Lost (22) - So Far Away
Tara Carpenter x female Reader
Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.
Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics
Word count: 3.8k
Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part
-I have so much to say but you're so far away-
The room he sat in was the last place he’d associate with the woman who owned this apartment. The walls were hidden behind shelves, filled to the brim with books. Books in English, Russian and German, he guessed, ranging from classics to modern literature, from massive encyclopedia to magazines, and there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere near them. The last time he saw the woman she was fifteen and so stuck in her martial arts training he doubted she ever touched a book. Perhaps he was, as a twelve-year-old in awe of her, simply mistaken. The room had a vintage feel to it, with heavy table in the middle of it, and two tall armchairs on each side. The chandelier above him didn’t seem like it was often used, instead it was there more for aesthetics, instead, he believed the lamp on the table was used for reading during the nights.
There weren’t many people who intimidated him. Sidney Prescott did, with her refusal to be defeated by one of the Ghostfaces despite already being past her prime. Samantha Carpenter did as well, her brutality against Richie Kirsch and his father a year later was frightening. His cousin frightened him even more.
Anya Golubeva lost her title when she fought against you, but she regained it right away and considering you were forced to retire, she reigned supreme for the next three years, until she went and retired, now, at thirty-four, she was still a formidable fighter. She would be the counter to you, a fighter that spent even more time training, a fighter that nearly defeated you, because that match could have gone either way. Thomas made a mistake, he made you angry, he got cocky, she wouldn’t, because she knew exactly what you were capable of.
“So, cousin, what brings you to me?” Anya walked through the door, holding a tray with two cups of coffee. “This far from home?” she sat down, at ease in her home, at ease because there truly wasn’t much that could hurt her.
Cousins… Yet he was nothing like her. Despite his admiration for her, Igor wasn’t a good fighter, he had no talent for martial arts, or sports in general, he didn’t have the dedication needed to overcome the lack of talent either. No, he wasn’t the best fighter, but he had other skills, he was a good hunter, resilient, good with knife and various guns, and, if he could say so himself, he was conventionally good looking, dark hair and blue eyes, in good shape.
“I,” he hunched a bit, making himself seem smaller, trying to remind Anya of how he was as a child. “got into trouble,” he spoke slowly, regretfully, just for a moment glancing up to meet her eyes and then immediately looking down. “With a cult, and now I don’t know how to get out,” there, he said it.
He heard Anya lowering her cup and leaning forward. “What cult?” she sounded more concerned than anything.
Instead of telling her anything, he pulled out the mask with a bear painted on the side. His Ghostface mask.
“Ghostface?” her eyes widened as she watched the mask. “Why? You’re neither young nor stupid?” she demanded, so forcefully he genuinely flinched at her tone.
“I didn’t realize they were serious, I swear! I thought they’d stop after Richie and Amber got killed, but they didn’t! At that point it was too late to back out, they knew me, they’d kill me!” he exclaimed, frantically grabbing the mask and shoving it back into his bag.
“Fine, fine, settle down,” Anya calmed down first, and now she looked more concerned than anything else. “What changed now?”
“If you can help me get rid of one person I can walk away,” knowing how it sounded he quickly raised his hands. “No one will know it was us! Please, it’s either her or me!”
She remained silent, and he just hoped this would work out, that Anya would be willing to hold you back enough for someone to finish you off.
“Who is it?” she asked after several long, dreadful minutes.
“Y/N L/N,” Igor said and her eyes narrowed. For a moment he feared she’d reject him, but instead, she nodded. Perhaps the sting of loss caused resentment toward you.
~X~
No one knew where you were.
No one knew where you were.
No one knew where you were.
Those words repeated in Tara’s mind as she stared at the wall in front of her. She didn’t say a single word since Danny gave in and told her what he knew.
You were gone. No one knew if you were alive, or if you were hurt, or who had you. No… that was obvious. Ghostface had you. She barely registered a glass of milk and a plate filled with pancakes being set down on the coffee table next to her.
“Tara, you need to eat, for your baby if not for yourself,” Danny crouched next to her, likely trying to get her to look at him.
Pancakes. Of course he went with that. It didn’t take long for anyone to find out how often you made them for Tara. They were your comfort meal, a meal she didn’t feel bad to ask for while you were kids, the first meal you made after you two got together, and then again and again, every time exactly how Tara loved them.
Danny knew how to cook, definitely better than Sam, but not as well as you did. She still nodded, picking up the plate and eating more out of obligation to your child than anything else. She barely ate two pancakes when her phone buzzed, signaling she got a message.
Tara frowned and saw it was a photo, and then her eyes widened and she dropped her fork. “Danny!” she yelled, making him run back into the living room.
“What?!” he frantically looked around for an intruder, but Tara just got up and showed him the message she got. It was a photo, of a muscular woman whose face was covered by a Ghostface mask tied to a chair. “Is that Y/N?” his voice wavered a bit, as he spoke what went through Tara’s head when she saw the photo.
A moment later an address popped up and Tara nearly grabbed her jacket right then and there.
“Wait, we need to call Kirby,” Danny grasped Tara’s forearm just firmly enough to keep her from leaving.
“I need to get to Y/N!” she shouted, yanking her arm away from him.
“We don’t know when the photo was taken! It’s an obvious trap, Tara!” he argued back, this time choosing to step between her and the doors.
“I don’t care, she might be there!” she knew she was being unreasonable, that you’d berate her if you knew she was willing to just walk into such an obvious trap, but she knew you’d do the exact same thing.
Luckily, Danny understood her by now. “We’ll go, okay? But we need to call Kirby first, in case we need a back-up,” she could work with that.
So, she sent the photo to Kirby as Danny set up a Zoom call and while they waited for Kirby to join it, Tara just looked at the photo.
Finally, Kirby joined them. “Hey, Tara, Danny. Tara, I’m sorry we kept these things from you,” Kirby opened with that, but Tara shook her head, there’d be time for that conversation later.
“Can you do anything?” Danny asked.
“Not much, but the address does match a warehouse near the harbor,” she said.
“It’s not Y/N,” Tara suddenly declared. “It’s not her, I know it isn’t her,” she knew it, even if three weeks passed, this wasn’t you. Ghostface would taunt her with your face, or at least show a scar so she wouldn’t have any way to doubt it was you. And the woman wasn’t as muscular as you, she was muscular, no doubt about that, but not as much as you. So, no, it wasn’t you.
She was still going to walk right into that warehouse, because there was a chance someone there knew where you were, and she’d never forgive herself if she let this opportunity go. If she had to go alone, she would,
“Tara, listen to me, you’re pregnant, don’t get both of you killed by being reckless,” Kirby told her, but Tara was already getting up.
“Either come and help, or don’t do anything, but I’m not waiting here for someone to tell me what’s going on. You’ve already proven you won’t tell me anything anyway,” she snapped, glaring back at the screen before putting her jacket on and grabbing the biggest knife Danny had.
“Shit! Tara, wait!” she heard Danny running after her, but she didn’t slow down, she just glanced back, saw that he also had a knife and smiled appreciatively at him. “Well,” he shrugged. “I can’t let you go alone,” he said.
~X~
The warehouse was abandoned a long time ago, the windows were broken, glass was everywhere, and there was a lot of dust. So much, in fact, that Tara coughed a few times when they stepped inside. There were a few exits, through the windows, though that would likely be very painful unless they could open the window before jumping through. The doors they just came through and there were two sets of stairs leading to the first floor, that might give them a chance to maneuver if needed.
“There’s nothing here,” Danny said as the two of them looked around, for clues, for any sign of presence, for anything really. All they saw was the chair the person on the photo was tied to. The fact that the chair was whole was just another proof to Tara that you weren’t on the photo. If you were, and if you were untied, you would have fought back, and that chair would have been at least damaged.
They heard them before they saw them. The boots stepping on the shattered glass, steps indicating there were at least two people with them. Tara pulled her knife out and turned around, pointing it toward Ghostfaces.
“Where is Y/N?” she demanded, for the first time coming face to face with the redesigned Ghostface, the robes were the same, the mask was almost the same. These two had animals painted on the side of the mask. One had a bull, the other and elephant. A way to differentiate each other now that there were so many of them. At least the entire cult didn’t come to greet her.
The one with a bull just tilted his head to the side, as if feigning confusion. The two remained silent, slowly approaching her and Danny.
“We’d rather avoid a fight, just tell the lady what she wants to know,” Danny warned them, stepping in front of Tara and she had to admit, he did look imposing, even with two Ghostfaces coming closer and closer.
One of them lunged forward, aiming to stab Danny, but he clashed his own knife against the Ghostface’s blade and closed the distance to land a good punch to the side of Ghostface’s head. Tara’s eyes widened slightly, she knew you and Danny often sparred, but she didn’t realize Danny could hold his own outside of sparring. And he was proving he could hold his own, as he went for the neck with his knife, after all, they needed just one Ghostface alive.
But he stopped, his hand shaking as if he just realized what he was about to do. Tara jumped in, ready to finish the job he clearly couldn’t while the Ghostface was still dazed from the punch. She managed to stab the Ghostface’s chest and stomach, before the other could step in. She pulled away, knowing better than to stay in one place for long as the other Ghostface, the one with the bull painted on the mask pulled his partner back and engaged Danny in combat.
Danny deflected and dodged several stabs, but he struggled to find another opening to land a hit himself. Finally, he got an opportunity to kick the Ghostface away just as the one Tara stabbed was getting ready to jump back in.
“Run!” Danny exclaimed, ushering Tara toward the stairs. They were out in the open, and there was a good chance someone else was in the building with them, so staying in the middle of an open space wasn’t the best option for them. Not right now. And… a small part of both of them, hoped that maybe, just maybe you were held here despite not being on the photo.
Tara took off, running for the stairs with Danny right behind her as the Ghostface duo chased after them. Though risky, the moment Ghostface duo began climbing up the stairs, Danny abruptly stopped and slammed body first into one of them, sending them down the stairs and just barely managing to stay on his feet. He grunted though, and Tara could see the handle of the knife sticking from his side.
“Shit!” she exclaimed and stopped, ready to go back down for him.
“Keep going!” he began running again, pushing through the pain and Tara could see the determination in his eyes. “I’m going to yell at Sam when she comes back. If she was here we could have easily taken these two,” he complained jokingly, mostly to reassure Tara.
Tara nodded, seeing through him, but still appreciating the gesture.
They reached the top of the stairs and realized every door was locked. The only way out was back down, and the Ghostface duo split to cover each side of the stairs.
Tara looked at Danny and then looked toward the Ghostface she stabbed. She’d handle that one. So, they waited as the Ghostface duo began slowly climbing toward them, they stood, back to back, ready to fight the two.
And it ended so quickly Tara barely registered what was happening. Danny took initiative, attacking the one with bull on the mask. He ducked under the blade, grabbed the Ghostface’s leg and pushed him down to the ground, grappling the way you usually did when you were in a rush. This time he didn’t hesitate, and stabbed his knife through the Ghostface’s chest several times.
Tara on the other hand clashed her knife against Ghostface’s, she stepped to the side, slicing quickly and managing to cut through the robe, but not through the flesh of Ghostface’s arm. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw Ghostface swinging his arm toward her head and just barely managed to grab and stop it from hitting her. Thinking fast she lifted her leg, kicking Ghostface between the legs. Ghostface grunted, but didn’t fall to his knees, instead he tried to stab her again.
Tara dodged the blade, but hit the wall and in her daze she couldn’t move out of the way. She could only put her arms between her attacker and her stomach. The knife never came though, as a gasp came from Ghostface in front of her. She opened her eyes and saw a knife sticking out of the Ghostface’s neck, courtesy of Danny. Both Ghostfaces were dead, both killed by Danny.
“Damn,” he took a step back, letting the dead Ghostface fall to the ground. “Guess we’ll have to find clues some other way,” he said making Tara nod.
“Thanks, let’s get out of here,” she wasn’t any closer to finding you, but two enemies were dead.
Danny nodded and the two of them began walking to the doors, carefully watching for any movement.
A loud sound pierced the silence, pierced right through the illusion of safety and Tara’s eyes widened when she saw blood staining Danny’s shirt. She watched in horror as he looked down, shakily touching the red spot just below his chest that was growing larger with every second. “Danny!” Tara cried out, somehow managing to catch him before he fell to the ground. There was too much blood, as hard as she tried, as much as she pressed her palms against the wound she couldn’t stop the bleeding and his breathing was getting shallow. “Stay awake, you hear me! Come on, you need to yell at Sam for leaving, remember?”
He chuckled a bit at that. “I’ll leave that to you,” he said and moved her hands away. “They hit my liver,” the blood, the bullet going through it, the stab wound, Tara just sat back, tears streaming down her face. There was nothing she could do. Even if she could call an ambulance they likely wouldn’t make it in time.
Not that it mattered. Footsteps came from behind her and she turned around just in time to see three Ghostfaces approaching her. Three marks, bear, fish, and monkey, and the one with bear on the mask was carrying the gun.
“Don’t resist, or else,” that voice, the same voice she heard when Amber first attacked her, the same voice that so often haunted her nightmares, she heard it again and this time… instead of pointing a knife at her, the monster pointed a gun at her stomach. “I heard you played a game like this once, only there isn’t an MMA fighter to save you,” Tara narrowed her eyes, but didn’t move.
The Ghostface holding the gun motioned toward her and Danny.
“Let her leave,” Danny demanded with what little strength her had left as he tried to sit up.
“I don’t think so,” one of the other two Ghostfaces said as one grabbed Tara’s arms and pulled them behind her back. She heard the click of handcuffs, felt the cold metal around her wrists and knew there was absolutely nothing she could do.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she knew it was over, she knew exactly what would happen next, she still flinched when she heard Danny yelping as he was slammed back onto the ground and then she heard the knife slicing through his neck.
“There, just like Samantha cut Richie’s throat,” one of them said and Tara dared to look at him, dead, with blood pooling around his body.
~X~
She knew she should have assigned someone to watch over Tara, and now she was gone and Danny was dead. Kirby sat with her head between her hands and photos laid on her table. The Ghostface she was sure was Sam, the tied-up woman she was sure was you, even if Tara denied it, and painted masks, and other photos she had painted a picture she couldn’t understand.
“Tara is right, this isn’t Y/N,” Gale Weathers being there definitely wasn’t helping.
“How are you so sure?” Kirby demanded. They couldn’t see any scars to confirm if it was really you, but there weren’t as many women as muscular as you.
“It’s not her style. If she even suspected this photo would reach Tara she would have given them hell,” Gale gave her a cheeky, though small smile. “Besides, if someone can recognize Y/N underneath all this it would be Tara.”
Kirby had to agree with that. While she wasn’t there when Richie and Amber did their killings, she was very much aware of what you did for Tara, and while she never got to see you actually hurting someone, she did get to see how protective of the younger Carpenter you were. She had the front seats experience when you came into a bar her and Sam were at once to confront Sam. It was civil, but she could feel the tension, the barely restrained anger on both sides.
It was baffling, really, watching you and Sam argue, after years of seeing the two of you getting along. Sam was never as happy as she was at your and Tara’s wedding, and she more than once expressed how much she appreciated your protectiveness over Tara. And then it was like someone snapped their fingers and the relationship fell apart along with Sam.
And now no one knew where you were, Tara was captured, Danny was dead, Chad, Mindy and Anika couldn’t come, or they would not only be in danger but would be able to kiss their careers goodbye and Sam was… likely a Ghostface. How did it all fall apart like this?
Knocking on the door brought her out of her thoughts and she looked up just as Sidney walked in. “Since when does Ghostface try to blow up cars?” she demanded, distraught, filled with panic and almost desperately looking for answers.
“What?” Gale asked, as puzzled by the question as Kirby.
Sidney slumped into one of the chairs and leaned her head back as she dug her fingers into her hair. “He called me, said I’ll never see my family again. I managed to call Mark and get him and my children get out of the car. Less then a minute later the car exploded,” she explained, fury burning in her eyes. “I need to get this fucker before he harms my family.”
Gale approached her and placed a hand on Sidney’s shoulder. “We’ll get them Sid,” she promised and caught Sidney up with the situation. From suspecting Sam, to your situation, to Tara being captured and Danny being killed.
“I want Tara alive as much as you two, but how do we know she was just kidnapped? Why would they keep her alive?” Sidney asked.
Kirby sighed, frankly, she wasn’t entirely sure what the actual reason was, but she had her suspicions. “It’s either Y/N, or Sam that they are afraid of,” that was the core reason.
“If Tara is alive, they can blackmail one or both of them, if they kill Tara, those two won’t let that go,” Gale agreed and took the photo of Ghostface with dog mark. “Guard dog,” how ironic.
“Even if Sam joined them, she’d turn on them if they hurt Tara,” Sidney agreed, now seeing the logic. “We need to find Y/N.”
And that was the plan, because even if they couldn’t count on Sam being sane enough to help them, they could count on you. Especially when you learn that Tara was captured.
Kirby’s phone rang and all three of them nearly jumped out of their skin, but Kirby relaxed when she saw the name of one of her colleagues. “Yes?”
“Special Agent Reed, we identified the number the message came from. It belongs to Samantha Carpenter,” there was no doubt anymore.
Sam was Ghostface.
A/N: Well… people are dying, I wonder who is next… Anyway, recently someone suggested a tag list for Woe out the Storm, so I figured, If I'm making it for that story, I guess I could make it for Lost as well. So, if you want to be on the tag list either send a message, an ask (though I won't answer it if it's just that you want to be on the tag list) or tell me in a reply. (Note that tag list is story specific, so specify which story you want, and yeah, that's about it)
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Mercy
My entry for the Haunted Hoedown created by @inklore and @psychedelic-ink. Day 7- stranded au or slasher / summer camp au + sex in the woods or somewhere public (added bonus if it includes knife, blood, hunter x prey kink)
Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)
Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader
Rating: 18+ (Major character death, stranded in the woods, post apocalyptic life, non con, mentions of previous experiences of non con, suicidal reader)
Summary: Stranded alone in the woods and left to die, all you can ask of Joel Miller is the mercy of a quick death. He is willing to give it to you, but he needs something for himself as well.
A/N: It’s another Joel Miller weekend here at lokischocolatefountain. I have a husband!Javi locked and loaded, ready to go. But Joel demand my attention once again for the haunted hoedown. So Javi has to wait another week.
You were safe.
Well, safe from the men who had captured you. But other dangers awaited. If you were lucky, it would just be starvation, an encounter with a wild animal or a fucking heart attack. But you didn’t think your good luck would stretch that far. You were already that the raiders who killed and raided the belongings of the men who captured you did not seem interested in you. It was a goddamn miracle.
Ropes bound your arms behind your back and your legs to each other. Either the ropes were tied too tight or you had become weaker over the past ten days of captivity. They didn’t have much food to spare you. Only the small pieces of rotting meat that they fed to you on the condition that you suck their cocks.
It wasn’t as though you had a choice when tied up the way you were. There were other women held captive with you- younger, prettier, less willing to comply and more appealing to the men as they liked a challenge. You were one of the older models, beaten ragged by life both before and after the world fell apart. For them, a woman was a woman. No matter how broken you were, there was always more to break. No matter your age or how fucking crazy you’d gone from survival, you had a pair of tits and three holes. For most men, it was more than they could dream of. For you, separated from your group and all alone, it was the only thing you could barter.
Now there was no need for any of it. You would decay on the ground along with the fallen leaves and the blood you’d spilled when the men cut through your clothes. The last of the women after another one decayed just a couple feet away from you. Yours was a fate better than the girls who were taken away by the raiders. Experience had taught you that. The last time you’d been in the hands of such a group, you were younger. They used you to their heart’s content and then sold you to a man for a good price- a whole goat, a bag of rice, a record player and a couple of vinyls, and a leather jacket. Pretty good stuff. If you had to valuate yourself now, you’d probably go for a small fraction of that- maybe just the leather jacket.
You would no longer go for the same price. You no longer had the strength to kill the man who purchased you like you were just a thing.
You swallowed, your throat aching for water. But all you got was the piercing pain of a hundred jagged pebbles scratching your throat. One of the factoids from an old encyclopedia popped up in your head: It takes x days for dehydration to cause death. Unfortunately, your brain hadn’t thought to pay more attention to the number, leaving you with no information.
What you knew was that it took one day of dehydration to wish for death.
Daylight withered away and darkness descended in the woods, matching the darkness of your thoughts. In the pitch black night with no stars or even a sliver of the moon, whether your eyes were open or closed did not matter. In the times before, it was advised for women to return home before nightfall. As though danger only lurked in darkness. As though men did not behave atrociously in broad daylight. Shaking on the ground from the cold, dehydrated, near death, your biggest fear was still man.
It was why the snapping of twigs and crunching of leaves under a heavy footfall struck more fear in you than the sight of the infected ever did. Man.
Measured. Careful. Not infected. Man.
He could just be passing by.
It could’ve been delusions inspired by dehydration and starvation, but the footsteps sounded just a little louder as the seconds passed. He was getting closer.
Joel Miller didn’t know, but your body already played to his beat, your heartbeats responding to the sound of his footsteps. Pills from Atlanta passed on to him from his contact rested in his backpack, the currency with the highest value in the QZ. His hand itched to take one pill for himself. Just one. The nightmares of losing his child flashed before his eyes even before he could succumb to the weariness of the journey and sleep. A pill would help.
Don’t get high on your own supply.
He needed to be at his best state of mind since he was traveling alone now, his companion having been taken out by a clicker on their journey. But God was it tempting.
Darkness enveloped the woods. The moon and stars had abandoned Earth for the night, afraid that if they shone their light on the land, they’d see its haunting wreckage. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but it still played tricks on him. For a second, he believed he might have seen a figure move on the ground.
Leaves rustled and crunched beneath his feet. His hands immediate grabbed the gun he had at the ready, the muzzle pointed to the ground. It hit something— someone, he realized when it gasped.
“Please,” your low, shaky voice begged. “Please shoot me.”
He would’ve thought he misheard. Who’d ask to be shot when threatened with a gun? But such was the world in which they’d lived. Death was sometimes more desirable than whatever horrors life had to offer. Joel had survived, somehow. Violence and the sheer human instinct for self preservation kept him around until now, even a decade and a half after the collapse of society.
He brought a lighter close to the ground and lit it, the little golden flame illuminating your bloodied and bruised. He noticed that your arms were bound behind your back and legs tied together at your ankles.
Joel understood you didn’t have long. A day maybe. Longer if you were fed and hydrated. He himself was not interested in charity. If someone else happened by you and you were able to convince them to toss you a piece of bread… But you didn’t want charity. You asked for his bullet, not sustenance.
Bullets didn’t grow on trees.
“Good news. You’ll be dead by daybreak.”
“Please,” you whimpered in a low gravelly voice, mustering up all your energy to beg for this small act of mercy.
You hadn’t asked for his precious rations or water. Only that he finish you off with the weapon he pointed at you. He dropped his belongings somewhere in the vicinity, not bothering to dignify your request with a response.
Joel lied down on the ground in the vicinity in a sleeping bag, his pack serving as a pillow. Sleep did not come easy. He merely rested his eyes, his sense attuned to his surroundings even when he was meant to rest.
When the sun rose, he rolled his sleeping bag and set it inside a hollow tree before heading to the pond nearby. He returned, having washed up, ready to resume his journey back to the QZ. Curious about you, he went to the site where you were last night.
“Please,” you begged once again. “Before you leave. Please.”
He nudged you with his boot, your weakening body rolling to the side and giving him a good view. One bullet. But what a waste of a good body. He could help you in return for something for himself. There was a brothel in the QZ, of course. The oldest profession carried on right under FEDRA’s nose. They pretended to not notice. Sometimes, they’d conduct a raid and arrest some women under the guise of maintaining the law. An excuse for the FEDRA guys to have the women for themselves for the night.
Joel did not indulge in such services. He didn’t see the point in spending precious ration cards just to get off. His spit and left hand were enough for him to get by. But you were free of cost.
“Since you asked so nicely…” he drawled, withdrawing his knife from its holster. He sliced through the ropes that bound your ankles together. You didn’t know his intentions though you’d come to expect it from men over the years. If he wanted to take advantage, he surely would’ve gone ahead with it last night. Sure, Joel hadn’t intended it at first. But now that you were available…
Reliable contraception had died with the world. Too risk averse in this specific matter, he’s contented himself with the rare blowjob. Pussy was a delicacy he hadn’t had in a while. You didn’t protest as he tore your pants off of you, finding skin beneath.
“Be good and I might just kill you in the end, darlin’…” he promised and you spread your legs, cooperating, being good so he would consider it. You didn’t know when the next person would pass by this place. Even if someone did before you could die a slow death, there was no assurance that they’d kill you rather than prolong your miserable existence.
“Wha’s your name?”
“Joel.”
Joel. Joel brought a damp cloth to your face, wiping the blood and dirt off you. It was…strange. It felt as though you were being taken care of. It wasn’t the case of course. But it felt good to believe he was taking care of you. It was the first bit of humanity you’d experienced in a very long time.
The blade slipped under your half torn t-shirt, cutting up the fabric that had done a poor job so far of giving you any dignity. His large hand roamed your now naked torso. Calluses caught on your somehow soft skin. The sensation was the first pleasant thing you’d felt in a long time. You attempted unconsciously to lean into his touch, but your weakness kept you glued to the ground. Even the cold blade of his knife felt good. You’d gone mad, surely. This was definitely a stage of delusion caused by your dehydration and starvation.
He cupped your cheek and leaned down, capturing your lips with his. It was as though you’d forgotten to kiss. The men who took interest in you were less concerned with making use of your lips for a kiss. If Joel had put his cock between them, you would’ve known better what to do. It seemed he’d also forgotten. He wasn’t kissing you. He bit and sucked and devoured.
Your hands were still tied behind you. They dug into your back. But it didn’t hurt as much as Joel’s hand supping your tits. Even the animals who last had you under their control were gentler than this. But you weren’t too offended. It hurt. But there would be sweet death at the end of all this pain. So you embraced it fully, letting out nothing but a little whimper as a sign that you were at all affected by his touch.
Even in your state of near death, you could tell that he was a handsome man. Grey interspersed black curls on his head. Patchy beard hid rugged, sun damaged skin. His aquiline nose would’ve inspired sinful thoughts in you had you been further away from death. In a normal world, he would’ve been getting a drink at a bar and you would’ve noticed him.
Joel spit on his hand and rubbed it around on your dry cunt. With his thumb and forefinger, he parted your cunt lips before inserting his middle finger. Inch by painful inch, he penetrated your unwilling body that was attached to a very willing mind. There was no water left to be spared to wetten your cunt for the man.
“C-cut me,” you suggested, desiring the penetration to be smoother. If this was the last time you got to be fucked, it wouldn’t hurt to hurt a little to enjoy the last few minutes on the mortal plane. “Bl-blood.”
He seemed to understand your weak implication. You hissed as the sharp edge of his knife cut through the top layers of your skin. Red blood oozed out and he swept his hand over it, collecting the blood and smearing it over your cunt. He slipped a finger inside you, lubricating your hole with your own blood.
He knelt over you, his knees on either side of your body. Then he unzipped his jeans, the teeth of the zipper making a scratching metal sound. He was a good length, girth and veiny. He stroked himself as he stared at your bloodied hole.
Fucking a dying woman using her own blood as lube. Of all the messed up things he had done, this was easily on the top ten. Not that he maintained an actual list. Despite her decrepit state, she looked welcoming with her legs spread out and eyes on his cock. He bent your legs at your knees, your body pliant in its weakness. You were a thing of rare beauty in his journey. Nature had reclaimed its place, growing between abandoned cars and splitting into giant overpasses. This, you, were another part of nature to him.
Woman, all beautiful in your vulnerability, laid out to be claimed.
He guided his cock between your legs and forced himself in. Red lube you’d given up for him to use on you coated his cock, reminding him of the violence of his desire. He twitched inside you as he pushed in, a perverse sort of excitement stimulating him.
He brought the knife up to your neck and rested the blunt edge against your throat. You gulped. Your eyes widened. Your breaths quickened. Your cunt clenched around his cock and Oh God how divine you felt this way.
You’d asked for death, practically begged for it. But fear was not something you could prevent. Your wretched mortal body was programmed with the foolishness of wanting to stay alive.
“Been so long,” he muttered when he bottomed out inside you. Though you’d had many men inside you, it’d been long since any stretched you out so good. You took a deep breath and wished you had your hands free. You were overcome by a sudden urge to touch him. To run you hands down his sturdy arms and solid chest. It’d been so long since you wished.
“Good?” You asked, squeezing his cock. He smiled and bent forward to kiss you. Your lips, your chin, along your jaw. It was tender. Too tender for sex in the woods with your clothes torn off and your thigh bleeding into the soil.
He began to move, pulling out just a little before pushing back in. He savored it. After all, this could be his last chance at a cunt for a very long time. He grabbed on to your tits to use as handles, making you squeeze around him. Your lips let out a painful little whine, but he didn’t feel guilty. What bad did a little more pain do? You were going to die anyway. If you weren’t making use of your tits and cunt, at least he could enjoy them.
“So good…” he praised and you responded in kind, thrusting back weakly. “Yeah? You like that, cunt?” He asked, using the crude word in place of your name. He didn’t even know your name. But Cunt was appropriate for the purpose you served. You nodded. “I really struck gold in the fucking woods of all places, huh.”
“Good cunt,” he praised, the words shooting straight into said body part.
“Feelin’ good?”
You nodded, unable to say much else under the assault of the sensations. You didn’t have to for he claimed your lips once again in a kiss. He was better this time and so were you. Your lips stayed connected with his just like your pussy with his cock, devouring each other in desperation for a taste of something good in all the wretchedness.
Joel’s cock drilled into you. Merciless, fast, painful. All you knew before was hunger and suffering. With him, it had all disappeared. It was just Joel now. He consumed you, turning you from a discarded body passed from one raider to the other to Good Cunt. You liked the sound of those words on his lips.
“Just like that, Cunt,” he hissed as you milked his cock, your thighs cramping as your muscles contracted. Something pulled somewhere and you screamed in pain and your cunt tightened for him. Warm cum spilled inside you, the sensation a distracting relief in the midst of the pain.
Tears slipped down the sides of your face, cooling your skin.
“Did well. Did so well, Cunt,” he praised as he tucked himself back inside. He hadn’t felt so good in forever. Such a relief. Such an unburdening of stress and anxiety over his smuggling and its chances of success. He zipped himself up and bent over to retrieve his weapons.
“How do you want to go?” He asked, weighing the gun in one hand and knife in another as he looked down at your debauched body.
You made your choice, thanked him for his mercy and closed your eyes.
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My Masterlist
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