, you could hear the shuffle of the librarian walking the rows, placing the books in their rightful place.

His name was Steven, a man who had stuttered over his words slightly when you spoke. Not out of nerves, but sheer excitement—unable to get the words out fast enough as you two quickly got lost in conversation. However, that was the first and final time you spoke to one another. He seemed to evade you every time you came close enough to start up a conversation—his back, the only thing you saw most days as he walked the other direction.

Even now as you got lost in the words before you, Steven’s presence still remained. Looming in the depths of the library. You could never lose him entirely. Not when he still kept so close yet so far away—his need to be near you only grew the more time you spent in the darkened building.

Eventually a crack of lightning struck the sky, lighting up one side of the library for a brief moment, before the lamps that stood on various tables were extinguished. Leaving you in complete darkness—your phone screen, the only bright thing you could find. You cursed under your breath, setting the book on the table with a soft thump, before getting up. Going in search of someone.

But the longer you walked down the rows of bookcases, the more you came to realize…you were the only person left. Everyone either avoided the place today due to the weather, or chose to go home early. Even several of the other staff members had vanished, heading out for the night and leaving you alone with none other than Steven.

You found him wandering the rows with a flashlight, checking to see if anything was wrong. Simply the sight of him in a button down and soft jacket was enough to send your heart racing. Although you were certain he wouldn’t say the same. In all honesty you were convinced that Steven didn’t like you. That he avoided you because he didn’t want you to be a part of his life—which you accepted, giving him the space he so desired.

However, you couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

Steven stilled at the sight of you illuminated by your phone’s soft glow, the knit sweater you wore doing absolutely nothing to hide what you looked like beneath it. He felt his cheeks flush at the thought of you bare—an image he refused to let himself conjure up in his head. He knew it was wrong to think about you that way, given that he’d been avoiding you. Yet he couldn’t stop himself.

Not when you looked at him that way. Your eyes soft and welcoming, as if asking him to speak, to finally give you what you both wanted.

“I think everyone went home,” you said, causing his heart to stutter in his chest.

He searched desperately for something to say, words—anything. “I’m nearly done here,” he replied, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “You can go if you want.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. “Oh…”

So much for actually talking to him. It seemed that Steven was more interested in getting you out of the library than keeping you in.

He caught the disappointment on your face, in your voice, and felt guilt begin to claw its way up his throat. The last thing he wanted was for you to leave. Fuck if he had his way you’d be here with him constantly. But Steven—ever the man who excelled at words—could no longer find them when he was around you. Which was simply ironic for a librarian. So, he stepped closer, drawing your eyes back up to this face, and watched as your entire body seemed to react to his presence alone.

For as much time as he spent avoiding you, he spent an equal amount of time studying you—your expression as you read, the way you lit up when something good happened in the story. He wanted you to do the same for him. To burn for him. Just as he did for you.

“Or you can stay,” he finally said, watching your sullen expression begin to lift, a light returning to your eyes.

“I can?” you murmured.

He nodded, his lips pulling up into a soft grin, and for a moment Steven swore he could see you melt. “I might need some help. Checking to see if people are still here.”

You had never heard a more brilliant idea. “Okay,” you said, a smile tugging on your mouth. Heat seared through your chest when Steven’s eyes flickered down to your glossy lips, his gaze darkening for a brief moment. Nearly causing you to combust on the spot.

“Where do we start?” you asked, breaking through the silence and dragging his attention back to your eyes. His cheeks were stained red, tips of his ears burning as he looked away quickly, realizing he’d in fact been staring.

You found it cute.

“Left side?” He pointed his flashlight down a dark and empty row. “I’ll find you after yeah?”

You set the flashlight on your phone to shine brighter. “You’re not coming with me?”

There was no reason Steven had to go with you. In fact, you knew the setup of the library like the back of your hand, so getting lost wasn’t a possibility. But this was the most you had ever talked with him, the conversation flowing with ease just as it did before. Only this time you were adamant to keep it going—refusing to return to the silence that seemed to plague the both of you.

Steven glanced at you once more and caught the sight of determination in your eyes. There was no avoiding you anymore. No more running to hide from his true feelings. And if Steven was being honest with himself…he didn’t want to. He’d never felt this infatuated with someone—the crush so strong at times it nearly felt painful. Yet in spite of all that, he knew the feelings were merely one sided; a love that would never be reciprocated.

But you were standing before him, telling him you wanted to spend time together, and Steven felt the cloud shrouding his heart lift—allowing sunlight to break through once more.

“No of course,” he said softly, latching onto the feeling of hope that filled his chest. “I’ll come with you love.”

The nickname sent a small thrill through your body, something warm trickling down into your stomach. Without another word you turned away, starting right where he said, hearing the echo of his footsteps behind you as he followed along. Thunder continued to rumble outside, proving that this storm wouldn’t be over for a while. So, you walked slowly—meandering through the different rows and picking up books that were left behind on tables and random shelves.

It felt nice. Simply being there in silence with him. As much as you yearned for more—a conversation that told you more about him, about why he’d avoided you—this was good enough. The scent of books filled your senses as it always did, but above that you could smell him.

Steven’s scent was warm, soft, like a slow tune you wanted to listen to on repeat, a book you never wanted to finish reading because once you did, you’d grieve it like an old friend. It clung to the air, filtering into your senses until all you could smell was him.

You longed to know what he tasted like. Would his kiss be flavored with the taste of his tea? Or would it be minty like the gum he sometimes chewed? You felt the breath catch in your throat at the mere idea of kissing him—finally divulging in that one dream you kept like a well guarded secret. But that’s all it would be.

A dream.

“People rushed out of here in a hurry,” you said, noting the open books scattered on several tables. They must have wanted to make it home before the storm got worse.

“I closed up the library. Told em’ to go home before the streets got bad.”

You turned to look at him, seeing how he gently organized the books on a cart he’d found in one of the rows. “You closed the library?”

“Mhm.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He froze, eyes focused intently on the book in front of him. Steven figured if he didn’t respond, you’d drop the topic altogether. Yet he didn’t know the level of stubbornness you actually possessed in your body—the need to know stronger than anything else. You waited patiently, watching as he stepped into an aisle to place the book in its proper spot. All the while the rain pattering against the window continued to fill the void of silence that hung between you.

“Steven?”

He let out a breath, his brown eyes meeting yours—a timid look reflected in them. “You looked busy.”

A blatant lie, but you wouldn’t press him on it right away. “Busy?” You quirked an eyebrow, feeling the ghost of a smile on your lips.

“Reading,” he clarified. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

That soft and familiar warmth was back, melting into you. “You let me stay to read?” He nodded with a relieved smile. “But that’s not the only reason is it?”

Steven looked like a deer caught in the headlights and he felt like it too. For a brief second he swore his heart stopped—his nerves jumping beneath his skin. He couldn’t back away from the truth now. Not when you were so close to uncovering it yourself. Except the more you pressed him, the more he could see that this is what you wanted. To be here with him surrounded by books, in the midst of a storm.

“I wanted you to stay.” His words were a soft utter, barely a breath of air, but you heard them as if he’d pressed them against your ear.

“But you always avoid me.” It was the truth. He did what he could to make sure your paths rarely crossed. While at first you believed it was due to the fact that he couldn’t stand you. Now you could see it was something entirely different.

He looked distraught, eyes shifting between you and the shelves behind you. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t…mean to?”

Letting out a long sigh he ran a hand through his already unruly curls, a few falling into his face. “I want to talk to you—believe me—you’re just…you’re—”

“I hope there’s a good ending to that sentence,” you joked, a nervous smile flitting across your lips in the hopes of dissolving some of the tension that remained.

“You’re everything,” he murmured, his eyes drinking you in freely, thoughts running through his mind that would have made him feel bad before. Yet now he could see the want in your eyes.

The same craving running through your veins.

“Oh…”

“I didn’t avoid you because I didn’t like you. I avoided you because…” he trailed off softly, uttering the truth for the first time and feeling the weight leave his shoulders. Steven was known as a shy reserved man, but beneath the surface he wanted so much. He just never felt strong enough to grasp for it.

“I’m everything?” you asked with a breath of awe, stepping closer and watching as his whole body stiffened. But he refused to move, not when you were finally giving into what you wanted.

He nodded quickly, his breath coming in and out as if he couldn’t get enough. Your soft perfume wafted through the air, filling his senses until he felt drunk off you and yet you were still a foot away. Still too far for him to touch, to reach out and give in to his desires. Steven had finally come to a conclusion of what you were to him, what your presence did to him. You were the poison in his veins, the pomegranate seeds on his tongue. Yet he wanted more.

He needed it…just as he needed you.

“Yes,” he breathed, his cheeks stained red and eyes wide. But you weren’t focused on that. No, your eyes were solely stuck on the sight of his lips, how they were parted slightly to take more air in lest he pass out from lack of oxygen.

“Steven…” you murmured, taking the final step, and his walls came crumbling down.

Gathering you gently, his lips met yours in a feverish kiss that made your whole body melt. A kiss that turned you drunk on his scent, the warmth of his mouth against yours. The kind of kiss they described in ancient literature. You dug your hands into his curls, a soft moan pressing into his mouth as his tongue slid along your bottom lip. It wasn’t perfectly put together, pristine in all its nature, because that wasn’t Steven.

He kissed you with a sloppy passion, teeth clacking together and tongue delving into the heat of your mouth. Tasting the coffee you drank, the desire on your tastebuds. He groaned when you cupped his cheeks, licking into him deeply, your body pressing against his with a debauched fervor. In all your time of being here, of being apart from him, you always indulged in the fantasies of knowing what he tasted like—what he kissed like. Now you knew.

Now you took and took until neither of you could breathe. He worked his lips down your jaw, his spit spreading along your chin when he pulled away. You moaned, head falling back and hands grasping onto the breadth of his shoulders. Steven was adamant on finding the places that would make you sing, the sounds he craved to hear. And you keened when he bit down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, hips rolling against his in a need for friction of any kind.

“Oh—” You stumbled back, hand slapping against the table behind you. He still remained wrapped around you, reaching down and pulling your leg up around his hip.

“I want—” he gasped, burying his head into your shoulder, hips canting down to grind perfectly against yours, ripping a sharp gasp from your chest. “I need to—please love—”

“Yes.”

You shifted, ripping at the buttons of his shirt, his jacket somehow on the floor already. It flickered in the back of your mind that you had torn it off him the second he started kissing your neck. Everything was a haze in your mind, until you couldn’t discern anything but his touch, his taste.

“Yeah?”

You nodded, lips finding his again in a wet kiss, your moan swallowed by him as he fell into it. His hands stripped you of your sweater, warm palms finally touching the bare skin of your waist. It was euphoria in the best way possible. As if you were finally indulging in the one desire you always wanted. His eyes were stuck on your chest, watching as it rose and fell—the lace of your bra perfectly shaped around your breasts. You opened your mouth to ask him to touch you, but he was already ahead of you.

Leaning down, he spread his tongue along the top of your left breast, hand coming up to cup and knead the other one softly. His thumb brushing along your peaked nipple. He wanted to consume you, devour every part of you, and the knowledge that you’d let him is what did him in.

“Fuck,” you cried, your head falling back and back arched to press your chest further into his face. “Oh god!”

Groaning, he pulled down the cups of your bra—revealing you entirely—before taking your nipple into his mouth. Your hips shot up, pressing against the prominent bulge in his pants and watching as he squeezed his eyes shut, his teeth scraping against you. Something intense pulled at your stomach, heat flooding you until you could do nothing but fall back against the table. Steven followed you, unable to part his mouth from your body—worshiping any part of you he could reach.

He wanted to taste you until you were a mess beneath him. Only able to utter one word—his name. He’d never wanted something so bad, never gave into something as desperate as this.

A loud crack of lightning shot across the sky, sending light through the stained glass windows for a brief moment and you caught a clear glimpse of Steven’s eyes. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the soft brown of his irises, lust overtaking his features. He looked like a man starved. Someone who would do anything—say anything—to have one simple taste of what they wanted most.

You just so happened to be that for him.

The mere thought that he was willing to do whatever he could to have you sent heat streaking down your spine, your body bending to his soft gentle caresses. He looked at you like the most important thing he’d ever seen. As if you were a priceless carving created out of the finest stone.

You were art and he longed to admire you for as long as humanly possible.

“Need you,” you murmured, dragging his lips back to yours and swallowing his soft needy whine. “Want you to fuck me.”

His broken moan was pressed into you, his hand scrambling for the button on your pants. He mumbled something nearly incoherent underneath his breath. Whispering how beautiful you were, how lucky he was to be with you like this, how he’d let you consume him entirely. It was enough to have your toes curling and body calling out to him.

“Perfect,” he mumbled, sliding his hands down your torso. “Bloody perfectly.”

Your lips curling into a grin, eyes dazed with a fucked out look nearly sent him to his knees. Steven’s mind reeled the further he pulled your pants down, until they were in a pile on the floor and you lay before him bare from the waist up. The lace of your panties were wet. He eyed the prominent dark spot, licking along his bottom lip he practically watched you drip. Because of him.

“I want to taste you love.” His thumb ran along the edge of the lace on your hip, sending a chill through your body—your eyes fluttering shut briefly.

“Later,” you gasped, hips pushing up to chase his touch. “I need you Steven.”

He sighed softly, falling over your body, kissing up your stomach with soft delicate touches that sent a flurry of butterflies through your body. For so long he’d kept himself away from you for fear of this never happening. Yet now here you lay. Begging him for his cock so sweetly it nearly made his heart give out. His hand slid underneath the waistband, fingers dipping into your slick and his eyes shot up to yours—shock quickly spreading across his face.

“This all for me?” he asked in disbelief, his fingers dipping even further until he circled your entrance lightly.

You moaned, teeth catching your bottom lip as you nodded. “All for you. Always for you.”

Steven hurriedly reached for the button on his pants, making quick work of getting them off. Leaving him to stand bare before you, his cock pressed up against his stomach. Your eyes trailed down the length of him, admiring how red and swollen he was, how he leaked for you, practically begging for your mouth. If you were coherent enough, you’d have gotten on your knees for him, but Steven was adamant on simply tasting you. As if he’d dreamed of it since you first met.

“All for me?” you whispered, licking your lips at the sight of his hand wrapping around his cock.

He nodded, a moan falling from his lips. “Always for you love.”

Sitting up, you wrapped your arms around his neck, dragging him closer until you felt him press against your stomach, smearing the precum along your skin. It drove you wild.

“I want you in me,” you begged, wrapping your legs around his hips and dragging him closer. “Please Steven. Want to feel your cock in me.”

A pained groan escaped him, his hand pushing your panties to the side and thumb pressing against your clit until your legs trembled slightly. He made a promise to himself that before tonight was over, he’d be between your legs, tongue delving inside of you. But for now he was just as wanton as you. Needing to feel your cunt wrapped tightly around his throbbing cock.

Notching the head at your entrance, he forced himself to pay attention as your face went slack, eyes rolling back slightly at the feeling of him stretching you open. Inch by inch he pressed into you, until your back was arched and a garbled moan of his name was pressed against his lips. He grunted, staving off that brilliant sensation of bliss to push the rest of the way in with one swift thrust. Until he was buried so deep he felt sanity begin to slip from his mind.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “So fucking tight love. S-So perfect for me.”

Your mind went blank, a fire roaring through your veins as he simply held himself there. His cock stretched you so well it nearly burned, but you were past the point of need. If he didn’t move you were sure you would lose your mind entirely.

With a soft whine he pulled out leaving an empty sensation in you, the need to have him close nearly overwhelming you. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your chest, teeth nipping softly as he pushed back in, and you lost the remainder of your soul to him. Crying out you dug your nails into his back as he repeated the motion, nearly tearing you in two with his thrusts.

“Feels so good,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. “I knew you’d feel good.”

Your walls clamped down around his cock at his words. “Ah—Steven—”

“I’m here.” He reached for your hand, dragging it up and pressing it into the table. “‘M not going anywhere love. You’ll never get rid of me.”

A high keening whine tore from your throat, eyes meeting his as the sting of tears began to rise to the surface. “I don’t want to get rid of you. Never.”

“Yeah?” He sped up slightly, watching your mouth fall open, a tear slipping down into your hair. “You want me to stay forever?”

You nodded, legs tightening around his hips. “Uh-huh.” Your words came out so high pitched you should have been embarrassed, but you couldn’t. Not when Steven was fucking you so well that you could barely grasp onto a single thought in your head.

The rain pounded against the window, drowning out the sound of your skin slapping together, but above all the noise you heard it. The audible sound of his cock sliding through your slick. An echo so fucking depraved it nearly flung you off the cliff then and there. But you needed more. You needed Steven to fall with you and by the looks of him—his curls damp with sweat, face red and eyes focused on the way your breasts bounced—he wasn’t far behind.

“Oh fuck!” you cried, feeling the very crest of pleasure begin to build. “Steven—fuck please please—”

He grinned, his hand falling to your clit and driving you even higher. It happened quicker than you expected. You screamed his name and heard it echo in the empty library, the storm doing nothing to overshadow how lost you were. He watched in rapture as you fell, your cunt clamping down so tight he was sure he’d fall with you. Except he was too focused on trailing his eyes down every piece of your body, how it called to him.

Slamming his hips into yours, his thrusts became sloppy—needy as he chased his own release. And without realizing it, words began to spill free. The truth he’d kept to himself for so long. Yet now that he was buried in you so deep he’d never leave, about to spill into you, he found he could no longer hide it.

“Tell me—” He gasped, falling over your body and digging his fingers into your hip to keep you in place. “Tell me this is more.”

You nodded, unable to even speak as yet another orgasm began to build in your body.

“You’re like a sickness, a disease…” He grunted, his hazy eyes watching your face contort in pleasure. “And the only way for me to be cured of you…” Another broken sound tore from his throat, his balls drawing up painfully. “Is to let you completely consume me—”

“Steven!” you wailed, his words causing the pleasure to break within you, flooding your body with a mind numbing sensation.

He fell forward, his lips smothering yours in a spit filled kiss. “Until my body has no fight left,” he gasped, finally spurting into you. White flashed behind his eyes and for a moment he couldn’t discern whether it was his body or the lightning outside. Yet he found he loved it either way.

With a soft pained moan, he shallowly thrusted a few more times until the combined mixture of your cum began to spill out. Coating the tops of his thighs. The feeling of it only made the painful overstimulation worth it. But eventually he had to stop, your nails digging into his shoulder letting him know you were past the point of pleasure.

His hand slipped down, gathering the sticky substance on his fingers and drawing it up to your breast. Watching with a parted mouth as it shined in the night. He leaned down without thinking and gathered your nipple in his mouth, hearing your soft moan echo off the bookshelves. Steven couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t find it in himself to ever let go, because you were an addiction in his veins. He’d had a taste and needed more.

Something told him you felt the same way.

“Love?” he asked softly, stirring you from your dazed state.

Your eyes fluttered open, the sight of him slightly hazy, but it was beyond perfect. He looked fucked out and happy—the soft grin on his face caused your heart to flutter. You wanted to curl around him, to keep him inside of you until the sun came up. But you could feel the hard wood of the table dig into your hips, your body sore from being put in this position.

“I’m here,” you smiled, cupping his face and bringing his lips to yours. “Mm. The table is uncomfortable.”

His eyes went wide for a brief moment. “Right, sorry. One sec. I’ve got you.”

Pulling out and shushing you softly with a kiss when you whined at the loss, he helped you off the table. Until you were both lying on top of your clothes on the floor in a heap. His warmth felt comforting in the cold air of the library and you caught sight of a candle flickering in the distance. He must have lit it when the power went out.

Steven sighed, running his fingers down your back lightly, tracing shapes you couldn’t make out and symbols you didn’t know. When you came to you’d have to ask him what they were. But the exhaustion was slowly pulling you under. He shifted, pressing a kiss to your temple and wrapping his leg around your hip.

“Darling?” You mumbled, tapping him lightly on the chest to let him know you were listening. “Do you actually want me to stay forever?”

He no longer sounded like the Steven that was determined to fuck you within an inch of your life. No, this was the man who avoided you to hide his crush for as long as possible. This was the man who wanted to know if you meant what you said. If forever had the same meaning to you as it did to him.

You grinned, pressing a soft kiss to his chest and snuggling in further. “Until all the stars die in the night sky,” you mumbled, knowing he was smiling as he kissed your head.

“Yeah. That sounds good to me.”

“Me too,” you breathed, feeling his arms wrap around you tighter, the rain now a soft echo in the background as your ears adjusted to a different sound altogether.

His heartbeat.

#steven grant x f!reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x y/n #steven grant #steven grant smut #moon knight #my writing #haunted hoedown

[tripleyeeet]

FEAR OF LOSING IT (4)

SUMMARY: When it's discovered that Astarion's being hunted, you take matters into your own bloody hands.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 4,235

WARNINGS: Teasing, spoilers for BG3, canon typical violence, minor character death, pining if you squint a little, feelings realized!!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Day 4 is here! Prompt is "you're not scared, are you? Of Me?" So hopefully I did it justice?

Also sidenote, to anyone wanting to be on the taglist. I had a few issues tagging some people but I still put your name. Not sure why it won't let me tag so check your settings and next fic I'll try again.

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

The sun beams down as you walk along the water’s edge, carefully stepping over damp rocks and foliage with narrowed eyes. As per usual, you and Astarion are trailing behind the rest of the pack —you because of the hangover you’ve been nursing all morning; him because he lives to irritate you. 

“I don’t understand how you feel so ill. You barely had more than a few drops of that ale.” 

Slightly in front of you, Astarion steps around a patch of suspicious-looking rocks, turning to grab your arm and guide you out of the way as you scrunch up your face in disgust. 

The air is way too hot to be touched. Beneath the fabric of your tunic, you can feel your skin grow increasingly sticky, prompting you to brush off Astarion's hand but reluctantly still follow with a groan. 

“I drank more at camp,” you confess, feeling a pain radiate inside your head. One that’s almost reminiscent of the tadpole, pulsing in angry motions that make you close your eyes and quietly wince. 

Picking up on your discomfort, Astarion slows his pace, opting to walk alongside you rather than ahead. “And why in gods name did you decide to do that?”

Immediately, you shrug your shoulders, offering him nothing despite knowing the reason. Last night at the party you embarrassingly drank to forget all those thoughts. The ones filled with visions of hands and mouths gliding across your wanting skin. 

Even now you hate to admit it, but after parting ways, you were still a bit riled up. A mixture of anger and annoyance coating your soul once you finally got situated inside your tent, knowing deep down there wasn’t much you could do. Gale had already returned to camp before you so you definitely couldn’t do the deed yourself without the possibility of further embarrassment, and you sure as hell weren’t going to wander back to Astarion with your hands between your thighs, begging for release.

In the end, the only other option was to get pissed drunk, so you did. And now, you were greatly suffering the consequences in the form of a whole day’s worth of walking under the beating sun alongside an overly stubborn and nosy vampire. 

“All by your lonesome?” 

Without even having to think, he looks at you with the kind of false pity that makes you want to drown him. To lace your fingers in his perfect locks so that you can better shove his face into the water, never to hear that damned voice again. 

Gods, is it ever tempting...

Rolling your eyes, you swear under your breath and shove him aside instead, feeling the edge of your elbow make contact with his chest before you attempt to step forward, feeling his hand pull you back. 

Overall, the motion is quick and painless —a twirling rush that sends you hurtling into his frame, boxing you in in the form of a hand that rests against your lower back— but regardless it still surprises you. 

“Was it because you wanted it?”

His hand lingers against your leathers as he awaits your answer. Barely putting enough weight to truly hold you back, it quickly becomes obvious that your current stance against him is of your own volition. A choice you’ve made during a moment of weak desire as you deeply inhale the dewy air. 

“Wanted what?”

“You know.” 

At this point, you’re positive he knows that you secretly like it when he touches you. When he physically guides you through difficult terrain or lets your fingers brush when trading trinkets after a day of looting. You’ve never made it known that you dislike it —never protested, even during times of tense discussion. All you’ve ever done is make faces of annoyance, hoping he’ll take the hint.

He never does. Not even now, as you press both of your palms against his chest, applying a bit of pressure as you stare him down, does he think to move. To let his hand fall to his side to let you continue your stride. Instead, all it does is remain perfectly still, resting against the small of your back, waiting. 

It makes you swallow hard as you take a step back, feeling the resistance of your hip as it brushes through his fingers.

“You’re really not going to admit it?” he asks then, watching you pause. Feeling you stop mid-step to cock your head and flash him a grin so utterly snobbish, that his facade of confidence finally slips. 

“What? That I want to fuck you?” 

Your voice is patronizing. A pointed tongue laced with poison gunning for his throat. You want him to taste his own medicine. To feel what it’s like to be on the receiving end of taunting words that fluster, so you don’t say much more. All you do is stare, waiting for him to break.

“No, that you want me to fuck you,” he corrects almost immediately, his courage returning ten-fold. Doubling down on the way your mouth slightly opens in annoyance, because even in your boldest of moments he still manages to throw you off.

It makes you want to drown yourself instead, realizing just how persuasive he can be. Without trying, it’s as if he’s perfected every potential conversation before it’s happened. In his mind, he can look at a face —hear the beginnings of their voice and already have the correct response at the ready.

“Do you spend all your time thinking of ways to seduce anyone that gives you the time of day?” As you speak, you fully step away, turning on your heel to let out a shaky breath you pray he doesn’t catch. 

“Only the attractive ones, I suppose.” He laughs and follows behind, his footsteps echoing through the water as you attempt to catch up with the rest of the group. 

“Attractive ones, huh?” You peer over your shoulder with a raised brow. “Is that a genuine compliment you’re offering or another one of your usual deceptions meant to butter me up?”

He doesn’t tell you. Instead, he just offers you a shrug and purses his lips, leaving you guessing —an expression that only tightens the tension that’s seemingly begun to grow.

Well, at least for you. 

Since the night you let him feed, even you have to admit that you’ve found it increasingly hard to resist his charms, remembering how good it felt to just let go for a couple of moments. How, when it happened, there was an inkling of freedom that you felt was found. A new sense of clarity that arrived just as your lifeblood left. 

As much as you’d deny it if asked, you think about it often. At night, when you’re lying in your tent trying to sleep, you frequently attempt to replicate that feeling, calling upon your tadpole to replay the memory of the cold, numbness deep inside your throat.

As you step out of the water onto a patch of grass, you wish you could feel it now instead of the hangover. Instead of the sweltering heat and Astarion's piercing gaze penetrating the back of your head, waiting for another response he’ll just counter. 

It’d certainly make the daily trek you’re experiencing all the more bearable. Being able to forget about the aching in your skull for just a moment would solve at least half of your problems, maybe even two-thirds of them depending on how Astarion proceeds to act. On whether or not he walks in silence or—

“Do you smell that?”

You release a sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, feeling your impatience begin to build. “Smell what?”

He loudly sniffs beside you, his nose scrunching upwards dramatically before he turns his head, narrowing his eyes. “You’re telling me you don’t smell that?” 

“Smell w—“

  Before you even have time to react, it hits you. The foul stench of metallic burning through your mouth and nose, forcing you to cover your face with your hands.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” 

You nod, tightening the hold around your face as you continue forward, realizing you’ve somehow lost the rest of the group —something Astarion notices too, causing both of you to slightly panic.

“Oh, for fuck sakes, really? They couldn’t at least wait for us to finish our…”

As he trails off, waving his hand in the air to replace whatever words die in his throat, you catch a glimpse of an unfamiliar man up ahead, watching as the both of you continue.

“They’re probably over the hill,” you point out then, trying your best not to let the sudden nerves inside your chest get the better of you once you see the nameless man raise his hand, beckoning you closer.

“Who the bloody —do you know him?”

You look at Astarion as if he’s just said the stupidest thing known to man, still moving forward. “Ah yes, the mysterious man standing out in the open! Yes, I know him well, why?”

“Alright, no need to be cruel.” 

“Says you.”

Once again, his response fades to nothing. The argument slipping down his throat once the voice of the man calls out to you.

“Maybe he saw where the others went?”

Astarion scoffs. “Or maybe he’s the one who’s been setting up all those traps.”

“Traps?” 

You don’t remember seeing any traps. But then again, you’re not very perceptive when your head feels like it’s on the verge of splitting in half. 

“Yes, traps. The one’s I’ve been guiding you through like a fucking cattle dog!”

Letting your frustrations get the better of you shove him aside before you can think, turning to let both hands lay waste to his shoulder causing him to stumble sideways. As he does, he looks at you with hesitant curiosity; knitting his brows together while his mouth falls open into a half smile. 

An awkward laugh sounds through the pounding in your head as the footsteps draw near, prompting you to look ahead, noticing the man a few steps away, looking between the two of you. 

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” 

His words sound sincere —cautious in a way that has you peeling your gaze away from Astarion's wild expression to shake your head.

“No, sorry, just a, uh—“

“A lover’s quarrel,” Astarion finishes. “You know how it is.” 

Angrily you inhale, paying his obviously entertained face no mind as you continue to survey the man now in front of you, noticing the plainness of his clothes and the unkempt hair that circles his face like a halo. 

It’s apparent then that he’s been on the road for some time now. He’s not necessarily dirty looking but quickly you realize he’s the cause of the smell, making you swallow hard in an attempt to suppress the sickness that follows. 

“Ah yes, of course. My apologies.” He laughs —as does Astarion— while you just frown in between, trying not to blow another fuse. 

“I’m sorry but can we help you?” You crane your neck and smile sweetly, letting the more deceptive side of your mind take over, prompting Astarion to quickly clue in and do the same. 

“I was just speaking to your friends up there. They told me you were falling behind.” 

“And that’s your business because?” Raising your brow, you watch him falter for a moment.

“I’ve set some traps along the path. Nothing too hidden if you’ve got a keen eye like all of you, but still, I informed them of their whereabouts.”

Informed them of their whereabouts? Please. This man’s trapping skills are abysmal at best. 

You have to bite your lip once you hear Astarion's insult in the back of your mind, knowing he’s right. It’s one thing for him to notice the traps but for the rest of your party to as well? There’s no way they would’ve noticed if not for the lack of effort put into their placings.

“Well, uh, thank you. That’s decent of you.” You nod but make no effort to move. Instead, you just stand there motionless, staring him down, waiting for him to elaborate further so that you can better gauge this man’s intentions. 

You’re certain they’re anything but innocent. Given the smell wafting off his leathers and the way he keeps glancing over at Astarion with a slight twinkle in his eye makes your suspicion only grow. Your defensive walls rising to their highest point as you look at the vampire, allowing your tadpole to reach out. 

He’s up to something.

“Yes, well, I’m not hunting the likes of you so best avoid the unnecessary conflict and clean up.” The man’s gaze slowly turns to you, a hardened grin creeping through his features, causing you to twitch. 

There’s definitely something off. Something far more sinister underneath that polite expression and overly eager attempt at making small talk but you’re still not sure what it is. Or what it means when he offers you his help. 

“Fair point, but what are you hunting, may I ask?” 

“Something terrifying?” Astarion questions. “Perhaps a dragon or a kobold?”

What if it’s you?

Your partner’s eyes shoot to yours. Immediately, they fill with something you’ve never seen before. Bordering on fear, you’re quick to notice their unexpected vigilance. The building of a thought that drives his mind to something new. 

Suddenly in an instant, he’s overly alert, the movements of his shifting pupils making you wonder if maybe this is the man Astarion's been looking out for. That somewhere in his past he took advantage of the wrong person and they’ve been enacting their revenge ever since. Honestly, it’d make sense. Vampires aren’t the most well-liked of creatures, and although, aside from Astarion you’ve never experienced the company of one, it’s become increasingly obvious he’s a special case. A vampire that excels in all deceptive measures and tactics, preying heavily on whatever victims he can get his hands on. So, it wouldn’t be far off to think this man was hired to kill him. 

Making use of the tadpole again, you reach out silently, feeling no reluctance as the face of a man appears at the back of your mind, towering over you. Black as the night itself, he shrouds you in an ocean of thick shadows that conceal his face but not his presence, and because of this, there’s a panic that rises through your chest. Clutching your lungs with clawed fingertips that threaten to burst them like balloons. 

You force yourself not to look at Astarion as the memory continues —as an angry voice echoes through your ears telling you you’re his. That you belong to him and no one else and that if you so much as step a hair out of line he’ll hunt you down. 

Before you can even react the memory fades, leaving you there to piece together the man in the vision and the hunter standing before you, knowing they’re connected by a common enemy. Strung together by a tether of motivation that ties around Astarion's throat like a tightened noose. 

He’s not here to kill him but to take him away. To snatch him right under your noses by playing the unsuspecting hero. 

“As exciting as those options are, I'm actually on the lookout for a vampire spawn. His name is Astarion but I fear he’s already long gone.”

His confirmation is all you need to let your guard rise further up. Allowing your fingers to stretch against your sides, readying their need to reach for your weapon, you merely nod your head and let Astarion take the reins. 

“Oh, what a pity. It’s always like that for creatures to run away at the illest of moments, isn’t it?” He leans in with that same devilish grin, tossing aside all previous fears in favour of this newfound information. 

“Isn’t it,” the man parrots, shaking his head with a fake laugh. “Rather unfortunate considering I’m only trying to bring him home.” 

“Home?”

The word pours from your lips with such desperation that even the hunter questions your response. Raising his brow, he only slightly leans forward with interest, clicking his tongue as he glances between the two of you. “You wouldn’t happen to know this Astarion character, would you?” 

“I don’t think I’ve heard of him.” 

“Nope.” 

You sound like two opposing sides of a coin. Astarion, ever the charmer responds with subtly, the structure of his body remaining calm and collected while you remain a ball of nerves. A tightly wound set of muscle and bone too quick on the draw for your response to be deemed believable.

“He’s dangerous, you know. A wicked thing. Or, so I’ve heard.” He’s speaking solely to you but regardless Astarion continues to control the conversation, pulling it all back with a loud hum. 

“Wicked you say? Care to elaborate.”

There’s confusion for a moment. Then acceptance, prompting the man in front of you to explain. “While he’s nothing more than a vampiric spawn, he’s still got quite the head on his shoulders. Cunning, but nothing compared to a real vampire.” 

You know Astarion’s fuming beneath his facade then. Eagerly awaiting to rip this man apart, limb by bloody limb once the opportunity arises. You can feel his emotions through the tadpole —the way they pulse in angry waves, threatening to spill out at a moment’s notice. 

Almost instantly, it forces you to push him back. Closing your eyes for a second or two, you shift thoughts of comfort to his head, letting him know that you’re there. That if the moment comes where this hunter makes his move you’ll be ready to defend him.

Thankfully, it calms him down —steadies the rousing anger that you know is still there, lingering beneath the surface. Allowing him to take a few breaths, resetting himself for the inevitable. 

“I mean, I’m no expert but considering they’re still technically vampires I feel it’s safe to assume you’re still at the risk of… oh, I don’t know, injury? A good maiming perhaps if the spawn were to be particularly famished?” 

“You’re not wrong, I suppose. Spawns are particularly powerful compared to the average but considering the sun’s high and dry I’d say we have the advantage.” 

“Do we now?”

The two of you share a glance. Astarion's tadpole squirms in time with your own and in an instant a plot is formed.

“Actually, now that you mention it I have heard tell of this Astarion fellow,” you muse, watching the man’s expression. How it changes from innocent hero to hungry hunter at the drop of a hat. 

Next to you, Astarion nods his head, echoing your words.

“You don’t say?” 

“We were actually a part of a camp not far from here last night. A big group. So, it makes sense why the name didn’t come to me sooner.” You push out a fake laugh, acting as if the whole thing’s some silly little mistake while you wave a hand through the air. “Now that you’ve reminded me though, he was definitely there, lurking about like a little leech.” 

You wiggle your fingers for dramatics, earning a scoff inside your mind that has you forcing back a genuine laugh, sensing Astarion’s annoyance. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know what way he was going?” 

This time Astarion pipes up. “I remember him saying something but, honestly, my uh, memory is a big foggy.” 

As he raises a hand to his face, gripping the bridge of his nose, you motion the man to move close. “Perhaps a bit of coin could remind my uh, lover here of the information you seek.” 

Lover, huh? 

Paying no mind to his internal dialogue, you rub your fingers together to signify your partner’s needs, watching intently as the man leans back and looks at you with slight annoyance before taking a moment, realizing he’s got nothing to lose. 

Considering the payout will more than likely cover such costs, he quickly turns his attention to the bag resting on his hip, opening it up with slow hands that you jump at the chance to catch off guard. 

Pulling a dagger off your hip, you make no sound as you drive the blade into the side of his throat. All you do is press a hand to his mouth, covering the groans that swiftly coat your fingers in blood, following him toward the ground. 

“I’d say be wary the next time you come snooping in other people’s business but I’m afraid it’s too late for that, isn’t it?” you tell him, feeling him struggle. Seeing him reach out to grab the knife that sits tightly in your hand, wedging itself further into the apex of his neck. Suddenly, it makes you realize what you’ve done. 

You’ve just killed a man in cold blood. And for the life of another killer, no less. Without so much as a thought, you drove this man straight to his grave, knowing that if you didn’t the probability of him gaining the upper hand would only grow. That if he survived and caught on to your ploy, he could’ve taken Astarion away. 

You realize then that you’re anything but ready for something like that to happen. Sure, he may be the cause of a lot of your frustrations throughout the day but somehow he manages to balance them out with his charm. With his innate ability to provide you with a space that’s begun to border the lines of comfort the more time you spend with him. 

It’d hurt too much to let him go. But it’d hurt even more knowing he’d be going back to his old life. To the one you still know so little about but feel its pain. The never-ending threat of a figure controlling his every movement. He may not have spared the details but you know the last thing he wants is to find his way back there, so you did what you had to do to prevent that. To keep him safe just as you so subtly promised. 

Breathing heavily, you let go of the knife and look toward him, asking him if he’s okay. 

“Okay? Darling, you can’t be serious!”

“What?” 

He’s kneeling on the ground beside you before anything else, reaching to grab your shoulders, pulling you roughly into his chest. “You just asked that man to pay us money and then jabbed a knife through his throat. If anyone should be asking who’s okay here, it’s me.”

“I’m fine. Are y—“

“Shhh.”

Up until now, it hadn’t occurred to you how badly you’d been shaking. Against his chest, you can feel the tremors of adrenaline take over as your head slowly lowers to his shoulder, releasing a loud and shaky breath. 

You know exactly what came over you at that moment. The fear of losing the only person that’s ever made you feel happy despite your flaws became too real and it caused you to lose all sense of preservation. 

Almost instantly, you became nothing more than a weapon —a striking blade shoved through opposing flesh. You felt the threat of the moment and your mind flew through all the other possibilities, landing on the only ending where Astarion's safety was ensured. 

Realizing this, you slowly move to wrap your arms around his waist, feeling him hesitate halfway through. 

It’s obvious then you’ve crossed some sort of boundary, so you go to pull away, apologizing under your breath as you feel his grip only tighten. 

“Are you okay?”

You’re not sure why he’s asking. Or why he refuses to let you go. “Astarion, I said I’m fine.” 

“Yes but are you okay?”

One of his hands moves to cup your cheek, pulling your focus back to him. Forcing you to see the uncharacteristic care inside his eyes as he thumbs your skin. It causes your tadpole to wriggle almost uncontrollably, discovering the connection that’s there. The unspoken bond he shares with you now that you’ve proved your loyalty. It’s enough to earn your honesty. To admit that you’re not okay while he continues to hold you. 

You’re not sure why you care so much for him. Maybe it’s the attention he offers in a world where loneliness is often rampant or the way he makes you laugh even during the most unsightly moments. Either way, all you know is that in this moment you’re afraid he’ll hate you for it. For letting the curtain of snide remarks and harsh jokes slip to reveal a body of emotions too big for you to carry by yourself. 

“I couldn’t let him take you.” 

Your voice is barely above a whisper. So inaudible against the sounds of the world around you that for a second you think you’ve spoke to his mind.

“I see that. You struck him before I could even ask him to sweeten the deal.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Astarion snorts and moves his hand, letting it glide across your cheek until it finds purchase beneath your chin. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You saw a dangerous man and took charge. Honestly, it was frightening.” 

“You’re not scared, are you?”

“Of?”

“Of me?” 

The laugh he lets go of is so full that this time you feel him shake, his frame rattling against yours as he taps your chin. “Not in the slightest, my dear. Impressed, maybe. A little bit turned on too if I’m being frank but no. Not scared.”

-

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#fear of losing it #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #haunted hoedown #summer writes

[saradika]

— BLEED FOR ME | part i

[masterlist]

mand’alor!vampire!din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 1.8k

series prompts: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+ 2 to be revealed!)

tags: vampire!au, implication of drinking blood, reader has scar on shoulder, mentions of death

For the haunted hoedown! Looking forward to sharing this, I wanted to do a vamp!din last Halloween but wasn’t able to. So to work on this with the inspiration of these prompts is so exciting! I hope you enjoy! 💖

When it’s revealed that the Mand'alor is seeking a companion, you find yourself among those hoping to be chosen. A life of luxury in exchange for your blood seems a fair trade - even if you’re hiding a closely-kept secret. One that would certainly put your life in danger.

Though, you are not alone. Because he has one, as well.

The nervous energy of the crowd is palpable - it’s impossible not to get swept along with it. The cowl of your cape is tugged down lower as you follow the others streaming out ahead of you.

Out of the small town, winding around the side of the steep hill. The air growing heavier, the fog rolling in as you climb the moss-covered steps. The castle looms against the darkening horizon, all blackened stone and tall, twisting spires.

They mirror the curl of your stomach - the weight of your feet as they seem to slow, the closer you get.

But you’ve come this far. You can’t go back now.

The gates remain shut, and you’re forced to halt. Huddled together in small groups, nervous and excited whispers breaking the silence.

A shiver even with the heavy cloaks that protect the bared necks and shoulders, a detail noted on that weathered scroll left in the town square.

And for the first time, you doubt.

When it had been announced that the Mand’alor was seeking a Companion, the news has spread. It was no secret that the vampire lord had sought blood.

But he had never chosen anyone before. Never pursued someone, like this.

There had been others but they had never lasted long. Just let into the castle long enough to keep him alive for another moon.

It had amassed a crowd, those who couldn’t resist the reward that was offered - thousands of gold coins, enough to live any life they could want.

Those who wanted the fame.

Those who wanted protection.

Those who wanted to see the spectacle for themselves.

And then, there was you.

Now that you’re at the doorstep, you’re suddenly unsure. If you were chosen - once you step through - it’s unlikely you’d leave alive.

Would that be worth it?

Would you get what you were looking for?

Even after all your training, it hadn’t truly prepared you for the patchwork of emotions you feel now.

Guilt and desperation and melancholy and regret and anger - all branding into your skin until you can feel yourself trembling with the effort to hold it back.

But the gates are parting now. And it’s too late to turn back.

A figure it stepping through - her leather armor blackened with oil. Her eyes are bright, and not the shade of red you were expecting.

Her chin is held high as her eyes sweep through the crowd, an eerie silence settling over your travel companions.

And wordlessly, she begins to sort. Sizing up each person as she approaches. A quick dart of her eyes as she plucks at clothes, examines faces.

Pulling a few to one side, the rest clearly dismissed. No pattern to her choosing that you can sense - that feeling of dread ratcheting up in your stomach as the crowd grows smaller and you grow closer.

Until she’s standing in front of you.

Her fingers pinch at your chin, forcing your eyes to hers. Dark eyes under darker lashes flick across your face, until they drop down to the clasp at your throat.

Your hood is pulled back, as deft fingers unhook the brass fastenings. The wool pools on the cracked stone as your skin is exposed.

Her eyes follow the curve of your cheek, to your neck, to the sharp curves of the scar on your shoulder, just above the cut of your tunic.

A reminder of that night. One that still haunts you, a year later.

Those eyes flick back up to yours.

There’s a second where you stoop to collect your robe - feeling bare, flayed open under her gaze - but her boot presses purposely against the hem.

Shooting you a small smirk as you rise again obediently, before a hand is guiding you towards the group she had selected.

And then, it’s over.

“Those chosen will be brought before the Mand’alor.” The woman’s voice rings out, “And he shall decide from there.”

With her signal the gates creak open again, and you're ushered inside. Across a wide bridge and through a massive set of wooden double-doors.

And then, you’re inside the castle. Those doors shutting behind you with a sense of finality.

The long halls are dark, in the fading evening. The last of the sunlight filtered through tall, stained glass windows - their shadows broken into shades of crimson and silver and gold, distorted where they spill across the floor.

A chill creeps into your skin. The ice of it feels reminiscent of your dreams - that cold bite against your skin, a balm to the burning heat that had surrounded you.

It distracts you enough that you don't see him slip from the shadows. Near-silent steps as he moves to stand before the small crowd, even with the heavy plates of his shining armor.

Everything seems to go still then. The inhale of a collected breath, now held.

You should feel terror. This man - this vampire - has killed hundreds. Thousands. Has feasted on even more.

He's a monster.

The fight or flight should be sinking in - but somewhere deep inside, there is only that weight that you still carry. A prickle across your skin at the way he moves, all sleek and careful movements.

Starting where the woman guides him. His hands stay motionless - tucked in the curve on his belt, the other curling around a black hilt at his waist. Her quiet murmurs that only he can hear. As he stops in front of each one.

No expression can be leaked, with the mask he wears.

Their faces, and finally yours, reflected back at you.

You do your best to gather your courage.

To keep your chin tilted up, gazing into that dark band of his visor. As you hear the rattle of the slow inhale of his breath, as if he could smell you from beneath his helmet.

Even you can see the fear in your widen eyes, feel the small tremor in your limbs as his hand suddenly and slowly moves.

As if he can't help himself.

As if it is on instinct.

Reaching out to touch your shoulder, your neck - but then, just hovering.

Your terror catches up now. That steady beat of your heart now pounding in your chest, knocking wildly against your ribs.

The smallest flinch as his fingertips hang in mid-air, before his hand is curling into a fist.

Dropping back down.

There's the smallest jerk of his head. A gleam in the woman's eye as her hand curves around your bicep, as he sweeps from the room.

A murmur of confusion, disappointment - the rest robbed of their spectacle and entertainment. It had taken longer to get here - everything over so quickly, it feels as if you’ve only just stepped inside.

Armored guards move from their neat rows - shields raised to ward off the remainers of your group - to urge them back outside and back to their homes.

Leaving only the chosen behind.

Only you.

The woman in armor guides you quickly to your new home. Taking you through twisting corridors lined with ancient portraits, up a winding path of stone stairs.

You’re utterly lost, and a part of you wonders if that’s intentional. To keep you trapped inside. A silent realization that perhaps, you haven’t been nearly as clever as you thought.

Those worries lingering as she stops outside a heavy wooden door, lit on either side by flickering oil lamps.

“This is your room,” She tells you, her fingers resting on the door, before she’s pushing it open.

With the stories you’ve been told about the fearsome Mand’alor and the fortress he lurks in, you certainly weren’t expecting a room so… beautiful.

There’s a luxury that seems to weave throughout it. Rich wooden floors and plush rugs. A constellation of glittering stars painted on a domed, navy ceiling - as if you had invited the night sky in to stay.

Bookcases line the walls - framing a wooden desk, plush seating next to the bench that was built into the space beneath the iron-wrought windows.

Thick velvets curtains thrown back to let the setting sun in, casting the four-poster canopy bed in a golden light.

You almost forget yourself, as your fingers run across the bedspread. Finely-made beneath your touch, as soft as spun silk.

If the situation had been different… you think you might have loved it.

“There will be someone to call on you if there’s anything you want. And to take care of things during your day.” She interrupts your admiring thoughts, bringing you back.

You send a silent chastisement to yourself, as your fingers clasp - the picture of docility.

“The Mand’alor has been looking for someone for quite some time. I will give you a moment to get settled, but understand that your duties are to begin tonight.”

The pounding of your heart begins again, not realizing it would be so soon.

She must see the surprise that flickers across your face - her arms crossing as she leans in the doorway, “He has not fed since the last. We’ll all be happier once he does.”

Since the last Companion.

You wonder what happened to them. If they were used and cast aside. If they were drained dry.

If the same would happen to you.

No. You won’t let it.

“I’m happy to begin my work as soon as it pleases the Mand’alor.” Your voice is soft, and her sharp look softens.

“You’re quick.” She smiles, “That’s good. If you listen, you’re gonna be just fine.”

The nod you give is cut short, as the door closes. Left alone, your attention immediately goes to the furniture in the room. You don’t have much time.

Something used as often as a bed would be impractical, especially if someone will be tending to you as the woman says.

The bookcases touch both the ceiling and the floor, the books in neat, uniform stacks. No room for disruption.

Your fingers tug at the bench, but it’s solid wood - there’s no storage beneath.

No closet either, an empty brass rack stands against one of the curving stone walls.

Leaving only the desk, as you hurry over. The bottles of ink clinking together as the tips of your fingers run over the wooden top, and then under.

Looking for a hinge, your fingers closing around the ceramic knob as you carefully pull. Revealing a drawer full of rolled-up scrolls, a handful of quills, a thick leather-bound book.

There’s a knock then, and your pulse races.

Fingers fumbling as you reach for the fastenings of your tall boots. A creak of the door as it begins to open.

Undoing them just enough to pull the thin silver dagger and the sharpened stake free. Hastily shoving them behind the scrolls of paper inside your desk.

Before you’re pushing the drawer shut - just as the Mand’alor fills your doorway.

And the first of the 2 secret prompts are: 'this person' ordered me to kill you but i actually think i'm in love with you. (The second part to come into play!) thank you for checking this out! And hope you like this au! 🥀

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #vampire!din #din djarin imagine #haunted hoedown #hauntedhoedown

[proxima-writes]

ISN’T SHE A DOLL?

Pairing: Dave York x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Word Count: 1978

Summary:

Dave York comes over to play.

Dear Reader:

This work is a contribution for the Haunted Hoedown! If you liked this fic, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging 💕 Support and MDNI banners by @saradika and dollhouse divider by me

Content Warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), dubcon - stockholm syndrome, captive reader, dollhouse au, begging, breath play, dom/sub dynamics, cockwarming, mirror sex, oral sex (m & f receiving), cum play, vaginal fingering, pet names, praise.

Every morning with Dave is the same.

His alarm rings at 5 a.m., jolting you from a light sleep. He groans, a tan arm reaching for the alarm clock and smacking it until the shrill noise stops. You stare into the inky darkness of the room as he pulls you against his body, the hard length of his cock pressing between the cheeks of your ass.

“Morning,” he says, deep voice rough with sleep.

“Good morning,” you whisper back.

“Better go fix your hair up.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “You don’t want to make me late, do you?”

“Of course not,” you reply, slipping from his grasp and getting up from the bed, stepping lightly across the wood floor to the en-suite bathroom.

You go through your skincare routine, dutifully applying the serums and lotions in the order the bottles are lined up on the counter. You brush your teeth and fix your hair to Dave’s preferred style, scrutinizing yourself in the mirror before you join him again in the bedroom.

He’s sitting at your vanity now, watching you through the mirror as he fixes the cuffs of his dress shirt, his pants around his ankles and his boxers pulled down. You swallow nervously as you approach.

“Don’t have all day, doll,” he says, patting his thigh. His other hand grips his hard cock at the base, the flushed head already weeping as you stare at it.

You hook your fingers into the elastic of your sleep shorts, sliding the silk material down your legs until it pools at your feet. You steady your shaky hands on the vanity as you straddle him and he positions himself at your entrance and urges your body down his length, groaning as you envelope him in your heat.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his forehead pressed to your shoulder blade. The stretch of him is near painful and you bite your lip until you taste copper as you adjust to him. “You better get started.”

You reach for the makeup bag and take out each item you’ll need, lining them up in order of application. Dave presses kisses to your neck as you work, his lips focusing on your pulse point because he likes to feel the rapid beat of your heart when you’re at his mercy like this.

You’re coating your lashes with mascara when his hand wanders between your spread legs, calloused fingers finding your clit and drawing slow circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves. The mascara wand clatters to the vanity.

“Lean back,” Dave commands. You do as you’re told, your head resting against his shoulder. “Watch while I play with you, sweetheart.”

You meet his gaze in the mirror, his dark eyes drawing you in like a moth to a flame. Your hips chase his fingers, silently begging him for more and the unspoken desperation has him chuckling.

“Squeezing me so tight,” he says. “Always so pretty wrapped around my cock, aren’t you?”

You nod your head, knowing he wants an answer but not trusting your voice with the task. Heat gathers in your low belly, your muscles growing tense with the release he’s expertly pulling from your body.

“Come on,” he growls. A hand wraps around your throat, fingers digging into the sides hard enough to have you feeling light headed. “Come for me.”

Your pussy clenches around his cock, drawing a deep groan that you feel against your back. Your fingers curl tightly into his thigh as your orgasm washes over you and leaves you gasping for breath. When you start to come down from the high, he’s gently prying your fingers from his leg and tapping your hip in a signal to stand up.

You slowly lift yourself from his lap and drop to your knees, the cold floor biting into your skin. Dave stands, his glistening cock level with your face.

“Clean it up,” he demands. You lean forward and take him into your mouth, glancing up to watch his head drop back and the muscles in his neck tense as you suck hard and move your mouth quickly, just as he likes it.

It doesn’t take long before his cock pulses in your mouth, warm cum splashing against the back of your throat. He slips himself from your mouth and reaches down to tip your chin back.

“Open,” he says. You open your mouth to show him the cum gathered on your tongue and he smiles.

“Good girl. Swallow.”

And like always, you do as you’re told.

Dave pulls up his pants and leaves you to clean up your vanity. He returns with a blue dress in his hands that he gently lays on the bed, smoothing out a wrinkle with his hands. You step up to him and lift your arms, allowing him to pull your silk camisole over your head. He gathers the dress, pulling down the zipper and kneeling at your feet, holding it open.

You step into the fabric, your hands on his shoulders for balance, and he slides the dress up your bare body, his hands leaving goosebumps in their wake. He fixes the sleeves on your shoulders then turns you around, pulling the zipper slowly up your back.

“Perfect.”

You’ve just set the vegetables in the oven alongside the chicken that’s been roasting for an hour already when the front door alarm sounds and heavy footsteps echo through the front hall, approaching the kitchen. You wipe your hands clean just as Dave appears in the doorway.

The furrow between his brow eases when he sees you, his lips spreading in a grin that makes your pulse race. “What’s for dinner?” He asks.

“Roasted vegetables and chicken,” you reply dutifully, though he knows the answer. He picks the menu.

“Sounds good, doll,” he says. He pulls a chair away from the dining table, removing his suit jacket and draping it over the back of it. As he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt and rolls the sleeves to his elbows, exposing toned forearms, he asks, “How long until the chicken is ready?”

“Thirty minutes.”

His eyes grow dark. “Excellent. Just enough time for an appetizer.”

You panic for a moment because an appetizer wasn’t on the menu, you don’t have anything prepared, but he smirks and crooks his fingers, beckoning you over, and you quickly realize he doesn’t mean food.

Your heels click on the tile floor as you approach the table and he pats the wood surface twice, indicating the place he wants you to take a seat. You lift yourself up, your legs swinging over the edge as you wait for instruction.

“Make room, sweetheart,” he says, sitting down on the chair and scooting it closer. You spread your legs for him and he gathers the skirt of your dress in his hands, hiking it up over your hips and exposing your bare pussy.

He drapes your legs over his broad shoulders, your nude stilettos against his back as he leans in and kisses the inside of your knee, his eyes locked on your face. His lips move higher, higher, until they land in the crease between your thigh and pussy.

“You smell good,” he comments, hot breath ghosting across your heated flesh. “You like that new perfume I got for you?”

“Of course,” you reply, voice uneven. He hums, licking through your folds and your head drops back at the sensation.

Dave knows your body well by now. He knows exactly how to swirl his tongue around your clit to make your thighs shake around his head and he knows that slipping two fingers into your soaked cunt, curling them with each drag from your body will finally have you unable to hold back the noises he’s desperate to pull from you.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans. “Let me hear you.”

You whimper, tears pricking the corners of your eyes at the sensation he’s building in you, your core hot and tight and your nerves on fire. He pulls your clit between his lips and hums, his fingers pressing pressing deep inside of you as you shatter with a cry of his name. He pulls back, a smile on his face that’s equal parts satisfied and sinister.

Dave stands, the chair screeching across the tile as his hands wrestle with his belt. He tugs the leather strap free, tossing it carelessly to the floor and undoing the fly of his pants enough to shove the fabric down his hips to expose his leaking cock.

“Say you want my cock, doll,” he demands, a fist wrapping around the base of his length. He slides himself through the wetness he’s created, coating his cock in your juices before he notches the thick head at your entrance. “Be a good girl.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I want your cock.”

“I think you can do better than that,” he taunts. “Say it again.”

“I want your cock,” you repeat.

“Where’s your manners, doll?” He asks. “Say ‘please’.”

“Please.”

Dave drives his cock into you with so much force the table shifts and you cry out at the sudden fullness despite how thoroughly he’d prepared you. He’s immediately pounding into you, all the frustration he carries through the day being taken out on your body. Gone is any of the gentility he’d afforded you earlier that day — Dave is on a mission to use your body to his liking.

He grabs your shoulder and drags you up into a seated position, a hand around the back of your neck pulling your lips to his in a sloppy kiss, his teeth digging into your bottom lip so hard that you swear you taste copper with the next swipe of his tongue against yours. His kisses shift across your jaw and to your neck, his teeth latching over your pulse point and sinking in as you shout.

“Fuck,” he growls. “So goddamn tight for me.”

Your cunt clenches tightly as his words and he moans your name, your real name. Not doll or sweetheart or baby, and hearing it has you gasping, unable to breathe with weight bearing down on your chest.

“Dave,” you murmur, reaching up and tangling a shaky hand into his short hair. “Say it again. Please,” you beg.

He does. He repeats your name like a prayer and hearing him say it has you unraveling, physically and emotionally, tears spilling from your eyes as your orgasm washes over you. Dave’s thrusts grow sloppy until he’s slamming deep inside of you, warmth erupting in your core.

His forehead drops to your shoulder, his breathing labored. When he lifts his head, his palms come up to frame your face and he pulls you into a deep kiss. His thumbs wipe away the tracks left by your tears and he brings one to his lips so that he can lick the salty essence away.

The oven timer goes off and Dave steps back, fixing his pants as you hurry off the table to retrieve the chicken before it burns.

After dinner, when everything has been cleaned up and the kitchen is once again spotless, Dave’s phone rings.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says. “Yeah, my plane just landed, I’ll be home in about an hour.” A pause. “No, no, you don’t have to worry about dinner, I already ate. Are the girls in bed already?” Another pause. “Alright, I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

His smile drops as soon as the call disconnects and he reaches for your hand, pulling you against his chest.

“I have to go. Be a good girl while I’m gone,” he says, pressing a rough kiss to your lips. “I’ll know if you’re not.”

You nod and just like that, Dave York returns home.

And you remain in your perfect box until he’s ready to play with you again.

#dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x female reader #dave york x you #dave york x f!reader #equalizer 2 #haunted hoedown #cw dubcon

[psychedelic-ink]

hello everyone! here you'll find all the fics I've written for the haunted hoedown! like I said before I won't be doing kinktober this year so this is my mini kinktober for the year 2023 🎃 i tried to add more characters from my other fandoms but once again i ended up using mostly pedro characters lol whoops

hope y'all enjoy the hoedown and keep it spooky everyone! 🦇

find all fics on AO3

♡ DAY ONE ➡ 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆. stepbrother!frankie x santi's gf!reader

taboo au + "i'll be your dirty little secret, if that's what you're into."

♡ DAY TWO ➡ 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄. dave york x f!reader

murder plot au (lets kill this person together) + "crawl to me"

♡ DAY THREE ➡ 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 𝐆𝐎 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋. priest!ezra x f!reader

priest au + “worship me. until i tell you to stop.”

♡ DAY FOUR ➡ 𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍. ai-enhanced!miguel o’hara x f!reader

artificial intelligence au + "here, you are. you tiny thing."

♡ DAY FIVE ➡ 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐄𝐓. animal shapeshifter!pero tovar x f!reader

animal shapeshifter au + "you're not actually scared are you? of me?"

♡ DAY SIX ➡ 𝐂𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘. joel miller x f!reader

slasher / summer camp au + sex in the woods or somewhere public (added bonus if it includes knife, blood, hunter x prey kink)

♡ DAY SEVEN ➡ 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒. jack daniels x f!reader

cosmic horror au + "you're a fucking nightmare. kiss me."

♡ DAY EIGHT ➡ 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐒. cult leader!din djarin x f!reader

cult au + “do you like it when i bleed for you?”

♡ DAY NINE ➡ 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖. tasm!peter parker x f!reader

zombie apocalypse au + "every moment might be our last, let's make the most of it."

♡ DAY TEN ➡ 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐓. marcus pike x f!reader

inspired by your favorite lana del rey song + “don't you know how sick with love i am for you?”

♡ DAY ELEVEN ➡ 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊. fallen angel!joel miller x f!reader

cyberpunk au + fallen angel au + “i will keep hurting. i will keep killing. anything to protect you.”

♡ DAY TWELVE ➡ 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐗𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒. oberyn martell x f!reader x max phillips

vampire court au + "forever isn't long enough for me to forgive you."

some of the works above will contain dark themes and situations. if that is not your thing please just skip them. every fic will have additional warnings. minors please dni.

if you like what you see please reblog and comment to show support 🖤

#haunted hoedown #haunted hoedown masterlist #hauntedhowdown

[sweetenerobert]

𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐕𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

DAY TWO OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

tattoo artist!tommy miller × male reader

genre: sisters boyfriend tommy, childhood friends to lovers, explicit, no outbreak au, minors DNI

prompt: taboo au + “do you like when i touch you like this? i can keep going if you want me to."

summary: your sister’s boyfriend catches you reading smut in the kitchen and sees if you want to make your own smutty chapter

warnings: strong language, homophobic sister, cheating, mention of an age gap, face fucking, unprotected P in A, choking, spanking, dirty talk, pet names, creampies, fingering, spitting

word count: 7.4k

a/n: thanks to @morallyinept for listening to me rant about this, love you 🤍

It was your twenty-second birthday, and to say you were excited was an understatement. You’ve been looking forward to this day for a few days, why? You were getting your first tattoo ever. Your two best friends, Kevin and Eli, made you an appointment — already paid for.

You’d also discovered that your sister was planning for everyone to meet her boyfriend on the night of your birthday party. Your sister, Sasha, tends to steal your thunder — a handful of times. Once, when you were five, and she was seven, you made a Lego spaceship, and she had made an even bigger spaceship — with popsicle sticks.

That one time when you were thirteen, and you had gotten a cross-country award, and she was fifteen and had gotten a giant volleyball trophy. But this day didn't bring you down as much as you wouldn't let it.

After pulling up to the tattoo parlor, your excitement almost exploded through the roof. You’d gone through Pinterest last night like a rich person going through a Gucci store — overzealous. Making so many decisions, you were conflicted between three options.

The smell of a mint air freshener hits your nostrils first rather than anything else. The lights weren't so bright that they hurt your eyes, more or less made you have to cover for a second. Next, you saw the big flashbooks sitting on the small coffee table. But something else caught your eye — more importantly, someone.

His hair was slicked back — stopped by his neck. His neck was covered with tattoos, and his arms were covered with tattoos. He had a septum piercing, and his ears were stretched — having a small gauge in its place. His shirt was tight. You could see his pecs bulging underneath. The man was glancing down at his phone as the bell from the door didn't get his attention. As Kevin let go of the door, the bell rang, the man brought his head up, and a smile was on his face.

“Hey, sorry. Didn't notice you guys were standin’ there.”

His Texan accent was thick. It sent shivers down your spine hearing it.

“It’s fine,” You dismiss. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, a lil tired, but good,” Tommy smiles. Tommy gets up from his seat, walks around the counter, and walks before you, Eli, and Kevin.

“So, who's the lucky sumobitch to get a tattoo?”

You smile and raise your hand as Eli wraps his arm around your shoulder. “This boy, he’s twenty-two.”

“He’s not a little boy no more,” Tommy smirks.

“He is not, he’s been wanting a tattoo since forever,” Kevin smirks.

“How come you’ve never gotten one before?” Tommy crosses his arms.

You shrug. “Never really had the time, and when I did. I would always forget about it.

"Well. This is your first step into becoming a man," Tommy smirks.

"Isn't that what your father says during puberty?"

"Yes, but this is also an important milestone in a young man's life, and I'm more than happy to start that."

You rub your hands in impatience, more than feeling anxious. You were ready and excited for this day to continue and drag slowly. You didn't want it to end anytime soon.

"Let's get this show on the road," You exclaim.

"That's the spirit. Since this has already been taken care of, you can come with me,” Tommy states, walking.

You eagerly follow Tommy, standing behind him; you can't help but admire his back muscles in his tight shirt; the way it hugs his back does something to you. His pants hug his ass to be firm and cup his buns perfectly. You shouldn't feel this way ─ especially on your birthday. You appreciated Tommy's distraction, but you wanted to keep your head focused on this day. So you snap your head back to look up at Tommy's neck.

You look up at Tommy, making the distraction harder to contain. Your thoughts travel from clean to smutty when you think about how your hands would look tangled in his hair, your nails clawing his back as he thrusts his cock deep in you.

You had to shake your head to eliminate those dirty thoughts you were thinking about. You and Tommy arrived in a small room with a hydraulics chair in the middle of it, a TV mounted on the wall, and a desk arranged with a bunch of equipment you didn't know except the tattoo gun resting.

You looked nervous as Tommy turned around to look at you; you were rubbing your hands slowly, glancing around the room, and biting your lip. "You fine?" Tommy questions.

You snap out of your thoughts and look at Tommy. "Oh, yeah. I was just thinking about something, and it distracted me," You dismissed.

Tommy crossed his arms with a smirk on his face. "What were you thinkin' about?"

"You fucking the shit out of me and calling me a good boy," You thought.

"A birthday present I've wanted for a while," You spoke. It wasn't a total lie. You've been wanting a book for quite a while but never had the time to try and find it.

"What's the book titled?" Tommy nodded. You couldn't tell if he was trying to catch you in a lie or if he was genuinely interested in the book.

"Sweet Dandelion by Micalea Smeltzer," You smirked. "Why are you interested in a book anyway?"

Tommy chuckles, "What? I don't seem the type to read?"

You shrug your shoulders. "No?" You question.

"You'd be right; my girlfriend said I should buy a gift for her brother, and the suggestion she gave me: books. Importantly, romance books," Tommy explained.

"Of course, he has a girlfriend that puts my horny mind at ease," You thought.

"It is a romance book, more on the forbidden side."

"He might like it. I have impeccable taste in books," You comment.

“Is this a special occasion or something?”

“It's his birthday today, and I wanted to give him somethin’ out of the kindness of my heart,” Tommy shrugged.

“Aw, that's sweet. Even if you don’t know that person.”

“I just want everyone to like me, y’know. I don't want to make a fool of myself,” Tommy admits.

“You won't, just be yourself. I met you five minutes ago, and you seem cool.”

Tommy smiles. "Yeah, I bet. Anyways, you have a design in mind?"

"Oh," You exclaim. "Yeah, gimme a second." You pull your phone out of your pocket. Scrolling through the choices in your camera roll, you pick the option you decided on last night and show it to Tommy.

He strokes his beard and nods his head. "Got it, sit down. Do you need anything to drink?" Tommy asks.

"Water's fine," You state.

You sit in the hydraulics chair, watching Tommy leave the room. You have a smile plastered on your face in excitement. Your hands kept patting your thigh into a rhythmic beat, waiting for Tommy.

As you slowly glance your head around the room, Tommy walks in the room holding a water bottle in his veiny hands.

"Here ya' go, songbird.”

"Songbird? That's a new one," You smirk.

"Your friends made the mistake of telling me one of your favorite hobbies," Tommy smiles.

"Remind me to slap them later," You breathe.

Tommy's laugh made you smile and caused heat to rise to your cheeks. Grabbing black latex gloves and slipping them on his hands with a snap. "You ready to get this show on the road, butterfly?"

"Yeah," You smiled. "I'm ready.

It had been a few hours since you got your tattoo, and you couldn’t stop staring at it. Likewise with your family, but more looks of questioning and disgust from your sister. Kevin and Eli were excited about how your tattoo looked.

You were sitting in the dining room — at the dinner table, your mom had made your favorite dishes for your birthday, and your mouth was watering as you waited for Sasha's boyfriend. You were eager to stuff your face with all the food in front of you. You were bouncing your leg to think about anything else to distract you from the air scents whiffing to your nose.

"Does it itch?"

You turn your head to look at your mom to hear her question. "Yeah, I mean the ointment the guy gave me is working, but the urge to itch it is high now," You admitted.

"I still can't believe you still got a tattoo," Sasha stated.

"I'm twenty-two now, and I barely drink. So, a tattoo was a better option to play it safe on my birthday."

"What if you get an infection?" Sasha questioned.

You shrug. "I'll deal with that when that road comes into view."

"You're insane."

"We've established that already, sweetheart," You smirk.

"Now, now, Sasha," Your dad started. "He's an adult, and even adults need help on occasion. Son, if anything happens, let us know. And we'll help."

Your dad grabs your shoulder in a comforting way ─ knowing how intense his daughter can be.

"He's right, honey. If anything happens, let us know," Your mom smiled.

You smiled at your mom and dad's comforting tones. You and Sasha tended to be at each other's throats at times, her usually breaking your spirits. Your parents dreaded it whenever you two argued. At times, you both could say and resent each other and not speak to each other for days ─ your longest time? A week.

Your dad glanced at the watch on his wrist. "Sasha, where is this boy at? Your brother and I are starving, and this food is going to waste."

"Daddy," Sasha starts, grabbing her phone from her jeans pocket. "He said that he ─ oh he's here," Sasha smiled, getting up from her seat.

You, Eli and Kevin turn your head as the three of you hear a loud engine roaring outside. "How much you want to bet, he's got a tiny dick?" Eli questioned. You and Kevin both snickered. Glancing at the door, Sasha's standing outside cheerfully like a child seeing the ice cream truck.

Your mind had drifted back to the tattoo artist. You wondered if you were ever going to see him again. You missed his smile; his tattoos were intriguing, and you wished you had studied them more as you were in his chair. You also yearned to know what his name was. Eli and Kevin forgot who his name was when you asked them when you left. Tapping your finger on the table, waiting for Sasha to return, you hear the door open, and Sasha starts talking. “Everyone! I want everyone to meet my boyfriend,” Sasha starts. A person begins to walk in as Sasha talks; You, Kevin, and Eli are wide-eyed to see who's coming in.

It was the same guy who did your tattoo hours ago. He walked in, a beaming smile on his face, wearing a leather jacket and a wrapped gift in his hand. Wearing the same jeans you admired him in prior, you bit your lip to calm yourself down.

“His name is Tommy, and he’s a tattoo artist,” Sasha smirked.

You were too stunned even to acknowledge your sister's statement. You knew who Tommy was hours prior. The same man you fantasized about, who did your tattoo hours ago, is dating your sister.

“It's nice to meet everyone,” Tommy smirks.

“His name is Tommy?” Kevin asks.

“I forgot about that,” Eli admits.

“Of all guys, Sasha could’ve dated. It had to be him,” You whined.

“Hey, dummy. Come and get your present,” Sasha’s voice snapped you out of a weird, one-sided conversation with your friends.

You reluctantly get up from your seat and walk towards Tommy. A look of shock and confusion appeared on his face. You anxiously rub the back of your neck.

“Songbird? Sasha’s your sister?” Tommy questions.

“Songbird?” Sasha questions.

“Oh, that reminds me,” You turn to look at Eli and Kevin. “I’m going to hit you both.”

“C’mon, we were looking at ideas for your birthday, and karaoke came up,” Eli starts.

“We both know how much you love to sing, and maybe we found one, and we could go to it after dinner?”

“I’ll revoke the slap for now,” You nod, turning back to look at Tommy with a smirk, indicating he was nervous. “I hope you like it,” Tommy states, handing you the gift.

You take the gift from his hand and glance down at it in your palms. You don't remember when someone wrapped a birthday gift for you. You appreciated Kevin and Eli’s gifts, the tattoo mainly, but in the past, you’ve never gotten a hand-wrapped present before.

You appreciated that Tommy took the time out of his day to hand-wrap you a gift.

You glance at everyone staring at you in anticipation.

“You guys want me to open this now?” You question.

“Yes,” Everyone except Tommy spoke, making you jump out of your skin. You reluctantly open the gift-wrapping paper and rip away at the material as you feel the object's hardness underneath. Take the paper entirely off and see what’s in your hand.

A book you have been looking for a long time. Sweet Dandelion in your hand. The same feeling of being overzealous you had a day ago was rising back up again.

“Holy God, where did you find this?” You ask.

“I went to three different stores to find this book, and I had to gift-wrap it as soon as I got home. That's why I’m late, by the way. Sorry about that.”

“This is amazing. I forgot that I even talked about this with you.”

“You really shouldn't have gone through all this trouble,” You suggested,

Tommy waved his hand. “Like I told you, I wanted my girlfriend's family to like me, and I think I got bonus points for her younger brother.”

You were smiling from ear to ear as you wrapped your arms around Tommy’s neck in an embrace. He was tall, so it felt like hugging a tall stuffed animal. Tommy wrapped his arms around your back and patted your back. As your face sat in the crook of his neck, you felt Deja vu — like you’ve done this before — with Tommy.

You back up from Tommy’s hug, the leather of his jacket making a weird sound as you back up. You look at Tommy with a confused look as he gives you an awkward smile. “Thanks,” You manage to breathe out.

“No problem, it was no trouble at all,” Tommy dismissed.

“Sorry to interrupt, whatever that was. May you three sit down so we can enjoy this delicious food,” Your dad exclaims.

“Please? I’ve been hungry since,” Tommy smiles.

“Well, come on, then. Sit down, everyone,” Your mom waves at the trio standing up.

You, Sasha, and Tommy take your seats, where Tommy sits next to Sasha — near your father. A grin arose on your face as you could tell that Tommy was metaphorically shitting his pants.

━━━

Minutes ago, after dinner had ended, you were standing on your porch, arms crossed, watching Kevin and Eli admire Tommy’s car — a 2016 Dodge Challenger SRT Hellcat, and watching your father and Tommy talking about the car. You couldn’t help but think about Tommy halfway through dinner. That feeling felt so surreal, and yet you yearned for it again.

“Mom and Dad seem to like Tommy,” Sasha states.

You nearly jump out of your skin hearing your sister.

“Oh! You jump. “What?”

“I said, Mom and Dad seem to like Tommy. How do you feel about him?”

“Oh,” You breathe. “Tommy’s cool and funny. I see why you like him.”

Sasha nodded. “Are you guys leaving soon?”

“Yeah. Would you like to join us?” You question.

“God, no! I don't know how you do that karaoke shit.”

“It's fun — especially when in a group. Do you think Tommy would want to join?”

Sasha turned her head to look at you with disgust written on her face. You could feel her gaze on you, and you turned your head. Whenever you see this look on her face, it usually sends chills down your spine and back — the type of chills that you want to hide from your older sister.

“Do you have a crush on Tommy or something?” Sasha interrogated.

“What? No! I can’t,” You spat.

“Good. It would be best if you stayed away from Tommy. I can tell you make him uncomfortable.”

“How do I make him uncomfortable?” You question.

“With that little hug, you have him inside earlier. You didn't stop staring at him at the table.”

“Our dad often interrogated him. I was interested in the questions and how Tommy would answer,” You spoke.

“So that must mean you’re interested in him,” Sasha retorted

“What? No what is your—”

Sasha turned her whole to stare at her younger brother with such anger that made your stomach churn with how intense her stare marked your soul.

“Stay away from my boyfriend, and we won't have any issues,” Sasha growled and retreated inside the house.

Sasha always tended to assume that you liked her new boyfriends when, in reality, you wanted nothing to do with them. But Tommy could be a different story. You weren't sure how you felt about him. You knew the Southern was attractive, but he’s dating your high-maintenance sister, and you would try your best to stay away from him. No matter how much his “bad boy image” would distract you.

Glancing back at your two best friends, they’re conversing with Tommy while you notice your dad walking up the stairs to the porch. “Have fun, son. Stay safe,” Your dad nodded. You smiled and nodded as your dad’s hands make contact with your shoulder — comforting you.

Your dad walks into the house. You see Eli and Kevin walk to Eli’s car — the conversation with Tommy seems to have ended. You reflectively walk to the back of Eli’s car — hand on the handle, but you yearn for that feeling with Tommy again that you did the unthinkable despite your sister's protests earlier.

“Hey, Tommy!” You exclaimed. Jogging towards the Southern, Tommy turns around to face you. As you are in front of him, jogging to him makes you receive that same feeling you received hours ago — that deja vu crawling from your stomach to your throat. Now, you were sure you must have known Tommy before.

“What’s up, Songbird?” Tommy asks.

His voice sent a chill down your soft cock. You wished how it would sound from behind hearing his voice.

“It was nice getting to know you, and thank you for the book. I hope to see you more around,” You smiled.

Tommy's smile could light up a room; hell, he could bring the sun back up from its dusk state.

“I would like that,” Tommy nodded.

As Tommy started to walk away, you had another question arise from your throat. “Hey!” Tommy turned to look at you. “One more question, and then I’ll let you go home.”

Tommy chuckles. “You can bother me anytime.”

“Before you permanently drew on my skin, do you think we have met before?”

His pupils glanced up at the dusk scenic sky, drew his lips in a frown, and shook his hand. “Can’t seem to think of any time, any reason?”

“Nah, it's nothing important,” You waved. “See you, Tommy.”

“See ya’, Songbird.”

You smile as you walk away from Tommy. That nickname would keep making you feel specific ways you shouldn't be feeling.

The days Tommy had come over the house felt countless. You’ve seen him more times than Eli and Kevin. After work, you only want to lounge in your bed and forget about being an adult. But then you see Tommy’s car in the driveway, and you are scared to enter cause the idea of hearing your sister's moans makes your skin crawl, and you feel physically ill.

But the times when you heard them, you wanted to crawl into a hole and be buried alive. Tommy usually would have to sneak in the house, but you would rarely listen to what happens when the two were together, and you were grateful for that. However, sometimes, you couldn't sleep, and you hated the sounds your sister would make.

But the grunts, praising, and degrading that Tommy would spit out made you feel a certain way you would hate to tell anyone. Sometimes your cock would twitch hearing Tommy’s voice, having to bite your lips to stifle your moans.

This was one of the rare nights where you couldn't sleep, and you didn't feel like wasting time lying in your bed. You would hate to admit it, but the book Tommy gave you was your favorite thing to read. You were reading in the kitchen, sitting in the high chair — feet dangling near the floor, book in hand.

It was a quiet night. Mom, Dad, and Sasha were sleeping, but you knew Tommy was over the house. You heard his car coming up the driveway. However, you didn't hear anything from Sasha’s room — which you were grateful for. You couldn't tell if you blanked out the sounds or if nothing was happening.

Too involved in the book you were reading, you didn't hear Tommy behind you — your back towards the opening he walked through. You were too concentrated on the book even to notice Tommy. It was only until Tommy's tall stature towered over you — his head over your shoulder.

“Whatcha’ reading?” Tommy asks.

“Jesus!” You exclaim, clutching your chest.

Tommy retracts his head from colliding with yours.

“Sorry. I scared ya’. Can I open your fridge?”

You turn half of your body to look at Tommy in confusion. “It’s insane that you are one of the only people who’s asked me that?”

“Really?” Tommy interrogated.

You nodded. “It's the southern charm of Tommy Miller that all the ladies love,” Tommy smiled.

You chuckle. “Help yourself — also, don't let my sister hear you say that other girls love that southern charm — she can be a bit possessive/intense.”

“Is she?” Tommy asks, grabbing the milk carton.

You scoff. “I’ve lived with her my whole life. I understand her intensity.”

Tommy chuckles, shaking the carton. “Hey, another question —”

“You can drink the milk from the carton if it's empty.”

Tommy looks overzealous with joy as he opens the cardboard container and brings it to his lips.

Your eyes slowly traveled to his neck as you watched him gulp down the milk. Eyes slowly trail down his bare chest as your mouth goes dry. You swear Tommy is drinking the milk slower than a baby does; Tommy’s chest and abdomen were covered in abstract, colorful tattoos, and you saw them as you yearned to trail your fingertips all over his tattoos.

Your eyes glance at his V-line, and you would hate to admit how much it turns you on that Tommy’s so defined in his muscles. Eyes glanced down even lower to Tommy’s hardened cock —

You snapped your body forward toward your book to avoid any eye contact with hard, throbbing appendages.

You hear a satisfied sigh escape Tommy’s lips and a light thud as the carton made contact with the counter.

Tommy’s interest peaked as he saw you back in the same position he saw you in a minute ago—the heat from his broad chest inches away from your back. You could feel how close Tommy was without having to look back. His head was hovering over your shoulder once again silently reading, but you weren't paying attention to him. You were trying to drown him out.

“Cock?” Tommy asks.

You nearly jump out of your skin again, but you contain yourself, and you slam the hardcover book shut. Tommy backs up and turns your entire body to see him — crossing your arms.

“What are you reading, songbird?”

“Nothing!” You shrugged. “Just the book you gave me.”

“Are you sure it's nothing?” Tommy questions, mimicking your pose.

“Yeah, why would it be something?”

Tommy brings his hand up from him, crossing his arms, and points at you, but you can't tell what he’s pointing to, so you glance down at yourself and then you see it.

Your dick was hard in your underwear. You wanted to die right then and there. You couldn't believe your sister's boyfriend just saw your hard dick. You quickly leave your crossing-arms position and cover your hardened cock.

“Oh, shush! Yours is hard, too,” You spat.

You wished you kept that you had seen his hard dick. Tommy glances down and shakes his head to the side.

“Wouldcha’ look at that, your right. But I didn't get this from reading dirty words in a book.”

“It's called smut,” You clarify. You wanted to die. You didn't have to mention what it is to Tommy.

“Anywho, I got it because your sister —”

“Barfing now.”

“She left me hangin’. Now I gotta deal with this,” Tommy complained.

“It does look painful.” You muttered. “Shit, sorry, my mouth moves faster than my mind thinks.”

“It's all good.” Tommy waved. “What’s smut?”

The heat rose to your cheeks as you heard Tommy’s question. “You don't know what smut is?”

Tommy’s lips made a thin line as he shook his head.

You took a deep breath before answering his questions.

“It's two book characters essentially fucking, and you're just reading.”

“S’ you're a voyeur?” Tommy asks, taking a step closer to you.

You chuckle. “No! You're getting it from a character perspective, so you're living in their head — in a weird way.”

“Does that turn you on?”

“What do you mean?”

Tommy’s closer now; your knees were touching his naval, his cock throbbing under your upper calf — under your knees.

“I mean, that you could easily be the character in any book, getting fucked out of your brains, screamin’ someone’s name — markin’ your territory with those nails, clawin’ their back. Beggin’ for more of their cock deep inside you.” Tommy whispered.

Your throat goes dry as well as your breaths start to get slower. Your sister's boyfriend was inches — centimeters away from you, and it was driving you crazy. You wanted to feel his lips on yours; would they be soft, rough, dry, or damp? You wanted to know.

"I- I, uh, a little. I try to imagine that's actually me," You swallowed.

Tommy grabs your wrists and moves your hands away from covering your cock. You and Tommy both look at your throbbing member. A wet spot of pre cum leaked through the cotton material and watched your cock throb under Tommy's grip.

Tommy lets go of your wrists and slides his hands up your upper thighs and each side of your waistband. "May I?' Tommy asks. You reluctantly nod. Tommy hooks his fingers and slides your underwear slowly down. "Lift your hips for me, songbird." You listen to Tommy's soft command and lift your hips as he slides your underwear to your ankles.

Your cock aching to be touched, begging to cum; you watch it throb in anticipation as you wait for Tommy's next move. "Do you like it when I touch you like this? I can keep goin' if you want me to," Tommy growls. You nod as Tommy's hands slowly drift from your calves to your thighs. His forehead resting on yours, your noses intertwine with each other. "We don't have to play pretend, songbird. Do what you want ever since I permanently inked your pretty skin."

You slowly place your lips on top of Tommy's as you both enter a passionate and hungry kiss. You wrap your arms around Tommy's neck as he spreads your legs with his hands. You could feel his throbbing cock — through his boxers on yours. His veiny hands make their way to your inner thighs while you can feel Tommy's tongue lick your bottom lip for access into your mouth. You part your lips so Tommy can slip his tongue in your mouth, exploring any way he can get closer to you.

Your hand slips down Tommy's shoulder and chest — feeling his hard nipple and slipping your hand down under his underwear. Stroking his cock toward you you suddenly have this rush of adrenaline. You needed Tommy — more than you would like to admit.

You shoved Tommy away from you, his back colliding with the refrigerator, a look of shock spread across his face. You stand up, walking towards him, your cock still hard as a rock. "I'm now getting a vivid idea of me on my knees in front of you, and you fucking my face — I don't remember that in any I've read, but we could always make our own," You smirk.

Tommy returns your smirk with one of his own. "Whatever you want me to do, songbird."

You kneel on your knees as you watch Tommy slide his boxers down. His cock springs out and hits you in the nose; you chuckle in retaliation. You wrap your lips around the tip of Tommy's cock, and you slowly go towards the base of his cock. Tommy throws his head back as you start to suck his cock. He grabbed your face and started thrusting his hips towards you.

You could feel the tip of his cock punch you in the throat wih each thrust, this feeling was intoxicating and you loved every second.

"Damn, songbird. So fuckin' better than your sister," Tommy growled.

Your pupiles look up at Tommy bearing his teeth and his hands grip your hair and his thrusts become faster, more beastlike. Tommy was enjoying himself more than he should admit. His girlfriend's little brother taking his cock so well, Tommy's knowing he's older and his songbird being twenty-two, he loved the age gap between you two.

Hearing each slurp, gag, and noise come from you, Tommy could have his warm cum shoot down your throat right now. Retracting his cock from your mouth, Tommy grabs your chin and looks you in the eyes. Seeing your saliva drool from your mouth to your chin, your tears down your cheeks — it was a sight for Tommy he found amazing.

"Open your mouth," Tommy commanded.

You complied with his commands and you parted your lips away from each other. Tommy had positioned his face away from yours and spit in your mouth. Before you could think, Tommy's lips smashed onto yours — gripping your throat lightly. “Get up, songbird.”

You get up, and Tommy turns you around, — forcing you to lean on the table where the book’s spine is in your field of view. You could feel Tommy’s cock bounce off your ass. Your sister would murder you if you knew how badly you wanted her boyfriend’s cock inside you.

You could feel his cock press up against your ass, but you felt it back up from you. You hear Tommy spit again, and you don't think anything from it until you feel the tip of Tommy’s cock slowly slide in. You suck in a deep breath.

“S’ fuckin’ tight, baby,” Tommy growled.

You could feel Tommy’s cock stretch you out, slowly, painfully enjoying every inch inside you. Tommy’s hips had a mind of their own as his thrust started slow, but his thighs clapped against your ass.

Tommy’s slow thrusts became more and more intense, but you loved every second of it. With each clap, your moans kept escaping your lips, and Tommy’s cock slipped out of you as you moved forward.

“Ah! Easy,” You breathed.

“Shut up, songbird,” Tommy grunts, smacking your ass — you moan in retaliation. Tommy slides his cock in between your ass cheeks — teasing you. “You want this dick... right, songbird?”

“You want to feel your sister’s boyfriend to shove his cock deep inside you?”

“Yes, Fuck yes, Tommy,” You whine.

Tommy adjusts himself — sliding his cock inside you, but he doesn't go slow. His thrusts were fast, and you were trying to contain your moans from everyone hearing them. Tommy had gripped his hands on your waist tightly, and he was enjoying the sounds escaping your lips. You were clenching your teeth together tightly to keep your moans from escaping your lips, but your whimpers were another thing you tried to contain — but they slipped through your teeth like smoke.

“Baby, those sounds, make my cock twitch like crazy,” Tommy grunted.

“Fuck— shit, Tommy. You’re gonna break me,” You whined.

“That’s the plan, songbird. I want your family to hear how well I treat you. My cock —thrust— buried deep —thrust— inside your tight ass.” Tommy leans closer to you, his lips inches away from your ear.

“I would love to see the look on your sister's face when she sees me fuckin’ your brains out,” Tommy grunted.

The tone of his voice made your spine have knife-like chills crawling up and down all over your back.

With a firm hand-made contact with your bare ass, you moan as a reflex. Another smack came across your ass, another, and another, and another. You became a moaning bullhorn — bearing your teeth, you lay your forehead on your forearm as you feel each thrust rock the kitchen table.

Tommy wrapped his hand in the front of your throat and pulled you to the side of his head.

“Let’s have some real fun, songbird,” Tommy growled. “Get on the fuckin’ floor.”

Tommy slipped his cock out of you, and you went on your knees and then on your back, laid on the floor. The cold sensation of the floor made contact with your cotton-covered back. Tommy crawls on top of you, lifts your legs, and gazes down at your hole. “Look at that, baby. I bet you're still so fuckin’ tight.”

Tommy’s adjust’s his cock — holding your leg and sliding his cock inside you, you fight the urge to scream right there. “Damn, songbird. No music to my ears?”

“That’s soon, Tommy,” You whined.

Tommy’s lips coincide with yours to make a passionate kiss. Tommy’s thrust becomes so addicting and unique that you don't want him to stop — even if anyone saw the two of you making sweet heaven.

“I remember you,” Tommy confesses.

“What?”

“You asked me If we’ve met before — I lied. I knew you a long time ago,” Tommy groaned, placing his hands on both sides of your head

“Really?” You ask.

“Remember Clark?”

Even with Tommy’s dick pumping fast and hard inside, you forced yourself to think about your old friend who moved away when you were in first grade and he was in fifth grade. You two were close and did everything together after school was over. The both of you could take over the world someday, but like all great things, they end because Clark moved away with out telling you.

He stopped coming to the park after school, no phone calls or anything, just pure silence.

“Are you Clark?” You question.

“Yeah,” Tommy nodded.

“You lied about your name? Didn't you? Why?”

“Because my name sounded like — damn baby, your tight— like a baby. I hated my name. I didn't know any better,” Tommy states.

“But, I wouldn't have — Oh god, yes, Tommy — made fun of you,”

“I know that, oh songbird. I wanted to tell you right before I left, but it was too late; you have no idea how much I missed you.”

“When I saw you enter my tattoo shop, I wanted to hug you. When I saw you in this house, Everything connected.”

You snap your eyes shut and bear your teeth.

“I have my songbird in my arms again,” Tommy breathed.

You were on the brink of crying; all these emotions of sadness you were feeling were intensified by Tommy’s cock pumping inside you.

“Songbird?”

“Yeah,” You squeaked.

“I love you so much. I needed to say that — I’ve wanted to say that ever since your birthday,” Tommy breathed. Tears started to roll down the side of your face as a smile broke out on your face. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset up—”

“No, it's fine, I’m happy. Too happy, I start crying,” You smile.

“Really?” Tommy breathed.

“Do you love me too?”

“How about this? You keep fucking my brains out. I’ll let you know how I feel. I can feel your cock twitch inside me. I can feel you about to cum.”

“Baby, I’m so fuckin’ close. I’m gonna get you pregnant.”

Tommy’s thrusts become more animalistic, hot, and intense. It felt like a scene from one of your many books. You loved this, your old childhood friend making you feel this way and enjoying the moment with him. Another memory you both will share.

You wrap your hands around Tommy’s broad back, scratching your nails on his back, you feel the warmth of Tommy's body as you are about to cum. “Damn, Tommy. I’m about to cum.”

“Cum f’me baby,” it sounded like a command more than a statement. Your cock throbs, and you exclaim a moan as stings of cum hit your shirt.

“Fuck, baby. I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum in my childhood best friend!��� Tommy exclaimed, bearing his teeth. As Tommy’s hips keep going back and forth into you, looking into your eyes, his cum shoots inside you; Tommy steadies himself inches away from your face. You could feel Tommy slip his cock out of you, your hole dripping with his cum.

“How was the ending of this chapter?” Tommy pants.

“Pretty good,” You smiled. Tommy smiles back at you and kisses your lips softly and gently; as he backs up, you look into his eyes. “I love you too.” Tommy’s smile brightened up the whole room. You loved your childhood best friend, and you couldn't ask for anyone better.

“Don’t expect me to call you Clark now,” You insisted.

“I don't; I expect you to call me daddy, now.”

You pushed his face away from yours as your cock twitched, and he landed next to you — leaning on his arm. You're an ass,” You laughed. Tommy’s smile made butterflies flutter in your stomach as he trailed his finger near your nipple.

“Would you be okay with goin’ somewhere with me? Where we could finish our book series.”

You snicker. “Where? ‘Cause I don't want anyone to hear me moan my sister’s boyfriend's name.” Tommy sits up and stands up, outstretching his arm. You take his gesture and lift yourself from the now-warm floor.

“Let’s get cleaned up, and I’ll tell you later.”

“Okay,” You chuckle. “Are we taking sepreate showers?”

Tommy scoffs. “Oh hell, no. But I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

You scoff. “Yeah, I find that hard to believe.”

#tommy miller x male reader #tommy miller #gabriel luna x male reader #tommy last of us #gabriel luna #tommy miller smut #gabriel luna smut #forbidden romance #haunted hoedown #tommy miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #tommy miller fic #tommy miller tlou

[lokischocolatefountain]

Mercy

My entry for the Haunted Hoedown created by @inklore and @psychedelic-ink. Day 7- stranded au or slasher / summer camp au + sex in the woods or somewhere public (added bonus if it includes knife, blood, hunter x prey kink)

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: 18+ (Major character death, stranded in the woods, post apocalyptic life, non con, mentions of previous experiences of non con, suicidal reader)

Summary: Stranded alone in the woods and left to die, all you can ask of Joel Miller is the mercy of a quick death. He is willing to give it to you, but he needs something for himself as well.

A/N: It’s another Joel Miller weekend here at lokischocolatefountain. I have a husband!Javi locked and loaded, ready to go. But Joel demand my attention once again for the haunted hoedown. So Javi has to wait another week.

You were safe.

Well, safe from the men who had captured you. But other dangers awaited. If you were lucky, it would just be starvation, an encounter with a wild animal or a fucking heart attack. But you didn’t think your good luck would stretch that far. You were already that the raiders who killed and raided the belongings of the men who captured you did not seem interested in you. It was a goddamn miracle.

Ropes bound your arms behind your back and your legs to each other. Either the ropes were tied too tight or you had become weaker over the past ten days of captivity. They didn’t have much food to spare you. Only the small pieces of rotting meat that they fed to you on the condition that you suck their cocks.

It wasn’t as though you had a choice when tied up the way you were. There were other women held captive with you- younger, prettier, less willing to comply and more appealing to the men as they liked a challenge. You were one of the older models, beaten ragged by life both before and after the world fell apart. For them, a woman was a woman. No matter how broken you were, there was always more to break. No matter your age or how fucking crazy you’d gone from survival, you had a pair of tits and three holes. For most men, it was more than they could dream of. For you, separated from your group and all alone, it was the only thing you could barter.

Now there was no need for any of it. You would decay on the ground along with the fallen leaves and the blood you’d spilled when the men cut through your clothes. The last of the women after another one decayed just a couple feet away from you. Yours was a fate better than the girls who were taken away by the raiders. Experience had taught you that. The last time you’d been in the hands of such a group, you were younger. They used you to their heart’s content and then sold you to a man for a good price- a whole goat, a bag of rice, a record player and a couple of vinyls, and a leather jacket. Pretty good stuff. If you had to valuate yourself now, you’d probably go for a small fraction of that- maybe just the leather jacket.

You would no longer go for the same price. You no longer had the strength to kill the man who purchased you like you were just a thing.

You swallowed, your throat aching for water. But all you got was the piercing pain of a hundred jagged pebbles scratching your throat. One of the factoids from an old encyclopedia popped up in your head: It takes x days for dehydration to cause death. Unfortunately, your brain hadn’t thought to pay more attention to the number, leaving you with no information.

What you knew was that it took one day of dehydration to wish for death.

Daylight withered away and darkness descended in the woods, matching the darkness of your thoughts. In the pitch black night with no stars or even a sliver of the moon, whether your eyes were open or closed did not matter. In the times before, it was advised for women to return home before nightfall. As though danger only lurked in darkness. As though men did not behave atrociously in broad daylight. Shaking on the ground from the cold, dehydrated, near death, your biggest fear was still man.

It was why the snapping of twigs and crunching of leaves under a heavy footfall struck more fear in you than the sight of the infected ever did. Man.

Measured. Careful. Not infected. Man.

He could just be passing by.

It could’ve been delusions inspired by dehydration and starvation, but the footsteps sounded just a little louder as the seconds passed. He was getting closer.

Joel Miller didn’t know, but your body already played to his beat, your heartbeats responding to the sound of his footsteps. Pills from Atlanta passed on to him from his contact rested in his backpack, the currency with the highest value in the QZ. His hand itched to take one pill for himself. Just one. The nightmares of losing his child flashed before his eyes even before he could succumb to the weariness of the journey and sleep. A pill would help.

Don’t get high on your own supply.

He needed to be at his best state of mind since he was traveling alone now, his companion having been taken out by a clicker on their journey. But God was it tempting.

Darkness enveloped the woods. The moon and stars had abandoned Earth for the night, afraid that if they shone their light on the land, they’d see its haunting wreckage. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but it still played tricks on him. For a second, he believed he might have seen a figure move on the ground.

Leaves rustled and crunched beneath his feet. His hands immediate grabbed the gun he had at the ready, the muzzle pointed to the ground. It hit something— someone, he realized when it gasped.

“Please,” your low, shaky voice begged. “Please shoot me.”

He would’ve thought he misheard. Who’d ask to be shot when threatened with a gun? But such was the world in which they’d lived. Death was sometimes more desirable than whatever horrors life had to offer. Joel had survived, somehow. Violence and the sheer human instinct for self preservation kept him around until now, even a decade and a half after the collapse of society.

He brought a lighter close to the ground and lit it, the little golden flame illuminating your bloodied and bruised. He noticed that your arms were bound behind your back and legs tied together at your ankles.

Joel understood you didn’t have long. A day maybe. Longer if you were fed and hydrated. He himself was not interested in charity. If someone else happened by you and you were able to convince them to toss you a piece of bread… But you didn’t want charity. You asked for his bullet, not sustenance.

Bullets didn’t grow on trees.

“Good news. You’ll be dead by daybreak.”

“Please,” you whimpered in a low gravelly voice, mustering up all your energy to beg for this small act of mercy.

You hadn’t asked for his precious rations or water. Only that he finish you off with the weapon he pointed at you. He dropped his belongings somewhere in the vicinity, not bothering to dignify your request with a response.

Joel lied down on the ground in the vicinity in a sleeping bag, his pack serving as a pillow. Sleep did not come easy. He merely rested his eyes, his sense attuned to his surroundings even when he was meant to rest.

When the sun rose, he rolled his sleeping bag and set it inside a hollow tree before heading to the pond nearby. He returned, having washed up, ready to resume his journey back to the QZ. Curious about you, he went to the site where you were last night.

“Please,” you begged once again. “Before you leave. Please.”

He nudged you with his boot, your weakening body rolling to the side and giving him a good view. One bullet. But what a waste of a good body. He could help you in return for something for himself. There was a brothel in the QZ, of course. The oldest profession carried on right under FEDRA’s nose. They pretended to not notice. Sometimes, they’d conduct a raid and arrest some women under the guise of maintaining the law. An excuse for the FEDRA guys to have the women for themselves for the night.

Joel did not indulge in such services. He didn’t see the point in spending precious ration cards just to get off. His spit and left hand were enough for him to get by. But you were free of cost.

“Since you asked so nicely…” he drawled, withdrawing his knife from its holster. He sliced through the ropes that bound your ankles together. You didn’t know his intentions though you’d come to expect it from men over the years. If he wanted to take advantage, he surely would’ve gone ahead with it last night. Sure, Joel hadn’t intended it at first. But now that you were available…

Reliable contraception had died with the world. Too risk averse in this specific matter, he’s contented himself with the rare blowjob. Pussy was a delicacy he hadn’t had in a while. You didn’t protest as he tore your pants off of you, finding skin beneath.

“Be good and I might just kill you in the end, darlin’…” he promised and you spread your legs, cooperating, being good so he would consider it. You didn’t know when the next person would pass by this place. Even if someone did before you could die a slow death, there was no assurance that they’d kill you rather than prolong your miserable existence.

“Wha’s your name?”

“Joel.”

Joel. Joel brought a damp cloth to your face, wiping the blood and dirt off you. It was…strange. It felt as though you were being taken care of. It wasn’t the case of course. But it felt good to believe he was taking care of you. It was the first bit of humanity you’d experienced in a very long time.

The blade slipped under your half torn t-shirt, cutting up the fabric that had done a poor job so far of giving you any dignity. His large hand roamed your now naked torso. Calluses caught on your somehow soft skin. The sensation was the first pleasant thing you’d felt in a long time. You attempted unconsciously to lean into his touch, but your weakness kept you glued to the ground. Even the cold blade of his knife felt good. You’d gone mad, surely. This was definitely a stage of delusion caused by your dehydration and starvation.

He cupped your cheek and leaned down, capturing your lips with his. It was as though you’d forgotten to kiss. The men who took interest in you were less concerned with making use of your lips for a kiss. If Joel had put his cock between them, you would’ve known better what to do. It seemed he’d also forgotten. He wasn’t kissing you. He bit and sucked and devoured.

Your hands were still tied behind you. They dug into your back. But it didn’t hurt as much as Joel’s hand supping your tits. Even the animals who last had you under their control were gentler than this. But you weren’t too offended. It hurt. But there would be sweet death at the end of all this pain. So you embraced it fully, letting out nothing but a little whimper as a sign that you were at all affected by his touch.

Even in your state of near death, you could tell that he was a handsome man. Grey interspersed black curls on his head. Patchy beard hid rugged, sun damaged skin. His aquiline nose would’ve inspired sinful thoughts in you had you been further away from death. In a normal world, he would’ve been getting a drink at a bar and you would’ve noticed him.

Joel spit on his hand and rubbed it around on your dry cunt. With his thumb and forefinger, he parted your cunt lips before inserting his middle finger. Inch by painful inch, he penetrated your unwilling body that was attached to a very willing mind. There was no water left to be spared to wetten your cunt for the man.

“C-cut me,” you suggested, desiring the penetration to be smoother. If this was the last time you got to be fucked, it wouldn’t hurt to hurt a little to enjoy the last few minutes on the mortal plane. “Bl-blood.”

He seemed to understand your weak implication. You hissed as the sharp edge of his knife cut through the top layers of your skin. Red blood oozed out and he swept his hand over it, collecting the blood and smearing it over your cunt. He slipped a finger inside you, lubricating your hole with your own blood.

He knelt over you, his knees on either side of your body. Then he unzipped his jeans, the teeth of the zipper making a scratching metal sound. He was a good length, girth and veiny. He stroked himself as he stared at your bloodied hole.

Fucking a dying woman using her own blood as lube. Of all the messed up things he had done, this was easily on the top ten. Not that he maintained an actual list. Despite her decrepit state, she looked welcoming with her legs spread out and eyes on his cock. He bent your legs at your knees, your body pliant in its weakness. You were a thing of rare beauty in his journey. Nature had reclaimed its place, growing between abandoned cars and splitting into giant overpasses. This, you, were another part of nature to him.

Woman, all beautiful in your vulnerability, laid out to be claimed.

He guided his cock between your legs and forced himself in. Red lube you’d given up for him to use on you coated his cock, reminding him of the violence of his desire. He twitched inside you as he pushed in, a perverse sort of excitement stimulating him.

He brought the knife up to your neck and rested the blunt edge against your throat. You gulped. Your eyes widened. Your breaths quickened. Your cunt clenched around his cock and Oh God how divine you felt this way.

You’d asked for death, practically begged for it. But fear was not something you could prevent. Your wretched mortal body was programmed with the foolishness of wanting to stay alive.

“Been so long,” he muttered when he bottomed out inside you. Though you’d had many men inside you, it’d been long since any stretched you out so good. You took a deep breath and wished you had your hands free. You were overcome by a sudden urge to touch him. To run you hands down his sturdy arms and solid chest. It’d been so long since you wished.

“Good?” You asked, squeezing his cock. He smiled and bent forward to kiss you. Your lips, your chin, along your jaw. It was tender. Too tender for sex in the woods with your clothes torn off and your thigh bleeding into the soil.

He began to move, pulling out just a little before pushing back in. He savored it. After all, this could be his last chance at a cunt for a very long time. He grabbed on to your tits to use as handles, making you squeeze around him. Your lips let out a painful little whine, but he didn’t feel guilty. What bad did a little more pain do? You were going to die anyway. If you weren’t making use of your tits and cunt, at least he could enjoy them.

“So good…” he praised and you responded in kind, thrusting back weakly. “Yeah? You like that, cunt?” He asked, using the crude word in place of your name. He didn’t even know your name. But Cunt was appropriate for the purpose you served. You nodded. “I really struck gold in the fucking woods of all places, huh.”

“Good cunt,” he praised, the words shooting straight into said body part.

“Feelin’ good?”

You nodded, unable to say much else under the assault of the sensations. You didn’t have to for he claimed your lips once again in a kiss. He was better this time and so were you. Your lips stayed connected with his just like your pussy with his cock, devouring each other in desperation for a taste of something good in all the wretchedness.

Joel’s cock drilled into you. Merciless, fast, painful. All you knew before was hunger and suffering. With him, it had all disappeared. It was just Joel now. He consumed you, turning you from a discarded body passed from one raider to the other to Good Cunt. You liked the sound of those words on his lips.

“Just like that, Cunt,” he hissed as you milked his cock, your thighs cramping as your muscles contracted. Something pulled somewhere and you screamed in pain and your cunt tightened for him. Warm cum spilled inside you, the sensation a distracting relief in the midst of the pain.

Tears slipped down the sides of your face, cooling your skin.

“Did well. Did so well, Cunt,” he praised as he tucked himself back inside. He hadn’t felt so good in forever. Such a relief. Such an unburdening of stress and anxiety over his smuggling and its chances of success. He zipped himself up and bent over to retrieve his weapons.

“How do you want to go?” He asked, weighing the gun in one hand and knife in another as he looked down at your debauched body.

You made your choice, thanked him for his mercy and closed your eyes.

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My Masterlist

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