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morallyinept · 5 months

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Summary: Joel Miller comes back into your life unexpectedly after a gap of thirty years, and stirs up all kinds of memories and longing. Now, as you're stationed on an outpost for five days alone with the man you stupidly let go of all those years ago, you have a chance to confront him about your past life together and all the things you wished you’d said and done.

But Joel’s different now, and you know you need to tread carefully. Joel Miller is not the same man you once knew in another life.

A slow burn romance set in the post apocalyptic world, approx. twenty or so years after the initial Cordyceps outbreak.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x MatureF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. However reader is of a similar age range as Joel; in her late forties/early fifties. Joel is slightly older at 56.)

Chapter word count: 6.5k

Series Masterlist

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: You and Joel face the morning after your shared intimacy, and any consequences that may come with it. Mentions of smut and death/gore/blood. Descriptions of panic attacks.

☝🏻 I WILL NO LONGER BE ADDING NEW TAGS due to some of them not working as they should, despite me tagging, so please ensure you're following me and turn on notifs so you don't miss an update on this story.

Enjoy! 🖤

Previous Chapter

When dawn approaches, Joel stirs first; the intruding light glowing a dull orange behind his eyelids and pulling him out of a broken sleep.

Everything. Hurts. Like. Hell.

His back is still pulling tight and unrelenting - screaming at him that he needs to fucking move off this damned cot or be paralysed for life. His face feels raw with the grazes scabbing over in places and his arm is numb.

He turns to inhale you in and although he can’t feel his fingers where your weight is crushing them, he lays there enjoying the abstract sensation of your body shape nestled against his as you snooze. Something he still can’t quite comprehend in its entirety.

You’re here, you’re here alive. And you're with him, in his arms. You’ve let him inside of you, after all this time.

He winds his nose into your hairline and just listens to the sounds of you sleeping as he inhales. He can feel the small whooses of your breath against his sternum cooling him. And he thinks this is how it was always supposed to be.

He can smell the sex between you lingering in the air; the scent of sweat from your body, and he never wants to wash you off of his skin.

He replays it over in his mind, that first moment he entered you and how good you felt contracting around him. How good you’d always felt.

He’s swollen again. Aching. Morning wood, a new peculiarity that stirs grizzly between his legs after what feels like a long hiatus. No-one since Tess, and he thought there’d be no-one else. Destined to live in solace and loneliness, waiting until it was his time to check out of the world, growing ever more rickety in the bones and grey and thinning in the hair.

Despite the pain in his back, fof a moment he feels alive again as he feels the blood fill him thick.

There’s the calming sound of a few birds twittering outside and he’s lying here on the cramped cot, with come stained sheets, eyes closed enjoying just a few more minutes where Joel can pretend that nothing else exists outside of the shack, except for you.

That he’s back in his home in Austin, in his old bed with the wooden slats that creak each time he rolls over, and your naked body is curled around him in that sleep-warming haze.

He strokes all the way down your body to the little swollen belly you’ve got and places a kiss on it. You stir through bleary eyes as he looks up at you smiling, and that devilish smirk that he loves so much on your mouth has him trailing his lips lower still. He can feel you finger through his hair as he starts to lap at your pussy, tasting your honey that only gets sweeter each time.

Then, he can hear Sarah downstairs humming to her favourite song on the radio. She’s calling up and letting him know the pancakes and bacon are ready, and that he’ll be late for work if he doesn’t get a move on and-

Joel’s eyes snap open and he’s mourning the loss of that sweet, haunting reverie already as it sluices out of his ears to die on the threadbare pillow.

And then that voice; that insidious little fucker creeps up the base of his spine again, seemingly out of nowhere, and is heard taunting him. It leans over his shoulder with a sharp claw tapping against it.

She could never love you, Joel. Not after everything you’ve done.

In that split second of it pouring its words out at him, making him choke on the smoke of its beguiling voice, Joel feels that unmistakable rigidity flood him; like he’s hit freezing cold water face first.

It strips him of his breath, the enamel on his teeth; his leg muscles coil and pull tight and he tries to suck in oxygen that flaunts itself at him with an evil smirk as it feels so far out of reach as he gasps for it.

His fist comes up to the centre of his chest and he shudders, encased in that spiralling grip once more, sinking and drowning.

You’re going to die, Joel. All alone.

He can’t breathe, he can’t see anymore. He’s just cold and shivering and unable to surface, and all rational thought has abandoned him.

You hear me, Joel? Alone!

“Joel? Do you hear me?”

The sound of your voice is what pulls him back slowly; the small semblance of recognition through the foggy void that reaches in and grabs him, yanking by the ankles.

He locks eyes with you and instantly the shame devours him; spitting out gristle chunks of him until there is nothing left. He pulls away from you, sitting up on the cot as you reach up and squeeze his thick shoulder affectionately.

“Joel-” You query carefully.

“S’nothin’,” he immediately cuts you off, and the jerk of his shoulder makes you drop your hand like you’ve been stung.

You can only watch, confused and concerned as he dresses quickly, despite the hisses between his teeth from the lingering pain, and retreats out of the shack muttering something about the horses.

He stays outside for a long time; most of the morning is swallowed up by his obvious, intruding absence. You’re not sure what he’s doing, and you can only stare at the plate of uneaten food you’ve left for him that has long since turned cold and dried out.

His back, broad and hunched, was presented to you in the stable when you went to let him know it was ready. He offered you no acknowledgement, no familiar grunt in response.

Just bubonic silence that got under your skin and infected you with doubt and worry until it forced you to retreat.

You’re now sitting in the wicker chair gawking out at the valley while smouldering away inside.

You stare at the walkie-talkie with a swill of nervousness swashing around your gut. It was only yesterday the crackled warning came through and then you were ambushed by the infected. But all that seems so far away considering it led to you and Joel to physically expressing your requited pining for one another.

The memory sears into your brain; his mouth on yours, his rough, deft hands on your body… the grunting sounds of his pleasure.

You feel it flutter in your gut and between your legs, and you hitch a breath at the recall that you can still taste on your tongue.

The words ink themself on your skin, he loves you. He always has. It’s what you’ve longed to hear for so long.

And now it’s led to him hiding from you like a child facing his scary closet monster for the first time. You can’t help but feel slightly rejected, despite knowing that you haven’t done anything wrong - have you?

You glance at the clocks and they read a little after ten AM. You stand sighing and reach for your handgun. You holster it to your hip and decide to go for a walk - you need to get out of the shack, away from the trussed up sheets of the cot where the ghosts of you both still writhe and moan in ecstacy.

Away from the missing shape of him filling up the air you breathe. The heat is beginning to stifle again and Joel’s behaviour isn’t helping.

You’re not sure if he’s still in the stable. You hear the sound of the mare whinnying gently as you pass, but you don’t check.

The lumpy constriction in the back of your throat strangles you as you pass and stomp lithely down the path.

You pass the bodies; flies circling and feasting on the rotting flesh. You’re so mad even the smell doesn't deter you as you step over them.

“Why don’t ya ever fuckin’ listen to me?” Joel scolds you as you step back into the shack a little while later.

Your body is hot and sticky from sun exposure and the sweat sticks to you, irritating you further.

Joel saw you trail the path back up to the shack, fuming. He was preparing himself to go out looking for you when he saw your body; small and wandering down at the bottom of the hill.

Gritting his teeth, he endured that slow walk you did whilst rooted to the spot at the window, with fists clenched and recalling all the times before, when you were younger, that your free spirit and desire to chase impulse would come between you more often than not.

As much as he loved you, that lingering platitude of your careless wanderings always irked him.

Leading to passionate, heated debates and arguments he wouldn’t engage in much, which riled you up even more. Then you would take off again in a huff, to spite him and leave him floundering and worried.

You’d always come back though, tail between your legs and kissing him round to fucking you in forgiveness - until you didn’t.

Joel remembers the last time you left and he waited for you to come back. Waited probably longer than he should have.

You didn’t come back.

“Ya could’ve got hurt.” He growls at you.

He’s pissed as he puffs out his chest, hand on slender hip as you pass him and discard your holster onto the cot that’s still a mess.

“I didn’t.” You simply say, brushing it off.

“S’not the point.” He snarks.

“Then what is, Joel? I’ve been taking care of myself long before you showed up back in my life.” You bite back.

He grumbles, words you can’t decipher, as he sighs and frowns at the ground.

“Old habits die hard.” You simply retort and he glances at you with dark eyes and a pout.

“Ya can’t be doin’ shit like this, not on my watch.” He trails off, losing himself in the dissipating anger, trying to swallow it down fully.

"Your watch? I'm a grown woman, Joel. You're not my keeper." You growl.

He rolls his eyes chewing on the inside of his gums. “Where’d y’go?”

“For a walk.” You say bluntly. You lift off your top and swap it out for one that smells less stagnant under the arms. “You’re not the only one who can run away and hide, you know.”

“Is that what ya think I was doin’?”

“Isn’t it?” You lance him a knowing look and he hangs his head, guilty as charged. “What was that this morning, Joel?” You question and he shakes his head.

You change tactics and approach him gently, reaching for his face, but he bats your hand away and you scoff, annoyed.

“You’re not going to let me in? Not after-”

“I can’t.” Joel reiterates. You can see it pains him to, his eyes pleading with you not to push it.

You nod, defeated and step back as he passes you and sits himself down on the chair. His hand rubs at his temple - the side with the scar.

“I’m sorry. I was insensitive, brash. Taking off like that. But you have to understand, I've fended for myself for so long. I’ve had to.” You explain.

“I get it.” He nods gently. “I can’t lose ya,” he says, barely a whisper.

“You won’t. Promise.”

“No,” he shakes his head and looks up at you. “Ya can’t make that kinda promise, not now.”

“Then,” you sit opposite him. “I promise I’ll always do everything in my power to make sure I come back to you. I promise not to be so reckless. How’s that?”

Joel sighs, his giant palms dropping onto his knees as he massages one gently. “Better,” he gruffs. He tries not to smile, but you can see he’s struggling.

“I get it too.” You say, after a few minutes pass between you that’s filled with a suffocating silence.

“Get what?” He questions.

“You’re scared of the way I make you feel.” You begin at him. “Because you don’t want to feel anything. You’ve spent so long making sure that you don’t.”

He shakes his head as your nodding increases.

“And it's terrifying. It is for me, too.” You admit. "It's easier to have nothing then lose something you care about, right?"

Joel frowns. Then sighs. Then wants to strangle you because you used to do this. You used to get into his head with simple ease. Break down his impenetrable walls and sneak in, and he has no fucking idea how you do it. Or how you can still do it after all this time.

“It’s better that way.” He mutters bitterly.

“For who?” You watch as his back stiffens. His neck disappearing into his shoulders. His serious expression melts away a little. Another chink in his armour. Then he shakes his head again, muttering incoherently under his breath and you can hear some cursing going on.

“Why are you doing this?” You question.

“I lost someone,” Joel drones, reminding you; his tongue turning around his teeth.

“Sarah.” You confirm, accepting his pain and understanding. Or at least trying to; you would never understand that pain he harbours fully as you’re not a parent.

“No,” Joel shakes his head and looks at you, despite the pain twisting around his scruffy face. “Myself.”

It comes out as a croak that dies a horrific death on his tongue. You watch as his eyes glisten and you reach for him instinctively. But it’s not enough.

You get up and sit in his lap and he doesn’t resist this time when you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. He buries his face into the crook of your neck as you offer him what he so desperately needs.

“I don’t deserve any of this,” Joel begins, a mouthful of your skin.

“What makes you think that?” His brown eyes are red in the whites and you watch as he wipes them with the back of his hand quickly.

“‘Cause, I’ve done so much that I should be punished for. In the old world, I'd be rottin’ in a cell now.”

“We’re not in the old world anymore, Joel.” But he was still there, stuck and forever looping it seems.

"Ya've no idea what I've done. If ya did, you'd take that rifle n' shoot me between the eyes. N' I wouldn't stop ya."

You scoff. “You think because you did bad things, things to survive, that you’re not deserving of affection now? Of redemption? You’re wrong, Joel.”

“Ya don’t get it, darlin’.” He shakes his head solemnly.

“No, you don’t get it.” You correct and he looks at you with a quick shift of his eyeballs and nothing else. “We’ve all done bad things, things we had to. Terrible things. The world forced us to. You think we were prepared for it? That this is the curveball life was going to throw at us? Every single one of us has done things that, yeah, sure in the old world, we'd be punished for. But now? If faced with it, we’d do it again. You wanna know why?”

“Why?” He asks softly.

You breathe in, reciting Kelper’s words when you’d needed them the most. “Because in this world you have to have something to fight for. To be reckless for… To kill for. If you don’t have that, you may as well roll over and die now because there is nothing else. It's all gone. It's all fucking gone…" You sniff as your own eyes water. "And something tells me you're not ready to do that.”

Your fingers stroke at the nape of his neck softly, curling his hair around your fingers.

“Are you?” Joel asks tentatively.

“I was.” You say, glancing down at your scar as your hand rests on your thigh. “But turns out, I still got some fight in me. And so do you.”

Joel sniffs deeply and sighs out; his head falls forward and rests on yours and you stay like that for a little while.

"How’d ya fuckin' do that?" He asks into your eyelashes in wonderment.

His arms just wrap around you and hold you to him as you kiss the top of his head gently.

“I just know the subject matter really well.” You smile into his crown. “Better than he knows himself.”

“Ya do,” he pulls away to look at you; deep browns with a pulling, hypnotic warmth boring into you and heating you up.

You feel his hands sliding up your back, fingers notching over your spine nodules and making you shudder.

He smiles at your reaction, the smile blooming on your lips as you enjoy the feeling of him exploring.

“Know ya really well too, darlin’. I never forgot.” He says, as he latches onto your lips.

Joel switches the walkie-talkie back on later, and you both wait silently.

He throws a glance at you, one that tells you he can still taste you in his mouth. You squeeze your thighs together at the recall of him laying you back down on the cot after your heart-to-heart, and proving to you again how much love he did have inside him, as he filled you up with it.

But now you both sit silently, waiting for any news.

You can feel your gut weighing down to your feet like concrete blocks, and sure enough a voice comes through over the static that’s more clear to receive today.

It’s a voice you recognise and Joel grabs it and speaks. “Tommy?”

“Joel. Goddamn. Ya guys hangin’ in there?”

“Just ‘bout.” Joel's eyes dart towards yours and you smile tightly in agreement. Fine, hanging threads.

“What happened yesterday? Had a small pocket of infected pay us a visit.” He speaks into the walkie, his thumb letting go of the receiver when he finishes.

“I figured they’d head ya way. Ya pick up my signal?”

Joel swallows as he glances out the window, his eyes squinting in the light. “Yeah.”

You both know it was a close call and your mind shifts to that strident moment when Joel was yanked backwards by the body and tumbled down the hill with it, and it makes your stomach lurch.

That could have ended very differently and it doesn’t bear thinking about as you swallow it away.

“We handled it. ‘Bout twenty or so. Put ‘em down.” Joel explains.

The walkie crackles. “Horde’s gotten bigger. We had to regroup, weren’t expectin’ it. Was fuckin’ chaos.”

Joel grits his teeth and you sit forward in the chair sighing, your hands fisting together under your chin and listening carefully. Trying not to imagine the guys - Kelper, Max and Sal - out of their depths. But you hold fast and steady. They can handle it, deep down you know it.

They’re fine.

“Second team managed to get the explosives laid down. We’re ready for tomorrow. S’gonna go down as planned.” Tommy continues.

“Good,” Joel replies.

You nod with some small relief ebbing through your bones.

“Listen Joel. I gotta tell ya somethin’.”

“M’all ears.” Joel says as he looks at you; his brown eyes softening as he takes you in, sending a small affectionate smile back up at him.

He swears in this moment he's probably never loved you more, and the thought makes him sweat a little. He reaches for your knee and gives it a squeeze, watches with some contented awe as your fingers lock into his.

“We were ambushed by infected breakin’ off. Chased us down. We had to let ‘em. Couldn’t risk the whole horde noticin’...”

Joel nods even though Tommy can’t see. You swallow thickly as you both listen.

Your heartbeat speeds up, you can hear it start to steamroll in your ears, almost drowning Tommy’s voice out.

“What happened?” Joel asks with a brewing frown.

Yesterday...

The sun hangs low in the desolate sky, casting an eerie glow over the barren landscape. Sparse woodlands with resilient trees run parallel, separated by a wide stretching field that’s filled with the moving shuffle of infected bodies en masse.

Tommy can feel the sweat pooling at the back of his neck, gathering in the jet curls where he rubs listlessly at his sun-beaten nape.

From this position, hidden craftily behind the bushes, he’s got a good view.

Kelper, kneeling beside him, peers through the binoculars and sighs gently; but his face is etched with acute determination, watching the horde move towards the direction of the canyon as planned, that seems to echo with the ominous whispers of impending danger at any moment.

Tommy adjusts his position carefully, crouched behind the thick brush, with aching knees and thighs; his fingers tightly gripping the worn handle of his weapon should he need it.

His breaths come in shallow bursts, the tension in the air almost suffocating. Kelper, the seasoned survivor, keeps his gaze fixated on the passing horde of death, just a few yards out from them.

“How many do ya think there are?” Tommy whispers.

Kelper shrugs. “More than a thousand now, that’s for sure.”

They've swelled in numbers; strays attaching themselves to the wider congregation as they move, led by the unseen force of the group spread up and down the route ensuring they don’t divert.

“How is this even possible?”

Kelper turns to look at Tommy and shakes his head at a loss. “Evolution?”

The moans of the infected reverberate, creating an eerie symphony that underscores the gravity of their situation. Tommy shifts uncomfortably, glancing between them and in the far direction of where the explosives are being set to detonate.

“Come on ya bastards…” He mutters.

Kelper smirks. “We’ll get ‘em there. Plan’s been working well so far. We keep pushing. Last hurdle, right?”

“Don’t be fuckin’ jinxin’ us now, man.” Tommy says, a thin smirk pricking at the corner of his lips.

“Hold your nerve. We’re almost home. Get you back to your lady and your kid.” Kelper assures.

Tommy smiles and looks at him. “What 'bout you? Ya got any family left?”

Kelper shakes his head. “Just the ones I arrived with.”

Tommy nods. “Right.”

“They’re all I need.” Kelper nods, smiling to himself.

“Do ya ever wonder if we're becomin’ as heartless as ‘em?” Tommy asks after a few beats of silence.

He nods out to the horde. His eyes bear the weariness of a thousand battles, yet a glimmer of something unresolved flickers within the darkness of them.

“You start to blur the lines between the living and the dead out here, Tommy. But heartless? No, we're fighting for something more than just breath in our lungs.” Kelper says.

"Ya think they know? Like they still have some conscious thought or shit?"

Kelper shakes his.head. "Nah. Whoever they were, they're long gone."

"Whatever makes ya sleep at night, right?"

"Maybe." Kelper replies.

“I just don't wanna forget what it means to be human, y’know? My brother… he’s lost his humanity. I see it when I look at him now.” Tommy says, shaking his head despondently. “I love him, but… I can’t be like that.”

“I don’t think anyone ever truly loses their humanity.” Kelper says. “If we did, we’d be exactly like them.”

“How’d ya know we ain’t? They’re just tryin’ to survive, like we are.”

“You feel bad for them?” Kelper's jaw tightens, his gaze drifting to the distant shadows where the infected still roam. The burden of leadership etching deep lines on his face and casting deeper shadows under his eyes.

“They were people once, even if they ain't now.” Tommy states. “Hard not to feel some guilt sometimes.”

Kelper smiles. “That’s how you know you’re still human.”

Tommy glances down at the ground and nods contemplating.

“Being human means adapting, surviving. Sometimes, it means doing things you never thought you would. But it's also about holding on to a glimmer of who you were. You just need to remind your brother of that sometimes. And yourself.”

Kelper's gaze meets Tommy's, a shared understanding passing between them. The depths of the woodlands seem to amplify the words, carrying them into the void where shadows whisper of both survival and sacrifice.

“What if there's another way? A way to survive without sacrificin’ our humanity all the time?” Tommy queries, his voice a low baritone.

“There isn't room for what-ifs in this world. Every move we make is a gamble. We're just trying to tip the odds in our favour. This world doesn't care about ideals. It cares about survival.”

The weight of Kelper's words settle on Tommy's shoulders, pressing down with the burden of a world gone mad.

Kelper shoots him a glance, a look with the harsh realism of their existence. “We're all paying a price. Sometimes it's just steeper for some.”

“I just... I need to believe there's somethin’ more than just survivin’. For my son.” Tommy says.

Kelper's gaze softens for a moment, a flicker of sympathy cutting through the grizzled exterior.

“I think ‘bout the world waitin’ for him. If it can ever be like it used to. Sounds fuckin’ dumb, I know.”

Kelper shakes his head. “Not dumb. You survive long enough, you start thinking about living. But first, you've got to make it through the hard nights.”

They both glance at one another again.

“We’re changing the world, for your son; for everyone. One dead parasite at a time.” Kelper says with a sincere smile offered.

Tommy nods, and then jumps as the bleep of his radio sounds on his hip.

“Fuck!” He scrambles for it. “I said radio silence!” Tommy hisses into the walkie.

He shoots his glance up, muffling the sound of the walkie with his jacket.

Kelper keeps watch on the horde, who don’t seem to have heard it.

A voice crackles over the low frequency. It's Max. “We got a problem… there’s… shit! Run!-”

Kelper scans the horizon with the binoculars. “No, no, no, no…” He murmurs in an increasing tempo shaking his voice.

“What?!” Tommy rushes forward and snatches the binoculars as Kepler stands.

In the distance he can see bodies breaking off from the rear of the horde and disappearing into the woodlands.

“Fuck!”

Kelper moves and Tommy follows.

“Hey!”

“We gotta stop this!" Kelper says, frantic. “We can’t let them change course. We need the others to keep them moving forward.” Kelper pelts as he starts to run. “If the bulk of the horde notices, they’ll all come at them!”

“Fuck!” Tommy paces after him.

“We have to create a diversion.”

“How?” Tommy pulls Kelper back by the shoulder, yanking him fiercely. "What d'ya mean a diversion?"

Kelper weighs it up and comes up with a desperate blank before a dark realisation settles in over his features. “We have to take them.”

Tommy shakes his head. “Thats fuckin’ suicide.”

“You have another idea? We have to get the others. We can’t do this without them.”

Tommy’s stumped and shakes his head. “It’s not worth the risk. A few strays-”

“Fuck the risk! I’m not losing anymore people to these bastards!” Kelper spits.

A few beats exist and pulse around them before the decision is made.

“I’ll draw them back through and join you on the other side of thise trees." He points across the field to a clearing beyond the woodlands there. "Round up the others ready.”

Tommy doesn't have time to protest further. He can only watch as Kelper sprints off towards the small branch of infected that have wandered off into the trees after Max's group.

“Fuck!” He grits and takes off towards the field. Tommy radios the others, instructing them to meet him, but he’s met with crackled silence as he runs.

His face batters wayward branches as he dashes forward; the beat of his heart in his throat. Then he stops as though hitting a wall as he hears it.

The echo reverberates through the clearing, and the small swarm of infected, like puppets drawn by an unseen force, turn their attention towards Kelper.

His defiant shout slices through the air; a battle cry tinged with both bravado and desperation.

“Fuckin’ idiot!” Tommy seethes.

As the infected converge towards Kelper instead, the small group, including Tommy, seize the fleeting opportunity to slip past unscathed and unnoticed into position.

The air thickens with a cocktail of relief and guilt. The clearing seems to close in around them, casting shadows that pulse with the haunting thrum of brutish survival. They can only hope the main horde didn't hear Kelper.

Tommy steals a glance back; the torment of leaving Kelper behind etched across his face.

The sounds of a struggle punctuate, each blow landing on undead flesh as Kelper fights them off bravely. The air feels charged with an unspoken understanding - Kelper's creating the diversion, but at what cost?

As the group distance themselves from the small swarm, the guilt claws at Tommy's chest. A corridor of remorse that resonates with the cries of the infected and the desperate struggle of a man who has willingly put himself in harm's way.

“We can't just leave him!” Max whispers to Tommy.

“He knew the risks. We gotta keep movin’.” Tommy ushers him forward, but hesitates himself. His stance falters, a magnetic pull urging him to turn back.

“Okay, we take ‘em. All of ‘em. Not one of ‘em lives, ya hear me? Make it snappy, make it quiet. No guns. Just blades.” He instructs.

They all nod at him, eyes wide and ready to go as chaos spills out into the clearing.

Kelper's eyes flick with a mix of surprise and relief as Tommy and the small group flood in towards him. The reinforcements inject a surge of hope into the struggle, weapons slashing through the infected with calculated precision.

The small swarm, once focused solely on Kelper, now face a united front. They fight with a fierce determination, their movements synchronised in a brutal beat against the encroaching threat of screeches and teeth.

Kelper, momentarily freed from the relentless assault, locks eyes with Tommy. There’s gratitude in the glance; a recognition of the camaraderie that has driven Tommy to return.

The fight rages on, but in that moment, a silent understanding passes between the two leaders as they resonate about not leaving anyone behind, no matter the stakes.

The commune needs a man like Kelper, Tommy thinks. Perhaps he can spend more time with his son and less time making decisions.

The skirmish continues; the group pushing back the infected with a collective force that speaks of their shared resilience.

They can do this. Nip it in the bud now.

“Shit!” Tommy cries, as more infected flood through the trees towards them.

Kelper turns at the commotion as they run out, and he locks eyes with one.

It stops him in his tracks and he feels it like ice in his bones.

It looks like… you.

It has your face, your gait, your hair even.

And he knows it isn’t you; knows somewhere in the back of his head that Joel’s taking care of you at the outpost, or you're taking care of him, but for a split second, it’s enough to render Kelper useless on his feet as the sinking realisation of failing you floods through him.

He’s frozen to the spot, frozen in fear just watching the infected impersonator run closer towards him.

You're coming for him.

Somewhere, he hears his name being yelled as it hits the back of his head in a dull fuzz as he stands there, unable to move his limbs, for what feels like an age.

But it’s long enough for him to feel it; that searing burn as teeth clamp down on the side of his neck and his blood spills into its mouth.

The world has stopped turning, leaving him alone inside his frantic battle with screaming and viscera everywhere.

The bloodstained face of Tommy holds dark, cold eyes as he works his way through the infected effortlessly. Picking them off one by one with his bare hands it seems and leaving no indication of remorse as he goes and yells frantically at Kelper.

The thuds as the lifeless entities fall to the ground thunders through the clearing, sending vibrations towards Kelper. He can feel it in his toes.

He’s not sure how it happens, but the one who is latched onto him is now dead at his feet as he tries to stem the bleeding.

The noise is deafening and Kelper is lost out of eye sight, somewhere amongst the throes of more bodies ramming against them; their faces mangled with bitter hatred and the determination to slaughter the infected with just cause.

The infected have gathered their numbers well, and it appears as though Tommy is outnumbered as Kelper glances back at them, stunned and shaking.

A single handful of elite warriors facing off against a swarm of hideous monsters, intent on shedding blood in their ravaging hunger. It's like watching a movie play out in front of him, and he's helpless to intervene.

And like those ancient Spartans from film reels gone by, Tommy commands a small unit of his most relentless soldiers. Determined and hell bent on seeking justice and retribution. Their strength is not in their numbers, for they could stand alone and wield the power of many.

Regular men and women, baptised into the fire of combat, they’re taught from the aftermath of the apocalypse never to retreat, never to surrender. No pain, no mercy.

Endure and fucking survive!

A well orchestrated phalanx, breaking off into sections when under threat, but soon chaos ensues, blood is spilt. God’s wrath pouring across the land like hot, bubbling lava.

But still they hold strong.

Tommy fiercely wields his machete as though it’s fluid; sharp steel thrusting in and out of rotting, fungal skin in mere seconds as he fights his way to Kelper.

His cries of war echo over the field and into the ears of those who are in earshot. Instructions in wrath, commands in murder, and praise in blood.

A fearless leader despite his earlier reservations, and it’s not hard to see why the others admire and follow him so.

Kelper smiles, not burdened anymore with that baton previously held tightly in his grip; he’s happy to hand it over. He never was a leader, not really. Just a determined son of a bitch to not falter and wither.

But it's time to rest now. He had his moment in the sun; plenty of them as they flash behind his flickering eyelids as his vision starts to water and blur.

The warmth of his mother's embrace. The first time he smoked weed under the bleachers in high school. His first gay crush on Bobby Denton. Man... Bobby fucking Denton. He smiles as he remembers a pretty face he thought he'd forgotten.

Coming out to his father who looked upon him with scorn and disappointment, while his mother welcomed him with open arms. She never did blame him for their divorce. Not once. But he knew.

His first love; the first time he bared his puny heart to Phillip, who reciprocated. The first man to actually love him back.

Phillip, who was wrenched from his arms on outbreak day, in mass hysteria at the shopping mall - at the fucking Gap of all places. He couldn’t find him. Lost him amongst the crowds running and screaming.

He never got to give him the ring...

Kelper remembers the small band of survivors he’s called family for the last several years. Remembers when he found you huddled in a dirty, shivering ball and trying to take his head off as he approached tentatively.

Fuck, he can’t leave you. What the fuck is he doing?

He looks down at his hand, covered in his own blood, and already feels lightheaded.

“I’m sorry, Goose…” he chokes out, blood gushing down his front and sticky on his chest.

Flashes of your hands are on his, nursing him back to health. He can taste the time you kissed him, and then apologised, and it took everything in him to pull away from your lips, questioning everything he’d ever known about himself. Drawn to you somehow. What was it, loneliness? Desperation?

Love?

Did he love you, more than that?

The hungry, consuming eyes stare down upon him in their millions it seems, and he welcomes the whisper of death with a smile on his face and a middle finger.

A small grunt of satisfaction tears through him and the faint beats of his name are heard somewhere in the distance.

He knows you’re strong. That you crinkle your nose when you laugh at something he says when you feel bereft, he can see it now. Hear it even; it’s echoing all around him as they tear into him, blocking out the sun.

At the end of a hard day enduring, surviving, seeing you smile at him makes everything alright. He never told you enough.

Never told you everyday that he fucking loved you.

He hopes you knew. Hopes you knew that in another world, he loved you the way you might have wanted him to.

He should have been the one, in another life he deduces that he probably would have been. You’d both be married with papery skin, sitting on rocking chairs overlooking the ocean with fat grandchildren playing at your feet.

But in this life, he had you as a friend. A soulmate. And it seemed better somehow. Transcendant.

It was worth it all.

Kelper drops his weapon, his fingers weak and unable to use it now. Unsteady on his feet as they devour. Blurred vision splits the sun in two and hot wetness is felt below his abdomen, searing at first, but soon massaged away by the delight of nausea.

He’s deluded and sincere. He knows you love him. That Guthrie, Max and Sal love him. That Phillip loves him, wherever he is. Perhaps he’ll see him soon.

He believes it and it will ensure he can pass on happily. Content. At peace.

Fuck, he deserves some peace. He chuckles, hearing it in his ears above the cacophony of their grunts and groans.

He recalls those precious moments; moments where the darkness of the world disappeared for a while. It wasn’t all doom and gloom and fungal bloodshed.

There was always light in the darkness when you were lost, you just had to look for it.

Remembering his smile lost inside of your freshly washed hair that smelt of wild flowers, breathing in the notes as you slumbered peacefully on his chest after he saved your life.

He can smell them now, the clearing has come alive with them, sprouting up everywhere and beautiful from root to petal.

He wishes he could show you them.

It gives him comfort in his last moments where he falters now alone in this barren clearing, where the earth has been cracked and splintered by the creatures that ravage it now.

Kelper falls backwards against the hard ground, but doesn’t notice the pain. The lights will soon dim, but he can’t take his eyes off of your smile, your resilience.

How strong he knows you’ll be in this world without him.

You’ll be alright, Goose…

He gives into it now, comes quietly despite the sound of teeth around his face.

And as Kelper slips away from this world into the next one, a single tear flows from the crease of his eye, never to be seen by anyone.

“... We lost Kelper.” Tommy confirms over the static.

Joel’s eyes immediately flick to yours; his face sinking as you sit forward gripping the chair rests, your eyes filling with water.

No.

“He didn’t make it.” Tommy says. “They got him. Was pretty bad and-”

“Tommy, stop talkin’!” Joel hisses down the radio cutting him off as he sees your expression changing.

No.

You’re shaking your head, but you don’t feel the physical motion. You’re instantly numb.

No. No. He’s wrong.

The next thing you know you’re screeching into the walkie, having snatched it from Joel’s hand, and telling Tommy frantically that he’s wrong.

Yelling through to him to stop fucking around and put Kelper on so you can talk to him. You need to hear his voice. Hear him say he’s okay.

Because he is - he has to be! There’s no way that he-

“M'so sorry, sweetheart," Tommy’s voice says, as Joel grapples with you, but you don’t hear it.

You don’t hear anything else except your own frantic wailing and screams as you sink to the floor, Joel catching you in his arms and crushing you tight against him, as you finally break in two.

No.

NO!

To be continued...

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jrwi-updates · 10 months

Text

Happy Birthday, Grizz!!

[Image ID:

A cropped screenshot of a tweet by grizzly @/GrizzlyPlays. It reads “I AM 24 TODAY! STILL NO IDEA WHAT I AM DOING!!”

End ID]

#grizzly update

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covetyou · 7 months

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send in the clown

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pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: clowns, dubcon, unprotected P in V, anal play, grinding, titty play (clown motorboating), drug use, hotboxing, the shoes stay on, unconventional use of grease paint word count: 4.1k summary: You lose your scarf on a visit to the carnival. Send in Dieter Bravo - washed up actor turned circus clown.

A/N: Happy Halloweekend, friends! Originally this was going to be some dark evil fic with a murderous clown and some non-con, but basically I can't do that. So here you have washed up actor clown Dieter instead, and he's going to rock your world. You're welcome.

This is not inherently scary, but probably something to avoid if you really hate clowns. It's essentially just clown porn. I'm not sorry.

10 points to anyone who can spot the Oscar.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future work

Want Dieter at the carnival, but don't want the clowns? Check out Candy by @secretelephanttattoo

Loud noises and knives and fire and bodies bent into strange shapes.

It sounded more like a horror movie down on paper, but the lights and music were dazzling, amazing, turning something terrifying into something beautiful.

You sipped too sweet drinks and munched on overpriced snacks as you watched on with your friends, laughing and gasping with them as the sights before you unfolded. A tiny woman bending herself over backwards, shooting apples off of people's heads with a bow and arrow clenched in her delicate feet. A couple swinging through the air, no wire in sight, fabric fluttering along behind them as they flew. Sword swallowers, fire breathers, acrobats, magicians, clowns.

Clowns.

You were mesmerized by it all, taken in so completely, that when you all stumbled out after several hours and made your way home, you didn't even notice you'd left your scarf until you moved to pull it off as you stepped in your front door. They weren't in town for long, things like this never were, so you turn around and head back to your car, driving back the way you came until the big top comes back into view.

It had been almost an hour since you left and the parking lot was mostly empty now, save for a few cars closer to the entrance. The sign was no longer illuminated, but lights shone brightly from inside the gate as a handful of people bustled around, packing up for the night.

You make your way to the ticket booth, spotting a grizzly old man with a toothpick between his teeth closing up, pulling a small box filled with ticket stubs and loose change out from the desk.

"We're closed," he grumbles, not bothering to look at you as he turns the key, locking the booth, and stomps away.

"I know," you shout, feet squelching in a wet patch of grass as you stumble after him. "I lost something, left it here. Do you have a lost and found?"

He stops, eyes you up, then sends you inside, directing you to an open sided tent. You walk in semi-darkness, listening out for the shouts and jokes of the cast and crew ending their day.

Two people sit there, feet up on a box and cards in hand. One has a threadbare sweater thrown on over a skimpy lyrca outfit adorned in sequins, the other looks like he could have been in the audience if it wasn't for the peak of tattoos from the top of his hoodie and across his hands.

They don't notice you standing there, so you clear your throat. Sequins is just about to play a card, but halts mid way through the movement and looks up, raising his painted on eyebrows at you.

"We're closed," Tattoos repeats, not bothering to turn to look your way.

"I lost a scarf. Was told to come here," you explain. You just want your scarf back.

Sequins slaps the card down on the box then sits back, eyeing you up and down just as the grizzled old man did, crossing his toned arms over his chest. "What's it look like?"

"Woolen, red and brown kind of checks. It's pretty big, almost like a blanket?"

Tattoos scoffs, finally turning to look at you. "Oh yeah, that one. Bravo the Clown took it. No one ever comes back for shit they lose at the circus, toots. If you want it back you're gonna have to go ask him."

"Okay, and where can I find this Bravo the Clown."

They send you off to a trailer on the other side of the camp. You hear their laughter as you turn your back and walk away, squelching back through patches of wet grass that hadn't been boarded over.

The trailer is worn and old, a colorful tarp covering the front window and stapled into the ground. "Bravo" is scrawled on the door in sharpie, scribbles of other color around it so it looks like the name has exploded from the door. There's a faint light from inside, and you can hear music playing, but there's no answer when you knock.

You try the handle, the door opening a crack before jamming. You tug harder, and the door swings open, nearly knocking you down onto the wet ground.

Smoke billows out. You almost think there's a fire when you smell something earthy and herbal. Definitely not a fire.

You call out over the music, a repetitive carnival jingle, and when there's no response, you climb up the few steps and step foot into the trailer of Bravo the Clown.

It's dark inside, the smoke barely cleared and the tarp masking any light from outside in a red haze. The herbal stench in the air is thicker inside, covering the stale musky smell of sweat and dust.

When your eyes adjust to the dark through the haze of smoke, you see the place is a mess. Wigs of all shapes and colors are thrown haphazardly onto a crooked shelf on the wall, something shiny hidden behind a puff of rainbows. Shoes litter the walkway, and clothes and costume pieces are strewn over a bench seat. There's a patch where it looks like someone has been sitting, and next to it, your scarf, screwed tight into a messy ball and pushed down into the rest of the clothing.

You approach, going to grab your scarf and leave, when you're distracted by a long mirror sitting to one side, a worn chair in front of it. There's a vanity where brushes and pallettes are thrown, pots of grease paint left open and discarded.

You drag your fingers across the worn wooden vanity. Picking up one pot of paint - a vibrant white - you are moments from swiping your finger across the pristine surface when a gruff voice startles you.

"What the fuck?!"

You spin, paint falling from your hand and clattering to the ground. Stood there is a half man, half clown, joint perched between his lips, makeup smudged over his face. His hair is sweaty, sticking up at all angles, wig nowhere to be seen. You cast your eyes down him. An oversized striped shirt is pulled open, graying undershirt beneath on show, sweat stains at the armpits and a wet patch on the hem. His red pants are unbuttoned, slung low on his hips, his suspenders unclipped at the front and hanging down low behind him. Large shoes jut out from the bottoms, bulbous and curving slightly upward.

"What the fuck are you doin' in here," he says from around the joint, throwing his hands up in the air.

You stumble over your words, stuttering a few times before you can spit it out. He looks at you like you're stupid, like you're the one with paint smeared over your face.

"I- I lost my scarf. They said you had it, I'm sorry, I-"

"What? Do you think breaking and entering is okay because I'm a fuckin' clown," he yells, pulling the door closed and slamming it hard when it gets jammed again.

He stalks toward you, blowing a puff of smoke into your face, making your eyes water, before he flops down into the worn chair in front of the vanity. It creaks as he stretches back, the tip of one of his too big shoes running up your leg.

"Do you think stealing is okay because you're a clown?" you retort, hands on your hips, shaking your head in disbelief. You never pictured your evening ending in an argument with a half-dressed clown.

More smoke puffs from his mouth as he laughs at you, face contorting strangely as he smiles with a down turned red mouth smeared across his own.

"What're you going to give me," he says, pulling his shirt off and throwing it onto the pile on the bench.

"What?"

He takes another long drag on his joint, and lets the smoke billow from his lungs before he sits back and replies. "For the scarf. What's it worth to you."

You watch his hand stroke down his belly, past the wet patch on his t-shirt and down to the front of his pants. He adjusts himself, rolling his hips as he palms his cock through the fabric.

You swallow a lump in your throat. Maybe it's the smoke going to your head, the haze of the room making you feel stuffy and floaty, clouding your judgement. Or maybe you've always had a fucking thing for clowns, you flithy b-

"Anything," you say, before you can stop yourself. He laughs, throwing his head back as he flicks ash onto the floor.

"Then take that coat off and come here. Show me them pretty tits."

You unbutton your coat, throwing it onto the bench with your scarf. You look down, thick sweater obstructing any view he'd have of your chest, and decide to yank that off too, pulling it over your head and discarding it with your coat. You take a deep breath, lungs filling with smoke and the sweaty smell of Bravo the Clown, before you pull down your tank top and bra, pushing your tits out of their cups and exposing them to the cold air.

"Can I have my scarf back now?"

"No! I want a closer look," he pats his lap, visible tent now forming in his red pants. "Come sit down on Bravo the Clowns lap, sugar tits," he says with husky laugh.

You shuffle forward trying not to trip over his shoes as you wonder how you'll perch on his lap with his knees spread so wide. You don't have long to think when he grabs you by the hand and pulls you onto him, your knees straddling either side of his thighs on the chair. It creaks and groans, and you shift on him, terrified the old chair is going to collapse with the weight of you.

He takes a final long drag from his joint, before snuffing it on the vanity and blowing the rest of the smoke into your face. You cough and splutter, blinking back watering eyes, when two large hands come up and grab your tits, massaging them as your chest heaves.

"Nice."

You blink again and look down to see him smiling at your tits, nodding as he massages them. He squeezes them together, watching as the skin squishes and puckers under his fingers. His hands are rough, fingernails painted with chipped polish that glitters in the dim lighting of his trailer. The grimace painted onto his face a stark contrast to the man underneath having the time of his life.

He's entranced, looking at your tits as he squeezes them. Painted fingertips come and pinch your nipples, pulling at them and making you gasp. Your back arches as he tugs, jiggling both as he pinches and laughing as they ripple with the movement. Your hips shift forward, nudging the hardness in his pants, and you fight to still yourself and not grind against him.

Before you know it, he's mashing your tits together again and shoving his face between them, rubbing the scruff of his jaw across your delicate skin, smearing paint all over your chest. He breathes in, and you feel him start to nip and suckle at your flesh as he rubs from side to side, burying his face in you as you push your hips down hard onto his cock.

As quick as he started, he flops back with a sigh, letting your tits fall heavy from his grasp. He smiles serenely as he looks at his handiwork, white and red and blue smeared into a mess of lavender across your tits.

"Think you liked that as much as I did," he taunts, gesturing to where your crotch sits flush against his stiff cock. "Shame you're in so many fuckin' layers." He runs a hand up your thigh, pinging the thickness of your tights against your leg before fingers play with the edge of your skirt where it's bunched around your thighs. He tugs it higher, pulling it to your waist.

He slides his hands back down, thumbs tracing down the front of your tights, teasing the apex of your thighs. One hand holds you there, stopping you from rocking into him again, whilst the other slides between you, rubbing broadly over your damp, covered crotch.

You close your eyes, letting him massage your pussy with his large hand, the sensation muted by so many layers. You rock into his palm as you float along on his lap, lost in his heavy breathing and the monotonous music still jingling along in the background.

He starts muttering, playing with the waistband of your tights, looking for a better way in, a way to get to your cunt that means you don't have to get off his lap. Your eyes snap open, you watch as he shrugs, a wicked smile pulling smeared makeup across his face. He pulls at your tights, gripping in both hands, tearing the fabric and exposing your inner thighs and panties to him. You can't help but moan as you feel his hand find your bare skin, and push against the wet front of your panties.

He lets out a low whistle, he'd barely touched you and you're dripping, grinding against his hand. "I can do one better than my hand," he says, waggling his eyebrows and looking down to his crotch. He's fully hard now, tent more impressive than the big tops outside.

Before he can say another word, you're reaching for his pants, pulling the zipper down and fishing out his rock hard length. He pulls both his arms back holding them up in mock surrender.

"Woah, woah!" he laughs.

You start to stroke his cock, pumping up and down, drawing the precum dripping from his tip over your palm and down his length with each stroke. He's watching you as you play with him, teasing his tip, reaching down into his red pants with your other hand to stroke his balls. They're heavy in your hand and sticky with sweat, but you squeeze them as you jerk him, making him groan, throw his head back and grip the arms of his chair.

Your pussy is cold without his hand, neglected. You don't want to let go of the weight of him, so you rub his tip over the front of your soaked panties, dragging it over your clit and applying pressure as you circle it with his head. You need more, more friction, so you hold him against you, rocking your hips against one side of him as your palm holds him to you in the other.

"Oh, hell yeah. Are you gonna come just from grinding on me?!" he says in disbelief, listening to your desperate moans as you jerk him against your pussy.

"No," you gasp, watching a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face over the layer of greasy paint. The look of him alone is almost sending you stratospheric - the hair, the paint, the sweat - but the friction against your pussy isn't enough. "I want to put it in me."

He looks like he's won the lottery, wide eyes and thrilled face covered in paint nodding back at you, gesturing down to his dick as if to say help yourself.

You yank your panties to the side as you rock your hips into his cock, still holding him tight to you. Your slick pussy glides up and down his length, his head rubbing directly over your clit with each cant of your hips. You're moaning, wiggling on him as he watches straight down at his cock gliding against your bare cunt.

"Do you have a...?" you say, looking around the room for anywhere where he might stash a condom.

"Nope," he says, popping the P. "If you want it, you gotta take it like this."

You don't even consider any other option, you simply plunge your two middle fingers deep inside you, gathering your slick before smearing it around yourself and down the other side of Bravo the Clown's cock. You raise up on your knees, the chair creaking again as you move, and tease him against your entrance before taking him inside you.

"Oh, Bravo," you moan as you sink down onto his cock.

"Thank you, I'm here 'til Tuesday," he jokes, miming a bow from where he's seated. You bet he uses that on everyone. You soon wipe the smug grin off his face when you lift up and slam back down onto him, moaning his name once again before you begin fucking yourself on him in earnest. "Fuck."

"Dieter," he whines as you bounce on him, chasing a high that seems so out of reach with the high already muffling your head, "Name's Dieter."

"Dieter," you groan, bottoming out and groaning as you rock your hips over him, his cock seated deep in you.

"Fuck yeah, that's it," he grunts, clown shoes planted flat on the floor giving him leverage to pound up into you as you meet his every thrust. The chair is creaking, the trailer shaking, your lavender colored tits bouncing with each pound. His glazed over eyes watch them bounce in front of his face, a frown knitting his brows together and creasing the paint slathered on his skin as he tries to focus on your jiggling breasts. You think you see him go cross eyed as he tries to look at both of your nipples at once.

You're about to reach your hand down, circle your clit and bring yourself over the edge when arms wrap around you pulling you toward him, face falling into his neck. You can smell him more strongly here, the smell of sweat and weed clinging to him like a second skin. He holds onto your ass as he pounds up into you, pulling your cheeks apart. From this angle you can feel the grind of his hair against your clit with every thrust, and you muffle your moan into his neck.

"Ohhhhh."

"Gonna have to give me more than that, ain't been long since I last came," he huffs into your ear as he pulls you apart. You can feel the slick smear of grease paint on the side of your face.

There's another loud rip, your tights being torn again, this time from behind to expose more of your ass. He slows down the roll of his hips into yours as he pulls you deeper, and deeper, letting you grind down onto him even easier, the rub of him against your clit almost perfect now. The feel of his throbbing cock deep in your pussy, rough hands pulling your ass open and the scratch of his pubic hair on your clit feel so good, but you can't quite get there, whatever end you're trying to reach chased away by the fuzz in your head.

You whine from his neck, shifting your hips, trying to see if another spot would work better. Bravo - Dieter catches on and you hear his voice rumble from his chest as you rock on his lap.

"What's your favorite color?"

Now hardly seems like the time to get to know each other, but you humor him. "Blue," you breathe, rubbing your nose against his cheek, the smell of grease paint strong.

"Blue it is."

One arm lets go of you and you hear something on the vanity. You keep rocking your hips, still so close but not close enough. He brings his hand back and you gasp at a foreign sensation between your cheeks.

It's thick and slick, swiping smoothly across your asshole. You moan and gasp against his face, halting your movements and lifting off him a fraction. He laughs, swiping his slicked finger back and forth over your ass, circling the tight ring before dipping a fingertip in just as he pulls you back down flush onto his cock.

It's intense, and you moan so loud Tattoos and Sequins can probably hear you.

"And that's improv," he says, grunting as he picks up the pace of his thrusts again.

"Fuck, more," you beg, as he slips more of his fingertip into your ass, fucking you hard now as you grip his neck and bring your face in line with his.

He laughs at you, panting with the effort of fucking you. "Oh you're freaky, I like it."

"Watch who you're calling a freak, clown." Your grip his neck, holding on for dear life, unphased by the spread of his face paint onto your own skin.

Both arms are wrapped around you, one feeling at your entrance where he pounds into you, creamy slick coating his fingers with each thrust, the other between your cheeks, finger hooked into your tight hole. His finger tugs at you with each bounce onto his cock, stretching you and making you feel fuller than you are. You tilt your hips again, clit colliding with his thick hair, gridning against you, and you see stars glitter around your vision. They're so close now, the haze in your brain diffusing the light as it draws closer and closer.

"Hnnnng, I'm so close," you groan, rubbing your nose against his.

"Fuck," he mumbles as you pull his mouth onto yours. You kiss him, moaning and grinding against his lap, his tongue flicking against the seam of your lips just as the stars align and burst in your vision.

You come with a deep groan into his mouth, clenching tight around his cock as he frantically pounds up into you, hips stuttering as sweat drips down his face. You feel him start to twitch and then his cock is slipping from you, the remnants of your own orgasm fading as his cock slides against the outside of your cunt and spurts thick ropes of cum up against his belly, catching the already damp hem of his t-shirt.

You sit, faces together, panting for a moment, kissing him again just before he slides his finger from your ass, wiping the slick onto your exposed skin. When he looks down at his spent cock, he groans and huffs.

"Not again. I like this shirt."

He tuts at himself, flopping his arms down and looking around for something to tidy up with. He gives up, instead grabbing a tin from the vanity, popping it open, and starts to roll another joint on his chest.

You take that moment to climb off him, covering your pussy with the scrap of fabric of your panties, tugging your skirt down and your tank top up to cover as much of you as you can. The paint on your chest will stain, but you'll think about that later.

You throw your coat back on, not bothering with your sweater or the mess on your face, when Dieter addresses you again.

"Don't forget your scarf."

You roll your eyes, casting an exasperated look at him only to see him looking up at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

You take your scarf, unbunching it and immediately sticking your hand in something wet and sticky. Even in the darkness, you can tell it's almost definitely cum. You look over to Dieter, disgusted look on your face as he shrugs his shoulders.

"If I'd known you'd come here begging for some of this," he gestures down his slouched body, "I never would've done that sweet cheeks. That one's on you."

"You're an ass."

"I'm not an ass, I'm the one and only Bravo the Clown." He spreads his arms wide, looking obscene with his flaccid cock hanging out of his bright red pants, belly covered in cum and face paint smeared all over his face. He places the unlit joint between his lips and you walk past him, pushing open the door to his trailer and stepping outside into the clear air. You take a deep breath, head already feeling clearer when you turn back, a question on your lips.

He's stood at the door of his trailer, tucking his cock back in, looking even crazier now that your head is clearer.

"The music?" you ask. It'd been playing this whole time, the same tune over and over.

"It's called method acting, sweet cheeks," he says with a wink, lighting his new joint and tilting his head back to expel a plume of smoke into the night sky.

You laugh, you can't help it, the man is a caricature even of himself, but there's something so intoxicating about it.

"Goodnight, Dieter."

You walk back to your car to the tinkling of fairground music and Bravo the Clown's raspy laughter.

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#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the bubble fanfiction #dieter bravo #cw clowns #fic: carnal-val #coveted fics

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whiskygoldwings · 3 months

Text

Anecdotes of a Guard Life

“What the fuck am I looking at trooper?”

“Well sir, it would appear to be a severed hand.”

“And why am I looking at a severed hand?”

“We're trying to figure out if it's real or not.”

Fox leaned forwards, pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, and did his best not to groan.

“Please, for the love of everything holy, elaborate.”

“Well,” Comm said, frowning at the image himself. “Someone reported it to us, and sent in the picture, and now there's bets.”

“Trooper, please tell me there's someone going to actually look at the potentially real severed hand?”

“You think it looks pretty legit too then? Hound thinks it's fake.”

“I'm inclined to side with Hound considering how many body parts Grizzler brings him.”

Comm sighs and puts the padd with the grizzly image on it down. “Yeah, wish I hadn't bet my last pudding cup on it being real before Hound saw it.”

Fox finally raises his head, only to glare at the trooper perched on the edge of his desk. “Is someone going out to look at it?”

Comm nods morosely, clearly still bemoaning the upcoming loss of his pudding cup. “Yeah, Commander Thorn's about five minutes away so I thought I'd let you in before we know for sure.”

With a deep sigh, Fox leans forwards and grabs the padd from next to Comm. He glowers at the image for half a second, then hands it back. “Two of the green ration bars it's fake.”

“I knew you were hoarding the good ones!”

“Got to have change for when one of you idiots takes a stupid bet,” Fox intones solemnly, watching as Comm makes a quick note on another tab on the padd before moving off to wait by the stand-alone radio in the middle of the office. Several of the CT troopers are taking the opportunity in the back office to have their helmets off for a few minutes, so Fox can see a few other faces waiting hopefully by the handset for an update. He shakes his head and goes back to slogging his way through yet another mound of datapads (they mean absolutely sod all to him, but the chancellor wants them read and summarised by the end of the day) while he waits.

Hound slips into the office a minute or two later, taking off his own helmet as he approaches and leans his hip against the edge of Fox's desk, grinning a too-sharp grin at Fox in greeting. “You bet fake right?”

“Yup,” Fox mumbles, trying not to lose his place in his current paragraph of misery.

“Solid bet,” Hound says, and bumps fists with Fox smugly before focusing on where Comm is glaring over at them.

It's only a minute or two more before Thorn's voice comes through the stand-alone. “Thorn to HQ.”

“HQ receiving,” Comm replies into the handset, several faces around him leaning in closer with eager expressions. “Have you confirmed validity of the report?”

There's a moment of silence, then. “It's a fucking jokeshop hand Comm, dipshit.”

Comm curses long and loud and Hound launches off the desk with a growl of laughter, grabbing the younger clone under his arm and rubbing his head with his knuckles as the kid protests and tries to wrangle him off. Fox leans back in his chair and raises an eyebrow at the mixture of grumbling and triumphant grins spreading in the office, before smiling tiredly.

That sodding pudding cup is his.

#star wars #the clone wars #star wars fanfiction #Star Wars fanfic #clone wars fic #clone wars fanfiction #commander fox #coruscant guard

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ctitan98official · 4 months

Text

Alcina Dimitrescu Masterlist

Posted: 1/18/24

Updated: 1/27/24

18+ Minors DNI - You will be blocked

Complete Masterlist Here!

Imagines

Alcina angst drabble

Alcina angst drabble: Why Cassandra thinks Y/N betrayed the Dimitrescu family

Poly!Mirancina comfort a grieving Y/N

Soft Alcina going for a walk with Y/N drabble

Sub!Alcina x Soft dom! Y/N

Y/N almost dies trying to save the DImitrescu sisters

Alcina gets pregnant by Y/N

Alcina gets pregnant by Y/N part 2

Headcanons

Alcina cheating head canons (But with a happy ending!)

What Y/N has RE8 characters listed as in their contacts

What RE8 characters have Y/N listed as in their contacts

Jealous Alcina head canons

Jealous Y/N head canons

How the Lords and Dimitrescu sisters would do on "America's Got Talent"

RE8 women react to Y/N grinding on them

What type of dog each RE8 character would be

RE8 women react to being tied up and Y/N using a strap-on

RE8 women with an S/O who died

RE8 women react to Y/N who has Snow White abilities

RE8 women react to Y/N who is usually gloomy but suddenly feels happy

RE8 women finding out Y/N smokes

RE8 women react to Y/N being gone for a week and coming back

RE8 women react to Y/N who has braces

RE8 women react to Y/N who lets out little squeaks/noises

Alcina takes care of Y/N who has depression

Alcina being clingy

RE8 women find out Y/N worked for B.S.A.A.

Y/N professing their love for the RE8 women in their sleep

Y/N struggles with saying "I love you"

RE8 women react to Y/N who has a deep voice and a personality change

Dimitrescu women react to Y/N sticking their finger in their mouths

RE8 women react to Y/N doing stupid stuff in their sleep

How each RE8 woman grooms her privates

RE8 women react to Y/N sending them nudes

What the RE8 women's biggest insecurities are

Each RE8 woman's go-to Starbuck's order

Y/N going from friends-with-benefits to lovers with the RE8 women

RE8 women react to Y/N shaving off all their hair

How the RE8 women react to Y/N rimming them

RE8 women react to Y/N being obsessed with Squishmallows

RE8 women react to Y/N wanting to put their face in their titties

Incorrect Quotes

Y/N doing Jackass type stunts

Y/N teaching Moreau how to flirt

Y/N gets a new pet

Y/N calling Mother Miranda because Alcina isn't feeling well

Y/N's band plays at a music festival in the village

Y/N films a prank on Alcina

Y/N trying to tell Alcina they need to pee

Y/N makes a bet with Heisenberg

Alcina struggling to get into one of her dresses

Single mom Alcina AU

Single mom Alcina AU: Drabble #2

Alcina reading one of Alcina's teen/dating magazines

Y/N wakes up to Alcina gnawing on them

Y/N bugging Donna during her weekly tea with Alcina

Alcina being curious about Y/N's comic books and collectable figurines

Y/N convinces Alcina to sing a song at an open mic night

Y/N pretending to be a dog and playing with the Dimitrescu sisters

Alcina asking Y/N to get her a glass of wine

Alcina’s sleepover with Y/N, Miranda, and Donna

Alcina's sleepover with Y/N, Miranda, and Donna part 2

Alcina being dramatic at Y/N

Y/N busts through the castle doors

Y/N Alcina and Heisenberg get locked in a room together

Lovable idiot Y/N defending Alcina

RE8 characters go to Las Vegas

Y/N getting drunk and flirting with Alcina

Y/N drinks a personality-changing potion

Alcina drinks a personality-changing potion

Y/N drinks a potion that gives them a deep voice

Y/N hears "Material Girl" for the first time

Y/N brings home a grizzly bear

Alcina and Y/N swap bodies for a day

Alcina being good at Mario Kart

Some dude flirts with Alcina... Y/N cracks his skull

Y/N and Alcina adopt a toddler from the village

Y/N doing romantic gestures for Alcina

Y/N sitting at breakfast with the Dimitrescu ladies

Y/N gets a tattoo of Alcina's name on their arm

Alcina reading Sherlock Holmes to Y/N because she wants to expose them to ✨culture✨

Y/N wakes up next to Alcina for the first time

Miranda and Alcina arguing who has the better spouse... They're all married to each other

How to get fucking murdered by every Dimitrescu family member in less than 20 seconds

Gif Reactions

Y/N's reaction to being called dumb by RE8 characters

RE8 characters reacting to Y/N playing a face-melting guitar solo

RE8 characters react to Y/N booping their nose

RE8 women react to Y/N singing "We Don't Talk About Bruno" from Encanto

Y/N asking the RE8 women to marry them

How screwed you are if you piss off the RE8 women

RE8 women react to fire noodle challenge

RE8 women x Y/N who is a woman magnet

RE8 women react to Y/N bringing home an ugly dog

Y/N giving the RE8 women a lap dance

RE8 women react to a virtual assistant (Like Alexa)

The four Lords riding the pirate ship ride for the first time

RE8 characters find out Y/N has ADHD

#masterlist #alcina dimitrescu

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oogaboogasphincter · 10 months

Note

hii idk if anyone else is having trouble but the sfw and nsfw prompt lists are not opening at all for me!! id like to request something if you have the inspo for joel miller <3

Say Yes To Heaven | Joel Miller x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT (18+ ONLY) MDNI! | vaginal fingering, emotionally constipated joel and reader, mutual pining like omg, only one sleeping bag | 1.0k words

a/n: oh no i'm so sorry they didn't open!! :( i updated the links so hopefully they're working now, but thank you so much for sending in a request regardless 💗 i had a lot of fun writing this and i hope you enjoy!

"Let it happen," he murmurs into your ear, his breath hot and humid against your skin. You think you can hear a hint of politeness in his encouragement, but it's swallowed up by his dark tone and comes out as a command.

Your patrol partner has three of his thick, scarred fingers crooked inside your pussy, maintaining a steady pace of purposeful thrusts that drive you toward your release at light speed. You can't see what promises to be a deliciously vulgar sight, pinned on your back beneath Joel's criminally broad shoulders and sealed tight together in your lone sleeping bag. You're starting to think that, "Mine has clicker guts all over it," was a load of horseshit.

He can tell you're fighting it. Not him, but the pleasure he's inflicting that threatens to blind all your senses. The apocalypse has rewired your brain to resist all feelings of ease, because that must mean you're abandoning your dire responsibilities and failing to assess the terrors that swarm you. An orgasm is definitely not a vital task, or so your repressed conscience told you.

But you need this. It's been years since you've been with someone. Months since the last time you found the headspace to masturbate, and that was just a quick few flicks of your fingers against your clit that almost felt impersonal, mechanical. Joel is gruesomely reminding you what you've been missing, how good it can be, via the slick, lewd sounds emanating from between your thighs.

Those damned espresso eyes staring down at you with unrelenting dominance tell you you need it. Joel's chest rising and falling with exertion and the glimmer of craze in his glare tells you he needs your release just as much as you do. Joel's had an equally torturous halt to his sex life, the last time he tasted someone being a distant mistake he actively tries to forget.

He leans down and presses his forehead against yours, the most tender gesture he's made all night, contrasting the tearing of your panties clean off your body and the gratifyingly rough intrusion of his fingers. Sweat dapples his temples and makes him slip, his nose dips and grazes your cheek. His grizzly facial hair brushes your lips and his breathy pants spill into your mouth, his heart jolting with yours when he finds that spongy spot in your depths and massages it.

"Let it happen," he says again. This time his voice has a degree of softness to it, resembling a plea more than an order. His thumb bends to rub circles around your clit, before he indulges your aching bundle of nerves with direct stimulation of his calloused fingertip. You squeeze your eyes shut with a rapturous groan, your thighs twitch with the anticipation of your resolve finally reaching its breaking point.

"Come for me," Joel growls. Your lower belly presses into his in the narrow space of your sleeping bag as your back arches, creating a delicious sense of pressure on your plush walls. Your mind finds bliss as it loses all sense of reality, besides the ensnaring heat pulsating in your cunt. You claw at Joel's back as you come, your fingers grabbing ahold of his jacket and twisting the fabric so hard in your grip you hear a seam pop.

Joel's eyes are fixated on you throughout the duration of your climax, watching you with mesmerized intrigue. He masterfully slows his fingers to aid the ebb and flow of your come down, but then gives you no choice but to dive headfirst into a second consecutive release as he speeds back up again. Static jumps behind your eyelids and you scream, knotting your fingers in his graying hair. A litany of curses tumbles from your mouth breathlessly and you cry out for him by name, repeating that sweet, solid name on your tongue.

He puts his hand over your mouth not to quiet you - fending off a horde of clickers is well worth hearing your delectable moans and the way his name sounds on your sweet tongue - but to soothe you. From the pitiful upward tick of your brows and your trembling lower lip, he wants to comfort you. To give you a safe landing from your peak and a secure place to decompress.

When your breaths come slower against his palm he takes it away, caressing the softness of your parted lips delicately. He lingers there, committing the sensation to memory for those nights where his romantic yearning for you overpowers his restraint to remain professional and he strokes himself, tangled up all alone in his sheets, to dreams of you.

Tears drip to your neck, some a reaction to the flood of endorphins you weren't sure your body was even capable of producing anymore, and some from the bittersweet nag that this was sure to be a one-time thing with Joel. That all he saw was your vulnerability, combined with a convenient opportunity, and took it.

He stays quiet and dabs your tears away one by one with his free hand, his other still hidden and cradling your sex, feeling its pulsating aftershocks.

You avoid eye contact with him - that would be too intimate for both of you.

He presses a reverent kiss to your forehead, the soft sound of his lips drawing a shuddering breath out of you. An innocent blink trickles with residual tears. You find solace in his warm skin as you tuck your nose under his jaw.

It might sound silly, but you don't care. He's given you a gift that you yourself didn't realize your dire need for. You start to thank him, "Thank y-"

He cuts you off with a shake of his head. The soft movement of his salt and pepper curls makes your words catch in your throat. They wave at you like they're begging for the return of your touch. "No need," he whispers, his voice straining a bit. His trademark gruff hoarseness sounds clearer to you in the silence following the storm than ever before. Or maybe you're just mirroring his incessant need to record every single detail of this encounter.

You shimmy your hand beneath the covers and reach for his bulge, but he shakes his head again, gently pushing your hand away. "But-" you stutter, and he just wants you to stop. Stop being so lovable. So he kisses you. He sighs in concession into the kiss, as the barrier around his heart that's supposed to be impenetrable suffers another blow.

main masterlist ♡ join my taglist!

💘taglist: @pascalpanic @melody13522 @tenderwhat @maievdenoir @pedrostories @your-voice-is-mellifluous @harriedandharassed

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x afab!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller hbo #tlou joel #joel tlou #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal characters

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fizzigigsimmer · 3 months

Text

Moonwood: Part 5

Thank you all so much for your patience. We're baaaaack with an update.

|Part One Here|

It’s pretty stupid in Steve’s opinion that he still needs to get his mom to sign a permission slip to go to basketball camp, even though he’s eighteen.

“I don’t want to hear it Harrington.” The coach says when Steve tracks him down. “I can’t let you on the bus without a permission slip.”

Hank says it’s because the school doesn’t want to be liable if something happens to them out in the woods – and Steve can’t help but shiver a little at the way he says it. Like he expects something or knows something Steve doesn’t. But he tells himself he’s being crazy. Anything could happen in a national park but that doesn’t mean something is going to. There’s gotta be like safe areas mapped out for the public, right? It’s probably a good thing the slip reads like a contract: I understand the risk my child is taking and waive my rights to be pissed about it if they get chewed on by a grizzly bear. It shows they’ve thought things through. At least Steve hopes they’ve thought it through – if he’s honest, he’s not sure how he feels about spending a week in the woods with a bunch of keyed up guys all jonesing to impress Billy Hargrove.

Because it’s pretty obvious after the first round that the team captains have a lot of pull with the coach.

“Hey sweetheart!” Steve’s mom is in the living room, working on some crochet toy for a neighbor who is having a baby. Steve had no idea she could crochet until she started making the toy. Apparently, she was pretty crafty before she met his dad. Steve’s dad didn’t think it was a sexy enough hobby or something. Said it was for old women and spinsters.

“How was tryouts?” Aunt Julie asks when he walks in. She’s knitting what looks like a hooded onesie with ears and a fluffy tail attached. It’s pretty damn cute.

“Wasn’t much of a tryout. The coach wasn’t even there, and the captains just ran us ragged the whole time.” He grumbles, shrugging his duffle off his shoulder and throwing himself down onto the couch beside his mom. She she laughs as the cushions sag beneath his weight.

“Coach Brown is a godsend to that school. He knows how to pick the right personalities, people who really work well together and form a solid bond.” Aunt Julie sighs wistfully. “It was much different when your mom and I were in school. There was a lot of tension between us and the Schiller folks. I felt like I was always on my guard, looking over my shoulder.”

“What’s up with that, by the way?” Steve asks, eager to finally have an explanation for the weird vibes everyone seems to have about Moonwood. “Why are people like, scared of this place? It can’t just be because of the forest.”

Steve’s mom and his aunt share a strange look.

“They’re scared of us. Because we’re different.” Aunt Julie says, but before Steve can ask her what she means his mom is shaking her head and hissing something at Julie in Lythan. They go back and forth like that for a moment and Steve just knows that they’re talking about him, and he’s sick of being left in the dark.

“Whoa whoa whoa, guys!” He snaps. “In english please! I’m right here and I want to know what’s going on. Mom?”

Steve’s mom looks tortured, like Steve is holding a lighter to her feet. His aunt heaves a heavy sigh and flips her long dark hair over her shoulder.

“It’s time to tell him Jess. The bonfire is tomorrow night.”

Steve wants to know what’s going on and why everyone keeps talking about the bonfire as if it’s so important, when it’s just a bunch of people from the neighborhood getting together to tell ghost stories and get plastered. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting his mom to say but it’s not that she’s a werewolf.

He thinks she’s pulling his leg at first, cause what else can she be doing but then aunt Julie chimes in and they both just won’t stop. They tell him that the people in their village have always turned into wolves and that they came to the new world to escape persecution. He’s kind of mad at himself, how long he listens until they get to the part with the witch.

“Time out! Time out! You expect me to believe you guys, grandma and grandpa and all the rest, you’re werewolves, and everybody knows about it because you fought a witch?” Steve laughs even though it’s not really funny and waits for them – but nobody laughs with him.

“Yes. She’d put a curse on the village and the people there to force them to pay tithes and make sacrifices to her.” His mom says and his aunt nods, continuing.

“When the townspeople rose against her, her coven came to exact their vengeance. The pack protected them, and in exchange we were given this land. Although the area has grown and many new people have come, there are people dedicated to keeping the old truce alive.”

“That’s why you needed to know before the bonfire. There will be representatives from the other towns there, new and old. There will be a demonstration and the pact between our communities will be renewed.” His mom finishes.

Steve gets up and stomps off. He is mad. He is so mad that she would play such a weird stupid prank on him instead of just being honest; but mostly he’s afraid. He’s afraid because it doesn’t make sense and he can’t figure out why she would do it or why aunt Julie would help her and when his grandpa knocks on the door of his room later and asks to come in, his heart sinks into his stomach.

He knows what his grandfather wants to talk about as he sits down on the edge of his bed before he even says a word – and it just doesn’t make sense. It can’t be real. It just can’t be. There’s no such thing as werewolves, and the only witches he knows are edgy girls who like to collect crystals.

“Your mom says you had quite the talk earlier.” His grandpa starts with a small sigh. “How ya doing Pip?”

“You mean with the discovery that my family is either insane or they’re werewolves?” Steve sneers, not looking away from where his gaze is fixed on the ceiling. “I’m still wrestling with it.”

“Well, go easy on your mom while you wrestle. She’s had a rough couple of months. It ain’t easy breaking with a soulmate.”

“Soulmate? I thought you hated my dad.”

“Don’t matter what I think of him” grandpa grunts. “Wolves mate for life. We’re born for someone, and common thought was they were born for us. But well your mom… she loved that man with all she had, but there wasn’t much in him for loving.”

And that’s how Steve discovered that it’s real – the stories his mom used to tell him about soulmates, and how one day he’d grow up and he’d meet someone, and when he’d look at them, he’d just know he was made to love them.

“This is crazy. I don’t – I don’t want…” Steve bites back tears, unable to get the words out. He doesn’t think his grandpa is a liar, and the whole family can’t be crazy. But he doesn’t want this to be real. Not if it means he might be made to love someone who will never love him back. His dad didn’t get it, why Steve would choose to be broke and struggle with his mom instead of have his future pathed for him and live in comfort with his dad.

The thought that it might be his destiny to live like that, with his hand out always waiting on love that won’t come… Steve cries and his grandfather pats his shoulder awkwardly, but lovingly.

“I’m awful glad to have you Stevie and I wouldn’t change a thing, but I’ve always hoped maybe she was wrong. You don’t know a soul bond until you feel it and it’s easy for a young girl to lose her head. In any case, she’s the only one I’ve ever heard of with a one-way tie like that.”

“What does it feel like?” Steve finds himself asking, but the strange thing is how he knows the answer even before he finishes the question.

When you see them, it’s like everything slows down so you don’t miss them. Like something’s forcing you to pay attention. And once you do, it’s like everything else pales in comparison. You’re always thinking about them, always bumping into them and trying to be near them without thinking about it, because that’s where you’re happiest. Even if you don’t know it yet. Nobody can lift you up or put you down quicker than they can. They see more of you than anyone else, and you see them too. You can try and ignore the pull, but the tide will always bring you right back to them.

Steve listens to his grandpa wax on and on about what it was like when he first felt the connection with his grandmother and it should be just a sweet story to him. Something to give him hope for the future.

But what happened is his heart starts to beat and his palms start to sweat as Billy Hargrove’s face floats to the front of his mind where it absolutely doesn’t belong.

Unless…

But they can’t be. Can they?

Friendly tags for those who have asked in the past:

@darleenjade @sweetwaterangel @dragonflylady77 @natchula @tip-tap-tired @sparklingsprinkles @adelacreations @bluetree76 @deadfromtheneckdown @heavensfinest @marklee-blackmore @slightlydepressedmelon @percabeth-trashcan @a-lovely-craziness

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #werewolf au #werewolf boyfriends #teenwolf adjacent #size difference #size kink #Billy is BIG and Steve is smol #fizzi writes fic #moonwood series

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