#old car abandoned in woods
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Mystery car
Beyond the question of why somebody would abandon a car in the middle of the woods is the question of how. This car is in a fairly thick woodlot adjacent to our property, a quarter-mile from the closest road.
I can only conclude that the car is older than the woodlot; most likely Its former owners - the people who once farmed that land - hauled it out there simply as a way to dispose of it, before the woods grew up around it.
However, to a person prone to flights of imagination, the bullet holes in the right rear quarter panel may suggest a more dramatic history. Think bank robbers Bonnie and Clyde fleeing the Feds ...
Nah ... it probably was just somebody using the car for target practice after it was abandoned.
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Abandoned
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English added by me :)
#玫瑰女人#douyin#video#tiktok#hmmm this triggered a fever dream like recollection of a barney & friends segment from one of the old vhs tapes i used to watch#where those twins were doing a weird dance in front of a fake mirror for like a bajillion hours#i was so stupid as a kid i never realise i could fast forward past things i didn't like#the first time i used youtube when i was like 10 or so i clicked on some 'hey there delilah' parody video that was like 8 minutes long#and i hated every second of it but for some reason it never occurred to me to turn it off#look i don't remember a lot of my youth but the things i do remember are hellishly boring#which me and my sister realised a few weeks ago actually when we were talking about a trip from our youth#and she was remembering all these interesting details about things we did on the trip and where we stayed#whereas the only thing i remembered was this long ass sidewalk next to a big white wall we had to walk along to go up a hill to the hotel#and also when we were visiting some decrepit abandoned cabins in the middle of nowhere.....the long ass drives in between each fuckin cabin#where i was half awake half asleep in the car and it was so hot and then we'd get out and just stand around squinting at dusty wood fences#the theory we settled on is that i don't remember shit except for the torment of boredom bc those things were so repetitive and extended#that my brain had no choice but to remember at least part of the experience#anyway time for bed methinks
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hey fellow New Englanders, i’m planning out a fic set in rural Connecticut but it’s been so long since i’ve been back on the East Coast myself; what are some details that give you big New England (Gothic-adjecent, but also New England in general) vibes?
#what i've got: Dunkin Donuts; old abandoned granite quarries; street layouts that are weird and twisty and absolutely not designed for cars#mixed mossy woods with lots of scraggly pines and granite boulders#a lot of my experience is specifically coastal tho and this is inland
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#backwoods#by#holly wood#painting#acrylic#acrylic painting#bears#forest#woods#abandoned cars#abandoned#Acrylic Gouache On Panel#post apocalyptic#old truck#book#reading#animals#books#art
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set the scene
setting prompts (but a little more specific) from yours truly.
001, a convenience store past midnight.
002, a hospital waiting room at 3 in the morning.
003, a photoshoot outdoors in the middle of winter.
004, an indoor filming set of a detective's office.
005, a new house/apartment filled with unopened cardboard boxes.
006, a swing set in an empty playground at night.
007, on stage in an empty theatre.
008, inside an old abandoned house.
009, an empty cemetery at night.
010, the arrival hall at an airport.
011, the last train compartment that's not full.
012, the roulette table in a casino.
013, on the deck of a cruise ship.
014, a kitchen during a black out, surrounded by candles.
015, a treehouse in the middle of the woods.
016, on the dance floor during a wedding.
017, behind the chapel before the wedding ceremony starts.
018, backstage during the middle of a concert.
019, a crowded club during a bachelorette party.
020, standing in front of a painting at a museum.
021, a small, intimate family barbecue.
022, a gazebo while it's raining.
023, the back of an empty bus.
024, a hotel room with only one bed.
025, an empty balcony while a party goes on inside.
026, a bar just after closing.
027, an empty sports stadium.
028, lakeside while the sun is setting.
030, an empty stretch of road beside a broken down car.
031, in front of a suspicious pool of blood in an empty parking lot.
032, in the crowd of spectators during an underground fight.
033, a plane during a bout of turbulence.
034, on kiss cam at a sports game.
035, at a table during a charity gala.
036, a masquerade ball.
037, a halloween party in a suburban house.
038, the beach in the late afternoon.
039, a dressing room after a big performance.
040, exploring the depths of a mysterious cave.
#rp meme#rp memes#rp prompt#rp prompts#inbox meme#inbox memes#setting prompts#ask meme#ask memes#bigtimeprompts.
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↪ 𝑺𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 , updated . ( a collection of various settings meant to inspire drabbles or be used as prompts . )
001. the seaside , as the sun is setting .
002. a cabin in the middle of the woods .
003. a picket-fenced home in the suburbs .
004. a dark bus stop lit only by street lights .
005. a private jet miles high in the sky .
006. a funhouse’s room of mirrors .
007. an office building , bustling and busy .
008. the back row of an empty movie theater .
009. a run - down motel room .
010. a loud house party on a suburban street .
011. a university lecture hall during a class .
012. the rooftop of a very tall building .
013. a great ballroom during an elegant party .
014. the back of a wailing ambulance .
015. the wine cellar of a large mansion .
016. behind the school’s gymnasium .
017. a boisterous bonfire at the lakeside .
018. an otherwise empty parking lot .
019. the shady bar of a noisy , dark club .
020. the grounds of an empty summer camp .
021. a large hedge maze , easy to get lost in .
022. a neglected or derelict treehouse .
023. a spacious , light-filled meadow .
024. an underground illegal fighting club .
025. an abandoned scrapyard .
026. a large penthouse overlooking the city .
027. an apple orchard in the middle of spring .
028. an empty playground with squeaky swings .
029. an extravagant greenhouse .
030. the base of a large waterfall .
031. a spacious walk - in closet full of lovely clothes .
032. a solemnly quiet hospital room .
033. the dark depths of an abandoned mine .
034. the deck of a fishing boat at night .
035. the thick crowd of an audience at a show .
036. a long , winding road .
037. the scene of a violent crime .
038. a fork in a hiking trail deep in the wilderness .
039. a cramped dressing room .
040. a dusty antiques shop full of relics .
041. the street of an unfamiliar city at night .
042. between the tall shelves of a thrifted book shop .
043. a building abandoned during construction .
044. a house without power or running water .
045. a mysterious trail found in the woods .
046. the back of a taxi stuck in traffic .
047. the inside of an elevator that won’t move .
048. fairgrounds during a large event (or after hours) .
049. a garden bountiful with flowers or produce .
050. a childhood home or bedroom .
+ 30 more setting prompts : 1 / 3 / 2024
051. the site of a horrible accident .
052. a closed pool , after everyone has left .
053. a home holding horrific memories .
054. by the side of a dangerously quick river .
055. a private hotel room .
056. a police station in the middle of the night .
057. a ferris wheel carriage under a sky of fireworks .
058. a lavish , invite - only party .
059. a public transit stop as rain is pouring down .
060. the back of a taxi going in the wrong direction .
061. the underworld .
062. a dusty , forgotten attic .
063. on the set of a television show or movie .
064. a lighthouse overlooking the raging sea .
065. in a post - apocalyptic bunker .
066. on a ship hundreds of miles from the nearest coast .
067. on the rooftop of a perilously tall building .
068. a tent pitched in the middle of the woods .
069. a crowded stadium during a football game .
070. the morgue during an identification .
071. an otherwise empty library during a late study session .
072. a place that feels familiar , yet you've never been here before .
073. a long hallway that seems to stretch on forever .
074. a signpost at the start of a hiking trail .
075. a bar or tavern bustling with life .
076. the dance floor of a masquerade ball .
077. inside of a car parked in a secluded area .
078. at the edge of a cliff overlooking a large lake .
079. inside a very old house with very old haunts .
080. the antiseptic interior of a space station .
#i'll add more eventually#just had to repost this time cos the old post wasn't in beta :/#inbox prompts#setting prompts#rp prompts#rp memes#inbox memes
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“Did they really decapitate babies?” my 14-year-old daughter asked me yesterday. She was pointing to a text message on her phone from a friend. “They’re saying they found Jewish babies killed, some burnt, some decapitated.” And I froze. Not because I didn’t know what to say—though in truth I didn’t know what to say—but because for a moment I forgot what century I was in. All of the assumptions I had made as a Jewish father, even one who had grown up, as I did, with the Holocaust just a few decades past, were suddenly no longer relevant. Had I adequately prepared her for the reality of Jewish death, what every shtetl child for centuries would have known intimately? Later in the day, she asked if, for safety’s sake, she should take off the necklace she loves that her grandparents had given her and that has her name written out in Hebrew script.
The attack by Hamas on Israeli civilians last Saturday broke something in me. I had always resisted victimhood. It felt abhorrent, self-pitying to me in a world that seemed far away from the Inquisition and Babi Yar—especially in the United States, where I live and where polls repeatedly tell me that Jews are more beloved than any other religious group. I wasn’t blind to anti-Semitism and the ways it had recently become deadlier, or to the existential dread that my family in Israel felt every time terrorists blew up a bus or café—it’s a story whose sorrows have punctuated my entire life. But I refused to embrace that ironically comforting mantra, “They will always want to kill us.” I hated what this tacitly expressed, that if they always want to kill us, then we owe them, the world, nothing. I deplore the occupation for both the misery it has inflicted on generations of Palestinians and the way it corrodes Israeli society; when settlers in the West Bank have been attacked, it has pained me, but I have also felt anger that they are even there. In short, I wasn’t locked into the worldview of my survivor grandparents and I felt superior for it.
But something in me did break. As I was driving on Tuesday, I heard a long interview on the BBC with Shir Golan, a 22-year-old woman who had survived the attack at the music festival where more than 250 people were killed, her voice sounding just like one of my young Israeli cousins. She described, barely able to catch her breath, how the shooting had started and how she’d begun to run. She’d found a wooded area and tried to hide. “I got really into the ground,” she said. “I put the bushes on me.” Covered with dirt and leaves, she’d waited. A group of terrorists had shown up and called for anyone hiding to come out. From her spot under the earth, she’d seen three young people, whom she called “children,” emerge. “I didn’t go out because I was scared. But there were three children next to me who got out. And then they shot them. One after one after one. And they fell down, and that I saw. I saw the children fall down. And all that I did was pray. I prayed to my god to save me.”
I pulled my car over because my own hands were shaking as I listened. She then described waiting, hidden in the dirt under bushes for hours, until she saw the terrorists begin to light the forest on fire. “I didn’t know what to do. Because if I’m staying there, I’m just burnt to death. But if I go out they are going to kill me.” She crawled over to where she saw dead bodies and lay on top of them, but the heat soon approached, so she found more bushes to hide in until she could run again. Burnt bodies were everywhere, and Shir looked for her friends but couldn’t find them, couldn’t even see the faces of those killed because they were so badly burned. “I felt like I was in hell.” She finally escaped in a car.
Her story flung me back to my grandparents’ stories. My grandmother hid in a hole for a year in the Polish countryside, also under dirt, also scared. My grandfather spent months in Majdanek, a death camp, and saw bodies pile up in exactly this way. Stories are still emerging of families burnt alive, of children forced to watch their parents killed before their eyes, of bodies desecrated. How was this taking place last Saturday?
But these stories aren’t what broke me. What did was the distance between what was happening in my head and what was happening outside of it. The people on “my side” are supposed to care about human suffering, whether it’s in the detention camps of Xinjiang or in Darfur. They are supposed to recognize the common humanity of people in need, that a child in distress is first a child in distress regardless of country or background. But I quickly saw that many of those on the left who I thought shared these values with me could see what had happened only through established categories of colonized and colonizer, evil Israeli and righteous Palestinian—templates made of concrete. The break was caused by this enormous disconnect. I was in a world of Jewish suffering that they couldn’t see because Jewish suffering simply didn’t fit anywhere for them.
The callousness was expressed in so many ways. There were those tweets that did not hide their disregard for Jewish life—“what did y’all think decolonization meant? vibes? papers? essays? Losers”—or the one that described the rampage as a “glorious thing to wake up to.” There was the statement by more than two dozen Harvard student groups asserting, in those first hours in which we saw children and women and old people massacred, that “the Israeli regime” was “entirely responsible for all unfolding violence.” And then there were the less explicit posts that nevertheless made clear through pseudo-intellectual word salads that Israel got what it deserved: “a near-century’s pulverized overtures toward ethnic realization, of groping for a medium of existential latitude—these things culminate in drastic actions in need of no apologia.” I hate to extrapolate from social media—it is a place that twists every utterance into a performance for others. But I also felt this callousness in the real world, in a Times Square celebratory protest promoted by the New York City chapter of the Democratic Socialists of America, at which one speaker talked of supporting Palestinians using “any means necessary” to retake the land “from the river to the sea,” as a number of placards declared. There were silences as well. Institutions that had rushed to condemn the murder of George Floyd or Russia for attacking Ukraine were apparently confounded. I watched my phone to see whether friends would write to find out if my family was okay—and a few did, with genuine and thoughtful concern, but many did not.
I’m still trying to understand this feeling of abandonment. Is my own naivete to blame? Did I tip too far over into the side of universalism and forget the particularistic concerns to which I should have been attuned—the precarious state of my own tribe? Even as I write this, I don’t really want to believe that that’s true. If I can fault myself clearly for something, though, it’s not recognizing that the same ideological hardening I’d seen on the right in the past few years, the blind allegiances and contorted narratives even when reality was staring people in the face, has also happened, to a greater degree than I’d imagined, on the left, among the people whom I think of as my own. They couldn’t recognize a moral abomination when it was staring them in the face. They were so set in their categories that they couldn’t make a distinction between the Palestinian people and a genocidal cult that claimed to speak in that people’s name. And they couldn’t acknowledge hundreds and hundreds of senseless deaths because the people who were killed were Israelis and therefore the enemy.
As the days go on, the horrific details of what happened—those babies—seem to be registering more fully, if not on the ideological left, then at least among sensible liberals. But somehow I can’t shake the feeling of aloneness. Does it take murdered babies for you to recognize our humanity? I find myself thinking—a thought that feels alien to my own mind but also like the truth. Perhaps this is the Jewish condition, bracketed off for many decades and finally pulling me in.
When news broke of the Kishinev pogrom in 1903 that took 49 lives (compare that with the 1,200 we now know were killed on Saturday), it caused a sensation throughout the world. “Babes were literally torn to pieces by the frenzied and bloodthirsty mob,” The New York Times reported. “The local police made no attempt to check the reign of terror. At sunset the streets were piled with corpses and wounded. Those who could make their escape fled in terror, and the city is now practically deserted of Jews.” In response to that massacre, the emigration of hundreds of thousands of Eastern European Jews to the United States began in earnest; the call of Zionism as a solution also sounded clearly and widely for the first time.
In his famous poem about the massacre, “In the City of Slaughter,” the Hebrew writer Haim Naḥman Bialik lamented, even more than the death, the sense of helplessness (“The open mouths of such wounds, that no mending / Shall ever mend, nor healing ever heal”), the men who watched in terror from their hiding places while women were raped and blood was spilled. I can’t say I know what will happen now that this helplessness has returned—if I’m honest, I also fear that Israel’s retaliation will go too far, that acting out of a place of victimhood, as right as it may feel, will cause the country to lose its mind. Innocent lives in Gaza have been and will be destroyed as a result, and competing victimhood is obviously not the way out of the conflict; it’s the reason that it is hopelessly stuck. But in this moment, before the destruction of Gaza grabs my attention and concern alongside fear for my relatives who have been called up to the army, I don’t want to forget how alone I felt as a Jew these past few days. I have a persistent, uncomfortable need now to have my people’s suffering be felt and seen. Otherwise, history is just an endless repetition. And that’s an additional tragedy that seems too much to bear.
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⋆ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍!𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀 ⋆
A/N: He's back bitches, DADDY MIGUEL O'HARA.
SYNOPSIS: Miguel is a 45-year-old man who works in a local library, also giving tutoring classes in literature to the local village community, you decide to go visit him after being on vacation, awakening a side of himself that Miguel didn't know.
TW: Yandere themes, age gap, afab anatomy, betrayal, dark themes, threats, manipulation, smut, au.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA -He leads a peaceful life, always opening the library at 9 am and closing at 9 pm, sometimes staying overtime to look at the landscape outside the large windows, to try to forget his failed marriage with his wife.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who has the same patterns every day, namely: taking both children to school by car, buying the same fruits to eat throughout the day - a few dates, an apple and a bottle of coffee aluminum portable, hot and sugar-free in the dark green side pouch he carries everything he needs for that day -
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - What you see in a boring life, everything was the same, he worked out, went for walks on the weekends, watched the same period films after 11pm, in the same leather armchair that got hot in the uncomfortable summer heat, drinking the same beer while the black and white images of the Hollywood film passed through the lens of his glasses, while he smelled the cold food made by his wife, who as always, had left the children with him and gone out.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who woke up late that day due to the hangover from the several beers he had on Sunday, rushing to drop his children off at school and avoid an argument with his wife early in the morning. He calmly went to the library, after all, there was no one there at that end of the world. But he was wrong. He soon saw you, sitting on the steps of the cold concrete stairs while waiting for someone to open the library, he had never seen you in the community, so it was a surprise for him to see someone so beautiful and different from the routine faces in the village. Miguel got out of the car, adjusting his round glasses, giving you a polite "good morning", his strong accent mixed with the smell of coffee coming from his lips, he opened the library while looking you up and down, he would casually ask you your name and what you do there. You spoke your reasons politely, while explaining that you were on vacation and decided to visit the tourist attractions of that village, such as the lighthouse and rough sea, as well as the large library, which, in addition to needing some literature classes, you two were taking Miguel O'Hara nods and gives a practically invisible sideways shy smile.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who gets excited like a young man when he sees you interested in literature, Miguel would make a point of giving you some books as a gift, explaining about each one, especially if you like gothic literature, such as: Bram Stocker, Marion Zimmer Bradley, Edgar Allan Poe, Bram Stocker - or horror stories, he automatically falls in love if you, speaking excerpts from his favorite stories while pouring you some coffee, sitting in front of him while the two of you did a literary duo circle, the voices echoing through the ancient wood.
"-With a long scrutinizing look at the shadow, which frightens me, which haunts me, And I dream of what no mortal has ever dreamed of, But the vast and silent silence, silent remains; the quiet stillness." -O'Hara reads with a strong, hoarse accent, his voice was raw, reverberating his passion for each verse and word he spoke, holding the book in his thick fingers, now, with the abandonment of the wedding ring he wore, even though he was still married, you didn't need to know that detail.
"-Only you, unique and beloved word, Lenora, you, like a scarce sigh, leave my sad mouth; And the echo, which heard you, whispered to you in space; It was just that, nothing more." -You completed, reading your part in the tale of "The Crow" while feeling the older man's gauze on your body, while Salvatore's hands massaged your bare shoulder, lightly adjusting the clothes you wore, a long and possessive touch.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who offers you a ride home, turning on the radio while asking you everything about yourself, if you were dating, if you had traveled with someone, he expected you to be totally alone, totally for him. Miguel drops you off at home while he says a quick goodbye, but he actually just hides the car in the middle of some trees, looking out your windows, writing down your nighttime habits in a diary - he got home later that night, his wife noticed the delay, but he just made up an excuse, mostly lying that he had lost the ring in a library cleaning, which was a lie, he got rid of the ring in the sea, near the local town port -
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who studied everything about you on the days you two were alone in the library, becomes his refuge. Don't get him wrong, O'Hara loves his children, but he hates coming home and seeing that his marriage is a failure, and that the woman he was once so in love with, young days that passed through his life in long ago, Now she's just a strange and cold woman, but you? You are his treasure, always happy, smiling sweetly, asking if he is okay, or if he has eaten that day, if he needs help with something in his work as a librarian, you are so angelic, so beautiful, so his. You're totally his, aren't you?
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who lies to you about his private life, saying that his wife and he are divorced and he just lets her live close to the children, he lies so naturally that even he himself believes in the madness of his mind.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA- Who finds an excuse to leave you up late with him in the library, telling you about some more books, and giving you a letter, letters that were always sealed in luxurious black paper like an envelope, with a red coat of arms with an 'M' for Miguel, big in the center, he always asked you to open it at home, they were poems and poetry written by him, about you, but each time, with each letter given to you, they became darker, more intense, more... Intimate.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Which makes you sit on his muscular legs that night in the peace of the library, while his big, calloused hands lightly run over your thighs, while he praises you. "-Your skin is soft like the finest and purest silk, your lips are full and shiny with life, your smile is like the epitome of beauty, I look at you and see an angel, not even the richest kings who had harems with several women And men, none of them come close to your beauty, mi angelito, did you know that? Your heart is so pure and beautiful, your soul is practically eradicated from your carnal being." -Miguel spoke hoarsely, as he forced you to look at him, his eyes shone, not only with enlightenment but with love, a sick love for you.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA -He fingers you slowly and lightly, giving you kisses on the head, feeling the smell and softness of your hair, his fingers enter and curve slightly, he was an expert in that, he wanted to make you come, to make you see the stars in the sky pleasure he could give you. Miguel praises you even more when he sees you moaning so beautifully, writhing in his lap, while he whispers in your ear how well you do it, being such a good girl/boy for him, giving yourself to him like that, like you It's beautiful when your pussy tightens around his fingers, how perfect you are when you let your sweet saliva run down your lips like that, while he gives you all the pleasure, making you squirm on his arm full of veins and scars from the time he had, dirtying the papers and reports he signed, but he doesn't fight with you, no my sweet girl/boy, you are his, Miguel just applies a chaste kiss to your temple, salty with the sweat of sexual effort and the heat of lust from your body, while he just said everything was going to be okay.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who was worried when you didn't show up after a few days, so he left work early, seeing you at a local fair. He tried to talk to you, but you were disappointed in him, you had found out he was married, and you felt dirty for giving yourself to him. Miguel O'Hara froze immediately, but he soon recovered his posture, telling you in a serious and cold air that she didn't mean anything to him and you did, but you didn't want to listen, just saying how rubbish he was as a human being and leaving the room. running, hiding in the crowd, he didn't go after you, just walking away with a neutral and serious air, thinking about the next step he would take, and he knew exactly what it would be. He spent every day at your house, placing flowers, chocolates, teddy bears, gifts and books on your doorstep, even if you threw them in the trash, he bought more and more, even more expensive and extravagant. Miguel didn't leave you alone, going to your house every day, even trying to knock on the window, but you didn't pay attention to him, but he didn't care, he wasn't going to give up, he stopped the car every day after his shift from work to look at you,or look at the lighting in your house, where you were, what you were doing, and who you were with.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - That on your last day in the village, he left you a letter, in a red envelope, you didn't want to read it, but your curiosity got the better of you, with you finally reading the content of the man's letter.
My dear, (Y/N)
This may sound strange, but I like it when you hide like a scared little bunny, running away from me like that, as if I were a predator? so I am offended my dear.
Do you know how far I'm willing to go for you?
Do you know exactly what things I can do to try?
Do you know the dark thoughts I can carry out with your friends or family?
If you gave in. We would be even more than perfect together, we were born to be each other's my love.
Just as the sun rises day after day, just as the moon appears in the dead of night.
Just as the stars shine in the black sky of the dark and cold night, void of voice.
Just as birds spend their lungs in a melodious song, unable to be stopped by foolish men.
Just like every natural phenomenon and incapable of being stopped, I will make you mine.
just mine.
You can try to scream, try to escape or even ignore me, like a mirror covered with a fine linen fabric, I'm still there, watching you, attentive to your smallest details, your flaws, your sins, your darkest, hidden fears. inside your mind, the intimate and core of your most secret suffering... I know everything, I know you more than you know yourself.
We are destined to be one, drawn by a happy and unhappy destiny, a piece of the gods perhaps, who are we to question love?
In fact, I'll ask you one more time, you love me, right? Just try to say you don't love me...
Then I will destroy you... I k-
You didn't even finish reading the letter, hearing heavy footsteps coming from the back door, while you saw a tall figure standing in the dark shadow of the hallway, something dripping on the floor while those familiar and maddened brown eyes stared at you, deep in your soul, Miguel O'Hara.
"-And you know, (Y/N)... you shouldn't leave the door open."
©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023
#yanderestarangel#yandere themes#yandere smut#yandere concept#yandere male#dark smut#dark concept#dark romance#tw smut#tw yandere#yandere#yandere content#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel ohara#miguel x reader#miguel spiderman#miguel o'hara#yandere miguel x reader#yandere miguel ohara#yandere miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara headcanons#atsv miguel#miguel spiderverse#miguel ohara x you#miguel ohara angst#kinktober#kinktober 2023#dark content#dark miguel o'hara#afab reader
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Tease Me*
Summary: An extra for Teach Me*
The one where you and your best friend, Harry, are invited to a Haunted House.
But ghosts aren’t the only fun thing about this party.
(For my non-spooky besties, the house isn't actually haunted! Just old and abandoned! There are no jump scares💞)
Word Count: 9.5k
Content Warning: 18+, smut, slight exhibitionism, Daddy kink, masturbation, creampie, slight breeding kink, fluff, subspace, Harry being a simp
“Holy…shit.”
The large mansion looms into view. A tall, skeletal structure that’s brightened by the soft glow of the full moon. Hidden behind tall pines and a collection of dancing shadows, it stands like a sentinel of forgotten secrets. Ivy drips from the rotting wood, and boards cover a majority of the windows. The once grand façade bearing the scars of time.
You can see a collection of breathtaking stained glass windows lining the top story of the house. You can’t exactly make out the artwork from this distance, but you know, undoubtedly, that they’re beautiful. Only imagining what those reflections might look like in the sunlight.
The car sneaks along the gravel driveway, the sound of rocks and crunching leaves following you every inch of the way. You feel your breath hitch as you glance over toward Harry, who returns your look with a cocked brow of his own.
He pulls up next to the only other car on the lot. Rather, the only other car for miles. From the passenger seat, you can see Charlie, Jackie, and Caleb all huddled around the hood, conversing in hushed voices, and waving at you both in greeting.
Harry shifts into park before leaning back in his seat to turn his attention to you. “Well?”
You suck in a quiet breath before nodding once. “It’s…spooky.”
“Mhm.”
“And…big.”
“Thanks, but I meant the house,” he replies cooly, and you can’t help but grin.
“Funny. Honestly, I don’t think this is what I was expecting.”
“No?” He considers this with a nod of his own. “I guess it’s more ugly than scary. Caleb said he used to come here all the time when he was a kid. His brother claimed it was haunted.”
“Ooo,” you tease, and Harry smirks. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
He lifts a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “I don’t ever really think about it.”
“That’s fair.”
Now his expression twists into something more mischievous as he leans closer to you. “But…if any ghosts come out and try to steal you from me, I have no problem sending ‘em back to the afterlife.”
You laugh again as you playfully swat your hand across his arm before surging forward to kiss him. “You’re an idiot, baby.”
“Yeah. But m’your idiot.”
“Unfortunately.”
He laughs.
With that, you both unbuckle your seatbelts and step out of the car, joining your friends just beside the front steps of the mansion.
“Well, well, well,” Charlie grins, nodding his chin at the two of you. “Can’t believe you actually showed. Thought Har-Bear wasn’t into Halloween.”
Harry offers another shrug; relaxed but amused. “I’m not. But I wouldn’t mind seeing you get the shit scared out of you.”
Charlie’s expression falls while the rest of you laugh. “Okay, funny. Hysterical. Caleb’s the one that pissed himself when he was here last.”
“I was ten, dipshit,” Caleb snorts. “And I didn’t piss myself, I just screamed a little.”
“Right,” Jackie teases, nudging him with her elbow. “Whatever you say, champ.”
Caleb’s eyes roll, but he’s smiling as the five of you begin to make your way up onto the porch. “You’ll see. It’s spooky.”
“I’m sure we will, bud,” Charlie replies, tossing him a wink. “And after you go running back to the car in tears, we’ll make sure to lock up for you.”
“Thanks.”
“Welcome.”
With a soft laugh, Harry looks over at you. “You scared, Bee?”
“Me? Scared?” you snort. “Never.”
“Good.” He tosses his arm around your shoulder and tugs you into his chest. “Nothing to be scared of while I’m here.”
The other two boys pretend to be annoyed while Jackie offers you both a cheeky grin. “You guys are sickeningly sweet.”
“Oh, we know,” Harry answers impishly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I mean, I do a majority of the heavy lifting. But Bee’s pretty cute, too, I suppose.”
“Hysterical,” you deadpan, using your elbow to shove him away as you all approach the front door.
Your little group slows to a stop, exchanging glances and deep breaths as Caleb slowly says, “…are you ready?”
The air is laced with anticipation and excitement, and the four of you nod before his hand outstretches for the door.
It opens with a shrill screech as a flock of birds fling from their spot on a nearby branch and take off into the ghostly night sky.
With a deep breath, Caleb leads you all into the house, head held high, and shoulders back. The mansion is dark and the floorboards creak beneath your sneakers. The air is musky and cobwebs drape from each corner of the doorframe.
Quicky, you all search for your cellphones and flashlights, flipping them on to illuminate the path before you. Revealing a bit more of the corridor as you make your way inside.
“Shit,” Charlie murmurs, eyes wide as his focus flicks from wall to wall. “All right, maybe you weren’t kidding.”
“Told you,” Caleb retorts, peeking his head into the first room. “It’s not exactly scary, but it is cool as hell.”
“No kidding,” Jackie chimes in while you nod. “How many rooms are there?”
“No idea. But there are at least three levels. Plus, the attic, but Zac and I could never figure out how to get up there.”
“I’ll find it,” Charlie declares confidently, and Harry shoots you a knowing smirk. “What? If anyone can, it’s me.”
“I’m sure,” Caleb huffs, slipping in to what looks to be the drawing room. “By all means, go ahead. Honestly, we can split up and check out the other rooms. There’s a lot of cool shit here.”
Charlie nods once, running the light from his phone down one of the walls. Examining the faded wallpaper and dust-covered picture frames.
With a cock of his brow, Harry leans closer, nudging his shoulder against yours. “What do you say? Wanna do some exploring?”
You grin eagerly, nodding as well. “Yeah. Maybe we’ll find the attic first.”
You catch Charlie’s frown out of the corner of your eye, but the five of you can’t help but laugh as Harry leads you toward the next hallway.
The group disperses, with Charlie and Jackie searching the kitchen, Caleb ascending the stairs to the second floor, and you and Harry beginning for some of the bedrooms.
The house is quiet. Eerily so, with only the sound of your footsteps to accompany you. And even with two flashlights, you can only see a portion of the narrow hallway at a time. From the wooden trim to the chipped paint.
You fall in line behind Harry’s taller frame, allowing him to guide you toward the furthest room as he strides with a confidence you envy. Unaffected by the sounds, and smells, and ghostly aurora.
“You all right back there, Bee?” he calls after a moment more of your silence. Seeming to catch your strained inhales and lack of commentary. “Still with me?”
“Yes,” you whisper, but it’s airy. As though your voice has been swept away by the hands of a ghost. “Just…trying not to trip.”
Even without seeing the full of his face, you can tell he’s smiling. “Come on, lovey, you know I’d catch you.”
“Uh-huh,” you murmur, lashes fluttering as you glance up toward the old chandelier dangling from the tall ceiling.
Suddenly, Harry stops, forcing you to catch yourself against him before he glances at you. “Hop on.”
Confused, you blink. “What?”
“Hop on,” he repeats, placing his cellphone between his teeth while crouching down. Allowing you access to his back in an invitation to climb up.
And once you finally understand, you can’t help but smile. Slipping your arms around his shoulders before hoisting yourself onto his body. Legs curling around his hips while his hands reach back to keep you sturdy.
Once you’re settled, you gently pull the phone from between his lips and aim the fluorescent gleam across the room. Providing him a bit more light to see as he straightens up.
“Thank you, baby,” he hums. “You all right?”
“Mhm. Are you?”
“Very. Just make sure to hold on, yeah?”
You grin a bit wider and tuck your chin over his shoulder. “Promise.”
With that, he begins down the hall, keeping his fingers tight around your ankles. “All right, baby dove, where do you wanna go first?”
Vaguely, you gesture toward the closest room. From the small sliver your light catches, you can see that it’s filled with large curtains and furniture draped in cloth. It looks…reminiscent. Calling to you and inviting you to step inside a lost era, a forgotten memory.
He carries you closer, and as he strides through the murky corridor, you use the height advantage to look around. Taking in the more subtle details of the old house.
The hand railing beside the staircase. The broken floor beneath you. The cracked light fixtures and dusty bookshelves.
You can’t imagine the life that was lived. The parties they threw, the elegance that sang from every corner, the memories that were created.
You wonder about the people who built it. Wonder what they were like, what made them leave. If they ever reminisce about the old house they used to call home.
“It’s beautiful,” you find yourself saying, exhaling the sentiment almost fondly.
Harry hums again, eyes trailing across the expanse of the carpet underneath his shoes. “Shame nobody ever bought it and fixed it up.”
“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “Maybe we should.”
He smiles at this, squeezing your legs a bit tighter. “Oh, yeah?”
“Mhm. Wouldn’t it be fun? A little passion project?”
“Maybe. Don’t know what we’d do with all this space, though.”
You shrug. “Well, we’d have plenty of room to storm off if we got into a fight.”
He laughs. “Yeah?”
“And we’d have plenty of places for…you know, other things.”
“Other things,” he repeats knowingly, glancing back with a smirk. “I do love our other things.”
You snuggle closer. “And if we ever wanted to start a family…we’d have room for that, too.”
He’s quiet now, his tongue slowly sweeping across his bottom lip in thought. “D’you think about our family, Bee?”
“I do,” you admit, almost sheepishly. “Sometimes. Not, like…right away, or anything. But…I just wonder, I guess. What you’d be like. What we’d be like.”
“Yeah? And how are we?”
“We’re good,” you tell him. “You’re the fun parent. Of course. And I’m the one that makes them do their homework and eat their veggies.”
He grins. “Of course.”
“And they have your hair. Lots of curls, very wild.”
“Mm.”
“And they love to sing. They aren’t good at it…but they love it.”
He laughs a bit louder this time, head shaking as he brushes his thumbs across the exposed skin of your ankles. “Sounds about right.”
“And we’re really happy,” you finish tenderly. “And we have two dogs, and one cat. And nothing changes between us. We’re still us, and we still love each other a lot, and we still go on tons of adventures and have really good, wild sex.”
He’s smiling so hard, you can see his dimples. “I wouldn’t want anything less.”
“Me, either.”
You fall silent as Harry finally brings you both into the large room, ducking beneath the frame to make sure you don’t hit your head. You kiss the side of his jaw gratefully before he sets you down with a gentle plop, allowing you both to straighten up and take a look around.
Sizable paintings hang from each wall. Encased behind gold, elegant frames that are layered with a light film of dust. Even still, the artwork is breathtaking. Portraits of what look to be great men and women. Soft brush strokes that are wildly vivid, despite the many years stuck in this dark room.
Harry takes his flashlight from you and aims it toward the green, velvet sofa in the middle of the vast space. Eyes wide as he studies it. “A lot of this stuff is in better shape than I thought it’d be.”
You make a noise of agreement as you gingerly run your fingers along the faded wallpaper. “I wonder what made them leave this all behind?”
“I don’t know. S’probably worth a fortune.”
“And it’s still here? Nobody came and looted it?”
He sports a rather charmed grin at your choice of wording. “Guess not. Kind of strange, honestly. City never reclaimed it, either.”
“Yeah…”
He glances over, a mischievous glint behind the soft green. “Maybe there’s a reason.”
“What?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Maybe…the ghosts won’t let it go.”
Finally understanding his joke, you roll your eyes with a snort before striding toward the giant bookshelf. “Ha, ha.”
“Maybe the owners died in the fifties,” he continues, dropping his voice to a lower drawl. Attempting to add a bit of mystique and suspicion. “Maybe they were murdered in cold blood. And they never found out who killed them, so they haunt the grounds of their old house. Until the day their killer dares to come back.”
You pretend to be intrigued, nodding along with faux fascination. “Uh-huh. Which makes us…what? Ghost bait?”
“Mmm…perhaps,” he murmurs, stalking toward you. “Perhaps that’s why Caleb really brought us here. To feed us to his ancestors. Appease the Halloween Gods.”
“Right.”
He closes the distance between you, angling the beam of his light up toward his face as dark shadows dance across his features. “Or maybe Caleb isn’t Caleb at all. Maybe…he’s a ghost—”
Suddenly, he jolts forward, making you gasp as you steel yourself from the sudden movement. Eyes wide and heart racing.
But once you realize he’s merely messing with you, you begin to glare. Scoffing, “God, you’re an ass.”
He drops his cellphone and beams at you. Much too smug with his victory. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I won’t resist drop kicking your ass out that window.”
“Fair enough,” he chuckles, peering down at you with a delicate look of adoration before he’s pressing his lips to yours. “Forgive me?”
You try to pout into the kiss, but he’s too good. Warm and soft and the definition of comfort. “Hm. Fine. Just this once.”
He offers one final peck before returning to his search. Hands sweeping along the grimy bookshelves, fingers trailing down the broken spines. He seems lost in thought, and you watch almost fondly as he reaches out for one particular title.
“Frankenstein,” he reads aloud, tilting it back with a smile. “Used to be my favorite growing up.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. My mom used to read it to me all the time.”
And you feel this undeniable tug on your heartstrings as you settle behind him, arms slipping around his middle. “What did you like about it?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I liked the idea of something so…broken being so beautiful. Or maybe it was just the idea of how he was built. And why. You know?”
“Yeah. I think it’s sweet you liked it so much. You never told me.”
“I mean, I stopped reading it as I got older. I think I just liked the way my mom read it to me. She’d do all these voices, try to freak me out.”
You laugh. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”
“It was great. I loved it. S’probably one of my favorite memories growing up.”
And there’s that yanking in your chest again. “You’re cute, you know that?”
He smirks. “Thanks.”
With that, he releases the book, allowing it to fall back into place on the shelf beside the other novels.
But, the moment it lands, a startling and rather jarring rumble explodes from somewhere behind you. Compelling a jump as you both spin around in search for the offending sound.
And there, just beside the old grandfather clock that sits near the door, hangs one of the large paintings. This one of a beautiful woman wearing a stunning, purple grown and a coy smile. Yet, her portrait is moving. Sliding across the wall as if by magic until you’re able to see what lies behind.
A passageway.
You suck in a gasp as you and Harry both shine your lights into the dark opening. Finding nothing more than a narrow stairway that disappears into somewhere else in the house.
You look to Harry.
Harry looks to you.
“What the fuck,” he whispers, but you can see the excitement weaving through his dimple. “That’s…the coolest shit I’ve ever seen.”
You can’t help but agree, feet drawing you closer, as if compelled by the mesmeric introduction and inviting shadows. “Yeah…”
Footsteps follow you. “Bee, hold on. We don’t know where it goes or if we can get back out.”
Now, you hesitate, considering the rather valid point. “It probably leads to the attic. Caleb said he couldn’t figure out how to get up there, but I’m sure there’s a way back down. There’d have to be.”
“Maybe. Or maybe…that’s where the ghosts are waiting to lure us in—”
“All right,” you hiss, shoving on his arm before continuing for the door. “I will slap that dimple right off your face, I’m serious.”
“Well, you know I like it when you do.”
And even despite his teasing, you feel your stomach flip. Memories calling back to the forefront of your mind as you remember his pink skin and arrogant smirk. The way he’d beg you to keep going – give him more.
“Can you please be serious?” you choose to say, reaching back for his hand as you approach the entrance. “Because if we die in here, I don’t want one of the last things we said to be one of your shitty jokes.”
He laughs, but intertwines his fingers with yours willingly. Squeezing your palm for comfort. “Sorry, lovey. By all means, please do lead us into the deathtrap. You’ll hear no more jokes from me. I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“Good boy.”
He squishes your hand again knowingly before you take a deep breath and begin up the stairs.
The walls are about five feet apart in width, providing a rather narrow space for the two of you to slip between as you ascend up into the rest of the house. The path curves like a spiral, up and up until you’re almost sure there’s nowhere else to go. And your head pops right out of the roof.
Then, you come to the last one, and see that it opens up and leads into something else. A vast, empty floor with more light that you’ve seen anywhere else in the house.
Curious, you move a bit faster, eager to see what awaits. And once you step into the room…your breath catches.
Stained glass windows decorate each wall, the full moon projecting the most beautiful colors and imagery across the entire space. From the floor to the ceiling and every inch in between. It’s like walking into a rainbow. Or heaven. Such a stark contrast from the eerie journey up the stairs in nothing but darkness.
Harry’s shoulder brushes against yours as he steps up beside you. Eyes fluttering as he pockets his phone and glances about the room admiringly. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” you agree in a quiet whisper. Walking toward the first window as your fingers outstretch for the tempered glass. “It’s…it’s beautiful.”
“It is.” He follows you. “They must have loved it up here.”
You feel yourself smile. “I bet it was the perfect hideaway.” You motion toward the furthest wall where a dainty (but somewhat tattered) window seat lies. “Bet they came up here and just read or painted all day. Watched the sun rise and set.”
You feel him staring at you. Observing your profile as you continue to glance around, trying to soak in every little detail.
Then, you feel him. His touch sweeping across your cheek before he’s brushing a bit of hair from your shoulder. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”
You glance over.
“About us. Having kids, starting a family.” His expression is void of any of his previous taunting. Instead, solely focused on the soft skin of your jaw as he ghosts his thumb beneath your chin. “Is that what you really want? With me?”
And a part of your heart aches because…yes. You’d live a million lifetimes with him. With kids, without kids. Here, there. Fast-paced or easy-going. You’d do it all. You’d do everything with him.
Everything.
You reach up and slip your fingers around his wrist. Keeping him close as you nuzzle into his palm. “Of course I would, Har. Just want you.”
He steps closer, taking both sides of your face in his hands now as he keeps you in his strong hold. Gazing at you lovingly until you feel your insides twist.
“I will give you anything you want, Bee,” he murmurs, and you can feel his promise dance across your lips. “Give you kids. Give you a big, beautiful home. Give you the life you deserve.”
You inhale quietly, desperately grasping onto his arms.
“Anything you want, baby,” he breathes, and you know how much he means it. “Give you fucking everything.”
Tears spring to your eyes, dancing along your waterline until one jumps down your cheek. Right into Harry’s waiting thumb where he quickly soothes it away. “You know I would,” you tell him in a timid whisper. “I promise, I would, I just…I can’t…”
His eyes soften when he understands, yet his head shakes as he brings your chest to his. “It doesn’t matter how or why. If we want to start a family, we can. Any way we want to. Any way you want to. Nothing else matters, lovey. Just wanna do it together.”
Together.
You stumble over a choked sob, burying yourself in his embrace while he dips down to kiss you. Harder than he has all night and filled with a kind of love that can’t be explained. Only felt through the synchronistic brushing of his lips against yours.
“My girl,” he exhales, nudging his nose along your cheek before bringing his kisses back. “My fucking girl. Know I love you, yeah? Know you’re my only?”
You whimper, nodding pitifully as you allow him to take the reins. Deciding how far and how deep this kiss goes.
“Good.” He drops his hands to your hips, squeezing once. “Because you are, Bee. Never loved anybody the way I love you.”
And you know – you know he means it.
Something clicks in your brain. Something lustful and needy. You’re overcome with this anxious desire to have him. To be with him wholly. You want to crawl into his skin and live there. Be as close to him as possible.
Show him exactly how much he means to you.
The kisses become hungrier. Sloppier. Rushed and borderline animalistic as you reach down and lace your fingers with his. Guiding him away from the wall and toward the carpet in the center of the room.
He seems to understand your intent. Smiling against your mouth as you move him where you want him.
“Sneaky girl,” he breathes, pressing his mouth to your neck. Nipping below your ear until you sigh contently. “S’that why you really wanted to come up here, hm? Wanted to get me alone? Have your way with me?”
And even though he’s effortlessly putting the power in your hands, you can’t help but feel swayed by him. Drawn in by his suggestion and prowess while your stomach flips in on itself.
“Maybe,” you admit quietly, grinning when he chuckles darkly. “Because maybe I know…you want me to have my way with you. Don’t you?”
He nods quickly, groaning almost to himself before he gropes at your waist and moves his kisses to your exposed collarbone. “Do anything you want, Bee. I meant it.”
Pleased, you take yourself away from him. “Good. Because I want you on your knees.”
And he almost looks disappointed that he’s had to stop kissing you, but the starvation behind his eyes is unmistakable.
He drops so quickly, your head spins. Head tilted back and hands obediently landing on his thighs in wait.
“Good boy,” you can’t help but mutter, reaching down to press your palm to his cheek in gratitude. “Always obey me so well.”
“Always,” he repeats reverently. Voice thick as though drunk with longing.
“Can’t take too long, okay? They might come looking for us, and I don’t think we’d ever be able to live that down,” you add, softening your tone some to ease the charged tension.
“I know,” he replies quickly. Almost pitifully, as if desperate to agree and make you happy. “Be quick, I swear.”
A grin splits your face. “Want you to take off your jeans, baby,” you instruct now, nodding toward his hips. “Just your jeans. Don’t want you to get cold.”
So, he does. Fumbling with his belt and button before dragging the dark fabric down his beautiful thighs, revealing his new tattoo. It catches the moonlight and the reflection of the red glass across the room. Drawing in your attention while your mouth nearly waters.
But he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead working quickly to rid himself of the material before returning to his knees.
“Good. My jeans next,” you tell him, and he extends his hands toward your waist.
Just as quickly as before, he slips, pulls, and tugs until you can step out of your pants and toss them aside. Making sure to hold your hand as you do so you don’t lose your balance.
It’s these little things that endear you to him. The way he doesn’t even realize he’s done something thoughtful. Instead offering such a gesture out of reflex and love.
“Thank you, baby,” you whisper, squeezing his chin once. “Now…I want you to lie back for me, okay? Don’t want you to do anything else. Just wanna take care of you.”
His Adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow, and you can nearly see his heart thumping against his chest. He’s on his back in seconds, obediently lying on the carpet with his focus trained on you. Eager to see what you have in mind.
Truth be told, you’re rather eager, too. Crouching down near his ankles until you can straddle his legs.
He lifts his head off the floor in order to see you, glued to your every move while his breath hitches.
You begin to make your way up his body. Bringing your lips to the beautiful, warm skin of his thighs as you travel toward his hips. Allowing your kisses to guide you.
You hear him release a strained curse. Catching the way his chest rises and falls a bit more rapidly, as if in tune with his racing heart. And you’re going so slow, you think you might kill him. Dragging your tongue along the tattoo before flicking your eyes to his. Making sure you truly have his undivided attention.
His lashes flutter, leg twitching beneath you. “Bee…”
“Yes, baby?” Your coy innocence makes another groan reverberate from his chest. “What do you want, hm?”
“Please,” is all he has the strength to mumble, fingers twitching beside him. Desperate to weave through your hair and tug. “Lovey, please…”
“I know. But I wanna play with you a bit first, okay?” You straighten up and crawl toward the tops of his thighs, just above his dark boxers. “Gonna let me play with you, Daddy?”
Another quick nod before he drops his head back to the floor. Overcome with desire.
And you imagine you know what he thinks you’re going to do. That he’s confident in his guess as he awaits for you to confirm his suspicion.
But there’s something much more thrilling about catching him off guard. Torturing him just a little.
Because you know he loves it.
Once you feel comfortable in your new position, you allow your hand to travel between your legs. Dancing beneath the hem of your sweater before settling atop your baby blue underwear.
Your light grazes are innocent at first. Soft strokes along the cotton fabric. Enough to earn a shiver while Harry’s eyes cement to your hand. Mesmerized by the way you touch yourself.
You hum at the faint but teasing touches. Feeling almost giddy to quench this flame. Create pleasure for yourself and allow him to watch you. See exactly how good it feels.
Then, you hook the fabric to the side, and allow him the perfect visual of your cunt.
You notice a sharp chill as the cold air nips at you, but it only aids in encouraging you further. Making you grin to yourself while you use your other hand to drag your fingers through your pussy. Slipping between your folds and up to your clit.
“Shit,” he murmurs, eyelids growing heavier. “Shit, Bee—”
You circle the sensitive nerves a few times to work yourself up. Indulging in the feel and the unexplainable relief it provides. It’s like a drug. Addicting and somehow not nearly enough.
“Baby, please—” he tries again, palms finally reaching for your thighs in an effort to touch you. At least somehow. “Fuck—”
“Thought you wanted to be good,” you say, pinching your clit until you gasp. “Thought…thought you wanted to give me anything—”
“I do,” he answers through a rushed breath. “Bee, I do. I do, please—”
“Then, I want you to watch. Want you to watch what you do to me.”
He groans again, and you can see the slight pink in his cheeks from the frigid air and the way he’s so entranced with you. “Lovey, please…”
You slip down, teasing the tip of your finger around your fluttering hole until you can feel the arousal beginning to gather. Humming while you roll your hips in tune with your hand. Riding your own fingers before you’re moving back to your clit.
“Har…” His name slips out before you can stop it. Sighing from your tongue without pause. As if it’s instinct to associate him with your pleasure. To say his name in a desperate plea for more.
You feel him squeeze your legs. Tighter than he ever has. “M’here,” he calls. “M’right here, baby. What do you need?”
Too much. “You, Har. You, always.”
He’s pulling on you now. Palms smoothing up the globes of your ass until he can practically yank you closer. “Just ask. Ask me, Bee, and I’ll give it to you.”
And you’re torturing yourself. Perhaps more than him, and you nearly whimper when you realize how badly you miss him.
So, you remove your hands from between your legs in order to reach for his boxers. Slipping inside and pulling his cock out until he lands against his stomach. Beautiful, and flushed, and leaking pearlescent drops that glisten beneath the light of the moon.
And once it’s free, you grind down. Dragging your once more covered cunt along his shaft. Close, but not close enough. Just to provide a bit of friction and make him moan as you brace yourself against his chest.
Your nails curl into the dark material of his shirt, scraping down his stomach as you reel. It’s so much and yet not even close to satiating you. Merely taunting you with the idea of what you really want. A type of release that will never be truly satisfactory like this.
“Fuck—” A lewd moan scrapes from the back of his throat. Hands pressing hard into your hips to help roll you over his cock faster and quicker. “Gonna fucking kill me, Bee.”
You’d like to be smug, but you’re too far gone to feel anything but need. “Har—”
“Gonna cum like this, baby? S’this all it takes?”
“I’m…I…”
“Look so cute, lovey. So fucking cute, using my cock to get off. Feels so good, doesn’t it? Rubbing your pretty little pussy all over me?”
Your eyes roll back, head feeling heavy as your chin drops to your chest.
Then, you feel his thumb against the only part of your clit he can reach. Pressing into it just enough to make you whimper. “Shh. It’s okay, I’ve got you. Wanna cum? Go ahead, you can cum, Bee. Make me so happy…just wanna feel you—”
And you hate how quickly it hits you. Hate that you truly thought you’d be able to edge yourself until you made him break.
But it consumes you from the inside out. Blindsiding your dominance until it sweeps you under his current. You become a trembling, shaking, moaning mess above him.
“There you go. Good fucking girl. So good…s’perfect,” he murmurs, continuing to guide you through it until you nearly collapse. “Feel better, baby?”
You nod weakly, cracking your eyes open just enough to catch his look of approval.
“Good,” he replies before a dark look seems to take hold. Hungrier than you’ve ever seen him.
Suddenly, he’s sitting up. Forcing you to lean back as his arms loop around your waist and he’s hoisting you both into the air. Straightening back onto his feet while carrying you in his arms toward the furthest wall.
You barely get the chance to glance around before he’s dropping you onto the small window seat, right against the painted glass.
With a gasp, you collide with the cushion (which is admittedly much more comfortable than the floor), gazing up at him with surprise and wonder.
He says nothing. He can’t. He’s lost in his need for you – for your pleasure. Crouching down near your legs in order to reach for your panties and rip them from ankles. And once they’ve been tossed aside, he settles his body between your thighs, and surges forward.
His mouth is the closest to heaven you imagine you’ll ever get. Warm and wet and so expertly kind as he drags his tongue between your soaked, sensitive folds. Flicking at your clit before sucking it into his mouth with the kind of sound that makes your chest cave in.
“Har—” you whine, writhing a bit from the overstimulation and intensified pleasure. He’s chasing after your next orgasm before your first has even subsided, and it nearly wrecks you. “Shit, Harry—”
Still, he has no response. There’s no time or room to speak with the way he nips at your cunt before lowering. Letting his tongue slide inside you before pulling it back. Just enough to leave you squirming.
“Harry,” you try again, reaching out to card your fingers through his hair. Tugging with fervor until he does it again. “Fuck…please—”
His hands find your thighs. Pushing them open even further until you can feel the strain on your muscles from such a stretch.
He’s suffocating himself. Buried in your pussy, he takes whatever he wants. Greedily swallowing you down with lascivious groans and exhales of contentment. Fingers curling around your legs, leaving bruises along your sensitive skin.
He’s insatiable. Ignoring your cries and whimpers for mercy, instead pushing you back to the brink. Making you see stars before you can prepare yourself.
You’re all over his face. Can see yourself glisten off his chin and swollen lips, the stunning stained glass windows painting ethereal pictures of him on his knees. Taking you on his tongue as though his life depends on it.
He captures your clit between his teeth and tugs. Eliciting another wounded, pitiful noise as you slump against the glass.
The second orgasm is just as powerful as the first, if not more. Because this time, he’s actually touching you. Blowing on your clit the moment he sees you begin to unravel, effortlessly dragging you into more pleasure.
You scratch his scalp so hard, you’re surprised you don’t draw blood. Practically pulling him through you while you ride his tongue and the wave of euphoria until you come crashing back down to Earth.
“Oh, my god,” you whimper, features contorting with bliss. “Shit, H…please…please—”
But he’s far from through. Already licking the remnants of your orgasm from your quivering hole while you attempt to writhe away. The overstimulation almost painful as tears spring back to your eyes.
“Wait…wait, please,” you whisper, trying to recapture his attention by yanking on his curls and pushing your legs against his hands. “Baby, please…I need you. Need more, H…please.”
He looks up, and you see a glimmer of the moon in his eye. “What do you need more of? Hm? Tell me.”
You let your head drop back against the window, chest heaving beneath your thick sweater. “Har…can’t…I can’t, I need…need—”
“What?” he pushes. And you can hear the smug undertones as well as the reemergence of his cocky dimple. “What, baby? Tell Daddy what you need.”
And he knows what you need. He always knows, even before you do. But he wants to hear you say it. Wants to force the words from your mouth. Wants you to beg him for his cock.
With a heavy sigh, you answer, “You.”
“You already have me.”
You whine and toss your leg over his shoulder. Digging your heel into his spine to encourage him closer. “Need you to fuck me, H. Please…please, fuck me.”
His grin grows. “Well, well, well. Look at that. My sweet girl knows how to use her words after all.”
He crawls up to you, hands settling beside your hips as he leans forward.
“Doesn’t she?” he whispers, allowing his lips to ghost across yours. Teasing you with a taste of yourself.
You feel as though you’re drowning. Unable to capture enough air in your lungs to survive, and you throw your hands around his neck to yank him the remaining two inches.
His tongue feels like heaven against yours. A mix of you and him that you swallow greedily. Wanting more than he’s seeming to give you.
“Please,” you try again. Releasing the ask against his cheek before nuzzling your nose under his jaw. Intoxicated by the scent of him. “Harry…”
He doesn’t have much strength to refuse you. His willpower long forgotten as he quickly obliges and grabs onto your waist to yank you to the edge of the seat.
He then lifts your leg and sets it onto the cushion, bending it at the knee to create the angle he wants. Allowing him enough room to work while he grabs onto his cock and removes his boxers the rest of the way.
Hard and heavy in his hand, he guides the tip between your thighs. Dragging it down your clit almost tauntingly before slipping in. And it’s far too easy. He disappears into our pussy almost unintentionally. Allowing your warmth to draw him in and keep him inside you.
You can’t help the smile that stretches across your face.
“Shit,” he whispers when he feels the way your walls squeeze around his length. You might be used to his size, but those first few seconds are always euphoric. “There you go…you all right, Bee?”
You nod wordlessly, reaching out for his shoulders for something to hold onto.
“I know,” is all he says in response. Able to read your tells better than anyone ever has. “S’all right. I’ve got you.”
Once he’s fully inside of you, he offers a moment of relief. Settling there while his hands return to your hips to lift you up ever-so-slightly in order to use you the way he wants.
“Go,” you beg, nails drawing patterns down his back. “M’okay, go. Wanna feel you. Need to feel you cum.”
“Yeah?” He draws back before driving in. Hard enough to knock a gasp from your chest. “That’s what you want? Want Daddy’s cum in this pretty pussy?”
A blissful haze begins to cloud your vision. His sinfully sweet taunt ringing between your ears. Inciting an idea and a need you hadn’t thought possible.
“Oh…” When he realizes, that wicked look returns. “Oh, baby. You do, don’t you? Wanna be full of me. Want me to fill this sweet, little cunt until you’re dripping. Till I’m spilling out of you. All down your thighs. Down to the floor.”
You make another incoherent noise before succumbing to his hard thrusts. Falling mute and limp.
“Want me to lick it up…just to spit it down your throat,” he continues. “Want me everywhere. In your pussy…in your tummy. Just wanna be so fucking full of me.”
Every word from his mouth is crude and delicious. Designed to torture you and it works.
Because he’s right. You do want him everywhere. Want to feel him across every inch of your skin, inside every pore, dripping from every part of your body. Want to be stuffed with him. His tongue, his cock, his cum. There’s no part of this man you aren’t infatuated by.
“Say it,” he hisses, tugging your body up higher until he can slam into you from a different position. Finding that beautiful spot that makes your toes curl while you cry out and grab onto the seat beneath you for support. “Say how much you want my cum. Beg me for it.”
You can feel the sweat dripping down your back. Can feel the exhaustion in your limbs from having to contain so much pleasure.
And he’s careless yet practiced. Still gentle, even when he’s ramming his hips into yours. Nearly tearing you in half with the force of his cock, but with a sort of devotion you can’t explain. Even with such force, you feel relaxed.
Almost as if this is how you were always meant to be.
And then…something faint. Distant and familiar. The sound of voices – your friend’s voices, coming from somewhere inside the house.
For a moment, you worry you’ve been caught. That they’ve found you and are ready to run screaming from the house.
But you catch pieces of their conversation. Vague and somewhat confusing.
“—well, then, you check. I already tried—”
“—probably just looking around. Maybe they went back to their car—”
“—I’ll text her. They could be lost. This place is huge—”
They haven’t found you. In fact, it seems they’re still searching. Unaware that the two of you found the attic, and perhaps even unaware of the passageway, too.
Harry seems rather relaxed as he pauses just long enough to glance up. A look of understanding forming as he nods toward the ceiling.
You look, too.
The voices are coming from the vent. Echoing the conversation from somewhere else in the house as they walk through.
Your heart races. Because if you can hear them, that means…
He seems to consider this at the same time you do, head cocking deviously as he pulls back. “Shh,” he murmurs, thumb stroking your waist. “Gonna have to be extra quiet for me, okay?”
You take in another deep breath, another whine already bubbling up the back of your throat.
But he realizes this almost instantly. Hand coming up to press against your mouth and muffle your pathetic cry before you can make it. “Uh-uh,” he hisses, attempting to chastise but you can tell he’s amused. “Said no, Bee. Need you quiet or I stop.”
But he can’t stop. You can’t let him stop. You think if he stops, you might die. That you’ll disappear into nothing and spend the rest of your life chasing something only he can offer.
Instead, you grab onto his wrist, and keep it against your lips. Using it as an excuse to whimper against his palm and promise your attempt at silence.
And maybe he’s unconvinced. But he’s just as desperate as you are. To finish and find that serenity. To feel each other in every sense of the word.
So he takes your vow of obedience and continues. Resuming his thrusts as the sounds of voices slowly begin to fade away.
You’re brought right back to the precipice of pleasure. Reminded yet again of why you’d do anything for him. Why he’s so addicting. Not just because of his body…but because his heart.
Shades of blue, red, yellow, and purple explode across the walls and across your eyelids. The colors rich and vibrant, accentuated by the bright glow of the moon.
And you can see him perfectly. Can see his stunningly structured face. The ridge of his nose, the sharp edge of his jaw. The damp curls that lay across his forehead and the rosy skin of his cheeks.
You know he’s always been handsome. Not just to you, but to everyone.
But now…he’s ethereal. Because he’s not just some guy. He’s not just Harry. He’s the man you love. The only true home for your soul. Your comfort place, your future.
Your everything.
And that’s what makes him so beautiful.
When he notices your stare, something shifts. He drops his hand, and surges forward to kiss you. Throwing a stutter in his rhythm as he laces his tongue with yours.
“Shit,” is all you manage to make out of his hushed moans. “Gonna give you everything, Bee. Gonna fill you. Keep my cum inside you forever. Fucking forever, baby. M’yours. Always.”
You can feel yourself clenching down on him. Already approaching your third before he’s even allowed himself a first. It’s a trait of his you’ve noticed he exhibits quite often. Perhaps it’s a masochistic practice or perhaps it’s his nature to want your orgasms over his own. Waiting until he’s sure you’re taken care of before he allows himself to find relief.
Yet another one of these little things you’d be lost without.
When he realizes just how close you are, he leans back and brings his lips together. Spitting directly onto your clit before bringing his fingers into play.
“There,” he grits, inflicting quick circles against the tender, swollen nerves that make you whine. “That’s all it takes, isn’t it?”
Your body answers for you. You’re nothing but a string of noises and twitching muscles. Dissolving into your orgasm until that’s all you are. Just his victory. His perfect prize to be claimed.
You feel him watch you. Infatuated with the way you tense and squirm before you finally settle back against the glass to catch your breath.
And perhaps that’s what does it for him. Not just feeling you cum but seeing it. The physical proof of your passion written so visibly across your face. The way you soak his cock, the way you drip down onto the seat below, the way you cling to him.
He chases that sensation. Chases the way it makes him feel and the release it promises him.
It doesn’t take long for him to finish now that he’s not holding himself back. A few quick but hard thrusts and he’s spilling himself into your pussy with a low groan, face burying into your neck.
He holds you still through every second. As close as he possibly can, even after you’re sure he’s finished.
The emotional orgasm feels just as overwhelming as the physical one. You can’t help but wrap your arms around his body to hold him against your heart. Listening to the sounds of his strained breaths before they slowly even out.
And he’s so happy. You know he is. Refusing to move as his cum sits inside of you. Wanting to keep it there like he promised.
You want to keep him the same way.
“Fuck,” you hear him whisper. It seems unintelligible curse words are about all the two of you have to offer in moments like this. It makes you smile. “Think I came so hard, I blacked out.”
You giggle at this, moving to hook your leg around his middle. “I’m glad you came. Feels good.”
He turns his head so his cheek can rest on your shoulder. “Yeah? S’my cum feel nice? All warm inside you?”
And there’s something about the way he says it. Soft but secure. Teasing you and caring for you all in the same breath.
You hum.
“Got it all snug inside your little pussy, baby?” He presses a kiss to your neck. A reassuring gesture meant to reward you. “Gonna keep it for me?”
You nod fervently before clinging onto his body a bit tighter. Feeling a shiver roll down your spine – either from the cold or his response. Truthfully, you aren’t sure.
“Hmm. That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, slipping an arm around your waist in order to hold you closer. Hugging you, almost, as he settles in your embrace. “Guess we better get going, hm?”
But you don’t like this idea. Already feeling your expression fall into a desolate pout as you suck in a sharp inhale and cement yourself to his larger frame.
He senses this shift – this refusal – and stills. “What? What’s wrong?”
You don’t have an answer. You suppose nothing is wrong, per se…as long as he doesn’t leave.
“Bee,” he tries again, a bit firmer. The singular nickname laced with apprehension. “Lovey, what happened, what's wrong? You know you have to talk to me, okay? Have to communicate with me—”
“Nothing,” you whisper, cutting his bargaining short. “Nothing, I just…don’t want you to go, Daddy.”
A brief pause. Silent and filled with an unspoken tension that melts into something tender. “Bee, I’m not going anywhere. Just wanna clean you up and hold you a bit. Like we always do. That’s all right, isn’t it?”
You consider this. You do love when he holds you. Especially when he runs his hands down your sore limbs. Massaging the aches away while keeping you safe in his arms.
The mere thought makes you sigh. “Promise?”
He squeezes your hip. “Always, baby.”
With that, you unhook yourself from his body, and allow him to move back. Taking himself from you almost painfully before he’s putting himself away and moving for your clothes.
He finds your underwear and both pairs of jeans, bringing them back to you almost respectfully.
He helps you step into them, securing your panties around your waist with an impish wink and a soft, “Gonna save it for later, yeah?”
Once you’re both dressed again, he fits himself between you and the window, and places you in the middle of his lap. Your back against his chest while his palms sweep up and down your arms, easing the pains away.
“Was that okay?” he asks after a quiet moment of reflection. “Did you like what we did?”
You drop your focus down to his hands. To the way they look on your body. You hum. Say nothing.
In turn, he shifts, attempting to sneak a glimpse of the side of your face. “Bee, d’you hear me?”
Still, you’re silent. Trailing your finger along his knuckles and over his wrist. Entranced by him. Hypnotized.
He uses this very hand to reach for your jaw. Squeezing it just hard enough to capture your attention and turn your face to his. “Baby, you’re scaring me. Are you all right?”
You feel your frown return, chest tightening with the implication. “Scared? Why are you scared? What…what did I do?”
There’s a subtle pull in his eyebrows. Almost imperceptible but you manage to catch it before it smooths away. “Nothing, sweet girl. But I want to make sure you’re okay. That I didn’t hurt you or take things too far. And if I did, I want to know. I need to know.”
“Daddy, you never hurt me. Ever.” The frown intensifies, nearly taking control of your whole face. “Don’t say that, it makes me sad.”
Again, a flash of confusion and subtle recognition streaks behind his soft gaze. “Daddy just wants to make sure you’re feeling all right. That you feel safe and comfortable with me. Now…and before.”
“Of course I do. Always feel comfortable with you.”
You imagine he should feel relieved to hear this, and yet he sighs as he releases your jaw. “Oh, baby.”
It’s heavy the way he speaks. Akin to disappointment, but there’s a touch of sadness. Perhaps even understanding.
It breeds a constriction in your chest that feels like a snake coiling around your lungs. “What…what did I do? Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” he’s quick to whisper, tightening his hold on you. “God, no, sweet girl. Just realized something, that’s all.”
A tad reassured, you straighten up. “Oh? What?”
He nuzzles his cheek against your temple and pulls you even further into his chest. “Nothing bad, I promise. Just that I need to take extra good care of you right now.”
“Really?
He nods. “Mhm. So, what do you think, lovey, hm? Should we go home? Think we’ve done enough exploring for one day.”
Your lashes flutter, a bit startled by the switch. “We…you wanna leave?”
“I do. I wanna take you home and hold you. Properly,” he says gently, laying a chaste kiss to your forehead. “We can take a bath, get all nice and warm again. Know it’s getting cold, isn’t it?”
Truthfully, you hadn’t realized the drastic drop in temperature. But with this mention, you feel a noticeable chill dancing across the room. Can feel your breath grow icier as it leaves your lips.
“And once we’re warm again, we can crawl into bed, and just stay,” he continues. “Watch a movie, eat some snacks. Do whatever you wanna do, baby. S’that sound good?”
And it does. It sounds like heaven. Anything with him always does. “Can we please?”
He grins again before kissing your temple again. “Of course. We’ll head out now. Think you can walk or do you need my help?”
Your legs do feel a bit wobbly, but in all honesty, the idea of having him hold you all the way down is what you really want. To make sure he doesn’t take himself from you, even if you’re merely walking to the car.
Your innocent pout is answer enough, and he chuckles. “Want my help, don’t you?”
Nodding eagerly, you sit up, allowing him to slip back out from behind you and stand. Once he has, he takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, making sure to steady you when you feel a bit rocky before leading you toward the stairs.
You leave the heavenly room behind, bidding the stunning shadows adieu as you disappear down the dark stairwell.
And you hope, if there are ghosts, that they enjoyed the show.
After you’ve returned to the spare room on the first floor, Harry strides over to the bookshelf, and tilts the Frankenstein book back just like he had before. Prompting the portrait to slide closed in the same manner as it had when it opened. Hiding the secret staircase away for the next wandering couple.
Then, he turns to you. “All right, baby, let’s go.”
He crouches down, signaling that he’d like you to climb onto his back again, and you do rather giddily. Cementing yourself to his spine as you cling to him like a koala bear, allowing him to lead you back out into the main part of the house.
You find your friends already waiting by the door, talking casually until they see you coming out from the shadows.
You feel Harry squeeze your ankles as a sign of encouragement and you sigh to yourself while cuddling closer.
“Where the hell have you been, we’ve been looking everywhere,” Jackie calls. “You just left me with these dipshits.”
Harry chuckles. “Sorry. Got a bit lost and then we started talking. Did you find the attic?”
“No,” Charlie huffs, and he sounds rather offended. “I don’t think there is an attic. Think Caleb’s just full of shit.”
“I’m telling you, it’s there,” Caleb argues. “Other people have gone up, I just don’t know how they found it.”
“Huh. Weird,” Harry muses, and you have to turn your face away to hide your smirk. “Well, listen, I think we’re gonna head out. But this was fun. Thanks for the invite.”
“Aw, really? Already? We thought maybe we’d head over to Waffle House or something,” Jackie tells you. “You know, eat a shit ton of whipped cream and syrup in the spirit of Halloween.”
To this, Harry smiles, glancing back at you as if to check for permission and see if you’re interested. But you can’t really offer him much else except a shy grin, which he seems to understand.
“I think we’re just gonna turn in for the night,” he says instead. “But you guys have fun. We’ll have to do this again for Christmas.”
The other three laugh as you call your goodbyes and allow Harry to carry you to the car.
He sets you down by the passenger door in order to unlock it and swing it open. And once it is, he’s still ever the gentleman, helping you sit and making sure you’re buckled in before shutting the door and jogging over to his side.
As he fumbles with his keys and gets the engine started, your eyes trail up toward the top of the large mansion before you. Finding those beautiful windows once more as you bid them goodbye as well.
You feel Harry’s hand slip around yours, recapturing your attention as you look over and catch his grin. “You ready?”
You nod and squeeze his palm three times. “Mhm. Always.”
Pleased, he brings your knuckles to his lips. Leaving a lingering kiss that nearly takes your breath away. “Happy Halloween, Bee.”
And your heart has never felt so full.
“Happy Halloween, Harry.”
HAPPY HALLOWEEN 🧡🧡🧡 (or just regular old Tuesday)!!! Thank you so much for joining me for Freaky Fun and for being so kind and supportive!!! You all have my heart!! Have a safe, wonderful night filled with laughs and amazing treats!! 😭♥️
~ Full Teach Me Masterlist
~ Full Freak Fun Masterlist
~ Main Masterlist
~ Blurb Masterlist
Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞
Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @onlystylesss28 @winterrays @jessitpwk @aslugforharry @allthelovehes @straightnogayhs @adoringhrry @harrysxcarolina @lillefroe @avasversion @littlelunamoon @harrysgf01 @lexiecamposv @spinningoutwaiting4ya @hs-tpwkrry @vyctorya @b-reads-things @thiyaabs @buckybarnessimpp @whoreforjamesbuckybarnes @cherryluvhobi @mybabyh @xellybellyx @reneemunson @juliatpwk @wolfmoonmusic @buckyssbestgirl @wandasbae616 @imavirginhoe @nuggetdean @chubby-cheek-calum @itsmytimetoodream @scndsofsummer @theofficialprongs
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🌙 * ― 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 ( a collection of various settings for drabbles or prompts, or both! )
001. a tattoo parlour, buzzing with machinery and walls lined with artwork .
002. a shopping mall, crowded and loud .
003. a cabin in the mountains, taking shelter from the snow storm.
004. an abandoned tea party, occupied with broken dolls .
005. the shooting range, empty casings clinking on the floor and sulphur in the air .
006. a music room, filled with melodies of an instrument .
007. an empty auto shop, hood of a car left open and quiet music coming through speakers .
008. a bright arcade, coins falling from machines and claws grabbing at soft toys .
009. the kennels, filled with barking dogs and excited companions .
010. a restaurant, where everyone is eerily quiet and staff are overly friendly .
011. a riding arena, with trained riders atop proud horses .
012. a mini golf course, sails of a windmill obscuring the path ahead .
013. a zoo, filled with an array of unique animals .
014. the docks of a bay, boats lining the decks .
015. a pond with ducks, seeking food .
016. a museum, displaying ancient bones and pottery of a history long ago .
017. a closed down prison, ghosts of violent history echoing in empty cells .
018. a quiet train station, lights overhead flickering and announcement board displaying errors .
019. the vast desert, scorching heat baring down at high noon .
020. the dark woods, filled with strange hanging symbols made of sticks .
021. a deep hole in the ground, covered by leaves and sticks .
022. a wishing fountain, base lined with copper coins of past wishes .
023. an abandoned picnic in an empty field, flask still warm with coffee .
024. a barn filled with hay and tools, old wood creaking in the wind .
025. a graveyard in the dead of night, wind howling through the trees .
026. a crumbling bridge above a raging river .
027. the refreshing waters of a lake, away from prying eyes .
028. the crossroads, in the middle of nowhere .
029. a cosy bonfire at summer camp, marshmallows roasting on the fire .
030. the top of a radio tower, with the perfect view of the surrounding area .
031. a lone phone box on a street corner .
032. a large elaborate temple dedicated to a deity, offerings still intact .
033. a drive-in movie theatre, cars empty and projector casting only light onto the screen .
034. a strange trail of breadcrumbs on a woodland path .
035. a haunted mansion, ancient paintings watching every footstep .
036. a decrepit mine located out in the hills, believed by locals to have a powerful curse cast upon it .
037. the edge of a cliff, overlooking the rough waves and distant sounds of approaching danger .
038. a road trip across country, music blaring through speakers .
039. a flower shop, filled with bouquets and a sweet aroma .
040. an airport in the early hours of the morning, deprived of sleep .
041. a train on its way to its destination, a sleeping passenger resting on a shoulder .
042. an abandoned shack filled with strange books of the occult and something mysterious bubbling on the stove .
043. an empty throne room, moonlight glimmering through tall windows .
044. an underwater tunnel in an aquarium, fish swimming overhead and sharks looming in the distance .
045. deep within unmarked cave located in the side of a mountain, lit only by a flare .
046. the dusty streets of a western town, watched by wary residents .
047. the back of a vast library, surrounded by books, when a black book falls from the highest shelf .
048. a room of an asylum, an abandoned camcorder left in the middle of the room .
049. the shores of an unknown beach, washed up from the ocean .
050. the deck of an unsteady ship, waves crashing against the haul and rain lashing down from dark clouds .
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What are some of your fave wincest fics?
Oh I'm so glad you asked anon! I am always looking for fic recs so I'm sure some followers will appreciate this little one here;
(in no particular order)
try asking by applecrumbledore
“Jerry says he saw them going at it in the back of that car of theirs outside Atlanta last year, I swear to God.”
“Listen, man, I don’t like them either, but that’s a low blow. Jerry’s a fucking pervert.”
outside POV ftw
other brothers by homo_pink
A callow boy can go from infancy to someone’s lover in the space of two wildflower summers.
Another outside POV but this writer I kneel at the altar for, absolute perfection. Read all their work, you're in for a treat
Howls in my bones by weefaol
When John gets a call to investigate a series of grisly animal killings, he drops Sam and Dean at an abandoned cabin two towns over. The boys find ways to keep busy — playing cards, watching movies, chopping wood — but with a howling winter storm on the way, there’s nowhere for Sam to hide his illicit feelings for his older brother.
As the lure of desire threatens to devour him, Sam must learn to face the wolves that lurk outside and the monsters within.
weecest
In the garden where sin began by nyoka
Some places, they grow for you.
weecest, beautifully written, so tender
one on, two out by deadlybride
In the fall of 2001, Deacon gets a letter from his old friend John Winchester, asking if John's son can stay at his house for a while.
not exactly wincest but I want to recommend this because it's just a great insight into a young dean and his vulnerability and there's a sequel involving wincest elements. Really really loved this
it started out with a kiss by intrepidheart
Sam has a date. That's not the problem. The problem is that Sam's asking Dean to teach him how to kiss. The problem is that this kiss changes everything.
rightly obsessed with jealous dean
the repeated image of the lover destroyed by hathfrozen
"Do you really love me that much?" Sam asks.
Dean laughs, a harsh sound, his body shaking underneath Sam.
"Look at me," Dean hisses, eyes still shut. "What the fuck do you think?"
see things so much clearer by deadlybride
Sam's been acting oddly. Dean learns how to use the history on an internet browser and finds out why.
somewhere there's blue by linden
Dean was just gonna go ahead and call this one: evenings which ended with Sam in a river were not evenings which had gone too well.
nickle and dime by linden
It was unlikely, Dean felt, that they'd be coming back to Montana: Child Protection Services had a real nasty habit of not forgetting people's names.
here's a few for now, I have more but I need to remember the names! I will probably reblog this with them but I hope you enjoy! Also if anyone has any recs please point me in that direction
much love
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when the veneer crumbles
the sounds of water are always relaxing
Wanda Maximoff x Reader
Warnings: **18+ MINORS DNI**, SMUT, dark and demonic themes, death, possession, drowning, magic use, Mommy kink
as per usual if there is anything I missed let me know
Author's Note: I'm so sorry this one was late, had a lot of car and financial shit I needed to figure out but I finally got it finished. This was one that i always knew how i wanted it to end, even from last year when i first planned it for the Occult series, but for some reason it was REALLY hard to put my idea into words. Hopefully it's not HORRIBLE, i'm a bit rusty after taking more then a few months off. The rest of them will be better I promise lol
Kitmoas | Necrosis Kitmoas | Navigation
The crickets in the distance are a welcome change to the busy streets of the city, cars honking
nonstop during your work day. The world you live in is hectic and out of control but the farther you walk into the almost clear empty darkness the more you can feel the control you naively gain. Stepping into the barely touched woods behind the mostly abandoned house was something that you had missed, a childhood memory that had died suddenly.
Allowing your mind to wander to the summers that you would spend here out on the lake, jumping off the dock, and laughing with your cousins was the welcome peace you needed as you settled along the rickety wood. Even if those fun times were cut short at your aunt’s sudden death, you knew that being here gave you just a moment of your innocence back.
Stepping onto the rickety wood carefully, you cringe internally as your arm tightens momentarily around the rolled up soft blanket. You should have known better to bring a water proof material but it was too late for that. Knees cracking slightly as you lean down, the smooth fabric flaps in the wind and you sigh softly in relief as you are able to fully settle on the dock. Deciding to stretch out was a bit of a mistake, in your time away you forgot just how soothing the sound of water lapping at the damp wood was.
Goosebumps spread across your skin as you slowly came to consciousness, brittle wind chilling you to the bone as you rub the sleep out of your eye. The fog is dense, and confusing as it was supposed to be a clear night. Slowly sitting up, your bones crack as you stretch as much as possible without rocking the dock too much. The unstable wood is loud even with the bare minimum movement causing you to flinch as it echoes across the empty field.
Squinting through the haze, you try to figure out if you can gauge just how late it is by the placement of the moon. The only thing you can see is a weird tunnel out in the middle of the lake, almost like a tornado of gray. Immediate fear isn’t your first thought, though you begin to question just how awake you are.
Condensation makes the wood wet, slipping as you try to stand up but it's the glowing red orbs in the distance that makes you freeze in your half crouched position. They are captivating even from afar. The air around you is thick, filled with the now red tinted fog that almost looks like it's bleeding. Heavy and molasses-like as it lays on your skin, eyes flickering around you try to make sense of your surroundings.
When she gets close enough to see smaller details, your brain slows almost to a complete stop. She’s entirely too breathtakingly beautiful and tragically horrific at the same time. No color to her skin, it’s almost as though she comes directly from one of the old black and white television shows your mother liked to watch. The woman is wearing tight clothing, torn and ripped sporadically. Her eyes almost seem so gray that they are an ethereal foggy green, only flashing ruby when the shrap thin lines all over her body pulsate crimson. Her hair is long and dripping with an inky hue, tangled and disheveled. Fingertips dipped in a steaming tar, dancing near her side as she stalks towards you.
It’s when you can almost reach out and touch the figure that you finally scramble backwards, putting distance between the two of you as the flight side of your instincts kick in. You barely make it more than five steps when you’re being dragged upwards with some sort of red translucent mist. It wraps around your wrists, dragging your arms above your head as you flop about uselessly. Screams are getting caught in your throat as you have to just hang there, watching this being get closer to you.
When the lady is directly below you, the hair on the back of your neck stands up straight and your muscles twitch from how tense they are. You want to panic, to yell, but something stops you. Tilting her head, she has to look up at you from where her magic holds you against the rough bark. Her hand comes out to touch you, but the soft feeling comes as a surprise to you. She cups your cheek, a low red spreading in her eyes as you shake under her touch.
She smiles at you, a soft almost nurturing thing. “You’re just as pretty as I thought you would be, little lamb.” Her voice is chilling, breathy with a raspy tone to it. The older woman’s free hand caresses your stomach, an unwanted warmth sinking into your gut.
Her nails are jagged, cracked and repulsive, as she takes her time to explore your body. It’s sudden, the vigor in which she gropes your body. Clumsy and completely all over the place, you aren’t entirely sure what she thinks she’s doing. Struggling against your restraints, the chill covers your body like ice freezing over a lake.
It isn’t until your body takes over, fear and anger sinking into your bones, that the creature seemingly gains control of her actions and her hand becomes confident and firm. Nails pointedly scratching at your skin as fingers map out your skin, almost stabbing at each goosebump she finds. Your eyes are glued to your face as your mind struggles to catch up to what you had done, flinching as her other hand reaches up. It doesn’t strike you as you thought it would, instead she brushes the back of her knuckles against her own face, trepidation stopping your blood from rushing through your body as you finally realize that you spit at her.
That wasn’t what you wanted to do, you knew that you needed to act smart if you were going to survive this but for some reason all your ability to think logically went out the window. You wanted her more than anything in the world right now, and you knew that you needed to try and do anything to keep her exactly where she was.
“Do you not have control over your stupid little body, mortal?” Her voice is low, almost filled with gravel as she mumbles. Rust filled eyes not even paying you a second of attention but instead staring at the glistening saliva that drips from her fingers.
Your head is shaking vigorously, denying inability in hopes that she doesn’t see you as foolish. The desire to be praised by her came as a surprise, but you weren’t fighting it and it seems to have worked. A smile slowly stretches across the surreal creature’s face as she blinks slowly. “It’s so funny to see such a useless being believe they are worth anything more than what I deem them to be. You think by answering my question in whatever way you think I want will make the outcome of your situation better?”
She speaks softly, almost nurturing as she rubs her soaked fingers along your neck, smearing your own spit against you. You crane your neck as much as you can against the crimson smog wrapped there, trying to hear her voice as clearly as possible.
“I take what I want and no smart mouthed, stupid brained little human is going to stop that. I like to have fun, and the peak is watching you bleed out for me.” The words are harsh but you can’t help but moan as your body is thrown upwards, red tendrils tightening and dragging you to hang limply from the tree branch. It’s devoid of leaves, and creaks under your weight, but it somehow makes you feel like you have a safety net. You had climbed this tree many times in the past, and even had various hanging sets from this very limb.
Swinging freely, you try to move your body as much as possible as the urge to escape your confines sinks in. Entirely too focused, you don’t realize that her hands are moving along your ice cold skin. Groping softly, her movements are controlled and precise to make sure that you barely register it in your brain. It’s when her hands force your legs apart, maroon vapor ropes slithering around your thighs to hold them open, that you finally realize just how hard you are breathing. Your body felt slightly warm, at least in your core, and you could feel your blood rushing downwards. It was almost like your entire being was electrified and you were entirely too conscious of every single thing you felt.
She doesn’t take her time, her eyes narrow as she focuses on mapping out your skin. The bright ruby lines she leaves in her wake only entertain her for so long before she finally moves in between your shaking thighs. The older woman’s finger swipes through your folds, collecting the small amount of wetness she finds there. Gasping as she spreads it across your clit, a throbbing ache despite the way your body revolts. Her jaw mockingly drops when for the first time her eyes light up with amusement, giggling when your hips chase her hand. “Oh poor baby, I can’t fuck you if you’re not wet enough. It’ll hurt your small fragile little body too much and Mommy doesn’t want to hurt you.”
Your head is shaking violently, nonsensical protests tumbling from your lips. It didn’t matter to you, regardless if it was because you wanted her or wanted the situation to be over with, you just needed her to touch you. Even though your wetness wasn’t enough for her, you did feel aroused. Maybe it was your mind tricking you into believing this was what you wanted or maybe it was the glittering crimson behind your irises, but that wasn’t a piece of information that you needed to know.
She tuts, chastising you. “Now don’t lie to me. I know what you want even if your mind fights it, and your body hasn’t caught up, I know.” You watch as she takes a step back, letting her eyes drink in your form. Letting the back of her knuckles run down your torso, you watch as she slowly kneels on the damp dirt. Her hands are grazing over your thighs, pushing them farther open as she leans in. The grip she has on you, though gentle, is strong and you can’t kick her when you feel her mouth along your skin.
The smoothness of her strangely sharp teeth is hot against your cooled body, but it’s the sharp pierce and spilling of your blood that leaves a weirdly chilled warmth leaking down your leg. Eyes widening you try to look past the head of dark locks to see what just happened, but it didn’t take long for your brain to catch up and the stabbing pain on your inner thigh.
She looks up at you, sparkling light jade eyes catching the moon light, with a toothy smile and a small dribble of crimson running down her chin. “You’re a fucking vampire?” You couldn’t help the shocked yelp, body shaking with fear.
The being doesn’t even answer you, giggling as rolls her eyes up at you. She seems so innocent in those moments but nothing gets rid of the terror emanating within your soul. Looking back at your bleeding thigh, she swipes her fingers through the thick liquid to coat them. Her nails catch on the open wound, sending another wave of searing pain through your body but she pays no attention to you.
It almost feels like time stops as you hang there, waiting, but the moment the brunette swipes her crimson dipped thumb across your clit something in your body cracks. It’s small but you can feel the change and in your mind you start screaming at yourself. You know being vocal won’t stop this crazy woman, but you wanted to deter her by being completely unaffected. It was the last thing you had on her, to make her believe that what she was doing was just pure torture and you found absolutely no pleasure in it, but you knew that that power over her was no longer available to you.
Never one for vanilla sex, not even in theory, you shouldn’t be that surprised that being taken by force from a demonic crazy being would be right up your alley. No one could ever keep up with you, your fantasies were just a bit too intense or a bit too dangerous, and for once everything you ever wanted was being fulfilled. This gorgeous being was forcing her fingers farther into you, your blood dripping randomly down different parts of your body.
Despite your want for intensely kinky sex, you knew that it should be completely consensual right? It should let you know that, and you could feel your anger rising in your body as the heat zoomed between your thighs. This couldn’t be consensual, not with how it started, but if it wasn’t then why did the idea of her actually stopping tear you up on the inside? You couldn’t fathom the idea of her ice cold thumb pulling away from your throbbing clit for too long, for her touch on your body to not cause goosebumps.
She doesn’t wait much longer, no need to attempt to please you now that she has the wetness she wants, shoving two fingers into you with almost no remorse. A shrill scream gets stuck in your throat as you choke on the force of air rushing up, the pain bringing tears to your eyes. A sign of weakness that this twisted soul revels in as she thrusts her fingers in, letting her free hand drag up crimson periodically.
The pain was immense and you were certain that she had to be using something besides her fingers, there was no way that the small hands in between your thighs were causing this much agony. You wanted to shove against her, but the moment her teeth sink into your breast you know you’re gone. Hips jumping, trying to get her to move more as the pleasure starts to settle in your tummy, uselessly against her body. It felt so bad that the good started to come from a delirious state, and you just needed her to move. The tips of her fingers just rubbing slightly against the soft spot inside of you, the texture of her wrinkled skin felt wrong but you were starting to become obsessed.
“Isn’t it comical? A desperate slut like you thought you had everything together, thought I was going to ruin your life by taking what was destined to be mine?” Through the heavy fog that had begun to settle in your head you tried your best to look down at her, shock painted across your face. How did she know what you were thinking? She doesn’t give you any answer, instead her thrusting gets more aggressive as the wetness between your thighs grows, and it mixes with the blood still heavily leaking from the bite marks.
You want to moan, whimper, maybe even plead but you were no longer sure what you wanted. Logically you needed this to stop if you were to ever be okay again, but at the same time all you wanted to do was feel her mouth on your clit. You wanted her to fuck you until you were incoherent, a drooling mess. Hatred towards yourself and her fueled your motions as you tried to work to take more of her hand, stretching around her third finger as she shoves it ungracefully into you.
Her mouth is at your knee now, glowing eyes looking up at you as she smirks. “Taking me so well for someone so against getting used.” Her arm is moving roughly, fingers curling inside you as she ghosts her teeth along your thigh. “So clean, so dry. Why don’t you make a mess for Mommy? I like my cunts all wet and messy.”
It was then you found your power, despite the arousal burning in your belly and the way you clenched around her fingers whenever she swiped her thumb along your clit. You knew that the more you let your thoughts wonder, even if it had to be forced, that you would be able to pull yourself from the situation. Imagine yourself somewhere else and almost black out during everything, your body would be limp and pliant but not give her what she wants. The movie you would go see in a week with your best friends, or the long list of groceries that you knew you needed to get when you went back into the city. Thoughts swarmed your head as you tried your hardest to ignore the way her fingers poked and prodded, the way her thumb caressed your swollen clit just perfectly.
Screwing your eyes shut, you make your best attempt at seeming unaffected but you don’t realize that you aren’t winning. If anything you just make it more fun for the being below you, giving her the opportunity to make you as wet as she wants.
Being so focused on the thoughts traveling through your brain was good until you don’t feel the tugging on your wrists, persistent and firm. It’s only when you’re tumbling helplessly through the air that you realize you are no longer hanging from the tree, but instead falling face first into the freezing lake. It’s a shock, breaking the surface of the water. It knocks the breath out of your lungs and forces your throat to close, you can practically feel all your muscles seize as well. You make the mistake of opening your mouth to scream, causing a rush of dirty water to fill your lungs, and it’s only when her hand claws at the back of your head that you feel even an ounce of relief.
She’s tearing your body out of the water, pieces of the thin ice fly around you and you can’t believe that you relax as your body collides with her. “Don’t think that you can try to outplay Mommy like that you little slut. I know what you want, you are my destiny. You were made to take me, so be a good girl and let me do what I was made to do.” Her voice is sweet, almost soft, as she speaks through her teeth directly into your ear. It shouldn’t calm your racing heart, neither should the almost warm comforting touch of her red mist along your thighs.
You want to let yourself fall, the intense arousal is boiling in your tummy and you can feel the coil tightening with each brush of her hand along your body. It would be much easier to allow yourself to become immersed in the pleasure coursing through your body, but it wasn’t until she allowed that crimson fog to slip inside you. Despite the fact that whatever she was pushing into you was magical, you were still too tight for her liking. There was a part of you deep down that still didn’t want this and it was causing your body to react subconsciously.
‘If the slut doesn’t want to get wet, then I’ll keep you wet myself.” Her hands scratch up your side, a nail digging into your nipple on the way up and it makes your hip buck. You feel yourself melting back into her and a moan softly slips from your parted lips. The urge to pretend that it’s from the cold is strong, but you can’t even pretend at this point like the feeling of her hands on you isn’t turning you on.
Her hands are running along your torso, teasing your nipples and scratching up your stomach. It almost feels normal, just another hookup and it makes you forget. Losing yourself in the way that the ruby swells inside you, rubbing against the soft spot it finds and caressing your clit softly.
The wetness between your thighs is gathering the longer she plays with you, wine stained mist thrusting lazily into you. It almost plays with you, knowing that it ruts to hard or fast that it will bring you closer to the edge, but it keeps you writhing for more with each movement. You want to beg for more, ask her to touch you with her own hands as you have begun to crave her ice touch, though there is something that is stopping you from doing that. It isn’t necessarily pride, something you lost the moment you began to get turned on by this aggressive form of twisted affection.
It’s when her nails scratch at the back of your neck that you realize the fog that’s dragging you slowly, almost mockingly leisurely, towards the edge is growing. Almost like a ball, it feels like she’s pushing her magic abilities to stretch you to the point right before danger. You’re confused, as your wetness starts dripping down your thighs and your breath starts picking up, how much more wet could you get?
Instant regret floods your system almost as fast as the ice cold water that rushes down your throat as she shoves your face directly into the lake. It’s not a quick dunk to shock you this time, her claw-like hand squishing your face into the almost mud like dirt at the bottom. She doesn’t stop forcing more and more into you, her magical fog swelling larger and it presses against where your torso is now pressed against the ground. Even as you struggle against her, your internal will to try and live kicking in, you can’t help the build up in your stomach. The coil tightens as her magic moves within you, moving inside you as her nails dig into her back.
Sharp stinging pains are a contrast, an added sensation, to your panic as you begin to think maybe she is just going to keep you submerged. There’s no way she would, right? She wants to use you, there would be no reason that she would want to truly harm you.
A deep belly chuckle is muffled through the water, barely a vibration as your arm and head flail as much as possible. You wanted out but you can’t help but moan instead of scream, the pleasure of her nails into your shoulder blades and her thigh grinding between your thighs into the swell of mist there beginning to get too overwhelming. It was no longer a fight to survive but a fight to enjoy the last moments of life. Somewhere in your mind you knew that you wouldn’t actually make it out of this alive, but for some reason you’ve decided to ignore that.
“Such a stupid whore, letting just anyone touch your cunt.” She fists your soaked hair in your hand, and just for a fleeting moment the pain mixed with arousal takes over your fogged mind. “You don’t even know Mommy and yet here you are, taking my gorgeous gift like the good little fuck toy you are.” Her free hand abandons your back in lue of groping your ass, pushing down against it to get you to stop moving. Her thigh is pushing against your throbbing clit now, soaked in your wetness despite water lapping up as you splash about.
You can feel your vision start to darken, the edges of the burning sensation as you try to keep your eyes open have blurred and blackened. Unsure if you are even panicking anymore, your body starts to relax and the only thing you can focus on is the fuzzy warm arousal filling each nerve in your body. The water floating around you becomes tranquil as each muscle in your body softens and you move with each thrust into you.
A wide sinister smile stretches unnaturally along the being’s face, pulling her almost gray lips as far as they can as she stares down at your almost lifeless body. She can see the signs and for her it motivates her even more, forcing more and more of her magic into you. You were everything she could have ever wanted and she refused to let you stay in the living world, if she was destined to be stuck to this lake forever then so would you.
Slowly you could feel all the tension in your body start to clump together in your stomach, draining from the rest of you and tightening around the scarlet orb inside you. You craved that last bit of pleasure, that last rush in your veins to end this for good.
When it becomes almost impossible to move and you are no longer shaking from panic or exertion, but instead trembling from hanging onto the edge, she knows it’s time. Sneering down at your limp form, she uses her grip in your hair to turn your head. Slapping at your cheek until she can just barely see your fuzzy bloodshot eyes, an almost soft nurturing smile paints along her face once she sees your drunk like state. “There’s my girl. So fucked out.” Her sphere cloud inside you starts to vibrate, her cold dark eyes once more glowing a dim ruby.
Gripping at your jaw, her claw practically breaks your neck as she forces you to keep eye contact with her. Even as your eyes slip closed, struggling to stay open as you start to dangle over the edge, you can’t help but feel drawn in to listen. “Say my name, little toy, say it and stay with me forever.” Her voice is raspy, bordering soft but she’s taunting you. “You know it, you know you do, so say it. Say it now.” Her actions become frantic, her thigh grinding more aggressively into you. She’s trying to force you into a more pathetic state, even at the edge of death she wants you to be begging for her.
As much as you can you try to deny knowing, because how could you? You had never seen this person, if that’s what she is even considered, before this horrific situation. The attempt at trying to keep water from going down your throat had stopped, your lungs should have filled completely with liquid by now so some other power must have been keeping you alive.
Though you couldn’t see it, the being was getting annoyed. Her eyes rolled as she realized that you were thinking again, a brain dead creature who could still think. “Say my name and you can cum for Mommy, like the pretty little whore you are.” She spits at you through her teeth, pointed and your blood drying on the dull shine. With her words she sees a change in your stature, even held under the force of her hand, eagerness. Humming slowly she allows her maroon mist to sink into each part of your body.
Your brain was almost empty, nothing but serene thoughts going through it as you felt yourself slip into the darkness. You thought that there would be a light at the end of the time but instead you start seeing a faint rosy hue. The being above you is yelling at you and the need to give in is strong, you want to end everything on a high. You need that high.
Her name slips into the water almost silently, your eyes slipping closed as you fall into unconsciousness, but it’s there. She hears it, muffled, “Wanda.” Usually one of her biggest fears, not one to want to go back to the damned dark world but with you she could thrive. A black magic demon who accomplished its goal? She would rule the world with a scarlet leash around your neck. A small smirk as her magic starts to die, a sure sign she’s going back to being contained. Until the end of time you will be her needy little toy, just as you were as you took your last breath.
#kitmoas | Necrosis#wanda maximoff x reader#dark wanda maximoff x reader#kinktober#kits kinktober#wanda maximoff#dark wanda maximoff#marvel fanfiction#wanda maximoff fic#wanda maximoff x you#wanda maxmoff x y/n
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Shooting Practice
1600 words, raider!Joel x f!reader
mood board by @milla-frenchy
A/N: FLASHBACK TO BEFORE YOU ESCAPE.. This isn't what I was working on 🚬🤡.
WARNINGS: I8+ inner conflict, dubcon p in V (captivity), angst. plz suspend disbelief about shooting, etc.
Raider Joel Master List, His trailer
FLASHBACK / IMAGINE
Between "Stash House" and "Failed Escape. "
Joel leaves you in his trailer sometimes if he isn't taking you on a raid. His trailer is nice compared to the stash house. Especially because his men aren't there, but it's also a little cleaner. You sense he’s a practical man. He doesn’t have things he doesn't need, aside from whiskey. He could sleep on the ground with nothing. The fact that his bed has sheets and a blanket–no, the fact that he even has a bed and lets you sleep in it–feels like a luxury. He doesn't just let you sleep in it. He holds you. It feels more protective than affectionate but you feel safe.
Joel only uses the bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen. When you come in the front door, you enter into the eating area, and turn left for the bathroom and bedroom. But if you turn to the right, there’s more. It’s a small galley kitchen. There’s a pantry full of ammunition and cabinets to your right, a utility closet, a closet, and then a room you’ve never seen Joel use.
In the living room, the carpet is scratched through in some places. It’s dusty. There’s an old forlorn sofa. The roof leaks on that end of the trailer. There’s a giant spot on the thin, blue, speckled carpet.The carpet is full of stains with various items scattered around. A dust buster. Two empty pet bowls in the corner, covered in cobwebs. There’s a TV/VCR combo and a radio. There are shelves with warped and faded books.
The first time you notice the children’s books, it makes your stomach turn. You ask Joel who used to live there. Hell if he knows, it was empty, the whole trailer park was. Most of the trailers are gutted, their insides destroyed by a fire. This one had been far enough away. You try not to think too much about who used to live there. You try spending time in the living room and it feels like your own space, but it's also spooky.
Joel has one of his men keeping an eye on you from down the hill, but it's for protection--to stop any of his men from going up there. You're allowed to go outside. When you have an opportunity, you explore the immediate area around the trailer– the top of the hill, and the woods. There isn’t much to see, and you don’t go far, afraid he’ll come back and think you’re trying to escape.
When you're hungry one afternoon, you try to forage for mushrooms in the woods. You find a collapsed, faded tent with a lump under it. Your gut tells you it’s a body. The next day, it’s in the same spot. You’re probably right. Joel always says it’s too dangerous, you shouldn’t go in the woods, and now you know why.
----------
One day, you’re feeling particularly restless, but you stay inside. When Joel gets home, he grabs ammunition from the pantry and is about to do target practice outside. You overhear him shooting when he does it.
“Can I watch,” you ask.
He glances at you skeptically, then mutters “yeah okay.”
You walk around back with him, the opposite side of the stash house, to the opposite ridge of the hill, facing the trailer park, with the woods on your left. There are shells of abandoned cars scattered behind the trailers.
The two trailers you’re looking at are marked up with spray paint, x’s, o’s, stick figures. One of the stick figures has a gaping hole in the head and smaller holes around it.
Joel sets up his rifle and gets down on his stomach, which gives you butterflies to watch. His triceps flex as he gets into position and his shapely lower body holds an interesting pose as he peers into the sight of his gun. He takes a shot and you don’t see where it goes.
“What’d you hit?”
Joel glances at you. “Trailer”
“Where?”
“See that guy with the hole in his head? went through that.”
You settle in to watch, legs folded to the side, fingers exploring a clover patch while he shoots. You pluck the little white flowers and consider making a crown out of them, but you would feel silly in front of Joel. You tear them to pieces instead with a lump in your throat.
Joel takes a few more shots, then asks, “wanna see?”
He scoots over and you swallow your emotions. You get on your stomach next to him. When you peer through the sight, you can see right through the trailer to the next one where he’s shot a large hole in the middle of an X. “wow,” you marvel. “all the way through?”
“yep”
“you’re really good at that.”
He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Wouldn’t keep ya if I wasn’t. Someone’s gotta keep ya safe, sweet pea.”
You nod and give a small smile.At this point, you’re still unsure where you’re better off.
You get out of his way. He takes a couple more shots while you pensively look for four-leaf clovers.
There’s nothing waiting for you back home, but sometimes, the way Joel plucked you out of your life doesn’t sit right. You didn't get to choose.
—------
Joel lets you watch him most days when he does target practice, and one day he asks if you wanna try.
"Look, uh, you don't need to be usin' a gun like this okay?"
"yeah, I know."
"but if ya wanna try it, right here with me. . .I can show ya."
"really?" He showed you his pistol before but didn't offer you could shoot it.
Joel nods for you to come over. You've shot a pistol before, in your old life, but never a long gun. You lay on your stomach, trying to emulate his stance. He moves your legs into position for you and you can feel the air on your inner thighs as your dress bunches up near your hip on your right side.
Joel cages you to the ground with his body, laying his chest flat against your back. He puts your hands on the gun and keeps his hands over yours. “You’re gonna wanna look right here.” He points at the sight then returns the hand to yours. “And hold the gun real steady. It’s gonna jump back at ya.”
“Okay.”
“Ready? I'll squeeze it the first time”
“Yeah.”
He squeezes the trigger and his arm muscles flex against you as he fires. It goes straight through the hole to the x. With Joel holding it steady, it doesn't jump back. The next time, he lets you pull the trigger while he holds the gun steady. When he shifts his weight in between shots, you can feel him getting hard. Each time, he puts less and less of his strength into it until he thinks you’re ready to do it on your own. He gets up off you and watches.
You line up the shot and take it. The recoil startles you even though you knew it was coming. The bullet pings a blank spot on the trailer next to the stick figure’s neck. You’re disappointed but Joel says “Good girl, look at that.”
-------
He takes the gun from you and puts it aside. Then he cages you to the ground again. He lowers his hips and you feel the shape of his stiff cock through his thin jeans. “my gun looks good on ya,” he murmurs.
You’re still up on your elbows. He put his weight on one of his forearms and reaches his other hand under your arm to cup your breast. He rolls his hips into you and gropes you. You’re getting wet. He does it once more, and you sigh.
"Not here," he says. "too exposed."
He begins to push himself off, and you feel the cool air against your damp panties as he sits back on his knees between your legs. He mutters, “fuck" and defies himself by reaching between your legs. He slips a finger under the cotton and when he feels how wet you are, he inhales sharply then mumbles, “gotta be quick.” When you hear his zipper, a wave of arousal hits you.
He hovers over you resting on his forearm again. "relax, sweet pea." You put your arms down and rest your head on top of them. "want it here, right?" He presses on the damp spot.
"Yeah"
He pushes your panties to the side and nudges his tip into place. You're wet but not quite wet enough. He spits on his hand and adds saliva to his tip before returning it between your legs.
He lines himself up and shoves into you, his girth splitting you in two. Your body rushes to catch up but he doesn't allow much time to adjust. He slowly brings his cock back, then slams in with a grunt. Then he goes at a jackhammer pace, breathing vocally and railing into you until he moans "ohh, ah–" and slows his hips.
He plunges to the hilt and sighs in relief as he fills you with his cum. You whimper on the edge, almost there yourself, but you don't know how he'll react if you touch yourself, so you don't.
------
Maybe you'll have a moment to yourself later. Or maybe--you catch yourself wondering--maybe, he'll fuck you later and take his time. You shame yourself for the thought.
There's no mistaking what your body wants. It's always wanted him, but there's something that scares you now. You're beginning to fear it's not just your body anymore.
-----
Thank you for reading
she's afraid her desire/acceptance isn't just physical anymore
Next would be Failed Escape
the last line:
she's afraid her body belongs to him and not just herself
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(Platonic) Yandere Spirits + Teenage Reader.
Hello This Is My First Post. I Hope You Can Enjoy This And The Rest My Blog Will Have To Offer. Please Forgive Any Grammatical Errors.
Reader is gn, but the ghosts refer to them as their son—————
You and your mother had moved into a new house. After the tragic death of your brother and father, the house held way too many memories that made it so even walking down the hall could leave you sobbing.
Your mother wanted to really get away from it all, to go out in the country side and ‘blend with nature’, but that was not unexpected of her, she’s always been distant and ready to abandon things at a moments notice for work or her own personal desires. She would have put you and your brother up for adoption if it weren’t for your dad.
but at the end of the day all this really meant for you was that you have to do school online now cause mom bought a farm house in the middle of nowhere.
she made sure you were fine with it which was a bit unexpected, and at the time you really were! It’s just, the house was built in the Victorian era and had seen years of use, hundreds of families and many deaths. And although the house has had new things added like heating and hot water, the house freaked you out still is all.
As you pulled up to the house, its tall figure landing ominously against the moon in the sky, the house looks like it belongs in a horror movie. The large willow tree beside the house with a rope swing that sways in the wind making a ‘creeeek’ every once in a while doesn’t help either. You suck in a breath and don’t open your door, but your mother either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about your fear as she opens her door.
she goes to the back of the car and opens the trunk before shouting “(Readers name) get out of the car and carry your luggage! I ain’t carrying all of this” you mumble an affirmative and open your door. You keep an eyes on the swing, making a note of how it seems to have stopped for an odd amount of time before getting back into swinging ‘wind must be different over there?..’ you think.
you grab your one duffel bag and a few of moms bags before heading to the front door with her. The gravel path to the front door makes crunching noises with each step, making you hyper aware of how loud you’ve been since the second you got here. You shake your head, it’s fine. This is your house. ‘Is it tho?..’
As your mother grabs her key from her purse, you her a weird ‘crunch’ behind you, like the sound of something starting to walk up the path. You whip around but no one’s there. Damn, barely five minutes here and your already paranoid. Your mother opens the door and you walk in.
as you step in, you step into what seems to be the family room, wood floors throughout the house or as far as you can see. The room has a white couch with soft pink flowers as the pattern and white wood legs. That pattern stays with all the furniture in the family room. There is also a old-ish tv.
“hey mom, do you know why the previous owners left their stuff” you ask a bit suspicious, a huge house with good looking furniture selling for a absurdly low price yet it was on the market for months. There’s gotta be something off.
your mom shrugs and tells you it must just be because they don’t need them. You decide to just go with that. Yeah, they just didn’t need them. You and your mother walk around the first floor of the house a bit before ascending the stairs. The stairs are creaky and give a bit to much for your liking with each step. Again your mother doesn’t mind.
as you get to the next floor, it seems most of the rooms are old bedrooms. Your mother immediately goes to the master bedroom with a small yell of “just take any room, I don’t care”
as you look at the hall full of rooms, non seem particularly interesting or safe. You know you have to pick one tho so you peak in each.
Each room contains different items, but each have a painting of a different person. The only one the not have a creepy painting is one of the smallest, with no windows and the bare minimum items.
you end up picking the one that doesn’t have much furniture other then a bed and a desk. The desk is creaky and wobbles at the slightest push. As you toss your duffel bag on the bed the bed creaks loudly as well. You don’t mind, it’s better than being watched by a bunch of most likely dead guys.
You also don’t have much that you brought, so you don’t need much room. You lay down on the bed. This is fine, your just being paranoid.
as you sit down on the bed, or it’s yours now you suppose, you grab your phone from your jacket pocket. As you turn it on you are blinded for a minute by how bright it is, turning down the brightness, you quickly put in your passcode and flip to discord.
as you open up a group chat between you and a bunch of your friends, you begin to talk to them. You talk for a few hours, even hoping on call and showing them your room (they agree it has a creepy vibe to it), you finally say you have to go to sleep at around 3 am.
you remove the blanket that came from the house as you fear it could be moldy, so you’d prefer to just wash it. You take the duffel bag off the bed and open it, grabbing a blanket. The blanket that came with the house is admittedly much better, your blanket is thin and warm with a few holes.
But never the less you turn off the lights and hurry back over the bed.
you realize a bit to late you didn’t change clothes, but in all honesty you don’t want to change in this house.
as you lay back on the bed with a creak, you can’t help but think you see things moving around in the darkness.
————
you wake up pretty late in the day. It’s summer break so you don’t have school, or else you would have never stayed up that late. As you sit up you notice oddly enough you’re covered in both blankets, not just yours. You could have sworn you just wore yours but but, uh you must have put it on in the middle of the night!
yeah, that’s what you did. You probably got cold, and put the thicker blanket on for warmth, and if you don’t remember it that’s fine.
As you sit up you notice something on your desk, a piece of paper with a cup of water. As you stand you walk over to the note, it’s from your mom
hey (reader’s nickname), I got a urgent call from work and i need to get back to the office by next week, and I have to leave now to make it. I know I said I work on line these days but they really need me. I know you’ll understand, your nearly a adult you can handle yourself for a few weeks, when I get home I’ll spend lots of time with you.
There’s money attached to the back of the note, and I put all our food from the car in the kitchen.
love - mom
You sigh. it’s always been like this. Seems no matter where you guys live, mom will never be home. You know she works hard but it feels she doesn’t see you as a priority.
although in the back of your mind you recognize the writing looks different then her writing, and she always signs off with her real name and not ‘mom’
As turn the paper around you see that yes, there is money, and it is way too much. 500 bucks. You blink. What. You shake your head, you are not using all of that. You remove the money from the paper and throw the letter in the trash.
For some reason you have a gut feeling not to leave your room. Something feels wrong with this house and it’s even worse with no one else here. You grab your phone again and hop on discord, as you talk to your friends you let them know where you live.
Turns out some friends you met online live real close to you, and they’re cool to come over tomorrow to hang out and keep you company till your mom gets home. You just have to survive today and tonight.
After your friends have to go you’re left sitting on your bed with nothing to do, so you remove the bigger blanket again and decide ‘hey, best way to lose time is to sleep!’ After a bit you slip into unconsciousness.
//change of POV//
as the many pairs of eyes watched their sons eyes close, they can’t help but coo
their sons ‘Mom’ is not fit clearly, so they had to step up. And so far they’ve been doing great, their lovely son is even gonna bring friends over to meet them!
their son is adorable. And all theirs
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texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. x
series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter |
chapter summary: an old friend finds you at your lowest point, and you're confronted with ghosts of the past.
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
words: 5.7k
chapter warnings: HEAVY ANGST. Grief. Time jumps. Referenced death of family members and romantic partners. Canon typical violence. Blood mention. As always please dm if you have questions.
a/n: I took a week off to get my shit together. I hope you are still with me :) Also, please pay attention to dates in this chapter.
**ALSO! I got rid of my taglist. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifs if you would like to be notified when I update my works :) **
-March 7, 2022-
You hobble forward through the snow, dragging your right foot behind you for as long as you can until you’re forced to use it to step forward. Every time you have to bear weight on your ankle, you try to mentally prepare yourself for the pain, to convince yourself it’s not that bad. But each time your injured foot comes in contact with the ground, you realize your imagination didn’t do it any justice. Still, you try to keep the noises you make in response down to nothing more than sharp inhales. Despite the fact that the boy trailing a few steps behind you always keeps his eyes cast down, he sees everything, and the last thing you want him to notice is the severity of your injury.
Both of you have more important things to worry about.
It’s a forgivingly warm day, and by forgivingly warm, you mean not freezing. Snow still covers the ground, so tightly packed that in some areas you can walk on top of it, but in others you have to forage a path – it’s nearly above your knees. Without the support system of the group you had just been with, there was no way you’d be able to make it in this weather. This was the plan – head South, for warmer weather. But still, you’ve no real destination or purpose, you’re kind of wandering aimlessly through the woods and mountains, with nothing to direct you but a cracked compass.
Despite the pain you’re in, you find the discomfort a welcome reprieve. If you’re focused on that, you’re not thinking of her. Of what you’d just lost, which would spiral into all the things you had lost, and so on and so forth. If you let yourself go down that path, you wouldn’t be able to come back, despite your future looking more and more uncertain each day.
The boots that crunch behind you echo your own footsteps, so when they come to a sudden halt, you turn to look at him. He puts a finger to his lips. “Did you hear that?”
His head tilts towards the wind. It’s hard enough to hear already, between the rushing river to your left, and the whistling of the breeze through the pines to your right. It ruffles his dark hair and you watch him – but it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking when his eyes are obstructed by a pair of Rayban Wayfarers perched on the bridge of his nose. You’d found them – along with the aviators you wore – on a road full of abandoned cars about three days back. Or was it…four? You’d have to look at your journal. Either way, you’d known they were necessary to avoid snow blindness, especially now that the sun was out.
After a few moments of listening, he shakes his head. “I thought I heard horses.”
Whether he did or not doesn’t matter. “We should move back towards the woods,” you advise.
He frowns, but doesn’t argue, and you abandon the easy path in favor of what’s safer, but also much, much, harder terrain to move over. Now, you have to move slower, but the pain is just as bad as before.
You’re not sure how much time passes before you lose your footing over some gnarled tree roots, and it sends you to the ground. It hurts, and because you weren’t prepared for it, sharp cry you let out can’t be held back.
“Shit!”
Within a second, the boy is kneeling at your side, brow furrowed in concern. And you’re reminded, with him hovering over you, that he’s not a boy anymore.
“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” you say rapidly, rolling onto your stomach to push yourself up to a seated position.
“No you’re not,” he crouches down, gesturing to your foot. One of his hands lands on your shoulder, keeping you from trying to rise to your feet. “You’re clearly not.”
You lift up your pants to tighten the cloth you’ve wrapped around your ankle – a makeshift compression sleeve – even though you know it’s not going to fix the problem. It’s main purpose, really, is to hide the majority of the bruising and swelling. It makes it easier for you both to stay in denial of how bad the situation really is. “I twisted it. It’s fine.”
“It’s fucking broken,” he insists. “You know it is. We can’t keep going like this, we need to rest, and food. You need to ice it and actually let it fucking heal-”
“Ethan,” you hiss. “Just where the fuck are we going to do that?”
Wherever you are is incredibly remote, you hadn’t been able to find a reliable shelter since you first started running away.
Your nephew frowns again, his head dropping. “You’re right. We’re fucked, aren’t we?”
“We’re not fucked,” you say, even if you don’t believe it. “We’ve seen worse.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know....this is pretty fucking bad, right?”
There was something equally tragic about almost every situation you’d been in since the beginning of the outbreak, so it’s honestly hard if you’re actually doomed or not.
“I mean we survived….that,” you gesture towards the general direction from which you’d come, even if it’s a week’s worth of travel away.
“Maybe we’re still not out of it.”
“We are. The worst is over.” Despite your own doubts, you try to remain determined for his sake.
Ethan only sighs. He doesn’t argue with you, and rarely does. It doesn’t mean he agrees with you. Even after everything you’d been through, he’s sensitive – and incredibly introspective.
This conversation was getting filed away to bring up later. There’s a lot of things you know he wants to talk about, but he knows now is not the time for those conversations.
“Let’s keep moving,” you decide. “Hopefully we’ll find shelter soon, and when we do, I promise, you can rest.”
“You can rest,” he corrects.
You hum your affirmation, and he stands. The thick pelt that’s draped over his shoulders shifts when his hand reaches out to help you up. There’s still blood that stains his clothing, and it’s caked under his fingernails. Yours too. It’d be nice to clean yourself off properly, but with the unpredictable temperatures, you’re not interested in diving into the river and risking hypothermia.
The second that you rise to your feet, you can see you are – as Ethan predicted – fucked.
There’s four, hulking figures cantering towards you on horseback. You turn to look into the woods. “Fuck, we have to-” you fumble for the revolver strapped at your hip, and Ethan lifts his rifle, but it’s too late. Before you can even draw your weapons, or comprehend an escape plan, you’re surrounded.
“Don’t even fucking think about it,” there’s at least two guns trained directly at you. “Hands up.” After everything that had gone down, you’re out of bullets, so even if it might’ve been a good bluff, a gun would only get you so far.
You both obey, but Ethan subtly shifts his weight so he stands in front of you. “Hey kid. Step away from mom or we’ll shoot you both.”
The words come from the man on the horse directly in front of you. Probably the leader, if you had to guess, and clad just like his counterparts. They’re all clad in muted tones, handkerchiefs obscuring their mouths and cowboy hats casting shadows over their eyes. There’s a dog seated obediently at one of the horses feet.
You don’t say anything as Ethan steps away. This wasn’t the first time you’ve both been cornered like this before. And hopefully not the last, you think, before realizing just how grim of a wish that would be. Either way, he knows what to do. Silence is an incredibly effective card to play when you have absolutely nothing to offer. It allows you to bide your time, to strategize, to listen.
Once Ethan is an appropriate distance away, he raises his chin in defiance. “What brings you to the area?”
“Nothing. We’re passing through,” you answer. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe the only thing you really can use as leverage right now is just how down on your luck you actually are. Unfortunately, you have found that even when you have nothing to give, there are still things that can be taken.
“What’s with all the blood?” another man asks, this one to your left. “You in some kind of trouble?”
“Only the usual kind.”
“Infected?”
“We aren’t sick.”
“We’ll see…” the third man whistles to the dog at his feet, which trots forward with a low growl to sniff at your shoes.
Neither you or Ethan have been bit, so you know you’re in the clear, but that doesn’t make things any less hopeless. You exchange a sidelong glance with your nephew as the dog sniffs at you, and you glance to the only cowboy who has been silent the whole time, the one at your right. He clears his throat, adjusts his hat, and you catch a glimpse of his eyes….just for a second. The dog backs away.
“Looks like you aren’t lying,” the cowboy in front of you sounds almost satisfied. “Both of you, take off those glasses.”
You sigh, glancing over at Ethan.
“Don’t look at him, just do it.”
You do, pushing them off the bridge of your nose and up into your matted and tangled hair. Pointedly, you turn to look at the men surrounding you. Revealing your face is always a risk, and you’ve made plenty of enemies who would recognize you. But you’re out of options.
“Where are you headed?”
“South,” you say. “Just trying to get out of the cold.”
“If think this is cold, then you must have not been in the area long enough.”
Actually, I have, asshole. Is a decade long enough? You keep the commentary to yourself.
“Any friends nearby we should know about?”
Your stomach twists. No. But he doesn’t deserve the story. Not when all you want to do is forget every second of the last week. “Can you just tell us what you want from us?”
“Answer the question.”
“Hold on,” the man to your right speaks up for the first time, and you turn to look over at him. “What’s your name?” His voice is muffled by the bandana.
Hesitantly, you give him your first.
The man pulls his handkerchief down around his neck, pushes the brim of his hat back. Now, you can see him clearly. He looks familiar, but it’s not someone you know from this lifetime. His long, dark hair pokes out from where it’s slicked back behind his ears. He looks far too young to be the first person that comes to mind. But….maybe.
And then he repeats your name, adds your last himself. How does he know?
You tilt your head to the side, squint against the sun.
“....Tommy?”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Huddled at the far end of a couch, you’re still trying to make sense of the situation when Tommy settles into a chair that he pulls alongside you.
“Let me take a look at your ankle.”
“It’s fine, really,” you insist, even though all your efforts to refuse help since you’ve arrived have been futile.
It’s the most normal-looking community you’d seen in a decade. Completely self-sufficient and self-governed – no FEDRA, no Fireflies. Hell, you’d just showered under warm, running water – had watched the blood and dirt and grime swirl about the tiles before disappearing down the drain. And now, despite the temperature having dropped since nightfall, you are perfectly warm in a thin gray sweater, thanks to the central heating and a fire crackling in the fireplace. It seems far too civilized to be real.
Your eyes flick behind Tommy towards the stairs, and you register the sound of the water running above you. Ethan. For the past few days, he hasn’t left your sight once, such a force of habit that leaving him alone puts you on edge. If something happens, and you’re separated….
“He’ll be fine,” Tommy assures you, almost like he can read your mind. You focus back on him, but don’t have anything to offer in response. He sighs, lowers his voice. “Whatever happened to you, I want you to know that you’re safe. And can trust me. You know that, right?”
You study Tommy. Of course, you want to trust him. But he is a man, after all. A man you haven’t seen in a long time. You had been betrayed so many times by people you thought you could trust that it was no longer something you could give so easily. The sincerity in his expression, the conviction with which he speaks, however, causes you to soften. “C-Can I?”
“Of course,” Tommy says. “We knew each other….before.”
“I know, I know.” You nod, wearily, and take in the room. “Guess it’s just….a bit of a shock.”
“I get it,” he sympathizes. “But I’m here to help. If I wasn’t, all this…” he gestures around the living room of the once-empty house he’s letting you use for the night. “...would be a huge waste of time and resources.”
You offer a small smile, feel some of the apprehension fade, and allow him to examine your ankle. When you’d gotten a glimpse of it in the shower, you really couldn’t deny the severity of the situation.
“It does look like it could be broken,” Tommy says as he begins to wrap it in a bandage. It’s so sensitive, you can’t even watch, trying not to wince. “Tomorrow, I’ll get the doctor to come by and take a look. But for now, we’ll ice it and keep it elevated. Maria’s coming by later with dinner and some medicine that should help with the discomfort.”
You nod. To be real, the whole situation seems too surreal. There is something interesting about this situation – that right after one of the most traumatic events of your life, someone you knew from before was there to help. It wasn’t nothing.
And you’re aware that there are a thousand questions that hang between you. It’s overwhelming, you don’t know what one you want to pick, or if you even want to. So you keep it simple. “Who’s Maria?”
Tommy maneuvers a pillow under your foot and gingerly rests an ice pack on top. “She only kind of runs the place. And….she’s also my girlfriend.”
“How nice,” you say, earnestly.
“Yeah….” Tommy smiles to himself. “Yeah, it is nice. I have a life here. It’s been awhile since I’ve felt that way.”
His candid nature further helps you relax. If you can trust him, and he feels safe here….maybe you are, too.
“Look, I’m sorry, but I have to ask…” Tommy begins, rubbing his hands together and looking over his shoulder. “But uh….the kid….Ethan…is he….”
You tilt your head.
“Is he….Joel’s?”
“Oh,“ your eyes widen. You register that a less hardened version of yourself might have laughed at the misunderstanding. But not now. Something twists deep in your gut at the implication. “No, no. No. He’s not mine. He’s my nephew. My brother’s son.”
“Okay,” Tommy looks almost relieved. “Sorry, it's just. He’s so young and you sort of look alike and-”
“It’s alright, Tommy,” you say. Because you can see why he thinks that. You are old enough to be Ethan’s mother, and people constantly assume he’s your son. Most of the time, you don’t bother to correct them. No one needed that information. Ethan was only a child when his parents passed. The two of you were all that remained of your family, and if it weren’t for him, you probably wouldn’t even be here. -“I get it.”
It’s been awhile since you’ve thought of Joel, of Sarah. It seems cruel, but it’s really just a matter of self-preservation. For some time, right after the outbreak, you had tried to find them. But you weren’t willing to abandon Ethan or Vincent, and there was only so much you could go. You kept losing people, and then started to avoid thinking about them entirely. Those memories became a distraction. You had more important things to focus on. Staying alive. Only when things were quiet would you let yourself indulge.
“He’s still alive,” Tommy’s voice cuts through the silence.
It almost feels selfish to be relieved that Joel’s alive. Because anyone who remembers what it was like before has survived, against all odds. And it’d be impossible to meet anyone who hasn’t traded over part of their humanity to last this long.
Despite that, you aren’t surprised. Joel was practical, smart….a protector. You remembered a hot summer night, the way he’d made some guy harassing you and Sarah cower and retreat with all his friends. It would be terrifying to be on the receiving end of that rage. What kinds of things was he capable of? Maybe you’re just projecting.
“And Sarah?” You think of her, her sweet smile and quick wit.
Tommy’s head drops, he shakes his head once.
“No….really?” It’s such a stupid question to ask. As if he’d make such a terrible joke.
At first, you’re overwhelmed by the anger you feel. It grips you tight around your throat and you struggle to breath as Tommy continues.
“It was the night everything went down. The military had these orders to kill all civilians….we all got split up. Sarah and Joel were cornered by this soldier. I shot him but…. I got there too late…she, uh….yeah….”
The anger dissipates quickly. Because you know all too well that it’s not useful. You’re completely powerless, it won’t fix anything. So all that momentum and energy comes screeching to a halt. You’re left thinking of Joel, of what that loss must have felt like. What you’re feeling now probably isn’t a fraction of what he felt. And you feel terrible.
“No,” you choke out, the frustration fizzling into grief. “She was so-”
All that time you’d spent with her, all those years ago, yet you still can see her so vividly.
Something you’ve always longed for is the ability to know, the second you meet someone new, just how much they are going to change your life. You think of Sarah, standing timidly at the end of your driveway, asking to use your landline. That was it. Then, she was always over at your place – eating your snacks, sprawled out on your couch watching television, asking for life advice as if you were qualified to give it. In the end, you’d probably learned more from her than what you had to offer. It wasn’t fair. Not to her. Not to Joel. Not to Tommy. Or you.
“I know, it’s-” Tommy starts, but he doesn’t finish. You understand. What is he supposed to say?
You’ve been a fortress, held together by nothing but sticks and plaster, and this is the blow that takes you down. It’s not just Sarah, it’s everything you’ve been holding back for the past week. That you’d hidden from Ethan because you didn’t want him to worry. But you can only take so much loss, pitching forward to sob into your palms.
You don’t cry like you used to. The tears come, but you don’t make any noise, save for the shaky, staggered inhales your body forces you to take to self-regulate. There’s a hand on your shoulder, and a weight settles next to you on the couch. “I’m s-sorry,” you manage through a faltering breath.
Tommy doesn’t say anything, but he wraps his arms around you. Something in the back of your brain reminds you that this could be a part of some long con. But you’re sick of listening to that voice. You lean into him, and accept the little bit of comfort, because you can’t remember the last time it’s been offered to you. So much time spent being strong, but you’re only human, and no one is built to endure this much without breaking.
“Where is he?” you ask Tommy, once you’ve finally managed to pull yourself together, his hand still between your shoulder blades. “Is he here?”
“Last time I saw him, we were livin’ in the Boston QZ.” Tommy shakes his head. “But it’s….been awhile since we’ve spoken.”
They had always seemed close, but you don’t press, because you get the impression it’s painful to talk about. You wonder what kind of man Joel must have become after losing Sarah. What else would he have to fight for? You know how loss has changed you, too. How all of this has changed you. For better, and for worse.
“I bet he would be glad to know you’re still here,” says Tommy, patting your back.
“Sure,” you say. “But it’s been a long time.”
“It has been. But you took good care of him and Sarah,” Tommy says. “So there’s a place for you here. If you want to stay, the house is yours.”
“Tommy, I can’t-” You aren’t really sure why you are refusing. It’s all so much. And it doesn’t even make sense to do it, because where had you been planning to go to begin with? You’re just stubborn. You know if you stop moving, everything will catch up to you.
“You don’t have to decide tonight. But at least wait until you’re back on your feet.”
“Is that…a joke?” you glance towards your ankle, relieved to find some remaining proof of your sense of humor, something you’re pretty sure you can’t go on without.
Tommy seems to share this relief, smiling gently. “It wasn’t intentional.”
There’s a lull, then: “Maria was a lawyer, too. She could use your help on the council.”
You sniff, wipe at a stray tear that falls at the mention of your old life, the job that you were constantly complaining about. Everything had been perfect, and you had taken it for granted. “I don’t know how much of that stuff I even remember.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re family,” Tommy speaks definitively. “Maybe not technically. But eventually…you would’ve been.” That makes you ache, and he goes on. “It’s the least I can do.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
-April 10, 2024-
The wind rustles the leaves of the trees, through the windchimes that hang off your back porch. The sun is on the horizon, you can tell because there’s a red glow behind your eyelids. Huffing, you fold your body forward over your feet, pulling yourself towards the floor by the backs of your ankles, before stepping back into a lunge.
The sound of a door sliding up interrupts the quiet, then two plates hit a glass tabletop.
“Breakfast.”
You open your eyes. Ethan’s head is tilted as he glances over at you. “I can’t believe you still do this shit everyday.”
“Old habits die hard.” You push yourself up off the tattered blanket you’ve been using as a yoga mat and roll it up. “Gotta stay limber.”
It’s the truth. You’re in your forties now, and have spent the last twenty years under constant physical and mental stress. If there’s anything you can do to reverse the damage and be a little kinder to your body, you’re going to do it.
You put your hands on your hips and look at the omelets he’s prepared. “Wow,” you say. “You know, you’re becoming quite the chef.”
“One of us has to.”
You ignore his dig to take a sip of the tea he’s prepared you. “What are you doing up so early?”
“Patrol. I have to leave in like 20 minutes. Are you going out today?”
“Tomorrow,” you correct, sitting in the chair across from him. “But today I have to meet with Eugene, and then I told Maria I’d look after the baby while she gets some work done.”
“Makes sense. Tommy told me they’re hardly sleeping. How is she?”
“She’s doing good. But…there used to be this saying…It takes a village.”
Ethan considers this. “I still don’t know how you and dad looked after me all those years.”
“You were five years old, not five weeks. At least you could walk.”
“That’s still young. It must’ve been hard.”
“It was but….” you shrug. “We made it.”
Ethan looks into the backyard, like he’s contemplating the past two years you’d spent in this house. “You think this is it?”
After Tommy had brought you to Jackson, you’d never left. Will it last? Is really what he’s asking. It’s easy to feel jaded. The last place you’d been before Jackson had housed you for almost a decade. It hadn’t been nearly as nice as this, but it had its appeal. Today, you feel hopeful. “It’d be nice if it was.”
Ethan seems comforted by your answer. “I don’t remember much…from those days. Back at the beginning of everything.”
“That’s probably for the best,” you say. There are so many things from that time you’d erase from memory if given the chance. Some things never felt less jarring, even with time.
Ethan looks down at his food. “I miss them. I wish I got to know them better.”
You think of your brother, of Elizabeth. His parents. “You knew them,” you assure him. “And they loved you.”
Ethan studies the divots in the glass of the patio table. He’d grown up to be a spitting image of his dad. In fact, if Vincent were still alive, you would’ve found a way to give him shit about it. I knew you were self-absorbed, but don’t you think cloning yourself is a little extreme? But he’s not here, so you whisper those sorts of things when no one else can hear you, and hope that somehow he can.
He finishes his last bite of food and stands, towering over you, tall and lanky. When he reaches to collect his plate, you stop him. “I’ll get it. Don’t want you running late.”
“Thanks,” he leans down and gives you a quick hug. “I’ll be back before dinner.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
The sun is about to set when he returns. You’re back from Maria’s, mellowing out on the couch with your knitting while listening to an old comedy album you’d found the last time you were on patrol.
“Hey,” you crane your neck to see him kicking off his boots in the foyer. Taking your shoes off when you walk in a house was a habit that had taken some getting used to. Before Jackson, you’d been so used to sleeping in your clothing, your shoes, knife and gun curled by your side, ready to grab at a moment's notice. The first week you’d lived here, you and Ethan had slept on the couches in the living room and refused to separate.
In general, there were a lot of things that had taken some getting used to while you were settling in. But humans have a natural instinct to put down roots. It was only a matter of time before you’d start to thaw out. And boy did you thaw.
For a long time, you were resistant to staying. At first, it was just for the night, then, it was until your foot got better. Your foot got better, and then you wanted to put on some weight. Then one day, you were sitting in the Tipsy Bison, sandwiched in a booth listening to Tommy brazenly flirt with Maria while watching Ethan joke with the kid his age working at the bar. It had been three months, and you didn’t want to leave anymore.
Twenty years of running, of not knowing when your next meal was coming from, or what could be lurking around every corner. It was a different kind of exhaustion, and the second that you felt safe, it all caught up to you. All you did for the first two months was sleep.
You woke only when Maria dropped by. Like Tommy had said, Maria had been a lawyer before. A prosecutor, however, so the work was different. You’d had a good laugh over the fact that you were raised by a ruthless criminal defense attorney with questionable clientele, because that was her worst nightmare. She was always enthusiastically telling you about things happening amongst the town council, and would even ask for your expertise. When you were done sleeping off the exhaustion, she’d extended you an offer to work for the town council.
Not leaving your house for weeks you assumed would earn you the reputation of the town recluse. But when you started to participate in community affairs, no one gave you any grief. That was probably thanks to Ethan, who from the beginning, fit right in. He was desperate for a social life outside of you, and more importantly, with kids his actual age.
Between helping Maria on the council, and Eugene with his….business…you didn’t go out on patrol too often. But you were glad you and Ethan had managed to find some sort of normalcy in Jackson. Even though you’d never admit this to him, the last group you’d lived in had some…..questionable traditions.
“Did Tommy come by already?” Ethan asks as he strolls into the living room and practically throws himself down on the couch.
“No,” you say. “Was he supposed to?”
“He said he was coming over tonight because he has a surprise for you or something?”
“A surprise?” you ask. “What?”
“I don’t know,” Ethan says, sounding slightly annoyed by your questions. Sometimes, you still get glimpses of the fifteen-year-old boy he once was. He had always been well-behaved, but those sorts of things slipped through on occasion.
“Hmmm,” you return to your knitting, but don’t think much of it. It’s not like Tommy coming over is out of the ordinary. If it wasn’t him walking through your front door, it was Maria, and you and Ethan were over at theirs several times a week as well – whether it was for dinner or to help out with their new baby.
You think about what Tommy had told you when he first encouraged you to stay. He’d called you family. At the time, you didn’t think that was true. But now, it was. Maybe you weren’t bonded together by blood, but you’d grown to care for each other as if you were. Opening your heart used to feel impossible, painful even….but all the people who had helped you at your lowest had proven otherwise. Shutting them out only made things worse. After everything you’d been through, all you had left were the people you cared about. What else was there? It was stupid to do anything else but love.
There’s a knock on your screen door, and Ethan is the first to practically jump off the sofa. You don’t get up right away, figuring that Tommy will stroll in shortly.
Instead, you hear more voices than you were expecting, the screen door closing behind Ethan, his muffled “Nice to meet you.”
The sun is setting, and the last thing you want to do is go and meet someone who's new to the community to make small talk. But then you hear Ethan call for you. You need to be a good member of the community and keep up appearances. Begrudgingly, you lift yourself out of the sofa and walk down the hallway to your front door.
You slide into your sneakers, pull on your pair of aviators to protect from the intense light of the sun on the horizon, stepping onto the patio.
“What’s up?” you ask, stepping out onto the patio next to Ethan, and Tommy is to your right, though you are hardly aware of him as you focus immediately on the man standing in front of you.
You recognize him instantly. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed. It doesn’t matter that his hair is more gray now than it is brown. It doesn’t matter or that the lines on his face are deeper, and his shoulders slump under an invisible weight. There’s a scar on his temple that hadn’t been there before, and his eyes, once warm and sparkling, seem impossibly cool and distant. He’s hardened by the world, and so are you.
“Joel?”
It’s a stupid to pretend like you don’t know that it’s him. Like you need the confirmation. And you lower your sunglasses, just in case you’re seeing something you want to see, and not what’s actually in front of you.
When you meet his eyes, his jaw clenches, and something unrecognizable flashes in his eyes.
“How are-” you step forward, and you’re not sure why.
What were you expecting, a hug? A kiss? Some grand reunion, like you hadn’t lived separate lives for two decades, like you hadn’t loved someone else in the meantime. He probably had, too. So it’s not like you’d be able to pick up where you left off and forget all the things that happened. It wouldn’t be possible, but you have an instinctual urge to wrap him in your arms, to press your face into his chest as you did so many times before. You’d tilt your head back to kiss his neck, his jaw, and to feel his stubble scratch your face – you’d do it anyway, because you don’t care if it hurts you.
Joel steps backwards just as you move closer. There’s a young girl hovering behind him, the same way that Sarah used to. But it’s hard to see much of her from where you are standing. His eyes flicker between you and Ethan, and then he turns on his heel and walks down the pathway without a word.
“Ellie!” he calls out, and doesn’t even so much as glance over his shoulder. It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak, and his voice gruffer, a bite to it that didn’t exist before.
You don’t call out after him, don’t trail after him down the street like the girl or Tommy does. But you do stare after him until he turns the corner and disappears from view. The only evidence he’d been standing in front of you at all is the pounding of your heart and a sick feeling in your stomach.
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#let the angst begin....or at least....continue#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller series#joel miller imagine#joel miller fanfic#joel miller x you#the last of us#the last of us writing#tlou#tlou writing#pedro pascal#troy baker#tommy miller#pre-outbreak! joel miller x reader#joel miller fluff#joel miller smut#joel miller x f!reader#the last of us hbo#tlou hbo#ellie williams
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