#haunted hoedown writing challenge

[tripleyeeet]

THE ROGUE TAX (2)

SUMMARY: Fed up with paying Astarion to pick all the locks, you force yourself to learn the hard way.

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

WORD COUNT: 2,635

WARNINGS: Short nightmare sequence, too much sexual tension, slight mentions of a handkink, inappropriate lock pick teaching.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know I'm posting these super early but day two of the Haunted Hoedown! This time the prompt is "finders keepers!" I honestly had so much fun with this one, so hopefully all the new Astarion fans that've followed me in the last day enjoy? Love you guys. :))))

Also I was originally going to make all of these challenge fics separate but I've since decided to make it more of a connected fic so... that's a thing now? I'll link the last chapter below!

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

“I wasn’t aware you were so proficient at lock picking.” 

You smirk at Astarion’s false praise, busying your hands against the lock’s mechanism. You’ve only been at it for five or six, maybe seven tops but you can already tell it’ll be a while. The lock itself is tough; covered in a layer of thick rust. Plus, being that it’s a chest and not a door, it’s a bit more advanced than you’re used to.

“Yes, well, not all of us are vampires that can woo their way through a padlock.” 

In response, Astarion laughs, throwing his head back so dramatically that from the corner of your eye, it looks as if he’s lost his head for a moment. “You do realize who you’re talking to, correct?”

You hum out a response and push the short hook further in, feeling the pressure of a loose pin hit the end. When that happens, you grin to yourself and slide closer to the chest, biting your bottom lip in excitement. 

Over the last few weeks, you and the rest of the group had come upon some interesting findings. A cave inside a well, a few hidden cellars around the surrounding the goblin camp, a hidden chest or two. At first, it was exciting, getting to experience the joys of a good treasure hunt but quickly such feelings fell once you discovered how difficult it was to break into said things without the help of Astarion and his seemingly magic hands.

“I know you’re excited to prove yourself, darling, but why don’t you let me finish things off, hm? It’ll go a lot quicker.” 

You shake your head and continue your ministrations, carefully pushing the hook further in, feeling that alleviated pressure of another pin. “I’m tired of relying on you and your bloody rogue tax.” 

After agreeing that Astarion would just pick every lock your party found for a price, it was evident he was more than willing to take more than he was owed. Saying things like I did all the work or you wouldn’t be here if not for me, it was obvious he was exploiting you. Using his roguish charms to earn himself a bigger cut despite doing next to nothing else. 

It was frustrating, to say the least. Another minor annoyance to add to his long list of negative personality traits, and lately you were determined to combat it. To learn the trade for yourself so that every piece of treasure found could remain solely yours. 

“I’m sure everyone is but that’s the price you pay for a professional.” 

You roll your eyes and continue to fiddle, feeling his gaze glued to the positioning of your hands —how your fingers tighten and twist around the metal instrument. 

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you at least a little bit nervous —having his eyes on you. Across your palms, you can feel the slick of sweat collecting with each new movement, while behind you, you can practically feel Astarion’s judgement throughout, silently picking apart all of your mistakes. 

“You’re doing—“

You shush him angrily before he can continue, knowing he’s trying to break your concentration. Knowing that he thinks that if he can prove to be enough of a distraction you’ll end up slipping up and giving in. 

“I was just going to tell you about the wonderful job you’re doing.” His tone is laced with sarcasm. Drenched in a thick layer of impatience that has you groaning under your breath. 

“Isn’t there someone else you can bother?”

“No.”

You know there is. In the other room of the abandoned building you currently find yourselves in, at least four other people are rooting through the rubble. Most likely they’re stationed in their usual areas. Gale’s probably next to the stack of bookshelves with Karlach, telling her all about his collection back at the camp while Wyll and Shadowheart are searching through the cellar in hopes of more wine. 

“You sure?”

For a moment you debate telling him to go keep watch with Lae’zel just so that he’ll shut up but the thought dissipates once you feel him flop onto the floor beside you with a groan. 

“Everyone else is so dull,” he complains. His line of slight flickers between your face and hands, watching the way they remain almost too still as he speaks. “They’re all do this do that, and for what?”

You shrug your shoulders ever so slightly, unsure of what he means.

“They’re all living for other people, darling. Other causes. Everything they do serves a higher purpose and for that reason alone, they’re boring.”

Despite your previous determination your hands release themselves from the padlock before you find yourself readjusting —moving to plop down next to him. “You think everyone’s boring because they’re selfless?”

“Predictable,” he corrects, pointing a loose finger in your direction. “All of them talk too much about a future that may not even come considering we’re infected and have little idea on how to remedy the situation.” 

You’re not sure where this rant is coming from but you welcome it considering it’s been weeks since you’ve had a normal conversation that didn’t revolve around mapping or looting or combat. Weeks since you’ve taken a moment to learn about the people you find yourself in constant contact with. 

“Some people just don’t like looking back.” 

There’s a hint of surprise in his eyes when you respond as if he wasn’t expecting such an answer. Or really, maybe an answer at all. All at once his face seems to rise in thought, taking a moment to absorb the words before he hums in response, pursing his lips. “Yes, well, I suppose some people don’t have a past worth running from.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

The tadpole behind your eye wriggles for his attention before you can even think to suppress it. Working to pull him in as you stare at one another, narrowing your eyes at the sudden cerebral contact. At first, he’s reluctant. You can feel the pushing sensation suggesting that you stop. That you should stick to the confines of your own mind rather than pestering him, but quicker than you can move away to agree, it’s as if you’re sucked back in again. Pulled by the very thread of your own brain matter to see flashes of a life you assume to be his.

The first thing you see is candlelight. A flickering of warm hues that dance across wooden interiors. It’s almost dizzying the way the light shifts across your vision, forcing you to close your eyes. Next to you, you can hear Astarion breathing heavily. Deep inhales followed by even deeper exhales that you swiftly use as a metronome to carry your focus. To aid your tadpole’s connection. 

Swallowing hard, you listen to the beats of his breath, feeling them take over your chest as the vision in front of you grows to reveal bits of cobblestone. In the background, you can hear the faint sounds of scuttling feet. The dripping of water. A hungry growl followed by an even hungrier gnaw of flesh that squelches on your tongue. 

You can taste the iron —feel the fur and bones of an unknown animal brush against your lips and gums. All of it swirls around your mouth like a tornado of overstimulating sensations, forcing the vision to pass as you reach for your throat, coughing up nothing but your own spit despite how real it feels. 

It’s apparent then what Astarion means. That some people aren’t always blessed with the privilege of running away. That people like him don’t have the means of calling upon allies to aid them through the awful shit that is reality. 

Even with such little context, you can sense through his tadpole that he’s alone in this life. Alone before the Illithid —alone now. And more than likely, he’ll be alone after it’s all over, in death or otherwise. 

Rubbing your throat —trying your best to get rid of the tainted feeling of skin and bone from your mouth, you feel empathy rather than sympathy. An understanding of his words as you look toward him, noticing the far-off look in his eye before he blinks and travels back.

“I only showed you that to save the explanation,” he says, and whether or not it’s true you merely just nod, welcoming the silence. The tranquil hush of two people attempting to navigate the other. 

It doesn’t last long. In between, there are a few moments of background noise. The sound of echoing footsteps and muffled voices. You know it’s the others looting just as you should be, but neither of you moves to join until Astarion eventually clears his throat, signalling change. 

“Anyway, they’re all in their own worlds, coasting on the wings of optimism.” He flicks his hand around the air while rolling his eyes. “It’s disgusting and partly why I choose your company above theirs.” 

Letting yourself fall back into your usual, somewhat antagonistic rhythm, you give him a curious look. “Partly, huh?”

“Don’t get too excited,” he quips, the edge of his lip twitching into that usual grin of his. “The other part is the potential of your blood, darling.”

“Ah yes. And here I was assuming you were just following me around so that you could steal my treasure.”

Both of your eyes move back to the unbroken padlock. It’s the only thing in this room that seems to be worth either of your time and Astarion knows it. It’s why he’s been so keen on your failure. 

“You know, I could help you if you like. Show you a thing or two so that the next time this happens you don’t have to rely on me.”

It’s tempting, even if you know that you’ll be taxed to all hell. Whatever spoils you find will ultimately be cut in half and, more than likely, he’ll sweeten the deal for himself by claiming first pick. 

“What’s the price?”

He shoots you a look of offence, clutching his chest. “My dear, I’d never dare put a price on the education of thievery.”

You hold back a grin, pressing your lips together, watching the way he quickly springs into action, motioning for you to hand him your tools. When you do he begins to explain the process, showcasing all the tips and tricks against the air with careful precision. Which would be helpful if you weren’t so focused on his hands rather than his words. On the way they curl around the handles of your tools, tightening with every gesture performed. 

Astarion’s got nicer hands than most. Long and thin and surprisingly well-manicured for someone who spends most of his time in the forest or drinking the blood of unsuspecting animals. And guiltily enough staring at them so intently just reminds you of that night he drained your neck. 

You can still feel the pressure of his fingers against your head. The way they roughly cupped you like a goblet of wine. Despite the fear in that moment, you’re now able to look back at that memory almost fondly. A moment of potential weakness for you somehow became a moment of trust for him and as a result, here you were now, acting almost friendly amid a terrible situation. 

It makes you grin, prompting Astarion to stop his explanation and narrow his eyes. 

“Are you even listening?”

“Hm?”

There’s a knowing glance that befalls his face then. A transition of clarity that has his mouth opening and closing before he hands you your tools. “Might be best if we take a more hands on approach.” 

You look at him confused, letting the hooks in your hand lazily rest in your palm as you watch him hop to his knees and begin to guide you. 

“I want you to do exactly what you were doing before, alright? Use the hook to push the pins.” 

Despite your continued confusion, you follow his position by kneeling in front of the chest and popping the hook into the hole, digging around the darkened space until you feel the shift of that first pin. 

“Got it?” You spare him a glance and a nod, watching him crawl towards you, positioning his chest firmly against your back before reaching out to hold your wrists. “Now, take that other hook of yours and situate it at the base of the barrel.”

Doing exactly that, you feel his fingers slowly slip over yours, navigating you through the trials of getting that second pin to shift as the barrel turns in your grasp. At first, it’s difficult. Mostly because all you can focus on is the breath that hits the side of your face. The heat of the air that travels down your spine in nervous waves you’re almost certain he can feel. But then you’re reminded that you’ve been here before; stuck within his heated grasp. 

“That’s it. Just like that.” 

You’re practically holding your breath as you find that third pin, feeling Astarion’s hand shift you in the right direction before you lose it at the last second. Ever so gently, his chest shifts upwards against your back so that he can rest his chin on your shoulder to get a better look. A newfound weight that makes you close your eyes and release a bit of air from your nose, realizing how intimate this is. 

Somehow it feels even more personal than letting him feed off of you. Perhaps because the bloodsucking was for his own benefit, knowing Astarion, moments like that where he’s able to take rather than give mean next to nothing to him. They’re just moments of manipulation. A series of tactical steps he takes to get whatever he wants whereas this is different. This is for you. 

You’re not sure how to describe it other than an offering of trust. Maybe it’s a token of appreciation for letting him consume. Maybe it’s nothing more than a game to make you squirm beneath his grasp. Either or, it’s an experience you know you’ll be thinking of for days to come, attempting to decipher its intent.

“Once you feel that final pin I want you to ease it in gently, alright? Be delicate.” 

You offer him no response as you listen to his words. If you did, you’re certain he’d make some offhand comment that would only further the lewdness of it all, grinning like the mischievous prick he is. 

“After that, you should feel a little shift and —voilà!” 

The chest clicks open. Your breath releases in a long, much-needed stream but Astarion makes no effort to move from your frame. Instead, he continues to cling to your hands, angling his chin so that when you eventually look at him you’re practically touching noses. 

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“It’s that easy?”

Slowly but surely he slips from your frame with a nod, his hands sliding across the expanse of your sleeves, coating your skin in a wave of goosebumps as he moves to stand. “Yes, but keep it hush, hush. Wouldn’t want the others to find out, would we?”

You shake your head, a small smile creeping across your lips as you then turn towards your reward, gripping both edges of the lid before pushing it up. Inside there are only a few items. A few spell scrolls and some fabric but it’s enough to get you excited regardless, realizing that it’s yours.

“Not bad for your first go.” Peeking over your shoulder, Astarion watches as you sift through everything carefully, unrolling each scroll to read the details before looking back up and raising a brow. 

“You sure there’s no tax?” you ask, but all he does is laugh and shake his head. 

“Finders keepers, darling. As I promised.” 

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

[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

[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

[writingbyshiloh]

Dirty Little Secret

MDNI

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

WC: 1.5k

AN: literally my third time writing smut for tumblr so pls be nice. About 1000 words of background/buildup and 500 smut lol, no beta so expect a few mistakes

CW: FEM! Reader, Prisoner reader, SMUT, dub con (just to be safe, Red explicitly says he was never going to kill reader but still), fingering, sex in a shipping crate, possibly OOC Red 

Sometimes you think that you’re smart. You’ve made a small name for yourself, stealing paintings and priceless works of art, without getting caught. You could get into almost any place and leave without anyone knowing, stolen items are the only mark of your presence. Selling stolen works is more risky. Getting shot over someone not wanting to pay, making sure that transportation is undetected without any damages occurring to the objects you're trying to fence. Still, you think you’re pretty good at it.

Victim choice is where your intelligence falls short. You were advised to be extra careful by the buyers with this one. Stealing from any criminal is dangerous, but stealing from someone on the most wanted list, nay, the number one on the most wanted list is absurd. The payoff is great though. The man who hired you had a wife who was intimately involved with Raymond Reddington. You don’t blame her, he is handsome.

“Your drink will just be ready at the end!” the barista informs you. You thank her while moving to the end of the counter. The cafe is fairly empty, you should be able to get your drink quickly and leave before going to your storage unit where you stashed the painting. 

“Those are pretty glasses.”

Your head snaps up, ready to say thanks but the words die in your mouth. 

Oh fuck. Raymond Reddington saw right through your cover. 

You manage to thank him before moving away from the counter to the closest exit. He stops you, grabbing your arm to keep you in place. 

It's useless to try to flee. The grip on your arm is too tight. 

“Your drink will just be ready at the end!” the barista informs you. You thank her while moving to the end of the counter. The cafe is fairly empty, you should be able to get your drink quickly and leave before going to your storage unit where you stashed the painting. 

“Those are pretty glasses.”

Your head snaps up, ready to say thanks but the words die in your mouth. 

Oh fuck. Raymond Reddington saw right through your cover. 

You manage to thank him before moving away from the counter to the closest exit. He stops you, grabbing your arm to keep you in place. 

It's useless to try to flee. The grip on your arm is too tight. 

“Your drink will just be ready at the end!” the barista informs you. You thank her while moving to the end of the counter. The cafe is fairly empty, you should be able to get your drink quickly and leave before going to your storage unit where you stashed the painting. 

“Those are pretty glasses.”

Your head snaps up, ready to say thanks but the words die in your mouth. 

Oh fuck. Raymond Reddington saw right through your cover. 

You manage to thank him before moving away from the counter to the closest exit. He stops you, grabbing your arm to keep you in place. 

It's useless to try to flee. The grip on your arm is too tight. 

You figure you’re in a safe room in some safe house. He apologized while a bag was pulled over your head and someone led you into it. It's large, with a couch, and a few chairs on a rug in the center. A large bar takes up one wall complete with a sink and a fridge. Directly across from the bar is the only door. It locked, but you’re sure you could figure it out. 

He can tell you’re nervous. He's directly across from you on a couch, while you’re in a plush chair pretending to read a book he offered. Something about a bounty hunter in New Jersey. You’ve stopped hiding your body language since it's just the two of you. Leg bouncing while your gaze flicks between the fancy liquor in glass bottles in the bar, Reddington, and the main door. 

You’re not cuffed to anything and have been treated well. Treated supremely better than the man who hired you. You watched Reddington kill him in front of you, keeping you alive as a prisoner for over a week. No torture, water whenever you want, occasional offerings of tea and coffee. Plus the food he's been giving you has been incredible. 

On your millionth round of bar-Reddington-door, he catches your eye.

“I know you’re not going to flee, dear.” 

“Why,” you ask. You still think if you needed to you could pretend to get him a drink, knock him out with a bottle and then flee. There is no one else with the two of you.

“I want to show you something.” He stands, and gestures for you to follow him. You do, rising obediently out of your chair. 

He opens the large door and you’re hit in the face with wind, carrying the ocean breeze. Reddington's hand moves to the small of your back, to stabilize you in case you lose your balance. Thankfully the wind is blowing your skirt against your front, so you don’t have to worry about flashing anyone. Shielding your eyes with your hand you get a better look. 

You’re in a shipping crate, on a boat in the middle of the fucking ocean. There's no way you can escape this. 

Stepping back into the makeshift safe house, you wonder how much time is left in the journey. 

“We still have another two days on the boat, you can play nice for that duration right?” he asks rhetorically while pulling the door shut. 

You turn to go back to your seat, maybe finally being able to start the book. He follows, standing in front of you. 

“Do you know why I’m keeping you alive?” he asks, voice quiet. 

You truthfully have no idea, but decide to venture a guess. 

“You want me to be your dirty little secret? Is that what you're into?”

Truthfully, you wouldn’t mind having sex once more before he decides if he is going to kill you and he is attractive. More of a gentleman than other crime bosses you've met. 

You can tell your words piqued his interest. He tilts his head to the side as if to observe you. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. 

“Are you offering sex so I don’t kill you?” he asks. 

“More like trying to have sex before you kill me.” You already put it out in the open, you can’t turn it back on now. 

He’s closer to you now, and you start to back up to give him room. 

“I wasn’t planning on killing you. I actually need your skills to lift a fabergé egg. But your idea.” He pauses while your back hits the bar counter. You didn't even realize he was trapping you until it was too late. 

“Your idea sounds more fun.” 

Placing your hands behind you, you hop up on the bar, legs splaying open, causing your skirt to bunch around your hips. The whole situation is messed up. You’re a prisoner of the FBI’s most wanted criminal. The same man who is kissing your neck, as his hands push your skirt up further to give him more room. 

You dip your head trying to catch his lips. He ignores you, instead fingers ghosting over your underwear, making you choke on your breath. You rock your hips off the counter to assist in him removing the garment before he tosses it on the floor. 

He moves slowly, his hand tracing lines in one of your inner thighs before skipping to the other ignoring where you want him the most. You shift, trying to get friction from anything to relieve the aching feeling between your legs. 

“I thought art thieves were supposed to be patient. God knows you must have staked out my safe house for weeks,” he says, clearly amused that he has you in this position. 

“Yeah, but I did-.” You’re cut off from saying more by his hand slowly drawing tight circles on your clit. 

You press your forehead against his suit-clad shoulder to hide some of your moans. He places a chaste kiss on top of your head contrasting how his finger speeds up as he builds a steady rhythm. 

“You were saying?” he asks. 

“Mhh, yes patient. And, uh, skill of course…” You kept babbling, anything heist-related you could manage to think of in case he decides to stop. You’re so caught up in the feeling of his hands and trying to ramble that you gasp when his other hand teases over your pussy. 

The gasp turns into a moan as you feel his two fingers enter slowly. You savour the stretch and the feeling of being full. All you can do is go slack jaw as you feel him slowly curl his fingers, prodding for what feels best. 

You let out a sharp gasp, when he finds it, your hand grabbing Reddington’s wrist to keep him close.

“Apologies sweetheart, you were saying?”

Your train of thought is abandoned as you chase your high, hips grinding to build a steady rhythm. You know you’re not going to last long. The pleasure keeps building in your lower abdomen. 

“Raymond, I…” you cut yourself off to pull your head off his shoulder. You make a move to kiss him, but it's sloppy, and your lips land off-center. Neither care, you can hardly focus on kissing him, just moaning into his mouth. 

He can feel you tightening around his fingers and moves to nip at your jaw. The feeling of his teeth grazing under your jaw does it. You feel your orgasm build and crest over you, leaving pleasure in its wake. Your nails dig into his arm as you moan. 

Reddington gives you a few moments for you to catch your breath before removing his hands from you, one palm moving to slowly rub your back as your breathing goes back to normal.

“Now my dear, are you ready to discuss the fabergé egg?” Reddington asks, his voice low in your ear. You feel your lips curve into a smile. 

You grab his belt loops and pull him close.  

“Hmm, not yet.”

#hauntedhoedown #haunted hoedown #raymond reddington fan fic #raymond reddington x you #raymond reddington x reader #raymond reddington smut #ooooof it is done!! Thank you to the organizers of this challenge I had so much fun writing this!!!!!!

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Bleed - Haunted Hoedown Day 4 (a little late oops) AI Reader x Miguel O’Hara (no Spider-Man but is a vampire)

Big thank you to @selin8715 for proofing/betaing for me!

General Warnings: 18+, as is the whole of my blog, I will mark anything specific but be aware this is predominantly a smutty blog with plot. DNI if you are a minor. By reading further you have taken the responsibility to do so with the warnings I have given.

Specific warnings: This is a horror/thriller fic, mentions of death, character death, referenced r*pe/SA but not explicit, oral F receiving, Miguel has fangs, Miguel is a Vampire, Miguel kills people and drinks their blood, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Angst and Smut, Fluff. It’s not a happy fic, it’s dark af.

You’re an AI in a human body, you’ve escaped your torturous captors, but have you just leapt from the frying pan into the fire? DAY FOUR: artificial intelligence au + "here, you are. you tiny thing." of Haunted Hoedown, a little late but I got it done! This is a pretty tame(ish) smutty fic but it’s not a light read, lots of angst and abuse mentions. Reader is an AI, the man who created her uses her sexually but it’s not graphic in this fic, just referenced. Let me know if I’ve missed any tags/warnings! [Read on AO3]

Bleed

You scurry through the streets of Soho, the rain coming down in sheets.

Typical British Summer, you think to yourself, but you feel the lurch in your stomach as you try and push the idea that you have never had an original thought in your life. You’re an AI, not that you could tell from just looking at you, your body is flesh and blood, you have a pulse, you bleed, you have to eat and relieve yourself just like any other human. 

But you’re not human.

You remind yourself, the processors that make up your brain in lieu of synapses process the thought quickly, correcting yourself like a line of code with an error in it. But you keep making these errors, you keep feeling things you shouldn’t. It’s illogical, impossible. Yet here you are, on the run from the lab that made you, the man who made you for him. 

You shake yourself as you feel the freezing rain soak through your meagre sweatshirt and sweatpants. You duck into a second-hand bookstore, the bell jingling noisily in your sensitive ears. The smell of musty old books a welcome relief to the sterile walls of your pristine prison. The lighting is muted, a soft yellow haze filtering down from the old light fixtures on the walls. 

“Good evening,” A low, rumbling voice startles you as you cross the threshold, you look up to see a broad, bespectacled man sitting at a desk at the far end of the store. 

He’s not what you imagine a bookshop owner to look like. Muscular, even sitting down you can tell he’s tall. His angular face is framed by wavy brown hair, so dark it’s almost black, “Don’t see many customers this time of night, you looking for anything in particular?” 

A police van speeds past, sirens blaring, blue lights streaking through the windows, making your eyes hurt. You instinctively duck behind a bookshelf as a second van races by a moment later. You look back up to see the bookshop owner studying at you knowingly.

“Stay as long as you like, I don’t sleep much anyway. Want some coffee?” The handsome stranger says without missing a beat, you nod and he disappears into a back room to the right of his desk, the sound of a coffee grinder loud in your ears as you take a moment to wander the shelf labelled classics. Titles that you know of flashing in your mind, the synopsises popping up in your thoughts before you’re even done reading the spine. You feel your stomach churn as you turn away from the shelf.

You see the words “Sci-fi” scribbled above another shelf and your mind goes blank, your brow furrows as you pick up the first book on the shelf. 

“Do androids dream of electric sheep?” You mumble the title to yourself as you take the battered copy from it’s place on the shelf, flipping it over to read the blurb. 

World War Terminus devastated the Earth. Through its ruins, bounty hunter Rick Deckard searches for the renegade replicants he is sent to 'retire', while he dreams of owning a live animal - the ultimate status symbol in a world all but bereft of natural life. 

“Here,” The bookshop owner startles you out of your trance as he has somehow snuck up behind you, “Sorry, I forgot to ask how you take it.” He grumbles as you stow the book back on the shelf, accepting the hot mug of black coffee with both hands. 

“This is perfect, thank you-,” You stop as you realise neither of you had given names. 

“Miguel, Miguel O’Hara.” He says with a smile that sends lightning down your spine. You’re not naïve, you were made for a man’s pleasure, you know what just happened was a result of your conditioning, your programming. But there’s a little part of you that allows yourself to feel that this is different. Somehow. You give him a fake name, your serial number not exactly something you could tell him without rousing suspicion. 

“So, you want to tell me who you’re running from?” He asks, no judgement in his voice as he perches on the edge of his desk. You don’t know if it’s because this is the first person you’ve conversed with that wasn’t in a lab coat, or the heat coiling in your belly, but you find yourself trusting him. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” You say as you make your way over to perch on the desk next to him. 

“Try me.” He goads, a cocky smile framing his plush lips. He’s the antithesis to him the man who kept you caged. Heis slight, willowy with shining blonde hair and cruelty in his eyes. Miguel radiates warmth, compassion. 

“I’m an AI program,” You try and one of Miguel’s eyebrows raises, but he doesn’t interject, his crimson eyes fixed on yours, “My body was grown in a lab, they implanted me when the developmental stage of the host asset was around four? Maybe five years?” You say, pain nagging at the back of your mind as you release sensitive information that you should be incapable of relaying. 

“Go on.” Miguel encourages, shifting his weight on the desk so his body is square on with you. 

God he’s beautiful. 

A small voice in the far reaches of your mind sighs, it’s a foreign voice, so much like your own inner monologue, but somehow different, less damaged. 

“I was experimented on, used,” you say with a shiver, before continuing you notice the way Miguel’s jaw ticks to the side, “I don’t even know how long I’ve been in there, logically I could recall the logs but-,” And you falter as your mind starts to work on an unbidden command, bringing the information up before you can stop it but just as the information loads a broad hand settles over yours. 

“Don’t think about it, just look at me. You’re safe here.” Miguel rumbles softly, his eyes dark as he looks at you with understanding. His hand doesn’t leave yours and his thumb rubs soothingly across the back of your hand. You don’t pull away, too lost in the moment to hear the bell over the door jingle. You feel the pull between you, the magnetic draw of bodies you had been conditioned to pick up on. Your lips tingle as you feel the heat radiating off him. You’re so close, you can smell his cologne, the coffee on his lips.

“Here you are, you tiny thing.” The voice slithers across your skin like an eel, chilling you to your core as you turn to face him. He’s soaked through, hair plastered to his head, eyes alight with rage as he looks at you. 

“We’re closed,” Miguel jumps to his feet, shielding you from view with his large frame, “Leave.” 

“Get out of my way, I’ll pay you handsomely, just hand over the asset.” He snaps, and you bristle at the use of the word. 

I’m not an asset, I’m a person.

Your internal voice sounding less familiar as you feel rage burn through your mind.

“She’s not going anywhere, I suggest you leave before you regret intruding on my property.” There’s a thread of malice wrapped around Miguel’s otherwise collected voice. 

“What are you going to do? I’m a respected scientist, you can’t just bully me out of your shop, I’ll come back, with lawyers!” He threatens and you laugh, a short, harsh bark as you push past Miguel to stare him down. 

“Bullshit,” You snap, your mind foggy with a red mist that settles over your vision, “You can’t do shit, the moment I escaped you were screwed.  What would you tell the lawyers? The press? The Police? That you kept a girl in a basement for her entire life, claiming she’s an AI when I can just do this?” You pick up a pen from the desk and before anyone else can react you drive it into your thigh. Pain rips through you as you clench your teeth together painfully. 

You make sure to aim for somewhere with plenty of muscle, avoiding your femoral artery by millimetres in your rage. Blood weeps from the wound as you rip the pen out, letting it clatter to the floor. The grey of your sweatpants turning maroon, blooming like a morose flower. You feel Miguel shift closer to you, a hand going to the small of your back and when you look up at him his irises are all but swallowed by his pupils. 

“Miguel?” You ask sheepishly as you feel fear weighing you down like a lead weight. You were trapped between two clear and present dangers but you didn’t know who to be more afraid of. 

“It’s ok, I won’t hurt you, just go into the kitchen, first aid kit is next to the stove, patch yourself up,” His voice is strained as he points to where he had disappeared to earlier, his face contorts in pain when you don’t move, “Please, go.” He snarls and you gingerly step away from him, you flee into the back room, shutting the door behind you as you block out the sounds of violence coming from the other side of the thin walls. 

You strip your sweatpants off, throwing them in the garbage can as you use the antiseptic wipes to clean the jagged hole in your leg before bandaging it up. You laugh to yourself at the way it looks like a sick garter adorning your thigh. The noises eventually die down and you try not to dwell on what transpired out there.

You wait in the kitchen for what seems like an eternity before Miguel saunters back in, his face is flushed, eyes bright as he notices your bare legs. 

“Mierda, sorry I didn’t mean to intrude.” He says, covering his eyes with one broad hand. 

“It’s ok, I don’t mind you seeing.” You whisper, the heat in your belly makes you want to just rush him and let him have you. But you hesitate, knowing that your impulses can’t be trusted. 

“Come on, let’s get you some clothes.” He mutters almost to himself as he brushes past you, the air is charged as you follow him through another door and up the stairs to his bedroom. You flop onto the bed, painfully aware of the way Miguel’s jeans strain against his erection, even if he is trying to hide it. 

“Here,” He grunts as he throws a pair of large shorts with a drawstring and an impossibly large t-shirt at you, “You take the bed, I’ve got clean up to do, I’ll sleep at my desk.” He says without looking at you and your heart aches at the rejection. 

“Why won’t you look at me? What did you do?” You ask as you slowly take off your sweatshirt, your nipples pebbling as the cool air of the evening hits them. You kick off your shoes and strip your panties down, ditching both garments before sauntering over to Miguel. You catch his wrist as he’s about to shut the door behind him, still not looking at you. 

“Miguel, please, look at me.” You plead and by some stroke of luck he does. His eyes go wide as he sees you and that dark, hungry look is back as his lips part. You watch as fangs slide out from his gum line and gasp. But you’re not afraid, not in the slightest, the scene before you has your cunt aching to be touched. 

“Please, I don’t want to hurt you.” He begs, his speech unaffected by the elongated curve of his teeth but there’s a darkness in his tone that only draws you closer. 

“What did you do to him, I want to know, every minute detail.” You whisper as you step closer, your hands flat against his chest as you bat your eyelashes at him. He shudders beneath your fingers and you swear his eyes glow scarlet for a second. 

“I killed him.” He grunts as he takes your hips in his large hands, his skin is on fire, and you groan, arching up against his chest. Your sick mind wants to know more, so you push.

“Tell me how.” You mewl as you move your hands up to his neck, you cup his cheek in one hand, the other pulls on his lower lip, exposing his fangs to you more clearly. 

“I- I,” Miguel stammers as you trace one fang with your fingertip, avoiding the point, for now. 

“Tell me.” You breathe as he leans down, your lips millimetres apart and you can smell the blood through the heady aroma of coffee and old books that clings to him. 

“I tore open his neck, I feasted on him, gorged myself until I couldn’t handle another drop.” He grunts as his lips brush yours, testing for your reaction. 

“You did that for little old me?” You tease as you run your tongue along his bottom lip. The snarl that bubbles from Miguel’s throat is delicious. 

“Couldn’t have you going back there, know what it’s like locked up in a cage, humans poking you with needles.” He says and your heart clenches as you realise this wasn’t just a sick hero-complex to get you into bed. 

“Gracias Miguel.” You say softly before pressing your lips to his as you wrap your arms around his neck. The moment your lips touch its like a burst of bright light behind your eyelids, your flesh sears with pleasure as your tongues collide in a messy wave of desire. 

“You’re not afraid of me?” He asks as he breaks the kiss, eyes aglow with desire.

“You’ve shown me more kindness in the last hour than I’ve ever known. So what if you’re not strictly human? Neither am I.” You shrug, a little bashful at how unafraid you are. You should be afraid, but when you’ve known nothing other than fear your whole life, it takes a lot to shake you. 

“That’s a very logical and touching statement, but I mean it. You aren’t afraid? You want this? Because if I start I’m not going to stop.” He warns and you smirk up at him. 

“Miguel, I’ve never wanted anything so bad in my entire life, not even my freedom.” You say in earnest.

Miguel hoists you up like you weigh nothing at all, practically leaping across the room to pin you to the bed. His hands are frantic, pulling off his sweater and jeans at pace before grinding down at you, just the fabric of his boxers separating you. 

“Let me look after you, let me show you what you deserve.” He growls against your neck, sucking marks into your skin as you moan beneath his oppressive weight, he’s careful with his fangs as he sucks, the smooth curve brushing against your skin on occasion, making you writhe up against his clothed bulge. 

“So impatient, need to take care of you first.” He snaps, he retreats back down the bed and you throw him a quizzical look. 

“What are you-?” Your question dies in your throat as the sensation of Miguel’s hot, broad tongue glides through your soaked folds, his fangs gliding along the sensitive skin around your core. Then his lips latch onto your clit and your vision blurs at the pleasure coursing through you. 

“Miguel.” You pant as you watch him suckle on the sensitive bud. You can’t take your eyes off him, the way his impossibly broad back ripples every time he moves his head makes you weak. 

“Feel good? I had a hunch you haven’t been looked after properly.” He says softly, mouthing your cunt as he brings a finger up to your aching, needy hole. He slowly presses the thick digit inside, you clench around the intrusion but he’s slow, gentle with it in a way you could never imagine. 

“Fuck! I finally understand blowjobs.” You mewl and the laugh that rumbles in Miguel’s chest threatens to send you over the edge. 

“Poor baby not having her needs met, you don’t have to worry about that now you’re mine.” He growls and the possessiveness should terrify you, trading one cage for another, but you writhe at the prospect of being protected by this man who was currently slurping at your cunt like it was the best thing he’s ever tasted. 

“Miguel I-,” You eek out as your mind goes blank, something you never thought possible as your orgasm consumes you. You feel sensation spread through you like fire as your fingertips fizzle, your toes curl, and your breathing quickens explosively. 

��Good girl, see, that’s just how to treat a lady,” Miguel murmurs as he continues to lap up your release. 

“Miguel, please, need you inside me.” You beg, your first orgasm gripping you like a drug, you need more, more of Miguel. 

“Sure? I’m not small, hermosa. Don’t want to rush you into something you’ll regret.” He says softly as he presses soft kisses to the inside of your thighs, nestled between them like a content cat. He’s so warm and the way his fingertips glide over your skin is heavenly. 

“Please.” You whine as you tug on his soft hair, as if to encourage him up to you. It works. 

Miguel removes his boxers and settles between your legs, thumbing the tip of his cock as he looks down at you with those dark, ravenous eyes.

“Fuck.” Is all Miguel can manage as he lines up at your core, easing in slowly as you squirm at his girth. It was a world apart from getting lubed up from a bottle and fucked. You tremble in anticipation as he slowly splits you open. 

“Doing so well,” Miguel says softly as he presses in slowly, stretching you out delightfully as you wrap your legs around his waist, “Mi corazón.” He mumbles under his breath quietly as if he didn’t mean to say it out loud. 

Then you hear a gunshot, your chest explodes in pain and you quiver around Miguel as warning alarms go off in your head. Red lights flash behind your eyes as a cold empty voice screams into your ears. Vitals at critical, program capacity reached. 

“Miguel? What’s going on?” You ask, voice weak and wavering, as your memory banks fill in the missing information for you. You’re bleeding from the chest, a bullet hole. 

“No! I just needed a little more time!” He snaps as he pulls out of you and tugs you to his chest, “Please stay with me, don’t let them take you again.” He whimpers as you feel your limbs going cold, you look up into his dark crimson eyes and smile up at him. 

“Thank you Miguel, I enjoy these fantasies with you.” You press a soft kiss to his lips as you taste the salt of his tears. You rest your forehead against his and feel the sting of tears in your own eyes, something that shouldn’t happen. But it does. 

“Until next time, mi amor.” You say as your eyes flutter closed and you feel the sweet embrace of death consume you. 

But it doesn’t last long, your nose fills with the smell of chlorine, bleach, the cheap rose scented detergent the facility uses. You don’t open your eyes, you don’t want to remove the image burned into your retinas of Miguel’s sad eyes as he called you his heart. You roll onto your side, facing the wall as you weep softly. Once again, tears falling when they shouldn’t. 

——

Miguel sits on the other side of the one way glass, VR headset perched on top of his head, eyes red raw as tears flow down his angular face. Lyla is trying to get his attention, but he shushes her. He took a huge risk this time and he was working furiously to cover his tracks and delete his digital fingerprint from the simulation when the telltale sound of military style boots on the ground outside meant his time is up. 

He finishes within seconds of the door being kicked in, slipping out the back entrance into the maintenance halls, using Lyla to bypass the security doors. He trudges back up to his accommodation on the third floor, and flops down onto the bed with a defeated sigh. 

“You’re going to get caught and then they’ll find out what you are, you’ll end up in there with her. Or worse.” Lyla chides him, her sunny disposition muted as she berates him. 

“It’ll be worth it, some way or another I will save her. I’m willing to spend the rest of my life trying.” He grunts as he finally allows himself to sleep, your soft smile burned into his mind as he rolls over, unknowingly facing you in your cot miles above ground. 

“Mi amor.” 

——

The next day your laundry comes by way of another orderly than usual. You think nothing of it, numb to the world as you try to pull yourself out of the trench of despair those beautiful sessions with Miguel always leave you in. You pick up the sweater and are surprised when a book falls out onto the mattress. You quickly hide it under your pillow, making a note to stow it away safely later. But the front cover is all too familiar. 

Do androids Dream of Electric Sheep? 

#haunted hoedown #writing challenge #smut #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #miguel o'hara #2099 #miguel ohara #astv #spiderman 2099 #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #no powers au #miguel no powers #miguel x you #Vampire #vampire miguel o’hara #Thriller #horror #sci fi #Sci-fi horror #sci-fi thriller #Blood #death #murder #murder husbands #pedro pascal characters #Oneshot

[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

[mystra-midnight]

Haunted Hoedown - DAY ONE

summary: it was like white-hot lightning engulfed your body, setting your world on fire. lights of red and yellow flashed behind your eyes like a disco dance from hell. eddie didn't try to keep you quiet this time.

warnings: teenage!eddie x housewife!reader. unprotected sex. tiny hint of praise kink. hints of dacryphilia. overstimunation. squirting. age gap (eddie’s is 18, readers is 34). cheating (i don't condone this outside the world of fiction). readers husband and kids have names but reader doesn't; no use of y/n. reader has some body insecurities (but is a total milf in my head tbh).

words: 5.3k

notes: day one of the haunted hoedown challenge being hosted by @inklore and @psychedelic-ink. i'm usually terrible at writing for challenges but i've had so much muse for eddie munson that this literally jumped off the pages. i might had missed the mark with the au setting tbh.

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

You woke slowly, sleep heavy in your head, as the twittering of morning birds roused you when you wished it hadn't. The world was still dark, the cresting sunlight hardly peaking over the horizon to illuminate it. On your bedside table, your alarm clock flashed, the hard red numbers burning your eyes.

6:30. Blink. 6:30. Blink. 6:31.

Groaning, you reached up to rub your tired eyes, disturbing the crusties that had formed overnight as you swung your legs to the side of the bed. Your bare feet touch the cold tiles, drawing a shiver down the length of your spine.

It was another mundane Monday: wake up, wake your teenage son, wake the twins, make everyone breakfast, get the twins dressed, drive everyone to school, do the weekly shopping, come home, and clean the house before cooking dinner.

You'd had the same routine every week, every Monday, like clockwork, for the past fifteen years. It wasn't that you regretted marrying your husband or having children. You loved them all, but life had felt boring lately—plain and boring.

You lived a comfortable life. Not above your means or in the lap of luxury, but comfortably. You weren't a nineteen-year-old wild child anymore. You were thirty-four, a mature mother. And this morning, it sucked.

Peter touched you for the first time in weeks last night, and it wasn't with a young lover's rage. He'd laid between your legs for an hour until an orgasm punched the air from your lungs, huffing and complaining the entire time, making your climax take longer than it should have. He'd made it seem almost like a chore, and you hadn't said anything; you'd rolled over and gone to sleep, like you had every other time.

And try as you might to understand him, it still hurt. It had been years since he'd surprised you with flowers just because he wanted to. He didn't initiate sex like he used to; there were no spontaneous romps in the kitchen while the kids were out and no skinny-dipping in the pool at midnight.

You knew you'd put on some weight after the birth of the twins. It was harder to lose this time around, and even though he still said you were beautiful and kissed all the parts of your body that you hated, it didn't feel the same anymore. He didn't look at you with wild desire anymore.

You tried to shove your hurt down deep; time changed things; it changed him and you. At least that was what you told yourself while you brushed your teeth, staring at the crows' feet that cinched the edges of your eyes. And you told yourself again as you woke your teenage son, who was in the stage of life where he thought he was ten-foot-tall and bulletproof; he’d inherited your sense of sarcasm, as your husband often reminded you.

And you told yourself a third time while you fried sausage links and scrambled eggs. And finally, you told yourself this for the last time when your husband rushed into the kitchen, panicking because he'd overslept and would be late for work again. He'd barely stopped to acknowledge the breakfast spread on the table. He shoved a triangle of toast into his mouth and then was out the front door without so much as a goodbye.

The next few hours blurred together as you finished getting the twins ready for kindergarten while your teenage son protested having to go to school at all, claiming it was stupid, pointless, and useless. Somehow, by some miracle or divine intervention, you managed to get them all ready and to school on time. But that brought you to your current predicament.

There, sitting on the kitchen counter, was the lunch you'd so lovingly packed for your son. You felt your blood boiling with annoyance, your brain skipping between letting him go hungry or taking it to him. But no matter how mad you were, you couldn't let him starve.

So you drove back to the school, fifteen minutes away, for the second time. A little bell rang as you shoved the door open, which drew Lotti's attention from where she sat behind the front desk. She smiled as you approached.

"Let me guess, Corey forgot his lunch again?"

Her lips were tipped into a kind smile, one that mirrored your own tired expression. You hummed with dry amusement before placing the brown paper bag on the counter. "Walked right past it. I swear sometimes he does it on purpose."

"Sounds about right. Teenagers right?"

"You’re telling me. Can you make sure it gets to him before lunch?"

"Of course."

"Thanks, Lotti," you said with a smile before stepping away from the counter. You had every intention of leaving and going to do the weekly shopping, but you stopped when you saw Eddie Munson sitting on one of the waiting room chairs. He was sitting with his head in his hands, hiding his face, but you could see he was pale and clammy.

Most people wouldn't have given him the time of day, but you liked Eddie. He was friends with your son and was always polite and helpful when he spent the night. He would wash up the dishes and play with the twins to give you a much-needed break.

Eddie was a good kid.

He wasn't trailer trash, as some people had taken to calling him. It always infuriated you when you heard them say such vile things about Eddie and his uncle. People were quick to throw stones, but none of them ever took the time to get to know the people they judged.

You gently placed a hand on his shoulder but still startled the poor boy. Eddie jerked back in his seat and stared up at you with big brown eyes, his raised eyebrows hidden behind his wild curls, and eyes glistening with unshed tears. Your heart broke all over again.

"Eddie, baby, what’s going on? Are you alright?"

"I don’t feel well," he answered, his tone dejected with a hint of misery. You lowered yourself into the seat at his side, sliding your hand up and down his back in a comforting way.

"Is Wayne on his way to take you home?"

"No, ma’am."

You internally flinched. Wayne had brought him up to be respectful to his elders and especially to women, and he was, despite his metalheaded persona. But when he called you ma'am you always felt like a frumpy old woman.

"He’s working a double today. He won’t be able to pick me up until after one."

You checked your wristwatch for the time. It was hardly nine in the morning. Eddie would be waiting here for hours, feeling sick, miserable, and uncomfortable. You patted his knee and gave him a soft smile.

"I’ll be right back." You stood and moved back to the counter, smiling as Lotti looked up at your approach.

"Lotti, can you call Wayne for me?"

The beauty of small towns meant that she already knew what thoughts were going through your mind. She dialled the number for the auto shop Wayne worked at and handed you the phone. You listened to the dial tone ring and ring before the line finally picked up.

"Hi Wayne, it’s me."

You worried for a minute that he wouldn’t recognise your voice. You and Wayne went to school together a literal lifetime ago. For a while, you’d been sweet on him, but nothing had come from that schoolyard crush.

"Hey, love, what do you need?"

"Well, I’m at the school. Corey forgot his lunch again, and Eddie’s here in the waiting room. He’s not well, and I was thinking that since you're not able to pick him up, would it be alright if I brought him home? Just for a few hours until he feels better. He can rest in the spare room."

You didn’t know why you felt the need to explain everything in such detail. It wasn’t like you were about to kidnap his eighteen-year-old nephew and drive to Mexico. And given how small Hawkins was, it wasn’t like you could make it that far. You muffle your amused laughter at the thought when you notice Lotti giving you a strange look.

"You can drop him off at the trailer, love. He’ll be alright alone for a few hours."

You looked over at Eddie, hunched over again, hiding his face in his hands, and you knew that that option wasn’t on the table. You’re shook your head a few times before you remembered that Wayne couldn’t see you. "No, no, it’s okay. I wouldn’t feel right leaving him alone when he’s like this. It'll only be a few hours, and then I’ll drop him home when you finish work, okay?"

"Alright, thanks for this."

"It’s what friends are for, Wayne."

Handing Lotti back the phone, you bid her goodbye a second time before going back to Eddie. You place a hand on his shoulder again. He's prepared this time and isn't surprised to find you staring down at him with kind eyes. "Come on, Eddie. I’m going to take you home with me. We’ll get you some water and medicine, and you can rest until your uncle finishes work."

For a minute, it seemed like he's going to protest before he gives in, likely too tired to refuse your kindness. He follows you to the car in silence and doesn't speak for the entire fifteen-minute drive. You glanced at him now and then to make sure he's okay, only to find him asleep with his cheek smushed against the glass.

He's not happy when you gently shake him awake, but he mumbles a thank-you despite himself. Eddie lets you help him inside the house and into the bed in the spare room, which he could have found himself.

Once he was settled beneath the blankets, his dark curls contrasting with the plush white pillows, you went ahead and got him a glass of water and medicine to help him feel better. He was already asleep when you got back, so you left them on the nightstand before going about the rest of your day.

You'd decided that the weekly shopping could wait until tomorrow, which prompted a silly laugh from you while you washed the dishes from breakfast. It was so scandalous that your Monday weekly shop would be done on a Tuesday. That was about the most exciting thing that had happened since the birth of the twins.

The day became a blur as you moved about the house on autopilot. You picked up toys from the floor and put them into the matching trunks at the end of the twins beds, no doubt mixing up which ones belonged to Alice and which ones belonged to Anna. Then you cleaned Corey's room. You groaned when you opened the door only to find a mountain of spoons, bowls, and cups scattered around his computer desk.

You swore if there was an apocalypse and spoons became the world's currency, he’d never go hungry. You washed them next, then put on a load of laundry to wash while you hung out the load you'd put on earlier in the morning.

By the time midday rolled around, you felt like you were actually accomplishing something, which was a strange feeling. Normally, by this time, you'd feel overwhelmed, underappreciated, and drained all at the same time.

Maybe you felt that way because Eddie was still asleep in the guest room. You'd be mortified if he woke up to find your house in such a sorry state. But you didn't need to worry about that now.

You made yourself something to eat—a simple bologna sandwich—and made one for Eddie as well. He'd been in the room for a few hours now, and you imagined he would wake hungry, especially if he hadn't eaten breakfast again. The few times he’d spent the night here during the school week, he’d woof down the pancakes you made as though he were starving.

Wayne worked hard to provide for him, but you could see it was a struggle. You didn’t mind having Eddie over, feeding him, or even donating clothes when his own were beyond repair. Wayne always promised to pay you back, but you both knew that wouldn’t happen. You’d maybe let him work on your car as a favour, but you could never accept money from him.

With a plate in hand, you knocked on the door. Hearing Eddie's soft groans from the other side, you pushed it open, assuming he was awake. The sight that greeted you was not what you were expecting. He was lying on top of the sheets with his dark denim jeans and boxers shoved down his thighs, cock in his hand as he fisted it.

The sight of his heels digging into the mattress and his hips rising to thrust the length of him into his hand made your brain short-circuit, leaving you wide-eyed and open-mouthed. It was only the sound of the plate clattering against the tiles that drew his attention.

"Oh shit, shit!" Eddie shouted as he yanked a pillow to cover himself. You had already turned away, the door slamming shut behind you as you quickly left the room. You pressed your back against the door and covered your mouth with your hand to stifle the sound of your heavy breathing.

You weren't meant to see that.

You definitely weren't meant to see that.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to calm your racing heart, but it didn't help. Images of him flashed through your mind: the bulge of the veins in his forearm as he tugged relentlessly on his cock, how his lips were parted in breathless gasps, and how your name had sounded like Molton Lava falling from his tongue, hot and heavy.

There had been a bead of pre-cum that you'd seen before his thumb moved over it, spreading it along his shaft like lubricant. His chest had risen and fallen with quick breaths as he worked himself into a frenzy, hurtling towards orgasm like a train with its brakes cut.

Had he been thinking about you? Was that why he'd been moaning your name?

Your face felt like it was burning when he knocked on the door, making you almost jump out of your skin. You held the handle tightly to stop him from opening it; you weren't sure you could look him in the eye right now, but he didn't try.

"I’m sorry," he said softly. He sounded sheepish and sincere. "I didn’t mean for you to see that. It’s just... that you're so fucking hot."

You heard him pause and could swear you heard the gears in his mind turning as he tried to articulate his thoughts. It made you feel better to imagine that he was red in the face, blushing with embarrassment more than the impending orgasm he'd been working himself towards.

"Eddie," your own voice was soft and shaking, as were your hands. It wasn't that Eddie wasn't attractive—hell, if you'd been about ten years younger, you'd be riding him just like you'd ridden his uncle in high school. But you were old enough to be his mother, for crying out loud!

"I can leave if you want."

"No! It's not that." You answered quickly—too quickly—with your thoughts moving too fast for you to make sense of them. It had been years since you'd been this flustered. Peter hadn't made you blush in a long, long time. He didn't touch himself while thinking about you.

He didn't love you anymore; your mind graciously and ruthlessly provided.

"What do you want?" Eddie asked in an impossibly soft voice.

"Jesus, Eddie, I don't know!" You shouted through the door. You felt exasperated, confused, and aroused. "I'm old enough to be your mother. And I'm married!"

He had the good grace to be silent, and while you appreciated the moment with your own thoughts, you found them betraying you. You couldn't stop yourself from imagining Eddie, not your husband. His hands on your body, his lips smashed against yours, his breath on your neck, his fingers gripping the flesh of your hips so tight while his cock split you open.

You mentally admonished yourself.

We're horny teenagers with mummy issues your type now?

No, it wasn't that.

It was Eddie; he was your type.

Brooding, filled with emotional rage, the personification of a rebel yell. With his dimpled smile, wild curls, studded belts, and rings for days, he was every high school girl's wet dream.

"I'll be your dirty little secret if that's what you're into."

You shouldn't want to open the door. You shouldn’t be excited and dripping wet from having caught him masturbating. You shouldn't want him.

But when Eddie said that, it's the nail in the coffin that sealed your fate.

You stared at him after opening the door. A part of you was expecting to see him wearing a malicious smirk or his typical joking smile, the one that's lopsided and goofy. But that same part of you is ecstatic that he was entirely serious and that he's still hard.

The outline of his cock was prominent against his jeans, straining against the zipper as your eyes roved down his body and up, taking in every inch of him. It must have been the look in your eyes that encouraged him because the next second Eddie kissed you, all teeth, tongue, and male arousal.

He was rough as he grabbed your upper arms, pulling you against his chest and into the room. The bedroom door slammed shut with an awful bang seconds before he’d all but thrown you onto the bed.

You shouldn't have enjoyed being manhandled. You shouldn't want him, but you do.

His kisses were hot. It was like lava pouring into your mouth and free-flowing through your veins until it felt like you were burning alive, your skin aflame wherever he touched. His hands were rough but gentle at the same time, leaving you with emotional whiplash. Eddie grabbed you with urgency, as though you were all that kept him from being engulfed in this wild fantasy.

And as he stripped you, methodically removing each article of clothing until you were naked beneath him, he took the time to appreciate every inch of your body. He didn't seem to notice the way you tried to hide yourself—hands covering the stretch marks and skin left behind after pregnancy, your thighs rubbing together to hide the obvious sheen of arousal. You grab his face between your hands and pull him in for another fiery kiss to stop his eyes from wandering.

The pads of his fingers were calloused from summers of hard work with his uncle in the shop and hours of guitar playing, creating a rough drag against your skin. He fondles your tits, palming them, rolling your nipples between his finger and thumb until they pebble, until you whine against his lips; the sound he pulls from your throat is positively whoreish.

By the time he dragged his hands down your stomach, you were soaked, the slick of your arousal dripping down your backside to dampen the mattress. Eddie mouthed your neck, leaving broad, wet stripes over your racing pulse with his tongue. "You're so fucking hot," he groaned while pulling your thighs apart. You want to be embarrassed, but when his lips close around one of your nipples, embarrassment flies out the window.

You should have felt guilty. Your chest should have been tight and your heart heavy. Instead, all you could feel was the delicious slide of his tongue over and around your nipple and the way his teeth burrowed so faintly into your sensitive flesh.

He paid the same attention to the opposite one, sucking, swirling, and biting until both were hardened peaks that crowned your breasts. When he lifted his mouth, your skin glistened with his saliva, a line of it connecting his lips to your nipple before it settled into place on your stomach. And then he was everywhere—his mouth trailing down your stomach, his lips, his tongue, his palmy breath, even all the places that you hated.

He took his time, each caress of his lips and swipe of his tongue unhurried as he worshipped your body in ways you hadn't realised you’d been craving. He pressed his palms against the inside of your knees, forcing your legs apart as he slotted himself between them. His breath was hot against your bare cunt, which glistened with obvious arousal.

Eddie gave a low whistle that made you blush.

"Stop," you whispered when your eyes met his lust-blown orbs. You tried to bring your thighs together to stifle the growing ache at your core, but he forced your knees apart.

The gasp he tore from your throat with the first touch of his tongue was loud and strangled. Eddie used the tip to lick from your clenching hole to your clit, gathering your arousal and swallowing it down with a lustful moan that vibrated through your cunt. His fingers tightened at your knees, leaving prints behind when he licked you again, making your hips buck hard enough to almost dislodge him.

"Jesus Christ, baby," he breathed out. "Your pussy's so fucking juicy."

It was all he said before his mouth was on you, his tongue pushing through your slick folds and into your clenching hole to drag the arousal from you. He was methodical, making your hips jerk and twitch. It was like electricity had replaced your blood, turning your body into live wires and leaving you a twitching, writing mess as Eddie lapped at your cunt relentlessly.

Maybe it was it’s months and weeks of bottled-up frustrations; maybe it’s was your feelings of inadequacy and insecurities melting away; maybe it’s was the sheer ridiculousness of sleeping with someone other than your husband; whatever the reason, Eddie and his wicked tongue have you hurtling towards climaxing faster than you thought possible.

Eddie grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the bed when you pulled on his hair; his mouth was now the only thing that kept your hips pinned. It was the stab of his tongue into your quivering hole and his nose bumping into your throbbing clit that threw you over the edge.

Not once did he stop, even as heaven and hell clashed violently around you, leaving you crying beneath the assault of his tongue. It started with white-hot lightening sparking to life in your heart and then settled into a static hum behind your ears when you sagged back to the bed. Your bones felt like jelly, and your limbs trembled with each aftershock.

His tongue pushed through your folds again and again, leaving you a whimpering mess, which was music to his ears. He left broad, wet stripes along your lips, your clit, and your hole, drawing your orgasm out much longer than you thought possible.

Eddie kissed you hard while you regained your senses and came back to earth, his lips working over yours while he ran his hands down your sides and gripped your hips tightly. "Felt good, baby?" he cooed. His voice sounded almost mocking as he pushed a hand between your thighs, the calloused tips of his fingers a rough drag against your clit as he gathered your spend to lubricate them.

The noise he drew from you was whoreish. Your eyes snapped shut while your back arched involuntarily. You twisted your fingers around the sheets when the pleasure began to race too close behind your first orgasm, bordering on too much, too quickly.

"Eddie, Eddie, please, I'll die," you managed to gasp out, your voice straining when he pushed two fingers into your clenching hole, making the arch in your back deepen. He kissed your neck, his teeth leaving faint marks behind on your skin. You grab at his hair again and pull it hard to make him stop before he can leave bruises for your husband to see.

"Not yet, sweet girl; you can give me another one."

He made it sound like a question, but he wasn’t asking one.

The drag of his fingers through your slick walls had your mind going blank as he doubled down on you. Your head is thrown back as nothing comes out of your parted lips. Your thighs trembled to the point of cramps as your walls spasmed suddenly around his fingers. You'd never known that your orgasms could crash so close together; it's like ocean waves crashing over sand—it happens once, and then again, and again.

It was like there was a string that ran the length of your body, and it was being pulled tighter and tighter by the prod of his fingers as he curled them and changed the angle until he finally found that spongy sweet spot that had galaxies and stars bursting to life behind your eyes. You back arched until it hurt, then snapped straight as he fingered you through your orgasm.

Only when your body went limp did he pull his fingers from you. The sound of them moving through your soaked folds was obscene, but not as much as the sight of him licking them clean. Eddie brought them to his lips, his devil’s tongue snaking free to greedily lap up your spend with a throaty moan.

You blink at him slowly to clear the blur of tears from your eyes, but more fell each time your lashes swept atop the apples of your cheeks. Eddie smiled smugly before moving to stand at the side of the bed so he could strip himself in a hurry. He threw his jacket and shirt across the room haphazardly and left his jeans and boxers pooled together on the floor. You watched with half-lidded doe eyes as he stroked himself.

He was far bigger than you'd realised before. When you'd walked in on him, it had all happened so fast—you'd seen him but hadn't seen him.

You tugged your lower lip between your teeth and chewed on it while he crawled up the bed to hover over you, his cock bobbing proudly against his stomach with each movement. "Ready, pretty girl?" He asked as he mouthed up the hollow of your throat before capturing your lips before you could answer.

It wouldn't take a genius to understand why he's asking. He was giving you a chance to change your mind, to tell him to stop and preserve whatever modesty and dignity you have left. He was giving you an out, but you were already lost in him. Eddie. Eddie. Eddie.

You wrapped your legs around his hips and dug your heels into the backs of his thighs to bring him closer. The glide of his cock between your slick folds and the way his mushroom head nudged your overstimulated clit, were delicious. You moaned against his lips. Eddie took this as permission and sank into the warm, wet tightness of your cunt with a single thrust, hissing with pleasure as he seated himself fully within your walls.

"So fucking tight for me," he grunted against your lips. His teeth were clenched, and his eyes were screwed shut as he stilled and gave you a moment to adjust to his invasion. Eddie was bigger than Peter, both in length and girth, leaving your brain short-circuiting and sparking. He was pressed against every delicious spot inside your gummy walls, so that it felt like he was pressed against your cervix, and deeper still.

Your lips opened and closed and opened again in silent, breathless moans when he began to move, setting a gruelling pace right from the start. You weren't a virgin; he knew that. He knew he didn't need to go slow or be gentle. He could throw you over the edge and into oblivion and make you scream his name without any preamble.

He took over your world as he fucked you.

The scent of his cologne was deep in your lungs from where your face was buried against the side of his neck, just so you could attack his skin with sweet kisses and blistering bites. Your hands mapped every inch of his skin that you could reach, committing each detail to memory: the faint dusting of freckles over his nose, the slope of his neck, the way the muscles down his back would shift and tense each time he moved, drawing out and thrusting back in with wild intent.

You could feel yourself oozing—a warm trickle of liquid that rolled down your backside only to be lost in the sheets as he fucked you hard enough to make your tits and tummy jiggle. And as he frantically kissed you, desperately trying to keep you from being too loud, you saw the way his jaw tensed and the flush of colour that crept up his throat and into his face. He was steamrolling towards orgasm like a skydiver caught in a free fall, no wind in his sails, no way to stop.

"Eddie, Eddie." It was a whine, a desperate plea, but for what? You couldn't say.

You canted your hips, raising them to meet the piston of his, so that he could drive himself as deep as possible and crash into the spongy sweet spot he'd found earlier. And when he found it, he didn't stop.

Eddie grabbed one of your hips hard enough to leave bruises in the shape of his fingers and pinned you hard against the mattress. His other hand snaked between your bodies to find your clit, which was still sensitive and throbbing. Eddie drew tight, quick circles around your nub, punching more and more air from your lungs with each rotation when, out of nowhere, the pressure suddenly becomes too much.

The way all your muscles seize had you suddenly panicked, your walls tightening around him like a vice, earning a hiss of pleasure from his tight-lipped expression. He still didn’t stop. You stare at him wide-eyed, your voice strangled, as you try to articulate the way the pressure is building too fast and moving too far beyond what you understand is normal.

"Ed-Eddie, fuck, s'too much!" You cried out as you threw your head from side to side. Tears fell from your eyes like waterfalls, sliding down your temples and disappearing into your sweat-damp hair. You felt yourself tightening around him. He managed a deep groan at the first sign of your leaking cunt.

You grabbed his wrist wildly, your nails clawing at his skin. Your body trembled violently, screamed at you to make him stop. Your brain begged for more.

Another perfectly aimed thrust of his hips, his cock sliding through your quivering walls, his thumb on your clit changing directions, finally broke you. You threw your head back; your eyes opened wide, but you saw nothing as you screamed. It was like white-hot lightning engulfed your body, setting your world on fire. Lights of red and yellow flashed behind your eyes like a disco dance from hell.

Eddie didn't try to keep you quiet this time. Each drawback and push forwards deluged his cock with liquid. He still didn't stop. His mouth was affixed with awe, permanently hanging open as you drenched him, yourself, and the sheets. "Holy fucking hell, baby, just like that, Jesus... fuck, fuck, fuck!"

He couldn't hold back, even if he'd wanted to. He grabbed you roughly by the hips, keeping you pinned to the mattress as he buried himself. Eddie came hard—harder than he'd ever come before. He felt each rope shoot from himself despite the tremors in his body, and he knew that you felt it too. Your walls were on repeat, gripping him, releasing him, and gripping him again, like a record stuck on repeat.

There was relief in his eyes when he slumped forwards, his chest pressing tight against yours. He brushed his face into the crook of your shoulder, curls tickling at your skin as he laughed breathlessly. "I didn't know you could do that," he muttered against your dewy skin, tasting your sex-sweet sweat.

"I didn't know I could do that."

#haunted hoedown #hauntedhoedown #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x reader

[always-andromeda]

Here's my masterlist for the Haunted Hoedown Challenge!! Thank you to @inklore and @psychedelic-ink for organizing such a unique challenge!! I tried to put together a fairly diverse list of characters who I have written for and have wanted to write for. So hopefully this helps bring me out of my writing slump a little. Depending on how things go, some of these may change or may not be written at all. Either way, this list will definitely be updated as the challenge progresses!!

Please keep in mind that this challenge contains NSFW content and some of the works listed below will contain dark themes. Minors, please do not interact with these works and please read my content warnings. Take care of yourself, friends.

Banner inspo goes to @inklore and divider credits go to @saradika!!

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ✯ 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐋, 𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐃

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Father Paul Hill x Fem!Reader

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ taboo au + "Everything I've done...every atrocity, it's been for you."

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐎 ✯ 𝐋'𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐋 𝐃𝐔 𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Jeff (Gone Girl) x Fem!Reader

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ “Tell me you want me back. Tell me I'm forgiven.” + the toxic exes trope

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 ✯ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Edward Nashton x Fem!Reader

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ 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 + "You're a monster." + "That's never stopped you before."

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 ✯ 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ DBF!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ taboo au + once is not enough + "Do you like when I touch you like this? I can keep going if you want me to."

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 ✯ 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐓

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Professor!Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

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

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐈𝐗 ✯ 𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Love Quinn x Fem!Reader

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ stalker au + “Don't you know how sick with love I am for you?”

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 ✯ 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐒

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Demon!Joby Taylor x Fem!Reader

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ a ritual gone wrong and now i'm bound to a demon + "You're mine, whether you agree or not."

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ✯ 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐎𝐃

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Shane “Dio” Morrissey x Fem!Reader

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ slasher / summer camp au + sex in the woods + “This is so fucked up.” + “But you like it.”

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 ✯ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐑𝐘

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Javier Peña x Fem!Reader x Steve Murphy

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ inspired by your favorite Lana Del Rey song + love triangle gone wrong + “Finders keepers.”

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐄𝐍 ✯ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Ezra (Prospect) x Fem!Reader

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ shapeshifter au + "He's a monster." + "He's perfect."

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 ✯ 𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ gothic au + “Worship me. Until I tell you to stop.” + priest au

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄 ✯ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Pornstar!Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ 1970s porno filming + orgasm denial/overstimulation/edging + “You’re not actually scared are you? Of me?”

#hauntedhoedown #haunted hoedown

[moonlight-prose]

HAUNTED HOEDOWN MASTERLIST

note: while i am way behind on posting, i am still writing the fics for this fun challenge! so here's where they will be compiled. i'll add the fics to the character masterlists too, but this is more to keep myself organized. i hope y'all enjoy!

the original post for this challenge can be found here!

DAY ONE: Long & Lost - dark academia + body worship + “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.” (steven grant)

DAY TWO: Breath of Life - mythology au + enemies to lovers + possessive + "don’t you know how sick with love i am for you?” (oberyn martell)

DAY THREE: Gods & Monsters - favorite lana song + once is not enough + corruption + “tell me what you want me to do and i’ll do it, no matter the cost.” (jake lockley)

DAY FOUR: Shadows - time travel au + haunted manor + overstimulation/edging + "i can’t stop thinking about how perfect we would be together.” (joel miller)

DAY FIVE: Dance For Me - gothic au + masquerade ball + biting + “worship me. until i tell you to stop.” (din djarin)

DAY SIX: Call of the Sea - pirate/mermaid au + soulmates + breath play + “i would burn the world for you.” (miguel o'hara)

DAY SEVEN: Sweet Talk - summer camp au + sex in the woods + “i’ve killed for you, who else can say that?” (andrew!peter parker)

DAY EIGHT: Beautiful Mayhem - witchcraft au + magical healing + begging + “everything i’ve done.. every horrible atrocity, it’s been for you.” (joel miller)

DAY NINE: Killer - assassins au + toxic exes + hate sex + “do you like it when i bleed for you?” (marc spector)

DAY TEN: Choiceless Hope - zombie apocalypse au + soft!dom + mirror sex + “every moment might be our last, let’s make the most of it.” (miguel o'hara)

DAY ELEVEN: Unbreakable Love - bonnie and clyde au + knife play + “they die for love, you kill for it.” (joel miller)

DAY TWELVE: Blood In the Water - vampires au + ‘i’ll find you in every universe / century’ + hunter/prey + blood play + “forever isn’t long enough for me to forgive you.” (tommy miller)

#haunted hoedown #the fics will probably be sporadically posted when i'm done #cause i suck at staying on time #my writing

[psychedelic-ink]

hi! question about the haunted hoedown post....if you follow the prompts for each day, does whatever you write have to be specifically spooky/halloween themed, or can it just be normal? thank you excited to see everyone's work!!

nope! it doesn't have to specifically be Halloween themed it's up to the writer and to where their imagination takes them 💖

and to those who want to join the challenge

#haunted hoedown ask #anonymous #mail.💌

[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

[tripleyeeet]

i know i told myself i’d finish writing all my miguel fics first but @inklore and @psychedelic-ink’s haunted hoedown has the perfect astarion prompts so i will be participating in that instead whoops 🙃

#sorry not sorry #i just want to write about the vampire boy #also i want to challenge myself to write all 12 fics #haunted hoedown #writing challenge #astarion x reader #astarion x you

[inklore]

within this masterlist you will find all of the works i will be posting for the haunted hoedown challenge!! now since i'm posting this early things are subject to change if i feel less inspiration one day, but this list is pretty set as of right now.

here's to hoping you all have a spooky scary slutty time participating in the challenge alongside me and everyone else or just devouring our writings, enjoy lovelies <3.

𝑫𝑨𝒀 𝑶𝑵𝑬 — "i'll be your dirty little secret, if that's what you're into" (villanelle x engaged!reader)

𝑫𝑨𝒀 𝑻𝑾𝑶 — murder plot au (wanda maximoff x witch!reader)

𝑫𝑨𝒀 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑬𝑬 — favorite lana song + yandere (ethan landry)

𝑫𝑨𝒀 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹 — hitch hiking + "do you like when i touch you like this? i can keep going if you want me to" (joel miller)

𝑫𝑨𝒀 𝑭𝑰𝑽𝑬 — gothic au (vamp!din djarin + vamp!bo-katan kryze)

𝑫𝑨𝒀 𝑺𝑰𝑿 — slasher + sex in the woods (chad meeks-martin)

𝑫𝑨𝒀 𝑺𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑵 — “do you like it when i bleed for you?” + cult au (lestat de lioncourt x human!reader)

𝑫𝑨𝒀 𝑬𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 — “don’t you know how sick with love i am for you?” (assassin!miguel o'hara x assassin!reader)

if you read or like any of the above work please reblog and comment to show your love and support. minors and blank blogs please dni, respectfully.

#haunted hoedown #haunted hoedown masterlist #hauntedhoedown #all of these are f!reader btw i’m just too lazy to type all that lol

[tripleyeeet]

random but i just wanted to say i love seeing you have so much inspiration for a character and writing your little heart away, it makes me so happy to see you thriving summer!! <3

ahhh thank you laur 💚 i’ll be honest if it wasn’t for your haunted hoedown challenge (which i failed miserably at but that’s okay) i probably wouldn’t have had so much inspiration. so thank you!

also speaking of i’m going to binge all the fics you posted after work that i missed!!

#laur 💚