#dark story

[auteurdelabre]

Daddy Morales - FINAL Frankie! x F!Reader

Summary: After Frankie breaks things off with you to protect his marriage, you decide to make him jealous at a family BBQ. . . and then you ensure he stays yours permanently.

rating: 18+

tags contain spoilers

tags contain spoilers

tags contain spoilers

tags: Infidelity, Face-Fucking, MAJOR Daddy Kink, Doggy Style, Cock Riding, Nickname: Babygirl, Dom!Frankie, Sub!Frankie, Possessive, Jealousy, Sexual Coersion, Forced Impregnation.

a/n: please don't look at me. This series was finished for the one person who said they wanted the ending. I hope its... okay? Tell me if I missed any tags!

masterlist here

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Pigtails. 

Frankie breaks things off with you for the sake of his marriage and sanity and you show up today in fucking pigtails. 

"Hi Mr. Morales," you say when he opens his front door.

Frankie is gobsmacked to see you here on a Saturday morning when he and his family are supposed to be heading out to Will's place for a BBQ.  

Two weeks ago he'd called you during the day, his heart in his stomach. He knew he had to break things off. Fucking you in his bed, coming inside you without knowing you were on birth control? He was out of his element, playing with fire. 

You'd been upset. Called him a liar. Said he was a hypocrite. You'd also turned down two babysitting jobs at their place since then, citing you were busy at school. 

He's deleted everything off his phone that you were on. No more photos of you sleepy eyed in bed kissing him. No more texts of your hand slipped below your panties with xo. He never texted you back and your face isn't shown in the photos so thankfully there was nothing much to scrub there. 

It's like this never happened. 

He'd been terrified that you'd tell Carmen. For the last two weeks he'd been waiting for her to come storming in, slapping his face and demanding a divorce. 

But instead things are calm at home. In his guilt Frankie is more patient with her, listening intently when she talks, he's more loving. He kisses her temple and brushes his hand along her back when she walks by him. He tells her how beautiful she is when she rocks Luca to sleep. 

They even fucked last night. Frankie forgot how good it felt to be with someone his age, how loving it could be when they weren't fighting. Carmen made him a husband, a father. She's done so much to make sure she's not critical of him as much. Things are going good, Frankie almost thinks of his indiscretion as a wakeup call. 

And then today you and pigtails. 

You give a small smirk, looking up at him. You twirl one of your pigtails innocently as he stares at your shorts and tight t-shirt. You're not wearing a bra and he is positive he can see the outline of your nipples.

"What are you doing here?"

"Hi Mrs. Morales," you say ignoring him and looking over his shoulder. 

He feels his blood run cold when Carmen approaches with a babbling Luca in her arms. 

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," Carmen tells you with a smile, handing Luca over to you. Frankie is still thrown, confused as to what is happening. 

"What--"

"I thought we should take some time and enjoy the BBQ," Carmen says attempting civility. "Figured if Luca has his babysitter that means we can enjoy some grown up time."

"But I wanted the guys to see Luca," Frankie argues, desperate to find a reason to send you home. 

"He will," Carmen says motioning to you holding their son. "She's coming with us." 

///

"Fuck, isn't she a pretty little thing," Benny says from behind his beer bottle later that afternoon.

"She is a peach," Will agrees. 

Frankie frowns as the men gather around the BBQ giving appraising looks as you bend over to pick up one of Luca's toys. 

The day is sunny and warm and swarming with friends and Miller relations. The food is plentiful and the cold drinks close at hand. There's been plenty of laughing and teasing, but when the conversation turns to Frankie's cute babysitter his good mood dims. 

Carmen is nearby talking to one of the Miller cousins, laughing. Frankie looks past her to see you laughing as you fly a toy plane overhead of a gurgling Luca. 

"How do you leave the house when something like that is just hanging around?" Benny smirks to Frankie. "She always dress like that?"

No.

You're usually in jeans and a casual shirt. Not shorts so high he can see the curve of your ass begin. Not with t-shirts so tight he can see your fucking nipples. And never, never in pigtails. You're doing it to fuck with him. To make him want you and know that he can't have you. You want to punish him for stopping things. 

Frankie watches Benny walking over to you, holding out a beer to you. You shake your head, motioning to Luca and probably saying you can't while you're working. 

Benny moves closer and Frankie doesn't miss how your eyes briefly flit over to him before turning back to Benny. 

"You okay there Frank?" Pope smirks. "Gonna shatter that glass. Things okay with the old lady?"

Frankie holds in a relieved sigh. They just assume you're irritated that Carmen's talking with some guy.  

"It's okay," Frankie shrugs. "Getting better."

"Good," Pope asks, his dark eyes losing their humor. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Yeah we're getting back on track," Frankie says, dragging his eyes away from you and Benny. 

"Living happily," Pope observes, placing a gentle hand to his friends shoulder and squeezing tightly. "That's what they call winning at life."

Frankie wants to reply but he seems to have lost sight of you in the process of the conversation. His dark eyes scan the space and he turns to Carmen as she approaches him a short while later. 

"Where is the fucking babysitter?" Frankie grumbles. "Aren't we paying her?"

"Ease up Frankie," Carmen says handing him a Coke as she holds a sleepy Luca. "She's been amazing all day. She's allowed a break."

Frankie doesn't ease up. He doesn't ease up because he's noticed another glaring absentee amongst the throng of BBQ guests - Benny. 

Without thinking Frankie's legs carry him into the Miller house, his heart hammering. Much like in Columbia he enters stealthily, his footfalls quiet as he scans each room. It's when he comes to the main level bathroom door that he pauses. It's closed, and when he tilts forward he can hear Benny's voice. 

"You know why they call these handlebars?" Benny is asking, his voice teasing. Frankie swallows the white hot rage that comes along with your giggled response. 

"No, why?"

"Lemme show you," Benny says, his voice pitched low. "Why don't you get on your knees, gorgeous?"

Frankie feels his jaw clenching, his hand tightening around the doorknob. He feels jealousy licking at his abdomen when he hears shuffling and the sound of a zipper being drawn down.

"You like it?" Benny asks. 

No. Say no. 

"Mhmm," you enthuse. "S'pretty."

"It'll look prettier in that mouth of yours," Benny says, voice dipping softly. "Why don't you taste it?"

There's a pause and then the wet sounds Frankie knows so well. It makes his pulse pound furiously in his chest.

"Oh yeah baby," Benny groans. "You're fucking good at that."

You give a breathless thank you before Frankie hears you take him into your mouth again and begin moaning gently around him. 

Frankie thinks he's going to dent the knob in his hand by how hard he's squeezing it. His ear is pressed so tightly against the door it aches. 

"We gotta be quiet though," Benny says between grunts. "Can you do that?"

Frankie holds his breath as you must pull off Benny once more. 

"Yes Daddy."

Frankie sees red. 

He shoulders open the door grunting as the cheap lock breaks and it thrusts open. He catches the mirrors reflection of you on your knees with your mouth around Benny's cock. He's gripping your pigtails one in each fist, holding you in place as he fucks into your mouth. 

When Frankie comes barreling into the room the two of you break apart, you wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand, Benny hurriedly tucking himself back into his shorts. 

"Frankie what the fuck man?"

"She's my fucking babysitter," Frankie says menacingly. "What is wrong with you?"

"She's an adult, man-"

"She's supposed to be babysitting my kid," Frankie spits out, his face red with anger. "We're not paying her to be in here sucking your cock!"

He looks deranged, so much so that Benny actually cowers.  He’s never seen Frankie like this, not since Columbia and the horrible time there. When Frankie’s eyes blew black and wide and furious.

"I'm sorry," Benny says. "I'm sorry, Frank."

"Get the fuck outta here."

Benny leaves scrambling and zipping up his shorts. He doesn't even cast a look at you as he rushes out. Frankie slams the door after him. 

"And you," Frankie says rounding on you still kneeling on the floor. He expects you to look terrified of his anger but instead you look... Amused? 

"Calling another man Daddy?" Frankie grunts out furiously, grabbing you by the back of the neck and forcing you to a stand. He holds you by the scruff of your neck as you smile sweetly up at him. 

"I'm sorry Daddy."

"You're gonna be," Frankie growls. 

He forces you over to the bathroom sink and pins you between himself and the bathroom counter tugging down your shorts and panties. He doesn't even check to see if you're wet, he just slides himself into your cunt. 

"You wanna be a whore?" Frankie spits, cock slamming into you from behind. "Then you're gonna take cock like one."

"Fuck!”  you cry out, eyes wide as he tilts you over the counter. 

"Shut the fuck up and take it," Frankie orders. "You take Daddy's cock and you say thank you."

Frankie sees your head dropping and he responds by pressing your body further against the counter, watching your reflection in the mirror. His hips are smacking into your ass loudly. You jolt forward over the sink, your hands gripping the counter tightly. You don't know if you love or hate what's going on. 

Frankie looks at the back of your head, eyes fixed on those fucking pigtails. He takes one in each broad hand and uses them to tug your head back. Your mouth hangs open slack, eyes on him in the reflection. 

"You watch yourself get fucked," Frankie groans, eyes heavy lidded. "You fucking watch Daddy's cock slide into your tight little cunt."

"Yes Daddy," you whimper, you entire body rippling as he fucks himself deeper into you from behind. 

"Who's cock do you come on?

"Only yours."

Frankie looks possessed, his teeth clenched tightly as he fucks you. "Who's mouth?"

"Yours, Daddy."

"That's right."

You begin to moan now as his cock hits a particularly good spot within you. Frankie winces, thinking if someone else decides to come into the house they’ll hear you.

"Being too loud babygirl," Frankie pants out. "Gotta make sure that mouth is full." 

He pulls out of you roughly. You give a small whimper of surprise before he's turned you around and forced you on your knees. You don’t hestitate to submit, your eyes bright and gleeful as Frankie unravels in front of you.

"Open," he orders and you comply, eyes glazed. Your mouth opens widely, tongue out enticingly. Frankie smiles at how eager you are. He takes his thick cock in hand, tapping it against your tongue. 

"You don't call anyone else Daddy, do you understand?”

You nod, about to say something when he thrusts his cock between your lips and starts fucking hard. 

"You belong to me," Frankie tells you darkly, hands wrapping around your pigtails once more to hold you in place. "This mouth only sucks my cock."

"Ylesh Dahnndy," you garble around his cock. 

His cock comes popping out of your mouth and he strokes vigorously, his cheeks stained with red. You’re breathing deeply, swallowing before his cock thrusts back between your lips, fucking your mouth until your eyes water.  He does this over and over until saliva drips down your chin and your face is wet with tears.

Only then does he pull out, panting so heavily he feels dizzy. You look wrecked, eyes half-open and mouth swollen.

"I missed you, Daddy," you tell him with a hoarse voice.  

"Missed you too babygirl," Frankie pants, feeling lightheaded. He strokes a thumb along your lower lip. "You're doing so good for Daddy."

You beam up at him, kneeled at his feet. Frankie continues stroking his cock, picking up the pace. 

"Want you to fuck me hard Daddy," you tell him, your hand replaces his. You give ginger licks to the head of his cock as you continue to jerk him off. “Finish inside me.”

"We've been gone too long already," Frankie insists, even though his cock continues to thrust into your slick palm.

“I think you wanna fuck me,” you say, pausing to take off your shirt. Frankie watches those luscious fucking tits free themselves to the air, groaning as you stand naked and waiting for him.

"Need you deep," you say as you fingers slide between your legs. "Need to come on Daddy's cock." You kneel there at his feet, touching yourself and moaning.

"Baby please," Frankie murmurs, but he's already stepping out of his jeans and stepping over to you. “We should stop.”

"You really wanna stop, Daddy?" you say with an oily smile up at him, fingers working between your legs. "When my pussy is this wet and tight for you?"

Frankie makes a strangled noise in his throat before he drops to the ground next to you.

"No baby. Please let Daddy fuck you."

You smile when he urges you onto your hands and knees on the tile and begins to slam his hips into your ass with vigor. It makes a loud, clapping noise. 

"This is so wrong," Frankie whimpers, hating that the knowledge is turning him on this badly.

He watches your hips flexing as he fucks you from behind. The reflection of the shower door shows him your tits bouncing with every thrust. Frankie feels his balls tighten when you glance over your shoulder, jerking with every thrust from Frankie.

"Tell me I'm the only girl you wanna fuck."

"You are," Frankie promises you, eyes half-lidded. "Only wanna fuck this perfect pussy."

"Prove it."

"How?" Frankie starts to babble, feeling that tingle at the base of his spine. "I'll do anything."

"Leave your wife," you groan, feeling his cock nudging your g-spot over and over. "Leave your wife and you can have me. You can fuck this perfect cunt every day." 

“Christ,” Frankie moans, his back damp with sweat as he fucks into you.

"You wanna leave her," you insist, ass bouncing against his hips. “I know you do.”

You both dissolve into moans and grunts for the next several seconds, Frankie pulls you up by the waist until your back is balanced against his front. He fucks up into you, grunting into your ear.

"Yes, I wanna leave her," Frankie says if only so you'll keep squeezing his cock like that. "This is the only cunt I wanna fuck." 

"Finish inside me," you whimper, arching further for him as you feel his hips start to stutter under you. "Finish inside me and make me yours, Daddy."

"Yes yes yes," Frankie hisses pulling you down against his twitching cock. "Gonna make a mess of y-"

The door bursts open just before he can finish his sentence, startling Frankie enough that he pulls out but not before he comes, pearlescent stripes decorating your ass. He groans out loudly as he comes, draining his cock onto you. 

"Frankie what the fuck?"

Frankie snaps out of his lust filled haze long enough to see Carmen at the door to the now opened bathroom door with a sleeping Luca in her arms. She looks at the babysitter kneeling away from Frankie, ass coated in come. She looks at her husband's red cheeks and softening cock. 

He's about to say something, anything, when you suddenly start giggling. Frankie is horrified when you crawl up into his lap and start grinding against his flaccid cock.  

"What are you doing?" Frankie murmurs, his heart going wild in his chest. You look completely composed however, almost irritated at the interruption. He feels you loop your arms around his neck and continue rubbing your pussy along his cock.

Frankie darts his eyes to his wife's face as she watches her husband's cock swell to life and her babysitter slowly lower herself onto it. Carmen is horrified, stuck in spot as she watches her husband start to grind up against the woman in his lap.

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?”

Frankie hears Carmen and goes to turn his head, but your hands have come to either side of his face to stop him. You force his eyes to you, rising and falling as you take his cock further.

"Don't stop," you murmur, your pussy moving up and down his cock. Frankie's eyelids flutter, confused why his cock is so hard inside you when Carmen has caught you. Why it still feels so good when he’s been caught.

"She's seen-"

"Let her watch," you say, mouth on his neck sucking sweet little love bites into his throat.

“We need to stop.”

Frankie whimpers as you smile, pressing a long kiss to his damp mouth. Then you're lips graze his ear.  "Let her watch Daddy fill up his babygirl with cum."

Frankie lets out a desperate moan, his hips jerking upwards, hands smoothing over the globe of your ass.

"You need Daddy's cock to come."

“Yes,” you breathe, pressing your forehead to his as he continues fucking you. “Yes, I do.”

And suddenly despite everything, Carmen feels like she's interrupted something. Like she's the one who is in the wrong and not her husband fucking the babysitter. It mutes her, leaves her frozen and staring as Frankie pulls you harder down into his lap. 

Frankie's face is pink, his mouth parted, your body still covered in his spend as you start to fuck yourself on his cock.

"Don't have to be quiet," you whisper against Frankie's sweaty cheek. "Let her know how good this pussy feels, Daddy."

Frankie feels the whimpers escape him when you trace your tongue along the lobe of his ear, whispering how good he feels, how big, how much you want his come. Frankie feels his head tilting back, ragged moans escaping him.

"See how he fucks me?" You call out to Carmen over your shoulder, hips rolling over Frankie's as he holds you. "He fuck you like this? He makes these noises for you, Mrs. Morales?" 

"You two... You two are fucking sick," Carmen yells before she's fled from the room in disgust. 

"I'm sorry," Frankie cries out after her, his eyes sorrowful even as he pistons in and out of your dripping cunt. "I'm sorry!"

"Don't be sorry," you tell him, arching back and fucking yourself on his cock faster and faster. "Don't be sorry, Daddy. Just fuck me hard. Just focus on that."

There is a relief. The knowledge that there's no more lies, no more sneaking around with a pit in his stomach. 

Living happily. That's what they call winning at life. 

But as he thinks of Carmen storming away with tears in her eyes and Luca in her arms, Frankie can't help but think that winning feels a lot like losing. 

"I should go after her," Frankie pants, his cock throbbing inside you.

"No Daddy," you soothe, pulling yourself up so he can hold you while he fucks you. "You stay right here."

He doesn't stop. He can’t. Any choice in the matter is gone the second your cunt clenches around his throbbing cock. How is he still so fucking hard? His hips continue to snap against your ass, pulling you both closer and closer to orgasm.  

“You’re mine,” you growl, milking his cock harshly. “All mine Mr. Morales. And I’m gonna make you a Daddy again.”

Something about how you say that causes a chill to go through Frankie. He narrows his dark eyes on you.

“What?”

Frankie feels his hips slowing as you giggle, breasts bouncing as you ride him, spurring him to continue. His hands are still around your hips, but they loosen.  

“I’m not on the pill,” you tell him with a simper. “And I’m ovulating today.”

It’s as if only now Frankie is seeing the crazed look in your eye, the almost feral way you grin as you ride him, as if you’ve won a coveted prize.

And he realizes for the first time that there is something deeply frightening about you.

Before he can pull from you, he feels your climax hitting you, causing fresh arousal to soak his throbbing cock and bringing him deeper into your cunt. His balls tighten and his thrusts go fast and deep. You cling to him, thighs parting so you can take him further, murmuring that this one will stick, that you’ll be the most perfect wife for him.

It's too late to stop. Too late to throw you off. He's coming, he's coming fucking hard. He empties himself deep into your pussy groaning loudly as you cry out for him to make you a Mommy.

When he’s spent you both rise on rubbery legs, pulling on your clothes. You’re chirping about how he’ll move in with you, how he’s already left quite a few things at your apartment already.

“We’re gonna be so happy Frankie,” you say, throwing your arms around him and kissing him soundly.  “You’re the best Daddy and I’m gonna be the most amazing Mommy.”

He holds you loosely, his entire being still in a state of shock, his eyes drawn to his stunned reflection in the mirror. He looks at you serenely tucked against him and he sees his own dark eyes slowly filling with tears.

I know. I'm sick.

#frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie friday #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #dark story

[smok3r7]

Is Leaving Even An Option?

Joel x F!reader

Explicit, 18+

Five: Running Away

Main Masterlist & Series Masterlist - My Ao3

Summary: Your days have become one in the same, even with the terrifying reality of death right outside the walls of Jackson. You never thought you’d be in the situation you’ve been stuck in for seven years now, the daily abuse you endure has become an expectation. You take whatever your husband throws at you, literally and figuratively, because you’ve been trained to believe this is normal. But a new man, Joel, moves next door and happens to be friendly towards you, this causes your husband’s anger to worsen. Your mind starts a gruesome war with itself - can you leave him or do you stay until the inevitable happens?

Chapter Summary: Nate is officially out of the picture for good, at least for the last year. A fun night of card games and alcohol causes you and Joel finally to have a chance to maybe spark something new. But you get scared, and what do you do when you get scared? You run away.

Word count: 5.8k

⚠️Warnings: cards against humanity, sexual tension, grinding, fingering, relationship ptsd, feeling confused

I just wanna give a big shout to @chloeangelic she has been an absolute blessing to me, thank you so much for helping me through this process, love you🫂🫶🏼

—

The warm summer breeze flows through your hair as you sit on a rocking chair on the wrap-around porch you’ve come to relax on, the sounds of children playing surrounds you, the sun beaming down onto the green yards filled with dandelions in the neighborhood, and you couldn’t be any happier.

Another year has passed by without any problems, you practically live with Joel and Ellie, and you can’t remember the last time you set foot in your old place, too many horrific memories associated with that home. Nate has been gone for months now - he and Daniel got an assignment to go out West a bit more to find different supplies Jackson needs.

All you know is that they’re still alive, based off of radio communications, but in reality, you don’t care anymore, to the point where you have asked Henry, who’s in control of the radio, to stop giving you updates.

You’ve mentally and emotionally moved on from Nate, and he’s more a figment of your imagination by now. You don’t have any more romantic ties to him, which means, you’re back to your normal fun self. Your witty personality takes over the weak one that grew over you like weeds, and it’s pretty funny; you and Ellie are very similar, she’s what you would imagine your daughter to be like. It’s bittersweet.

“Hey darlin’,” Joel greets as he comes out of the house you now share with them, with a glass of lemonade in each hand, “Extra sugar, just how you like it.” He winks at you when you reach out to grab the tall glass, a smile grows on your warm face, “You, Miller, are the best.”

He laughs as he sits down next to you in the other chair with a groan, “I try my best.” You shake your head and take a drink of the freshly squeezed lemonade and your mouth is filled with the perfect mix of sugary sweetness and fresh lemons. You hum from the pure satisfaction that flows through your tastebuds, “Gotta hand it to you, Miller,” you turn your head to look him in the eyes, “This is perfect.”

His eyes gaze from your eyes down to your lips and back again, a soft smile grows on his worn face as he smoothly says, “Anything for you, sugar.” The two of you continue to stare at each other as you both silently drink the delicious yellow drink, just enjoying the beautiful summer weather.

The rest of the afternoon is spent with you both enjoying each other's company, along with the surrounding noise of people outside. However, there’s something different about the way you and Joel are communicating, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

—

“Okay, okay, here we go. What killed the dinosaurs?” Ellie finally gets out after a burst of laughter. Joel and you have started a game night type of thing every Friday with Ellie, Tommy, and Maria, and tonight is Cards Against Humanity.

“AIDS, oh my god,” Ellie chokes, as does the rest of the group playing, but you hear Tommy snicker under his breath. Welp, that’s Tommy’s.

“Bees?” She laughs as she sets the white card down, “I mean, what?” She shakes her head and leans back in her chair, “John Travolta’s right hand… Okayyyy.” A confused look grows on her face as she looks at Joel, but he doesn’t give any hint of whether it's his or not as he takes a sip of his whiskey.

“And finally,” she flips the last white card and immediately looks at you across from her at the dining room table, you try to give her a what are you looking at sort of look, but the wine you’ve been drinking catches up to you as you try to hide your smile that’s just waiting to crack with your hand. You know it’s your card and it’s a doozy, “Old lady, you’re something else,” she shakes her head and reads, “Having no legs, just toes.”

You and Ellie are the only ones who are cracking up, both of you hitting the wooden table and starting to see tears rolling down each other's faces. The rest of the table, however, doesn’t seem to find it as funny as you both do. “That’s the winner!” Ellie hollers as she slides the black card on the table to you, and your hand stops it from flying off the table.

“I win!” You yell with excitement as you put your arms in the air and start to wave them side to side, the red wine Maria brought over giving you a boost of adrenaline and confidence to be who you truly are, and you don’t care if they don’t like it - because this is the girl you’ve wanted to be for decades, the girl who could be what she wanted and didn’t care about what others thought.

“Really? AIDS was so much better!” Tommy playfully argues with Ellie, but Ellie is quick with the rebuttal. “I know but just imagine a T-Rex with its baby arms, and with just toes and no legs!” She breaks out into a fit of laughter before she can even finish her sentence, and it causes the whole table to erupt in laughs.

God, you can’t remember the last time you felt like this - just pure happiness and comfort. It’s so heartwarming to be able to live through this moment during the time of what seems to be the end of the world, along with surviving your shit marriage. You never thought you’d be able to see or even feel this again, it’s beautiful.

After the roaring laughter dies down to a lower volume conversation about whatever Town Hall is planning for this weekend, the sudden touch of Joel’s large warm hand on your skin catches your attention. You take a second to subtly look down and you notice how his hand fits perfectly on your squishy thigh as he softly squeezes your flesh. A shudder crawls up your spine, pure ecstasy surges through your body and, god, yes, you haven’t had this feeling in years, so long you honestly don’t even know how to take care of it.

Your cheeks start to heat up and your breathing gets a bit heavy, the wine definitely not helping to keep this hidden. Without giving it a second thought, you bring your hand on top of his and give a gentle squeeze back to tell him, this is okay. Over the last couple months, the subtle flirting between you and Joel has slowly turned into something that could potentially become serious, but the conversation has never been had between you two, so it’s been a gray area for awhile now.

You’re trying to keep your full attention on Maria who is discussing to the whole table how she’s so sick of having to plan all of the events that go on in Jackson, but let’s be real, you can’t pay her any mind. All your attention is focused on Joel and his gentle touch as he slowly swipes his thumb close to your now arousal covered panties, your stomach doing flips from the anticipation, and even though you continue to nod your head with her complaints, your patience with Maria is running thin.

All you want to do right now is drag Joel upstairs and fuck him like it’s the last and only time you’ll be able to, but that’s not possible at the moment.

Joel must be thinking and feeling the same thing because he then leans into your ear and whispers for only you to hear, “Want me to send them home?” You slightly turn your head, mainly your eyes, and all you do is bite your bottom lip in a smile that’s covered by your hand, as you barely nod your dazed head.

You’re so lost in the fantasy of you and Joel finally being able to end the long-awaited game of flirting, that you’re really not even mentally here as Maria and Tommy do their farewells and Ellie tells you two that she’s gonna head over to Dina’s for the evening. It feels almost like a dream kind of state, you haven’t drank like this in god knows how many years, and you really only had three glasses of wine - but you feel like you drank a whole bottle to yourself, so you’re drunk, basically, but not in a sloppy way, just with newfound confidence.

—

Now it’s only you and Joel, just the two of you alone in this huge house, and anything could happen. As you stand in the living room a few feet away from his muscular build, you slowly make your way to the staircase, and Joel then shuts the big door behind Ellie, then locks it, twice.

Joel turns around to face you, your hand now wrapping around the brown railing that leads to the second floor. He has this smirk on his lips that shows you he’s as riled up as you are.

Feeling a bit of confidence rise in your belly, you sing to him, “Catch me if you can, Miller,” and as you start to run up the hardwood steps, only a second later, you hear him chuckle, ooh just wait, and the sound of his quick feet behind you. Normally this would terrify you, but this is different, you’re not even close to feeling scared, you actually feel excited.

You’re feeling kind of frisky too, so you decide to be a little extra; you reach the door that leads to Joel’s room at the end of the hallway and you quickly spin around to face him as he reaches the top of the steps. You strip off your flannel and undershirt, then slip the flannel back on with only your black lace bra showing. Might as well make this more fun, right?

As he sees you showing off for him, he whistles and slowly struts towards you, “My, my, darlin’,” then gently wraps his fingers around your waist and presses into your plush skin, his bearded face close to your lips, “You sure know how to put on a show.”

You gaze at his eyes, his nose and his jaw, and when you see the way he adores you, a feeling stirs in your core that you can’t place, almost like a sense of hope. But you really don’t have a clue, you can’t place it, and it scares you, but for right now you push it out of sight and out of mind because you really want this. And, well, let’s be honest - you need this.

“I thought you might deserve it,” you purr back to him as you stare into his eyes, the ones that hooked you the first time you met him, and your hand rests on his chest. The next thing you know, you feel his soft lips on yours, the scratch from his beard riling you up even more, making you kiss him back with lust.

His tongue peeks out in search for permission and you eagerly open your mouth for him to lick every inch of you, his hands still on your hips but with a tighter grip, pulling you closer to grind on his hardening cock. Your hands are now grabbing his green flannel on his chest, your fingertips beginning to dig into his broad chest, both of you groaning into each other.

Somehow Joel gets his door open and you almost fall backwards into the warmth of his room, but he’s quick to catch you. “Good catch, Miller,” you chuckle as he brings you back into his chest and you begin to unbutton his shirt as he softly shuts the door behind him. He smiles as he says, “Would never let you fall, darlin’.”

Then, like a light switch flipping on, this overwhelming feeling of needing to be in control takes over, one you’ve never been able to have before in the bedroom, and you’ll be damned if that’s going to continue - this is happening on your terms only.

You swiftly spin your two bodies around, meshed together, your fingers reaching his bottom button, and when you undo it, you slide the flannel off of his shoulders and he lets it drop to the floor. Both of you pause for a moment to take in each other, and you watch his brooding chest rise and fall with his breaths, the drops of sweat that roll down his neck, and you eye his happy trail on his belly. God damn.

“You are absolutely gorgeous, sugar,” he murmurs softly as he lowers his lips to your neck and leaves a trail of kisses up to your pleading lips.

Your hands naturally move back to his chest, applying pressure for him to walk backwards to the queen size bed, his hands moving from your waist down to your jeans as he unbuttons them and rolls the zipper down. The feeling of Joel stopping his moving feet makes you realize that you’ve reached the mattress. “Sit on the bed,” you demand between moans and kisses.

“Yes, ma’am.” You can feel his smile on your plump lips as he leaves one last meaningful kiss, then sits down at the edge of the white comforter covering the bed, his legs spread open for you to stand between.

Even though you haven’t had satisfying sex, or gotten off at all in over ten years, not even by your own devices, the routine of it all has come back, almost like it never left you. You slowly strip yourself of your light washed jeans and discard them somewhere on his carpeted floor. Shit, you hear Joel whistle at the sight of you.

You bring your head back up to meet his gaze and you growl, “Back up to the pillows, take your jeans off first.”

“Gotta say, darlin’-” he starts sliding his jeans off and starts to move to the head of the bed, “I like you in control.”

You smile at his words and think, I do too. The image of him in front of you with his legs spread and his arms folded behind his head, just waiting for you to make your first move, makes you crave him ever more. You start to crawl on the bed towards him, your face is now above his black boxers that show an imprint of his cock.

God damn. You knew he was big, but not that big.

You continue to move up his body, along his belly and his chest, moving in rhythm with each other, and his face, his breathtaking features that you love so much. Your hands come up to wrap around the back of his neck as you sit on your knees on either side of his thighs, and your panty covered folds sit on his throbbing member, his large hands holding your ass as you start to slowly rock back and forth.

You’re so pent up that you could likely orgasm just from this, but you want to feel him fill you up and claim you as his own. No, you want to claim him - make him crumble apart for you, and only you.

The mixture of moans and groans from the both of you echo off of the bedroom walls, neither one of you trying to be quiet, not even the slightest.

“Fuck, sugar, keep doing that,” he groans as he watches the way your hips grind on his cock with such ease.

Your fingers wrap around his soft curls and firmly pull to make him look you in the eyes as you bring your lips to his in a fiery kiss. Your tongues battle for dominance for a moment before he finally gives in to you, the pressure from his fingers digging into the skin of your ass, causing goosebumps to rise all over.

With your right hand, you release the hold of his curls and you bring it down where your two bodies connect as you start to rub slow circles on your aching clit, causing your body to shudder from the motion. Your lips quiver against his and you see that cocky smile appear on his face again, “I gotchu sugar, not going anywhere.” His voice is low as he brings one of his hands down to replace yours, as he moves your panties to the side and starts to swipe through your soaked folds.

Your hips buck from the sensation of Joel’s thick fingers teasing your leaking hole and your throbbing clit, begging for attention. You feel his middle and ring finger slightly push into you, then release and go back to rub a few circles, and back in again. Each time he goes back to your hole, his fingers reach deeper inside you, creating this new feeling inside you.

A string of yes, don’t stop, and right there, roll off of your tongue from his fingers now fully inserted in your pulsating cunt as he continues to pump up and down.

Your head is in his shoulder as your hands have found their place back around his neck, your hips following the flow of Joel’s thick fingers.

“Look at you, pretty girl, sitting so pretty for me,” Joel coos into your ear, his other hand now on your hip as he continues to help your movements.

You start to feel the tightness grow in your lower belly, and you raise your head to look at him, at his beautiful brown eyes, as the overwhelming orgasm rips out of you. Your body stops moving as your mouth hangs open and a strung out moan leaves it, your forehead now resting on his, your eyes still meeting his gaze.

“There you go, let it all go, sugar,” he praises as he slowly pulls his fingers out of you and moves both his hands back to rest on your ass with a gentle squeeze.

Your ears are ringing, head feels dizzy, and your breathing is heavy from the intensity of the orgasm Joel has ripped out of you, almost like you’re a virgin again from how quick he pulled it out of you.

“Thank you,” you finally utter out between heavy breaths.

His face curls, “For what?”, and you chuckle as you pull your face away from his and lay your dazed head back onto his shoulder, burying your face in his neck. You softly say with a gentle tug of his silver and brown hair now damp from sweat, “For all this.”

You listen to the pattern of his rapid heartbeat as your head lifts and lowers with his hairy chest as he chuckles, “Oh darlin’, don’t gotta thank me for that.”

You hum in response with a stupid smile, pure pleasure flowing through you from head to toe, becoming so focused on his heartbeat that you don’t even notice how your eyes slowly start to close and your breathing calms down.

“You still there, pretty girl?” Joel asks, his voice causing your ears to vibrate.

Mhmm, you hum quieter than the one before, the scent of sweat, arousal, and the mix of you and Joel fills your nose as you slowly slip into a calming deep sleep.

—

Pancakes - the familiar smell wakes you up. You yawn as your hands come to rub your eyes and your legs stretch out underneath the thin gray sheet that’s covering you. You slowly push your heavy feeling body up so you can sit, and when you do, you realize you’re alone - just you half naked, in Joel’s bedroom.

What time is it? You mumble to yourself as you turn your head to look at his nightstand, eleven-thirty am, not too bad. You’ve got to be at the stables in about an hour, and you wish you had a bit more time to get ready, but oh well.

A sudden soreness shoots from between your legs as you stand up from the bed. That’s right - you and Joel slept together. Or, actually, he just fingered you, but still-

Oh god, you start to genuinely panic, he never got anything in return, he’s gonna be pissed. Even after growing out of your battered self, you are right back in it, that horrified feeling growing in your stomach and mind all over again. Your mind starts to become overwhelmed by the questions you’re asking yourself, questions that shouldn’t even be on your mind.

Why did you do that? How do you end up in these situations all the time? Why couldn’t you just give him a blowjob or something? God, why do you always have to mess it up?

The soft knocking on the door to the hallway startles you, so you quickly grab your jeans on the carpet and spring into the bathroom and quietly shut the door.

“Darlin’?” You hear Joel’s southern voice question into the now empty bedroom. “I’m in the bathroom,” you chirp out as you pull your jeans up and button them.

“Everything okay?” He must’ve heard the tension in your voice, though you tried your best to hide it, unsure of how he feels about last night.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” You respond a bit more defensive than you wanted.

“Was just askin, but I wanted to let you know that breakfast is ready for you downstairs.”

“Thank you, baby, I’ll be down in a minute.”

You hope that you’re convincing enough for him because you just want to be left alone to think for a second. You hear him sigh, alright, sugar, followed by the click of the door shutting, and now it’s your turn to sigh as you stare at your reflection in the long mirror in front of you.

Your PTSD brain has kicked into full gear, realizing that this is exactly how it started with Nate. Your first time with him was all focused on you, and he said it was okay at the time, and even made breakfast, pancakes, just for you the next morning. But then, the next time you wanted to have sex, he had no regard for you at all - you became his personal rag doll, for him to please himself whenever, however he wanted.

It’s starting to become a sick, repetitive cycle that for some reason just keeps happening to you. Your hands grip the granite counter and you start to rock back and forth, how could you be so stupid? You bend your knees and put your forehead on the edge of the counter next to your hands and you start to cry and cry.

—

You eat breakfast in silence, and even though Joel and Ellie keep trying to engage you in their conversation, you just stare at your plate and try to eat whatever your stomach allows.

After about ten minutes of mindlessly playing with your pancakes and not paying any mind to the conversation the other two were having, you abruptly stand up and gently put your dishes on the counter next to the sink.

“I’m heading next door to grab a couple things, then I’m going to the stables,” you say flatly, and before either one of them can say anything back to you, you’re out the kitchen, through the living room, snagging your bow and arrows that are hanging up, and heading out the front door.

I gotta get out of here.

You enter your old home and you're on autopilot again, your feelings turned off, thinking you’d be hyperventilating if you set foot in here again, but now, you’re not you anymore.

After making sure you locked the door behind you, so no one can barge in asking any questions, especially Joel, you run upstairs to your bedroom you once dreaded walking into. As you push the still broken door open, and you’re not shocked to see it’s in the exact same disaster the night you escaped. He’s such a pig, hasn’t cleaned up in over a year.

You take a deep breath in and out through your nose as you walk in and go immediately to your closet, then grab your dark blue travel backpack you had while you were on your own, and you start to fill the bottom with random clothes that are on your closet floor.

After you feel like you’ve packed enough, you head back downstairs to the kitchen and you start to raid whatever is left in the cupboards, finding cans of random foods that you stuff into the bag.

Lastly, you speed walk over to the front hallway closet and as you swing it open to grab the warm blanket on the top self when you hear rapid knocking and you freeze.

“Please, let me in darlin’.”

Knew it, you mumble as you shove the blanket in the top of the bag and zip it up, you then softly close the closet door and tiptoe to the kitchen, still out of sight of the front door, but another round of knocks happen and they’re louder, followed by the sound of Joel pleading your name, “I just wanna talk.”

You stop at the sound of your name flowing out his mouth with such concern and perfect ease, almost like your name was meant to roll off of his tongue, but you shake those feelings away. You continue to sneakily go out the backdoor, so you don’t have to confront Joel. You just can’t handle it, you know it would be your last straw.

After you shut the backdoor, with your backpack on along with your bow and arrow holder, you sprint between yards to the shortcut path to reach the stables, gotta grab Dougie, your horse you named after your father who passed three years before your mom got with Roy.

—

You sneak past the grocery store, not wanting to be seen by anyone who might ask questions about you having your backpack. You’re still on autopilot at this point, you just want to escape from the suffocating feeling of Jackson and its residents, needing time to really think about what’s going on with yourself.

It’s a little bit past twelve-thirty so Main Street isn’t too busy, most people out doing their jobs or going to the Tipsy Bison or Kenny’s Burgers for their lunch break. Now is the perfect time for you to jump the fence on the other side of the stables and grab Dougie, which you achieve with no problems, thank god.

However, your next difficult task is to come up with an excuse to let Vince, who’s in charge of letting people come in and go out of Jackson, to let you out of here with limited questions.

You’re on a time limit because at any given moment, Joel or Ellie will be here knocking on the barn doors, or they’ll do what you did and hop the fence to get in, and you wouldn’t be shocked if they did, because you know they care about you. So you quickly run over to your beautiful dark brown horse, who huffs as you pet his long face. Hi dad, you sigh, we’re gonna go on a little trip okay?

You unhook his reins and walk him over to the fenced in area, then open up the wooden gate and lead him out as you shut the gate to make it seem like nothing has changed. You finally mount Dougie and do a slight pull on the brown leather rein to tell him it’s time you go, just say Tommy’s okay with this and that Joel is coming after you later.

Thankfully the stables aren’t too far from the massive gate separating the infected from the living so you’re there in seconds, and just like you expected, Vince starts asking questions, but with genuine concern on why you’re going out.

“I’m just going out for a bit, want to take Dougie out for a ride,” you yell up to him as you put your hand above your eyes to shield the gleaming sun.

“By yourself?”

“Tommy is cool with it, and Joel will be coming after me later. I’ll be okay, Vince, I promise.” You nod and smile trying to convince him that this is okay.

He hesitates for a second, your anxiety starting to affect your limbs, your legs slightly shaking in the stirrups. You’re biting your bottom lip and your hands are starting to become clammy and sweaty. Vince, c’monnn.

“I’ll be back with Joel in a couple hours.” You yell at one last attempt to make him open the gates.

“Um, okay. Just … Please be safe by yourself.” He forces a smile, “Open Her Up!” He yells to the guy across from him.

“Thank you, Vince!” You yell up to him as you blow up a kiss to him, and just like that, you and Dougie are off on your own, running into the beautiful wooded land, with no real plan on what you’re doing out here.

—

You’ve been gone for just under a month, after you left Jackson, Dougie took off with you into the woods for a couple miles without stopping until you inevitably had to because the sun went down. You stopped and stayed one night at the same Motel 6 that Nate and Tommy found you in decades ago, and the next day you and Dougie went another couple miles until you found this beautiful little cabin surrounded by dandelions flooding the massive yard in front.

It was perfect for what you needed, a quiet and secluded spot for you to really explore and understand your mind and your emotions.

The two days you had been out, you only ran into just around a dozen runners and clickers, which was a piece of cake for you, and in all honesty, it was therapeutic to be able to really be you for a change.

You haven’t been outside in the real world in years and a part of you deeply misses the independence you once had, along with the constant feeling of accomplishment you received from taking down infected, or people if necessary.

The sun is just beginning to set, the sky a beautiful dark orange with a hint of bright pink hue that meshes perfectly together, and you’re sitting on the front porch on the singular brown rocking chair, ironically all very similar to yours in Jackson. You have a glass of lemonade in your hand as you gaze at the sky, and somehow, the drink is not as good as when Joel makes it for you. What is his secret?

This getaway was supposed to be healing for you, and it really has been overall, however, there’s a piece of your heart that deeply misses Ellie and Joel. This was supposed to be a way for you to make a decision as to whether Joel is exactly like Nate, with the manipulation tactics, or if he’s actually nothing like him.

Your brain knows that Joel is nothing like Nate, the complete opposite actually, however even after a year of excluding Nate as a person, you’re still in fight or flight mode. You are simply not as healed as you thought you were, and that’s okay, but you gotta find something to help you cope through it, you can’t just push it to the back burner.

You glance over to your right and you see Dougie grazing on some tall grass just a about a yard away from you, a soft smile warming your face as you stare at his beautiful brown hair and watch how he peacefully eats without a worry in the world - you wish that could be you, just a horse grazing without a care in the world, what a life.

You sigh as you bring your attention back to the summer sunset, the sound of crickets and birds chirping rings through your ears. You inhale and the smell of fresh flowers and the warm summer air overtake your senses, you lean back in the chair and bring your feet up on the seat as it slowly rocks your body back and forth.

The glass of tasteless lemonade sits on the small round wooden table in front of you and you stare at it, the condensation on the outside of the tall glass pools down around the bottom and creates a dark ring on the table. Why couldn’t you just stay with Joel?

As you continue to stare at the glass, a shadow starts to appear on the other side, you quickly stand up and grab your bow and arrow that’s on the floor next to you. Without any hesitation you grab an arrow and draw your bow back, the string taught against your cheek as you aim the slim arrow at the person riding a lighter brown horse, no way, you think.

The person riding this beautiful horse is about twenty-five feet away from you now, and as you try to make out the face of this mystery man, it finally registers, Joel.

This sense of relief overtakes your body, you drop your bow right at your feet and you stand there in absolute shock, how the hell did he find you all the way out here?

“Joel,” you gasp as hot tears roll down your face.

Before you know it, you watch as Joel jumps off his horse and runs to you, when he finally reaches your shaking body he wraps his large hands around your torso and picks you up like a feather, and he spins you around.

Oh my pretty girl, babygirl, I thought I lost you forever, and what are you doing all the way out here? Spews out of Joel’s mouth, you latch your arms and legs around his thick body as you continue to sob into his neck.

“I’m so sorry.” You repeat over and over.

Shhh, it’s okay, baby girl, he softly repeats back to you, I gotchu now.

The two of you hold onto each other like that for a long time. You don’t know why you ever left Jackson, you don’t know why you left Ellie, and finally, you have no idea why you left Joel. All you do know is that you’ll never leave Joel ever again. Not by your own choice, anyway.

Tags: @evyiione @oscarissac2099 @southernbe @pedrosfanny

#joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #Is Leaving Even An Option #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller series #dark story

[red-riding-wood]

Hi darling, I have a request for a drabble if you feel inspired. ❛ people like us don’t get to decide when we’re done. ❜ from the prompt list with Arthur Shelby.

People Like Us

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x F!Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Warnings: graphic depiction of suicide attempts, blood and cutting, angst, comfort

WC: 1848

Definitely not just a drabble, got a bit carried away with this one. I'm sorry this is so late, Lee! Getting back on track with writing.

You’d thought everyone had left. But Arthur had remained; he always did, for at least a few minutes after, to make sure you were safe. He stood outside your door, watching the coppers stationed in the darkened alleys, occasionally knocking one’s teeth out when he didn’t think they were taking their watch over you seriously. Sometimes, when the night was most quiet, and the voices of those he’d damned did not plague his mind, he thought about admitting things to you – feelings, that you likely did not reciprocate.

Tonight, your bathroom light had been on, and your screeching pierced the walls of the residence and filled the night air of Birmingham like some sort of banshee.

Your eyes were foggy when the door swung open and the man nearly slipped making his way to you, a bruised hand clasping around the porcelain of the tub and a few locks of hair wisping over his eyes before the same hand was wrapping around you, pulling you up. Crimson streaked your vision as it dribbled down your wrist, pooling around you, staining the bathwater a pale, sickening shade of red. For one dreadful moment, you feared you might never escape it, that you would drown with the tang of bitter iron on your tongue and the blood-water would swallow your eyes, your throat, your ears.

But Arthur’s palm in yours was strong, and warm; it pumped a new life in your veins and sent shivers along your numb, tingling flesh, and heaved you from the waters of death in one dizzying sweep. Head rolling back, long fingers caught you, cradling you against the heat of his chest, the palpitations of his wild heart coming to you in shockwaves. Yours were frighteningly faint in comparison to his. 

You shivered in his arms – cold, suddenly, past the heat of the adrenaline – as your bare flesh met the biting air, curling in on yourself like a child. Everything took a second or two to register, maybe more – did time even exist? It must have; it must have, because you were fading fast. And Arthur was holding you, and your wet, metallic lips buried themselves in the soft fabric of his chest, desperate to hear the sound of his heartbeat drown out yours. Desperate to cling to the living.

“D – don’t let it take me,” you mumbled into his chest. He smelled like blood, bullets and sweat. He smelled like aftershave and cigarettes. He smelled like the lavender oil you’d given him to help him sleep among his demons. He smelled like home.

A thumb stroked lovingly over your drenched scalp. How could the same hands that had strangled a poor man to death last week be so gentle to you?

“No one’s takin’ you, love.” His hot breath sent another shiver through you, down the nape of your neck. But his words quivered. “Not as long as there is breath in me goddamn breast.”

The remnants of the red tide clung to your bare skin, ringlets of drenched hair clinging to your neck, threatening to choke the life from you. In the pitch black of your mind, it frothed at the seams, spilling into the void that seemed to span wider, and wider, until you were lost in the middle of an ocean.

“Arth… Ar…” Delirious, spinning – everything was spinning. Your nails dug into his skin, fabric bunching in your shaking fist, and you gasped, aftershave and blood and lavender all flooding your senses before blackness came to you in a staccato rhythm, once and twice and once and twice and twice and once and thrice…

---

Your blood was starting to dry on Arthur’s shirt when he came inside to see you. He’d injured two men when they tried taking you from him during your blood transfusion, and he’d nearly killed another as he’d been dragged to the alleyway behind the hospital. There, he kicked at brick walls ‘til the leather of shoes peeled, and punched ‘til his shoulders screamed in their sockets and his knuckles split open. Cursed that damned god of his for letting this happen to you, threatened that if he did not return you to him, he would bring Hell down on the heavens.

His neck still burned with an inflamed red mark where he’d torn the chain of the cross from his neck, the metal now stained with your blood, too. Everything, everything was painted in it, everywhere he looked, and his own bloodied knuckles clenched around the cross tightly.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Shelby. I didn’t know – “

“Just lemme see ‘er,” Arthur told the nurse, the gruff of his voice nearly cracking from his wailing and screaming in the alley. The only reason they had let him in was because of the name he bore, and once he knew you were okay he’d personally see to it that each one of them understood the repercussions of denying a Shelby.

Like a mouse under the stare of a mad dog, the nurse scurried off, doors shutting and leaving the room quiet save for the steady beeping, and the creak of the floor beneath Arthur’s torn shoes.

Watery eyes took in your half-conscious form, curled up in the hospital bed just as you’d been curled in his arms, a light gown draped over you. You were still shivering.

While relief settled in the pit of his twisting stomach, grief still knotted his throat, and as much as he tried to hold the tears back, he tasted both salt and blood on his tongue as he lowered himself beside you, bloodied and ringed fingers ghosting across your arms, as if fearful that he would hurt you. 

A sliver of white light tore along the blackness, and your eyes squinted shut, a pain throbbing in your skull. Every thread of sinew and marrow seemed to ache, deep inside your body where you didn’t even know pain could exist, and the red tide lapped at the blurred edges of your mind as you lay flat on your little island in the middle of the sea. The rock beneath you was soft as you rolled your head over, a clean, unfamiliar scent seeming to send your mind into turmoil, shifting your reality between the light and dark, like a pendulum that swung across the white of the heavens, an eclipse that brought you pain and light one moment, darkness and cold the next.

The soft touch of the angel was warm along your arms as the light shattered the black sky, and you gasped. Its touch waned, and you arched your back to sit up, hand reaching feebly for it in the unknown. “Angel…” you thought you breathed. “Angel… don’t go. Don’t leave me here.”

Don’t leave me here to be swallowed by the red tide.

Your fingers grasped something tangible, something soft and warm, a fire burning beneath softness. Flesh, hot against your palms. Lavender and iron called to you, and finally, strong hands wrapped around you to pull you close.  

“I ain’t no angel,” a familiar, lulling voice spoke as light cleaved the darkness in two and tore it, strip by strip, from your starry gaze. “But I ain’t goin’ anywhere, love.”

“Arthur.” You smiled around the name, lashes fluttering as you blinked against his blurry visage. Messy strands of hair flopped over his winter-blue eyes, and you clung to the collar of his shirt, dizzy but supported by his hands on your spine, rough and worn against your skin where the hospital gown split.

The pendulum swung against your skull, and your gut roiled with nausea. Your eyes wandered to the wrists that had been bandaged, the red tide seeping into the white. Something beside you beeped to the swing of the pendulum, but broke its rhythm suddenly. Your heart leapt to your throat.

“Shhh,” Arthur said, thumb making little circles over your spine. “We’re gonna get you home, love.”

The red tide began to seep into the corners of your vision as images hurtled towards you in the wide, never-ending ocean. The bullets strewn across your end table, each etched with a name that would haunt your dreams as those before them had. The porcelain of a bathtub, as pallid as the boy’s face who’d taken shrapnel to his chest not twenty feet before your eyes. The heat of the blood-water, like the heat of the fire that had devoured the Garrison the night your innocence had been lost.

“I don’t want to go back,” you pleaded with him, panicking as you found yourself attached to a thin, red tube.

Your fists pummeled his chest weakly and your knees kicked against his leg, and your frail body writhed beneath his grasp, but despite his heart breaking, he did not release you. The burn of the chain he’d snapped from his neck reminded him of the rope that he’d tied years ago, and he could feel a chasm opening beneath his boots as his legs had kicked from under him like yours did now.

And as you finally began to settle, wracked by soft sobs, he cupped your cheek in his bloodied hand, and he looked into the same eyes that had saved him, as he repeated your own words back to you, the words that still echoed in his mind whenever he thought of pulling the trigger on the trouble in his head or tying another noose,

“People like us don’t get to decide when we’re done.”

God damn him, damn his selfish soul for the look in those eyes that had once been so strong, for the way your jaw trembled against his hand. His lip curled, quivering, another tear streaking across his face as he tried desperately to keep the last, frayed threads of his sanity from snapping. Tried to hold himself together so that he could save you.

Because as much as it broke his heart to see you like this, and as much as he cursed his brother but mostly himself for dragging you into this life, he could not lose you.

“You hear me?” Arthur’s voice rose as his fingers dug into your jaw, his gentleness overcome by desperation as the noose tightened round his neck. The hinges of the bed creaked as the wooden stool had, and you watched as his face flushed red. He was going to break.

You shimmied forward, wading through the red tide, finding the water to be shallow here as you crawled onto his lap and buried your face in the crook of his neck. Hugging him so tight that you kept the shattered pieces of him together. That you snapped the rope on his noose and he gasped for air against the lavender and blood of your scalp.

“I hear you,” you murmured into the warmth of his neck, and when you shut your eyes, you stood ashore from the red tide. The sweat and tears against his flesh still smelled of the sea, and though these waters thrashed, they ran clear. And you knew that your angel would guide you through them.

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed to any of my taglists and notified of new works!

Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @evita-shelby @minaethrym @shelbydelrey @zablife

#arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagines #arthur shelby imagines #angst #peaky blinders #paul anderson #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #fanfiction #writing #my writing #fanfic #oneshot #requests #x reader #dark #dark story #asks #s: people like us

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Interview with the Devil’s right hand

*Recording starts*

Interviewer: Is it alright if I record this?

Subject: Well you’ve already started so why bother asking me?

Interviewer: I’m sorry, it’s a force of habit.

Interviewer: I can turn it off and take written notes if you want.

Subject: Nah, recording is fine.

*Background noise of children playing*

Interviewer: May I ask why you chose such a public place for this interview?

Interviewer: It seems so out of place given your line of work.

Subject: Were you expecting it to be in some shady bar on the far side of town that holds all the ne’er-do-wells and vagabonds meet and scheme?

Interview: *sounds made of sentence starting and stopping*

Subject: Bars get boring after a while and I wanted some fresh air.

Subject: And what do you mean by “my line of work”?

Interviewer: Well, you know….being a hitman.

Subject: Been a while since I’ve been called that.

Subject: Personally I prefer mercenary.

Interviewer: Is there a difference?

Subject: I’m sure you’d be able to find any poor sod that’d give off a list of reasons and nuances, but at the end of the day we all just kill people for money.

Interview: I’ve heard that you have a preference for being called “The Devil’s Right Hand”.

Subject: I don’t actually.

Subject: But you do one job for a galactic dictator with a tad of genocide and the next thing you know you got a nickname.

Subject: You know how hard it is for people to just use my real name and not that cheesy nickname?

Interviewer: What is your real name anyway?

Subject: Francis O’Connell.

Francis: Never got your name by the way.

Interviewer: Mortica Preces.

Francis: Haven’t met a Peline since the resource wars on Nifelen II.

Mortica: You fought in the resource wars?

Francis: I did. I made myself a scarf from the all the sacred braids your people wore from the dead I left on the battlefield.

Francis: Was the only thing that kept me warm during those freezing nights.

Mortica: You scalped my people?

Francis: Only from the dead ones; I’m not entirely a monster.

Mortica: …..

Mortica: Do you realize the religious significance of our braids, and what it means to take them?

Francis: I did and I didn’t care.

Francis: You were my enemy and I was damn upset at your people’s attempts to end my life.

Francis: Thankfully the war ended and we can now meet here as friends.

Mortica: …….

Mortica: When you agreed to do this interview I had pictured this much differently.

Francis: I told you that I would give you my side of the story.

Mortica: You did.

Francis: Did you expect me to sugar coat it?

Francis: Make it like I was fighting for some noble cause and lost myself in the throngs of war to become the monster the universe now sees me as?

Francis: Well that’s just horseshit people tell others to make themselves out to be more sympathetic.

Mortica: So you don’t want sympathy?

Francis: What the fuck am I going to do with that?

Mortica: Then why did you fight in the resource wars?

Mortica: Why did you commit such acts of malice and cruelty upon my people?

Francis: Simple really.

Francis: Because I was paid to.

Mortica: That’s it?

Mortica: Because you were paid to?!

Mortica: You butchered thousands and helped rip a peaceful star system asunder because you WERE PAID TO?!?!

Francis: I was paid very well if that makes the difference for you.

Mortica: How can you sleep with yourself at night???

Francis: *pauses*

Francis: When I go to sleep at night I am greeted in my dreams by the faces of everyone I have ever killed in my line of work.

Francis: Not just from the resource wars, but from every conflict, murder, and killing I have ever committed.

Mortica: So that rumor is true for humans then?

Francis: Oh yeah; that bit is very much true.

Francis: Each dream is the same. I’m walking down a long hallway that stretches on far beyond the horizon, and lining each side like a decorative mask collection is the face of a person I’ve killed.

Francis: Some of them are screaming at me; shouting out their last words or begging for their lives as they weep.

Francis: Some have the bullet or knife wounds from their death fresh on their skin as the blood drips from them like a fountain.

Francis: Then there are the ones that don’t say anything and just stare at you as you walk by; their silence piercing me like a blade through butter.

Francis: It’s a bit impressive how no matter how far I keep walking I never see the same face twice. I would be walking for what seems like hours or days and yet each face is different.

Mortica: A fitting nightmare for one such as you.

Francis: Oh but I haven’t told you the best part yet.

Francis: Attached to each face is a tag, like the ones you see for clothing sold at department stores, and written on each tag is how much I was paid to kill them

Mortica: By the gods….

Francis: I’m not even sure how I remember that but I think it’s my subconscious trying to punish me for the life I’ve lived.

Francis: While I’m walking down the hallway I will stop every now and then and look at the tags and smile to myself at a job well done.

Mortica: I don’t think I can continue this interview?

Francis: Why?

Francis: Because you are just realizing why someone would be called “The Devil’s right hand”?

Francis: You need to grow up.

Mortica: Excuse me?!

Francis: I said you need to grow the fuck up.

Francis: I’ve read your puff pieces promoting military life and the benefits it brings to the enlisted.

Francis: I couldn’t help but notice you left out all the PTSD, the horrific injuries experienced on the battlefields, the emotional trauma of losing your comrades day after day and realize the only way to survive is to cut off any emotional attachment to your squad mates just to ensure that you have some sanity left by the end of the war.

Francis: Only to find out that even if you do somehow survive you find society no longer has a use for you so you are left to rot on some run down street corner begging for scraps.

Mortica: That may be what your people do with your soldiers, but we Peline’s know how to treat our returning veterans.

Francis: Oh do you?

Francis: Then please explain why one of them paid me to do this interview with you?

Mortica: Wh-what?

Francis: I doubt you ever spoke to one of your returning soldiers in your entire career, have you?

Francis: Too afraid to get the real details of military life in favor of keeping the status quo.

Francis: Much less than first grade Ensign Tublek Frent.

Mortica: Who?

Francis: Oh you know who he is.

Francis: He came to you after the resource wars, after losing an arm and a leg, and offered to give you the scoop of the century.

Francis: An in-depth look of how your military bungled the entire war and then cast aside returning soldiers.

Francis: But you didn’t meet him; oh no.

Francis: You reported him to military command, who then had him declared mentally insane and locked him away in some dark corner of your medical facilities.

Mortica: How do you know any of this?

Francis: See my government found out about Tublek and were very much interested in giving your government another black eye.

Francis: So they paid me to break him out of the medical facility and transported back to Terra for a live broadcast.

Francis: Job went easy enough and I was just about to hand him over when the old sod learned who I really was and slipped me a coin.

Francis: Can you guess what that coin was for?

Mortica: You would kill me for a single coin?

Francis: Having read your articles I would have killed you for the sheer pleasure of it, but a man such as myself needs to keep up appearances and the devil’s right hand doesn’t do jobs for free.

Mortica: We’re in a public place; not even you are so foolish to try killing me here.

Francis: On the contrary, it was the only way to make you feel safe and draw you out.

*Rustling sound and the click of a weapon being pulled out*

Mortica: This recording has been going live to my office. If you kill me everyone will know.

Francis: Eh, publicity is publicity these days.

*Cocks gun*

Francis: I wonder where your place on the wall will be?

Mortica: Wa-

*GUNSHOT*

*Screams of children in background and footsteps slowly walking away.*

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01 #deviantart dreamup #ai generated art #dark story #devil's right hand

[anotherrosesthatfell]

Honestly, how life?

You can read it in wattpad or ao3

P2

Corrupted Nightmare is pretty evil in this story...- @chaoticwriting will post the gacha designs while I'll draw it. (later-)

#let's meet again in another life #undertale au #dreamtale au #dream sans #corrupted nightmare sans #passive nightmare sans #dreamtale nim #ink sans #swap sans #murder time trio #wattpad #ao3 #dark story

[lividowly]

Shadow The Hedgehog Debut in the SA2 Dark Story REDRAWN

Drawn early Jan 2024

(Scroll down to see different versions of this artwork)

No thick outline

Shadow airbrush effect

No effects

#shadow the hedgehog #shadow #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #sonic adventure battle 2 #sonic fanart #sonic adventure #sonic adventure 2 #sa2 #sonic adventure fanart #sonic adventure 2 fanart #sonic redraw #sonic adventure redraw #sonic adventure 2 redraw #sa2 redraw #the ultimate life form #dark story #sa2 dark story

[reginarubie]

New chapter of “Tale” is up! The first Sansa chapter!

Show me kindness and I will repay in kind, try to do me harm, and I shall turn that harm against you. — OCCULTA, SANSA

#Jonsa #jonxsansa #darkSansa #darkJon #darkjonsa #tale #tale of a black knight #sansaxjon #Jonsa ao3 #Jonsa fanfiction #Jonsa story #dark story

[missathlete31]

Monsters Inc

Summary: A monster is down the hall and little Jake Seresin knows it's coming for him

Because why not go for the hurt on a Sunday morning 😬

Big warnings on this one for references to Child Abuse, mentally and physically Abusive Parents and just all around angst.

Im a big subscriber to the Hangman had horrible parents and that’s why he is the way he is so that’s where this came from. Sorry it’s dark,

Like very, very dark

There’s a monster screaming across the hall from Jake Seresin’s bedroom. He may only be six years old but Jake knows; he’s seen it, he’s run from it, heck one time he even tried to swing back at it, but it always beats him down.

Tonight, the monster roars, cursing and threatening as Jake lays in his bed just a few rooms away.

The sound of glass breaking vibrates all the way down the hallway and Jake clutches the blankets tighter in his little fists. He knows it doesn’t matter, if the monster wants him he knows exactly where he is hidden. Jake’s green eyes can’t help scanning his bedroom anyway, locking onto a baseball bat in the corner. It would be so easy to just get up and grab it, make a stand, defend his kingdom like the knights do in the picture books he likes to read. But Jake’s not a knight, and he doesn’t have a kingdom, just a small little room at the end of the hall where monsters visit when he’s not good.

It seems like lately he’s never good.

The monster’s getting closer now. It’s grotesque feet echoing down the corridor with each new step. It’s claws sharpened and ready, scratching along the walls all the way down to Jake’s bedroom. Jake takes his blanket and throws it over his head now, in hopes that it will muffle the sound so maybe he can fall asleep. Monsters usually leave him alone if he’s asleep. Jake squeezes his eyes forcefully, but sleep won’t come. It’s too late. The monster is on its way.

The monster is in Daddy tonight. He took him after dinner, when Daddy went to his special cabinet that holds the unique bottles where monsters hide in. Jake’s not allowed to touch those bottles, but he did once when he was five. Instead of seeing the monster in himself, he watched as the monster took his Mommy and Daddy and they both taught him a lesson. Monster Mommy smacked his butt until he cried while Monster Daddy poured one of the bottles down his throat until he choked and threw up. They yanked him by the hair and threw him outside with the animals, in soiled clothes and with a red bottom. Jake didn’t see anyone again until the next morning when Monster Mommy was back to being real Mommy and she brought him in to take a bath. She even let him use some of her expensive bubble mix. Jake loves when he gets a bubble bath, he splashes and plays and gives himself a bubble beard. Real Mommy always laughs, every time.

Sometimes when the monster jumps into his Mommy it hurts even more. It’s hits aren’t as hard as when the monster is in Daddy but Jake is always more confused after. Because Monster Mommy doesn’t stay around as long as Monster Daddy. Monster Mommy leaves him with red marks and sore spots but then real Mommy comes back and tries to make them better. One time Monster Mommy pushed him so hard he fell back into the metal gate. Jake didn’t remember the push very much but he remembered when real Mommy had cried after. She held him in her arms and cried and cried. Jake didn’t know what to do so he just sat there, in his Mommy’s arms until she released him and told him to go back to his playing. Monster Mommy didn’t come back for a long time after that, but she did eventually and that time there were no tears; or at least no tears from her (Jake’s had come later when he couldn’t sit down in a chair for a whole day without wincing).

The monster is outside his door now. Jake knows it’s Monster Daddy. He can tell from the growls and the snarls. Jake doesn’t know if Monster Mommy is around tonight but he doesn’t hear real Mommy either. He hopes she didn’t leave him like she does sometimes. When she watches her husband get taken over by the vile creature and merely shrugs. Her bedroom door is probably locked again, throwing her son to the wolves.

His grandma told him once that his Daddy wasn’t always like this, didn’t always have the monster inside. She said he was funny, always making jokes, and sweet; he had the sweetest smile, she had said. She called him ‘personable’ and Jake wishes he knew what personable means but he guesses it’s something good, something special, something his Daddy stopped being around the time he found those monsters in bottles. The same time that those creatures taught him that living with his son was more bearable when he let the monsters take over and how to use his belt to teach lessons in the welts left on his son’s skin. When Jake asks his grandma what happened to Daddy she said life. Jake doesn’t know what life is either, but he wishes it would stop making his Daddy go looking for monsters.

Sometimes Jake sees what his real Daddy could be. He sees it on the rare good days when his Daddy ruffles his blonde hair playfully as they sit down for breakfast in the morning. He sees it when Jake gets a hit in T-Ball and his Daddy lets him sit inside the truck instead of in the bed in the back.

He sees it most when they are out in town and away from the ranch. Daddy gets to see friends and shake hands. His Daddy’s smile is never bigger than when he’s shaking hands. Jake practices sometimes, late at night or when he knows he is alone. He hopes that when the day comes and his Daddy tries to shake his hand that his Daddy’s smile is the brightest it’s ever been.

Jake thinks that handshakes keep the monster away.

The monster caught him one time practicing out by the cows’ pasture. It got super mad at first and said something about Jake mocking it. Jake didn’t know what mocking meant so when he asked, he got a slap to the cheek for lip. The monster gripped his wrist painfully tight until something made a snapping sound and Jake howled. He wasn’t supposed to make noise, especially when he was outside so the monster hit him in the mouth once more, the familiar taste of blood getting swallowed down his throat like he was taught (spitting blood on the ground and making a mess meant another lesson needed to be learned). Jake kept quiet but the monster wasn’t finished, grabbing his hand once more but not like how Jake thought handshakes went. It yanked and yanked, pulling his arm towards the monster’s gigantic self. It was excruciating and rough and Jake got himself flung to the dirt when his arm gave up from the pressure on his shoulder. The monster leered over Jake and he thought that it was finally it; the monster was going to eat him like it did his parents, but then like magic, the monster stopped!

Jake knows it was the handshake.

Mr. Harris, their neighbor, saw it too. He had been walking the path between their two ranches and saw Jake and Monster Daddy. He called over when Jake was on the ground with the monster. The monster walked over to Mr. Harris and they shook hands and suddenly real Daddy was back! Daddy told Mr. Harris how Jake had been fooling around (which he didn’t remember doing but he guessed he was if that’s what Daddy said), and how he had gotten hurt. Mr. Harris offered to carry Jake back to his ranch since it was closer but Daddy disagreed, said home was better. Then he scooped Jake up into his arms like he used to when he was a baby, before the monster took over, and walked him all the way back to their house. It was the best! Mr. Harris even watched, that’s how great it was.

When they arrived back to the ranch, Mr. Harris sat with Jake while Daddy went to get the doctor. Mommy made some coffee and the biscuits that Jake loved so much but wasn’t allowed to eat normally. Luckily on that day because Mr. Harris had insisted, Jake got to have half of one. He was so happy; he didn’t even care if it ended up that the doctor told him his wrist was broken and his shoulder had to be “relocated” (Jake hadn’t realized it had disappeared but luckily the doctor found it pretty fast.).

Mr. Harris must have realized it was a great day as well because he didn’t seem to want to leave. He stayed for dinner and then helped Daddy get Jake to bed. Before Jake closed his eyes, the old man gripped his good shoulder and smiled sadly at him, told him to take care. His Daddy showed him out of Jake’s bedroom and Jake felt his eyes close pretty soon after.

No monster visited that night or the rest of the week.

A police officer did visit though, and asked Jake how he had hurt his arm. Mommy and Daddy had sat next to him while he had to explain that he was playing around outside and not listening just like Daddy told him to say. The police officer wrote some stuff down, asked his parents some questions and took a look around the house. Jake showed him his baseball bat and the man smiled when Jake told him about the day he got a hit and his Daddy was so happy. Before he knew it the police officer was nodding to both his parents and heading out the door.

When the police car pulled away from the dirt driveway, Jake saw Mr. Harris watching from the fence. He tried to wave but the man didn’t respond. It was the last time Jake ever saw Mr. Harris. The next day there was a bad fire in the kitchen of their farm house. Mr. and Mrs. Harris lost everything according to Jake’s Mommy and the couple was forced to go live with their daughter two towns over. Jake missed them.

His bedroom door opens. The monster is in his room.

After the police officer’s visit and the Harris’s move away, Monster Mommy and Monster Daddy beat Jake until he fell asleep right there in the living room. When he woke up he was still there and he crawled himself like a baby all the way to his bedroom carpet where he stayed for a few more hours. He didn’t have to go to school for the next week but he also couldn’t seem to do much on his own because everything seemed to hurt. Real Mommy had to spoon feed him because it was hard to lift his head. Real Daddy carried him to the bathroom and held him up because his legs didn’t work like they used to. When he returned to school the teacher asked about his absences and Jake told her what his Daddy told him, he got hurt on the ranch. She never asked about any of his injuries again.

The monster is over him now. He can hear it’s heavy panting, smell the bitter breath through his blanket. The monster uses a paw to rip his sheet away and Jake takes a risk and opens his eyes. It’s dark but he can make out the monster’s shape in the blackness. It looks just like real Daddy but he knows there is only one way to be sure. “Daddy?” he calls and he waits. Seconds, minutes, hours, the silence stretches on. Jake thinks maybe the monster is gone, left in the hallway. He thinks that maybe his Daddy actually returned to him and is here to tuck him back to sleep and press a kiss to his forehead like he used to. He thinks all these happy thoughts until a fist knocks his head aside, sends him sprawling off the bed and onto the floor.

Jake shuts his eyes and prepares himself for the attack.

It’s only the monster there with him tonight. His Daddy is gone.

#top gun maverick #glen powell #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #top gun hangman #top gun #major angst #warning: child abuse #this is angst #no happy ending #hangman had a rough childhood #that is my canon #dark story #very dark #sorry folks #jake seresin whump #the seresins are horrible parents

[purplepuddlesuwu]

//Yuri and Kage// Oc Art//

Little Info: WARNING!!: Abuse, Murder,

Kage is a vengeful spirit or just a demon who has basically been kept in Yuri's family for thousands of years. 

When he was alive Kage, his family, and his whole clan was attacked and enslaved by Yuri's ancestors. Those who would not obey would be beaten, mutilated and even killed. Some were just killed to strike fear in those who thought they could rise against them. Kage and his family were one of those families who were just killed out right in the beginning of the attack. Kage lost his parents, siblings, cousins, his wife, and his unborn child. This caused Kage to be so enraged after his death that he came back as a vengeful spirit and stayed over the location where his family once lived. 

For hundreds of years Kage was slaughtering any and everyone who even so much as glanced at the location that his family used to reside in. Women, men, elders, children, animals, etc. It didn't matter if you stumbled upon it by accident. He was going to make you regret breathing on this planet. 

After many years and countless tired attempts to kill Kage, Yuri's Ancestors were finally able to capture him and seal him away. 

For hundreds of years after him being sealed away  they use his powers to protect the land and their people. For years he has been passed down generation to generation of mainly men who were raised and trained to handle his unbelievable power and deal with him trying to kill them the first time they try to summon him. 

Until recently Kage's current wielder, Isaac, decided to give him to his Granddaughter Yuri instead of her brother's (who were trained all their lives to handle Kage I might add) and now Yuri is trying to figure out how to deal with this unsavory demon. 

Kage will not make it easy on poor Yuri; he is a constant bully to her, making constant sexist remarks, beating and trying to kill her at every chance he gets, and trying to beat and kill all of her friends and family. Kage at first was mainly trying to kill her but now he prefers to beat her up and mentally abuse her. It's all torture for what her ancestors did to him, he hates her and he whole bloodline and he wants to one day wile them ALL out. 

Yuri is currently training to learn how to handle Kage and Wielder him in a way that can protect herself and her people from the lesser demons who are growing in numbers outside of their community. 

Yuri also wants to figure out if there is a way to have peace between herself, her bloodline and Kage.

|| That's the most of what I currently have down but some stuff is subject to change :D

#digital art #art #artwork #digital drawing #artists on tumblr #digital artist #character art #digital illustration #Purplepuddles Unnatural #oc art #black panther #fictional characters #digiral drawing #clip studio paint #illustration #info dump #character artist #original character #artist #digitalart #dark story

[the-mr-lolipop-things]

Donovan 

Page 5 process

#art #joker #comic books #comics #comic #storytelling #comic artist #batman #fanfiction #dark story #sketch #gay #batman x joker #criminalcomic #Klaus Wanderer

[auteurdelabre]

Sleep Part II Serial Killer ! Joel x Serial Killer f!Reader

summary: You and Joel celebrate your anniversary in a unique way.

rated: 18+

tags: Blood, Gore, Weaponry, Sex, Serial Killers on a spree,

a/n: The sequel no one wanted and yet would not leave my mind. Not the most romantic... or is it? You be the judge of that one.

Part one here

---------------------

You don't expect the road to feel like home with its unfamiliar lines and slopes. You don't expect to feel at home in cheap motels with spongy carpet and nicotine yellow walls.  

But maybe it's not the road that does it. Maybe it's the quiet man driving your car with eyes like burning coals set inside a tanned, arresting face. 

“You look angelic with the light hittin’ you like that,” he told you one morning, surprising you as you drove through the desert. Joel doesn't talk much on the road, preferring the radio or the sounds of what you pass by to fill the silence instead. 

You like it when Joel drives, it gives you time to drink in his strong profile; sharp, gaze dark under heavy lids. Your gaze twirl down to the muscles under his t-shirt, admiring the way the swell of his biceps and shoulders make the cotton strain. 

You roll your own tight shoulders, convinced you can hear the ripping of your muscles as you do. You give a soft exhale, feeling the familiar pull of need closing in on you.

Need it. Need it. Need it. 

Not the kind of need that has you sweaty and writhing against Joel's body as he talks you through your climax, though you do enjoy those. It's a different need that has you on edge, feeling like you want to peel off your skin.

Joel can always tell. 

But he steals glances over at you from the corner of his piercing eyes and he observes you, like now when you let a hand rest on the smooth curve of the open passenger window, letting your fingers dance in the encroaching night’s breeze. He just always knows. 

"Gettin' hungry?"

"Mhmm."

Joel is a watcher. He takes in details, like how your feet tap when you're restless. He sees that your neck gets flushed when you're about to come. He notices how your eyes don't crinkle when you're smiling at someone to get what you want. 

And he observes when your car enters poorly populated towns. He takes note of secluded locations, checks over tired towns with poorly organized law enforcement. 

"There's a diner a few miles away," is his rumbled reply. You shine your best toothy smile his way, one that shows your gratitude. Your eyes crinkle when you do. 

"Sounds perfect." 

While your need is sporadic and at times unpredictable, Joel's need is always simmering just under the surface. Like dynamite lying dormant and you are the spark that sets it on its course, it's inevitable end.  

His need is coiled there like a snake in his belly waiting to strike with fangs. He never shows them to you though. You're kept safe in the harbor of his devotion. 

You don't know that you can call it love because you're not really convinced either of you are capable of it. But it sits comfortably enough behind your ribs for you to be at peace with it.

It's that sensation which leads you to continually hand him the keys to your car. The same sensation which lets him sleep next to you in rundown hotels with one creaking bed. The sensation that lets him enter you over and over, bodies shining with sweat, foreheads pressed together as you offer moans into one another's parted mouths like communion. 

It's being seen by one another you think. Brutality meeting brutality. Finding mutual appreciation for the beauty in the ferocity. That when Joel's teeth dig in at your neck when he fucks you he's not doing it to break; he's doing it to give. 

You pull into the sparsely filled parking lot of the diner when the sun begins to dip behind the mountains. It makes the world seem hazy and sweet as Joel cuts the engine. The two of you sit in the car, eyes fixed on the rundown diner as night approaches. 

"No more 'n eight by my count," Joel offers in his slick southern drawl. A voice rough like gravel but smoothed over with molasses. 

"Count on nine," you tell him peering into the diner windows from the car. "Cook in the back and a busboy."

"I was counting the cook 'n it's slow so the busboy'll have been sent home for the night," he tells you confidently. 

"Alright then. Eight." 

He looks at you across the seat and you nod at his unspoken ask. Joel likes traditions; he holds them dear like the tin man grips his shiny heart from the Wizard.

 It's the same tradition that has him Joel his broken watch he wears three times before he goes to sleep each night. The watch you've never asked him about and he's never offered information on. You don't mind not knowing, you have a feeling the answer won't bring solace to either of you. 

But traditions like this one seated next to one another in your car? Those you indulge him in, even finding a fondness at times for his rituals. 

You both move towards one another before you press your forehead to his. Both are damp and sticky with the balmy end of the day, but there is something comforting about his warm flesh pressing against yours. His eyes are closed, dark lashes fanning across golden cheekbones. 

"Blood like rubies," he murmurs.

"Blood like rubies," you echo. 

You sit like that a second longer before feeling Joel's mouth graze yours. 

"Let's go, beautiful."

///

"You know this is our anniversary," he tells you as you approach the diner hand in hand. You quirk a smile in his direction, amused. 

"Really?"

"One month," he says with a nod. He pushes the creaking door of Gerry's Diner! announces the peeling painted sign on the wall opposite.  Right next to the spot a security camera would be if they had one. Of course they don't.

A little bell dingles overhead and you both glance up at it before your eyes sweep the quiet restaurant. 

A couple and their toddler sit in the booth closest to the door. An older couple are in the booth to your left sharing what looks like a greasy roast dinner. 

A middle aged woman carrying a paperback leaves her payment and tip on the table. She shoulders past you and Joel quietly giving you both a polite, tight-lipped smile. 

One down. 

"You just made it," a woman with a yellow name badge called Wendy tells you with a practiced smile as she sails over to you. "Kitchen is just about to close."

Joel and you murmur your thanks, allowing her to show you to a booth that looks older than Joel and you combined. The green vinyl seats are peeling and the table is scratched from years of wear. 

Wendy smells like kitchen grease and old floral lipstick, the kind you think your mother wore. 

"Drinks?"

"Black coffee for me, Coke with a cherry for her," Joel rattles off your drink order with a wink. 

"A cherry?"

"Mhmm," you smile up at her. "I like 'em."

Wendy nods and walks back to the counter but not before she walks to the front door of the diner switching off the buzzing neon "open" sign and turning the placard on the door to read "closed". 

Sometimes it's too easy. 

"Two in the corner," Joel tells you in a quiet mumble, having just seen them from this vantage point. "Eatin' dessert."

You nod and when Wendy comes back with your drinks you smile up at her over the menu. You look at the special: cheeseburger with bacon. You don't really see how that's particularly special but it sounds good enough and the price is right. 

"Two of your dinner specials with fries please. No bacon on mine." 

Wendy nods, writing in her small spiral notepad just as a piercing wail is heard over the din of the quiet restaurant, pulling her attention over her shoulder.

 The toddler with the parents is displeased, slapping his hands onto the cheap table and knocking forks to the floor with a clatter. 

"Fucking brat," the old man in the booth near yours grouses to his anxious looking wife. "Should've kept the little bastard at home."

"Earl, shhh." 

You look over Joel's shoulder at the older couple, brow furrowed. You don't like the way Earls wife cowers from his menacing glare. 

Earl's about sixty with an oversized baseball cap on. He's got ears that stick out too far not to be comical. Earl feels your gaze and he catches your frown. He sneers at you before going back to his rubbery looking dinner. 

Wendy takes your order to the line cook in the back, a scrawny man with a cigarette hanging out the corner of his thin mouth. His unwashed hair is in a hairnet and his sleeveless shirt is yellowed under the armpits. 

You fish the cherry in your drink out with a spoon and pop it into your mouth while Joel drinks his coffee. You tie the cherry stem into a knot with your tongue as Joel gazes at you. It's one of his favorite tricks even though you think it's overdone. The cherry itself is sweet. You place the stem like an offering on Joel's napkin. 

The food arrives shortly, giving you and Joel plenty of time to scope out the other patrons. 

A serious looking nurse is scribbling something down in a notebook, still wearing her scrubs. A half empty mug of coffee sits next to her hand. 

The toddler is still whining and the parents look past their limit. Even the wife of Earl looks irritated behind her thick wire glasses. 

You open your burger to find bacon and give a slight frown as you pluck it from your meal, placing it at the edge of your plate for Joel. 

He swipes it eagerly, adding it to his own on his burger before biting into it. Ketchup and grease mingle, dripping down his bearded chin. 

"You look like a vampire," you tell him playfully, pressing a napkin to the mess. He gives you a slow wink before swallowing. 

"Who says I'm not?"

You watch the parents hail Wendy over and pay their tab sheepishly, giving tired smiles at the waitress before they grab their squirming toddler and head out the door. 

Tinkle tinkle. 

Joel's eyes sail back to you, brow raised. You nod and watch as he slides from the booth, sauntering towards the bathrooms. You watch through the window as the couple and child drive off into the dark of the night. 

The music is playing through a static-y radio station and now without the toddlers whining you can hear it more clearly. 

"Bright Eyes," you tell Joel with a bit of pride when he returns to the booth after having locked the door to the diner from the inside. 

He knows of your love of old music. It's one of the things you bonded over during your first day together. When the desert twisted ahead of you and you hadn't been sure if letting him drive had been wise. 

"Classic," Joel nods, chewing a fry thoughtfully as he listens, humming quietly along with the tune. 

Is it a kind of a shadow?... Reaching into the night… Wandering over the hills unseen

You've always liked this song. Liked the gentle sway of it. It's always buoyed you, made you feel that glittery sensation you get when you hear a tune that makes you feel awake.

"You know it's about dyin', right?" Joel asks during the chorus. 

"Really?" You drain your Coke glass, the sticky syrup clinging to your lips. 

"Mhmm," Joel dips another fry in ketchup. He's got a dreamy look on his face when he looks at you.  

"Huh, you slump back in the booth, licking the remnants of french fry salt from your fingertips. "Never knew that."

"Glad to be your teacher."

You give an amused chuckle at that. Joel likes to think he's teaching you things. Sometimes he is, sometimes he's just talking to hear himself speak. You don't mind though, his voice feels good in your ears or huffed along your naked body. 

You glance around to see the couple with the Sundae giggling to one another as they feed each other strawberry spoonfuls.

Wendy is back, ready to settle up everyone's tabs you think. The hour is late. Her ankles are swollen from her work; you can see them under her opaque tights. 

"Anythin' else for you two?" Wendy asks Joel. Up this close you see the lines of her tired eyes.

Joel shines a bright smile her way, one that reminds you of those animals that bare their teeth not in greeting but warning. 

"You look tired, Wendy. You wanna sleep?"

"Huh?" 

She gives a quirked half smile, dipping her head a little closer to catch what he said, clearly confused.  

She doesn't see the straight razor he's pulled from his pocket until it's swimming through the air and slicing a brutal slash along her neck. 

Droplets fly from the blade onto your cheek and you sigh gently at the warmth dropping along your skin like rain. 

Wendy doesn't even have time to realize what's going on. She just gurgles, gripping her throat like she's choking on a candy. Her bubble gum pink nails stand out sharply before they are drowned in thick red. 

By the time the other tables have looked up, you're in the kitchen taking out the distracted line cook with your knife. You consider using one of his, but you suppose you have traditions of your own.

He doesn't make a noise, kind of like he's always known this was his end and he's at peace with it. He slumps onto the grill making a sizzling noise and emitting an odor not unlike the bacon Joel took off your plate earlier. 

You hear shrieking come from the main part of the diner. The patrons have cottoned on now. The two couples and the one angry looking nurse are making the most noise. 

Their cries make a shiver roll up each notch along your spine. An ancient feeling, one from the earth and passed into your body. One that has your thighs clenching together tightly as you round on the tables, knife clutched. 

You glance over to the far side of the diner, seeing the young couple with the sundae already gone. Asleep for good. But it's not strawberry ice cream they're covered with. 

You walk over to him, noting the uncanny ability he has to not have a drop of blood on him.  Earl’s wife is shrieking at an unholy pitch, her hand on a stunned Earl's shoulder. The two stare up at Joel from the booth.  

"Like a lullaby," Joel croons from behind you, hand squeezing the back of your neck with affection as he moves to the cowering couple in the booth next to yours. 

You look in the booth at the nurse and see the fatigue written there in her expression. She works so hard, now it's time to be done. Time for her to rest.  

She tries appealing to you in Spanish but you don't understand. You see fat tears slide down her freckled cheeks and take in the way she cowers further into the booth. 

"Time to sleep," you coo gently at her, smiling. 

It's frustrating how quickly it goes. Almost as if you go to sleep and wake up with your hands smeared with blood that's not your own.

You only break from the trance-like state when the world gets loud again. A new song is playing. Hit me with your Rhythm Stick.  

"You look so fuckin' good when you do that," Joel offers huskily from over the booth at your left. You slowly glance at him in a daze, a crooked grin on your face 

"It feels so good," you slur, feeling drunk. 

You look back at the carnage in the booth, gaze falling over the stabs, the slashes, the slit throat and tangled limbs. Eyes frozen in an unending gaze, mouth parted in a silent scream. 

It makes you feel proud. Accomplished. 

Sated. 

"Please!" Earl cries now, his hand trembling out in front of him as if that could hold off Joel's approach. His wife is already gone, her head somewhere under the table. Joel takes Earl by the back of his neck, dragging him to a stand next to him. 

"Watch honey," Joel says to you with a feral smile as he slits the whimpering man's throat. Rivulets of crimson run down the column of the older man's throat, getting caught and bleeding into the pale grey collar of his shirt. 

The old man gives a gurgling sputter before collapsing onto the table, his head making a sickening crack as it makes contact before he tumbles to the floor. 

Hit me with your rhythm stick … It's nice to be a lunatic … Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!

You sigh, pupils blowing wide as you come to stand closer to Joel. You kiss his shoulder and he tips your chin with the flat of his blade, urging your eyes to his. He sees the shiny dark that's overtaken them and his lips curl into a knowing smile and the warmth in it could almost be love.

"That's what I like to see," Joel murmurs. 

You smile up at him as you drag a finger along the pool of red on the table. You look at the blood on your digit before you hold it out to Joel as an offering, an unplanned tradition on your part. He takes your wrist in one firm hand, wide fingers wrapping loosely and drawing your hand closer to his face.

Joel meets your eyes with an unwavering gaze and sucks your finger into his mouth, warm and damp. You let out a shaking breath, eyes stuck on where his pouty mouth wraps around your finger.  

"Know just what I like, don't you?" He rasps as he pulls off after licking it clean. "And I know just what you like."

You don't answer him. You simply pull yourself up onto the blood splattered table. Your heel digs into the edge of it; skirt flipped up and soaked panties on display as your thighs fall open.  

You hold yourself up with your elbows before giving Joel a patient smile. 

Joel doesn't hesitate, just pulls himself from his jeans and tugs the lace fabric of your panties to the side as he steps between your thighs. Much like your knife, he plunges, fucking you fast and hard as the table rocks under you. It's how you like it at times like this. 

You give a giddy laugh, loud and free. Your head tilts back and you let him hold you in place as the laughter bubbles from your lips. Joel watches you in amazement before holding your thighs further apart so he can enter you as deeply as possible. 

"You're somethin' else," he tells you fondly. 

You let your head fall back further, body jolting in the warm red blood. You can feel it soaking the ends of your hair. Joel's hand moves from where it was on the table to your thigh, gripping a moment before moving to your throat. Each new piece of you he touches is left with a pale red imprint. 

He presses gently on either side of your throat just under your jaw and the sensation makes your approaching climax even more potent. It makes the world slow down and get quiet. It wraps you in a world with just Joel and you existing in it. 

"That's it," he grunts out when you start to come. He loosens his grip and blood rushes to your head. "That's mine, baby. Give it here."

He holds you loosely by the throat, eyes solemn despite the broad smile he wears. You come for him, thighs quaking. He follows soon after you, pumping into you as he groans your name. 

You both pant heavily, foreheads coming to touch as you even your breathing, just as you did in the car. He pulls out of you slowly, watching your brows saddle. 

"Full?"

"Yeah," you nod. "Thank you."

He kisses you full-lipped and slow, his body draped over yours. He holds you in this embrace, forearms braced around your head like a halo. He's mentioned seeing you as angelic before and you wonder if he still sees that as you lay covered in blood. 

Maybe he sees it more.

"Wait here," he murmurs against your mouth. "Gonna go set everythin' up."

You watch his muscled figure cross the diner in search of the electrical box. You hear him shuffling in the back as you sit up, feeling as the blood dries to your skin. 

By the time the sheriff shows up tomorrow they'll be nothing but a burnt out diner caused by some faulty wiring. Joel knows all about that stuff, his background in carpentry and home repair is useful. 

Joel comes back with a jacket from the back office. 

"Might be a lil’ big but it'll do," he tells you as he helps you into it. "Just until we get you into a shower."

"Only if you'll join me."

"Count on it," he smiles, kissing you again before taking your hand. The scent of burning plastic has started - the fire in the back. The alibi. The scrubbing of all evidence you were ever here. Your fingerprints gone. Your half eaten burger charred.

"Speaking of numbers," you tell him with a glance around the still diner. "I count seven."

"Told ya," Joel insists smugly with an arm around your shoulder like he's the football captain and you are the head cheerleader. "No busboy."

He guides you to the door, the one marked closed. But something unsettles you, something that knows there is an outlier. It's the thing that makes your cast your eyes around once more. 

And then you see it, the dark black shine of work boot. It sticks out just a fraction from the booth at the far end of the diner. Your eyes settle on the grey tub full of dirty dishes sat upon its table. 

"Whatdda ya know," you muse. Joel follows your eye line, giving a frustrated exhale through his nose before the two of you are approaching the table. 

Joel is irritated, giving a growl before gripping the figure and pulling them out from under the table. 

The man gives a scream, trying to wrench from Joel's grip when he spots the carnage at the other tables at which point he goes silent. His face is pockmarked and his glasses are smudged. 

His face is white with fear. He's no younger than twenty, no older than twenty two. Younger than you'd prefer but still old enough. 

"All yours baby," Joel grins, holding the man by the back of his neck like a disobedient kitten. "You were right after all."

You shake your head almost shyly before urging the hand Joel grips his weapon with against the young man's throat. 

"Happy Anniversary, Joel."

Joel lifts his brows in surprise before he smiles at you warmly. He presses the eager blade into unwilling flesh. 

"Happy Anniversary, Bright Eyes." 

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[smok3r7]

Is Leaving Even An Option?

Joel x F!reader

Explicit, 18+

Four: Relief

Series Masterlist & Main Masterlist - My Ao3

Summary: Your days have become one in the same, even with the terrifying reality of death right outside the walls of Jackson. You never thought you’d be in the situation you’ve been stuck in for seven years now, the daily abuse you endure has become an expectation. You take whatever your husband throws at you, literally and figuratively, because you’ve been trained to believe this is normal. But a new man, Joel, moves next door and happens to be friendly towards you, this causes your husband’s anger to worsen. Your mind starts a gruesome war with itself - can you leave him or do you stay until the inevitable happens?

Chapter Summary: The same night you meet Joel, Nate becomes aggressive and does something way out of the norm. This causes you to reach out for help to your new neighbor, Joel. How does asking for help change your life?

Word count: 4.5k

⚠️Warnings: fear of husband, running and hiding from him, mentions of rape (no description), mentions of beating, self-hatred

—

“Go away!” You scream as you sprint to the dark gray bedroom door and slam it behind you, locking it immediately. The jar of pickles you had is now shattered somewhere on the stairs from you dropping them when you heard Nate get up from his recliner to follow you.

“You bitch!” He slurs as he starts to pound the other side of the door with both hands. You back up to the bathroom connected to the room and slam the door shut, locking it too, then jump in the porcelain bathtub, lay on your side, and you start to cry, muffling it with the fabric of your sleeve. You can still hear him hitting the door and his now muffled voice, still yelling about something you can’t make out.

How did you end up here? How did you become so weak? Why don’t you stick up for yourself more?

The sound of the bedroom door breaking sends a terrifying chill through your cold body, and holy shit, you think to yourself, he’s gonna kill me. “C'mere you whore,” he hiccups now on the other side of the bathroom door and slowly knocks on it, then he drunkenly sings, “Ooh Mrs.Rossi, come out come out, wherever you are.”

Your mind is racing as he continues to slowly knock, taunting and playing with you, and you almost wish he would lay his hands on you instead of this mental torture he loved so goddamn much. You would rather take his hands over his words any day, because the wounds left on your skin can heal. His words, however, leave an imprint on your soul like a steaming hot brand on cattle - it’s there forever.

The knocking abruptly stops, you sit up with your knees in your chest as you wrap your arms around your bent legs, and you look towards the white door, seeing the shadow of his feet through the sliver between the floor and the door. “I said,” his tone changes to a serious one, “Come here, my dear Mrs.Rossi.” A beat goes by and you stay silent, even holding your breath, trying to make yourself disappear like a magician doing his rabbit in the hat trick.

A sense of desperation forms in your core and flows through your blood, you wish you could ask for help, but you’re inevitably fucked.

Still no noise has come from either of you, eyes zoned in for any kind of movement. You then watch how his shadow stumbles away from the door, and you finally let out that breath that’s been trapped in your lungs for what felt like hours. You don’t dare move out of the tub, because the smallest noise could bring him right back to torture you and, to be honest, you’re not sure if you’ll make it out of this beating.

Flipping your right wrist over to look at your watch - well, Rosa’s, one of her personal items you grabbed - and you put together that an hour has gone by with you in the bathroom, an hour since the last time you heard any sort of noise from Nate. He’s gotta be passed out by now, you think to yourself, trying to make yourself believe it, but you decide to wait another hour, just to be safe, because if he is sleeping, you can run over to Maria’s for the rest of the night and deal with Nate tomorrow when he’s sober.

While you wait and stare at the little black hands on your dainty silver watch to move to the nine and twelve, nine PM is all you need to anxiously wait for. You are in disbelief about how your life has come to this; you hiding in the bathtub in the bathroom you share with your husband, from your husband.

The overwhelming feeling of loneliness and self-hatred starts to slowly consume you from the inside out, because you used to be an expert about seeing through men and their evil twisted lies. However, for some irrational reason, you were and still kind of are, blind when it comes to Nate. Even though he hurts the hell out of you, in more ways than one, he knows exactly how to lasso you and pull you back into his warm arms.

It’s pretty infuriating and ironic how he is the reason for your pain and yet, he’s the one who helps to make you feel better, for the small time being. Shit, it’s honestly pathetic that you keep allowing it to happen, there’s absolutely no reason why you should still be married to him; you don’t have kids, you’re not dependent on him anymore, and lastly, Maria and Tommy told you that they would let you stay with them until there was a home available.

Tommy was actually the one who pulled you aside not too long after Maria put the pieces together last year and he had gotten extremely emotional when he said, “I put Nate on patrol with Daniel. I’m so sorry for all that you’ve been dealing with by yourself, I am disgusted with myself for not having noticed. I want you to know my loyalty stays with you, a million times over. Please don’t hesitate to come to me or Maria for help, okay, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t believe that Tommy, who had been Nate’s right hand man since the beginning of Jackson, had written Nate off entirely and favored you in this matter. It gave you some sense of hope for something good to happen, but in the end, you’re still here a year later, in the same situation, but now you hold your own a little better.

The sudden urge to pee hits you and brings you back down to earth. Fuck, you glance away from the silver faucet you were staring at, and as you flip your wrist again, your eyes widen as you notice the hand's location, ten fifty-three PM stares back at you like a hawk eyeing its prey.

Please please, you repeat in your head as you carefully put your hands on either side of the edge of the tub and push yourself on your feet, and both your knees pop, echoing through the silent, tiled bathroom. You curse to yourself as you step onto the white bath rug, praying that he doesn't hear you. All you have to do is unlock the door, open it quietly, and get downstairs then sprint out the front door. Should be easy, right?

You tiptoe to the door and unlock it, wrapping your shaky hand around the cold knob, taking a deep breather for a moment to spark a bit of confidence in yourself to sneak past him, wherever he is. Your heart is beating rapidly, enough where you think it might leap out of your chest, your stomach doing flips, making you jittery.

With your hand still on the knob, you slowly turn it with your free hand on the door itself to keep it quiet. The pleading in your head is still there as you silently and slowly push the white door open. Before you fully open the only thing keeping you alive, the first thing your eyes notice is the gray door that leads to the hallway from your bedroom, and the bottom half of it has been kicked in.

Seeing this makes you swallow heavily - this has never happened before so you really don’t know what’s in store for you. You quietly push the door just a little bit more and as you step out onto the navy plush carpet, you turn your head to the left and you’re greeted with Nate eyes wide open, his tall statue-like figure sitting on the edge of the king size mattress you share.

You’re frozen in your tracks. Both your hands drop to your side, your breathing starts to become erratic, your chest heaving up and down, and sweat beads start to form on your skin. No fucking way, you panic, how is he still up?

“There she is.”

—

Hold on, hold on! You hear Ellie on the other side of the oak door. You’re back standing on the cream porch you had been on hours earlier, but instead of being here to show them the new home, you’re now there for any source of help.

The door swings open, “Who the he-“ Ellie starts but as soon as she sees you standing opposite to her, she stops. All you’re dressed in is a black tank top, plaid sleep shorts, and a pair of gray socks that are soaked from the snow when you walked over. You stay silent as you watch Ellie’s eyes gaze at your bruised and broken body, you don’t doubt that she knows what went down.

“Fuck, um- come on in, please, please,” she rapidly tells you and welcomes you inside the home that is almost identical to yours, without that distinct gloomy, unsettling aurora floating around. It’s actually an incredibly welcoming feeling that wraps around you as soon as you step foot inside.

“Here,” Ellie runs over to the closet across the room and grabs a smaller blanket out of it, “wrap this around you, go sit down, and I’ll go grab Joel.” Still not having said anything, you reach your arm out to take the blanket she has offered and you nod your head.

Your body is on autopilot as you drag your frozen wet feet across the hardwood floor to the open living room and plop your heavy feeling body on the tan colored couch, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders and bringing your knees to your chest, curling into your comfort position.

Joel. Joel. Joel. He’s all you desperately crave at this moment, and even though you don’t know a thing about this man, you still desire him and his comforting atmosphere. You’re so out of it that you don’t even hear Ellie run upstairs or the noise of Joel’s heavy footsteps sprinting down the steps to quickly aid you.

Suddenly the shape of Joel’s body is in front of you, then he shrinks down to sit on the wooden table, his gaze now meeting yours, and you watch as his beautiful eyes are full of concern, darting all over your meek body, making you tighten your arms more.

“You’re staying here for a little bit, sugar,” Joel states, trying to keep his anger from taking over from seeing you like this. Hearing him say that with such ease and honest concern causes you to finally let go of all the tears and anger you’ve been holding onto for all these years.

“Than- Yo- I-” you sob between words, trying to say anything but you simply can’t make anything out. Shh, Joel hops off the table and sits down on the cushion next to yours, softly grabs your trembling body and pulls you to sit in his lap as he cradles you like a newborn baby.

You’re violently weeping into his chest as he slowly rocks and shushes you. The way he holds you in his safe arms makes you feel more loved than ever before.

You’re not sure how much time has gone by but you have stopped sobbing, though tears continue to roll down your cheek, your face still. “You don’t have to tell me now,” Joel’s voice makes your body vibrate as he speaks, “But I wanna know what happened.”

The way his voice sounds, you can tell he is aggravated but upset by seeing you hurt. You’ve been staring at his chest, the way his dark blue T-shirt clings to his body, you’ve memorized the pattern of his breaths and yours matched with his. But now that he’s asked and with such clarity, you figure that you have to tell him. It’s the least you could possibly do right now with him and Ellie being nothing but helpful.

Slowly, you lift your face to look at him and you notice that he’s already gazing down at you with the same whiskey eyes that make you swoon just by looking. The shame you’ve been experiencing flies away in a second just by seeing how much he truly cares. It’s not like Nate’s face when you initially met him, no, this is different.

“Okay,” your voice hoarse from the yelling and crying, you sit up still in his lap, “um, so-” You’re trying to find the right words to really showcase what happened to you tonight. “I got home and he was waiting for me, he’d drunk the rest of the bottle and started to chase me upstairs. I locked myself in the bathroom for, like, three hours, and you’d think he’d be passed the fuck out right?”

You’re starting to become loud and hysterical, your hands are now animated as you talk with them because you have so much to try to get out, but you can’t really communicate it all. Joel is just listening and watching how worked up you’re getting, his arms still latched around your body but it’s not like a possessive hold, more of a let me take care of you kind of grasp.

“Well, apparently I was wrong, because as I walk out the bathroom, I am immediately met with Nate just staring at me sitting on the bed. And I just freeze, like a fucking deer in headlights. Dumbass. If I woulda ran I wouldn’t be bruised to hell, no black eye, no hair ripped out.” You wait for a beat before you finish your story, “And I wouldn’t have been raped either.” The last part comes out in a defeated sigh, but you never shy away from his eye contact.

He’s stunned into silence, his eyes glossy, a tear breaking away from his eye and rolling onto his cheek, one that slides down and gets lost in his messy beard. You bring your hand to his lined face and wipe away the stain from the tear, and the two of you stay like that for the rest of the early morning before anyone else is awake in Jackson.

—

It’s been about six months since you ran over to the safety of Joel’s house, and for all intents and purposes, you’ve been living there since. The only times you go back to your shell of a home is when Nate is out on patrol, but you don’t even stay there, you only grab a couple necessities like clothes and toiletries. Nate really believes that you’re staying with Maria and Tommy - he has no clue that you’re only a couple of yards away from him and you’re gonna keep it that way for a little while longer.

Ellie now has come to help you at the stables alongside the three sisters, who gracefully accepted Ellie into the group, and you couldn’t be more at peace about it. Joel has been by your side whenever he can, but not in the sense of trying to keep an eye on you. It’s more for your safety and the fact that you told him that you feel safe and loved when he’s around.

You’ve finally been able to live peacefully. You haven’t had to deal with any Nate drama, no new physical or emotional pain, and you haven’t had to walk on eggshells anymore. Truly, you feel more secure than ever in the last two decades, and it’s all because of Joel.

“I think Tommy and Maria are coming over for dinner tonight,” Ellie tells you as she continues to brush her horse, Shimmer. You smile over to her, “what do you think they’re gonna make?” She takes a second to really think about her answer, she suddenly stops brushing and excitedly goes, “I think Tommy is making his famous chili. Joel had brought up to me that it was his absolute favorite meal, well, whenever Tommy cooked.”

“That sounds delicious,” you laugh as you finish the last of the hay so Jinny can grab it and put it with the others. “Oh my god you have no idea!” Andrea yells from outside the barn, you turn your body and give her a confused face. “Wait, so you’ve had it but I never have?” You question playfully putting your hand on your hip and popping it out.

The girls chuckle at your stance and they start to talk about how they had to beg Maria for him to make it, since the ingredients can be hard to come by a lot of the time. Somehow the three sisters got him to make it a couple years ago and they say he hasn’t made it since then, so they also believe that he’s making it tonight.

“Alright ladies, I’ll believe you. However, if you’re all wrong,” you take a second to think about what playful punishment to give them, a little smirk grows, “you all have to switch jobs for a week.”

The four girls all groan in unison, fine, but Ellie is quick to say, “that won’t be happening.” She winks at you and you chuckle as you shake your head. These girls have your whole heart.

—

“Let’s go, old lady! I’m starving,” Ellie drags out the last sentence as you lock up the barn for the night, the rest of the day went smoothly. “Girl, if you don’t wait a fuckin second-” you banter back while laughing. You turn around finally and you see Ellie making a snowball that she fires at you, and hits you right in the thigh.

You slowly lift your head with a sharp grin, “Oh, you’re so in for it now!” She has the biggest smile, from ear to ear, as you bend down to grab a clump of dense snow you hear her yell, “You gotta catch me first!”

You laugh, oh, just wait, because little does she know that you’re actually quick on your feet. It’s how you survived so long alone before Jackson, when you had no choice but to be quick, especially considering you never stayed in one place for too long.

After making a ball out of the cold white snow, you pick your head up and scan for Ellie. You spot her running down Main Street just past the Tipsy Bison, and you knew you could catch up to her in a second but you have another idea. There’s a shortcut to your neighborhood behind the grocery store next to the stables, so you decide to take that path and you’ll meet her just after Maria and Tommy’s house.

You take off towards the snow covered concrete path with the singular snowball in one hand and your set of keys in the other. The cold breeze hits your face with a stinging sensation, but right now you really don’t care, you’re actually having fun and there will be no consequences to you simply enjoying yourself. So you ignore the aching of your feet, the coldness of your face, and the stiffness of your knees all because you can finally do what you please.

You’re just about to Spruce St. and you see Ellie walking past the secret pathway and you smirk, perfect. You stop your moving feet and wind your arm back as you whip the ball of snow at her figure, she’s too busy looking behind her to even notice you’re only about fifteen feet away from her. The snowball hits her directly on her shoulder and she quickly turns her head in your direction, “How the fuck?”

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” You wink as you walk up to her and put your arm around her shoulder, you both start to laugh as you make your way to the beautiful navy blue house for the night.

—

“Knock, knock!” You hear Maria come in, followed by Tommy and his greeting. You’re currently upstairs finishing up your hair, just something simple to keep it out of your face. “I’ll be right down!” You yell, putting in the small golden hoops that you still have from Rosa, and you smile as you look at yourself in the full length mirror on the backside of your bedroom door. Joel told you that there was a guest bedroom that you could stay in until everything worked itself out, and he didn’t care or mind how long that took.

You stare at your reflection with awe, the light blue jeans hug your curves perfectly, and the green flannel Joel gifted you hangs open so your black T-shirt fits your upper body comfortably with a little bit of cleavage. It’s nothing crazy, but you look like yourself again. The woman you were before Nate - shit, before the apocalypse even, even the weight you had lost because of him is now coming back, and damn, you look astonishing.

As you take one more full look at yourself, and it hits you that you’re not covered in bruises or blood, a small gloss covers your eyes but you quickly wave it away. No, not tonight, it’s a good night, you repeat. Because it truly is; you’re actually happy and not playing it up for visitors. This is real, your emotions are raw and real.

“Old lady, c’mon!” Ellie yells from the bottom of the steps, and you yell back to her as you take one last look at yourself. Hell yeah, you mumble with a nod to yourself, putting your fingers on the silver handle, shaking off whatever jitters you have, and pull the door open. The sound of people talking fills your ears as you enter the hallway, closing the door behind you, the stairs are lit by the lanterns hanging on the wall.

This feels like an actual home.

As you reach the hardwood floor at the bottom of the steps you're met by Joel’s figure, about five feet away from you, stopping your feet to gaze at him. He looks beautiful, his hair is wet from the shower but combed back, and you’re taken back when you notice his shirt - it’s the same green one that he gave you.

You raise your hand to point at his chest, making you now only inches away from touching him, your other hand now on your hip, “Miller, are you trying to copy my style?”

“Darlin’, I invented this style,” he chuckles at you with such admiration in his eyes, now stepping closer, letting your hand palm his chest. Yet again, it feels like you two are the only ones in the world, the only two souls left alone just dancing around each other like flames in a fire.

The sound of Tommy clearing his throat shakes the two of you out of the trance, your hand still on Joel’s chest as you turn your head towards the kitchen and you see Tommy with a smirk on his face as he says, “Dinner’s ready.”

“Be right there!” Both you and Joel chirp at the same time, causing both of you to flip your faces back to one another and you both just start to laugh, so much that the top of your head falls into his chest and his lips lay a gentle kiss on your head.

“Ladies first,” he mumbles into your hair as he moves his hand to guide you towards the kitchen. You smile, lift your head back up to meet his gaze, and all you see is pure love. You want so badly to kiss him and feel that passion that you desperately miss, but you don’t because you still have this weird loyalty to Nate, all because you’re still married.

Some part of you won’t allow the happiness you know you’d receive and deserve from being with Joel, because even though your husband is an absolute monster, marriage still has meaning to you. Marriage isn’t just something you cheat on - your mom instilled this in you after Roy because she never wanted you to end up like her.

“Okay,” you say with a cheesy smile. You feel drunk off of him, off the smell of his sweat mixed with body wash, and his looks have you feeling butterflies erupt from your belly again. Your feet start to mindlessly walk away from him towards the sound of people having fun towards the kitchen, and he’s planted in the same spot as he eyes you up and down as you walk past Tommy, giving him a smile.

As you pass Tommy, you’re met with Maria at the stove stirring what you can only imagine is, indeed, Tommy’s famous chili. Ellie mutters it at the same time you think it, and you turn your head to see her sitting at the dining room table with a shit eating grin on her face.

“I told youuuu,” she sings to you as you walk over to sit next to her at the wooden table. You give a glance to her and she sticks her tongue out at you, which you reflect back to her with a laugh. Ellie starts to laugh with you as Maria brings the big pot to the table and sets it on top of a heat resistant mat, the strong smell of delicious chili fills your nose as Maria sets across from you.

By now, Tommy and Joel have walked in the dining room and sat down in the wooden chairs, Joel at the head of the table next to you, and Tommy sitting next to Maria across from Ellie. You couldn’t feel more at home than you do right now, this just feels like it’s meant to be, like all what you have been through is worth it since you’re here now.

“Dig in, sugar,” Joel softly says to you with a gentle smile, the warm feeling starting to grow in your belly again just from his words, and you grin as you grab the ladle and fill your bowl. “Thank you, Tommy,” you state as you take a spoonful of chili in your mouth. This has got to be the best meal you’ve had in god knows how many years.

He says a quick thank you as everyone else gets a bowl of the yummy chili, and you can’t help but feel insanely happy and relaxed at this new lifestyle you have. It truly is the most beautiful experience you’ve had in awhile, and you can’t believe that you have been actually happy.

The thought of Nate hasn’t popped in your head in weeks, and you couldn’t be anymore grateful about that.

Tags: @evyiione @southernbe @pedrosfanny @oscarissac2099

#joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #Is Leaving Even An Option #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller series #read warnings before reading #dark story

[red-riding-wood]

Hi! :) first of all, I love your blog and your writing is amazing!

I'm obsessed with peaky blinders for years now and i would love to request a fic about arthur shelby (cause he's my comfort character :') is it possible that you write a fic/imagine about him and a younger female reader (in her early 20s) that had a traumatic past and as a result resorted to unhealthy coping mechanisms (hurting herself, drinking,.etc.). Arthur and her are dating, he gets more and more protective over her cause he wants to keep her safe and as they get more intimate with each other (smut) and he notices her scars etc., he tries to make her feel more comfortable by praising her. So a mix of feelings, smut and a slight power dynamic (arthur is more dominant/caring and the reader is a little insecure). I hope that makes sense!

Also, if the topics make you uncomfortable/you don't like to write about said things, i can totally understand that you turn my request down. :)

~sending you positive vibes ! ♡

Ruined

moodboard by @shelbydelrey

Arthur Shelby x F!Reader I Peaky Blinders

Warnings: smut, mentions of self harm and scars, allusions to past sexual assault, angst, reader has body issues

WC: 2415

AN: Thank you so much for the request and the support, anon! It means so much to me and I'm SO sorry it's taken me so long to get this written. You've been in my thoughts a lot and I hope you're doing well! Actually was holding onto this one for a little while, too, because I didn't think the smut was very good, but I'll give myself a break because it's been a while since I've written anything spicy. Also, apologies for cutting it short; it was getting to be quite a long oneshot. I hope you like it!

---

“He wasn’t even looking at me, Arthur.”

“Nah, Y/N, you didn’t see him. I’ve seen enough bad men in my life to know he was up to no good,” Arthur disputed, aggressively hanging his overcoat on the rack.

You sighed, and closed the gap between the two of you; your hands went to the stubble of his cheek, and you sought his gaze with your own.

“Arthur,” you said, softer this time. “Just because I…” Your words hitched in your throat, your tongue bound from speaking of the assault as if admitting it would make it real. “… just because I’ve been hurt in the past doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again.”

Under your touch, he settled, if only slightly; it had been proven, time and time again, to tame the beast inside him. But his chest still heaved, and with a gentle finger you wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.

“Arthur,” you said again to ground him, as his gaze began to wander anywhere but your face. “I hate seeing you like this, picking fights everywhere you go.”

Sometimes you wondered if you had made him worse. Ever since you’d started dating the eldest Shelby brother, he’d found more and more excuses to punch or bludgeon whoever looked at you the wrong way. Though your touch may have soothed him, your existence only stoked the fire that burned bright in his damaged soul.

“What am I supposed to do, then, eh?” he said, exhaustion working its way past the thorns of his tone, and his forehead brushed yours, unruly locks of brown hair tickling your lashes. 

You inhaled his scent – the sharp spice of his aftershave, the sweat of his ire, the musk that was so uniquely him that you couldn’t help but feel at home each time you breathed it. Your heart fluttered in your chest, and you cocked your head at him slightly as an idea formed in your head.

“Maybe some kind of…” You drew a finger from his jaw down the bare of his chest before it disappeared beneath his shirt, and you swallowed as your heart beat faster against your ribs. “… physical therapy?”

Winter-blue eyes clouded in lust, and his Adam’s apple bobbed along his throat. Despite seeing him for a while, the two of you hadn’t gone all the way yet, but it wasn’t that you didn’t want him, or didn’t trust him. You had always been afraid that, when he saw the scars on your flesh, he would discard you for another young woman who didn’t ruin her body.

Ruined, indeed, you thought, with a bitter jolt in your chest. Your eyes lowered from his winter blues so that he wouldn’t see the self-hatred in your eyes.

“Now, don’t tempt me with that, love.” His breath fanned the hair from the side of your face as his hand slid from your shoulder down to your hip. “That somethin’ you want?”

Repressing your anxiety and your sullenness, you drew closer to him, pressing yourself against the heat of his body as you tried to formulate a verbal response.

“Hm?” His fingers tipped your chin back up to look him in his eye.

You nodded, biting your lip as your hips connected and you felt him hard beneath his trousers.

“Yes,” you breathed.      

“C’mere, then,” he growled playfully, his hands scooping your legs up. You wrapped your thighs around his waist for balance, and you chimed out a giggle as he carried you to his bedroom.

Though you knew he tried to be gentle, he practically threw you down on the bed, but you didn’t mind. A puff of air escaped your lungs and you sank into the mattress, your head spinning and heat pooling between your legs. Your pointed toe ran down his waist, not wanting to part from him even for the seconds it took for him to shed his shirt. You tried to prop yourself on your elbows to get a better look, biting your lip. A grin stretched apart his lips as he looked down at you, undoing his belt. And he said, with that gravel in his tone that you’d come to adore,

“Going somewhere, love?”     

You shook your head, but you managed to sit up, your breaths cast across his navel as you looked up at him from bright, playful eyes. “Not without you.”

Your fingers ghosted over his, knuckles rough against the softness of your palms. They stilled, and you pried them from his belt, your index slipping between the hem of his trousers and the heat of his flesh, your heart skipping a beat when you felt the coarseness of his hair.

Arthur’s breath hitched in his chest as you rose, on your knees, to place kisses along the ridge of his collarbone, tasting his sweat on the tongue you dragged down his clavicle to the center of his chest. An animalistic groan rumbled beneath your lips as you cast his belt aside and tugged the buttons from his trousers.

“Seems I’m not the only eager one,” he rasped as his fingers wove through your hair, seeming to light a trail of fire from the nape of your neck to your scalp and sending a shudder through every nerve of your body. For a brief moment, you stiffened, the sensation of his fingers tightening around your hair familiar to you in a way that had once been most vile but, in this moment, you were most ashamed to find thrilling. You reminded yourself that he wasn’t pulling as hard, and that at any moment if you asked him to stop he would. You reminded yourself that this time it was Arthur. And it was okay for it to feel good.

Heat suffused your cheeks at his words, and you cast a small moan just above the hem of his trousers, having worked your way down in loving kisses. His hand loosed from your hair, and his other came around to tilt your chin back up to look at him, hair flopping in front of those lustful eyes and the light of the chandelier framing his head in a halo, like he was some kind of fallen angel.

“As I much as I want you to continue…” he said, voice coming out ragged. “… I want to see what we’re dealing with.” His fingers ran along the outline of your breasts beneath your shirt, another shiver passing through you as his thumb brushed a pert nipple.

“I want to see you, love,” he said, thumb dragging down to the lip of your breast, your heart rate increasing the further he explored. You wanted to sit still, and be a good girl for him, but the pounding in your ears and the clamminess of your palms just wouldn’t subside.

You shuddered this time out of fear, that jolted through your veins, intense and cold and criminally contrast to the heat that inundated every other fibre of your being. But you hid it well. How could he had known he’d just traced over a scar you’d never shown him?

Your stomach twisted as you wondered what he would think when he saw them… all of them. And while you wanted nothing more than to be laid bare before the man who owned your heart and your soul and who deserved your body, and you wanted to give him it, you also couldn’t help but wonder, what if he thought you were ugly? What if he thought you were ruined?

And in that moment you scorned yourself for ever laying a blade to your thighs, or your stomach. You hated yourself for ruining something you could never have back, something that would’ve been beautiful had you not squandered it, time and time again.

“Arthur.” Your lip trembled, and your hands were shaking as they left the hem of his trousers. You panted out your breaths, your head even lighter than it had been before. And on your lips you could taste the words you yearned to say, to tell him why you ached so badly to do this but feared so cruelly unveiling a gruesome body that he did not deserve.

But all that came out was, “I’m scared.”

Something in his eyes softened at that, and any trace of his grin vanished as his weight sank into the mattress beside you. His hands were on you, but not in a frightening way; one ran across your trembling back and the other rested reassuringly on your thigh. You felt yourself leaning into his touch, as if it would vanquish any trace of fear or doubt that made your body tremble with such pitifulness. As if it would cleanse your impurities and make you whole again.

Arthur’s words seemed to catch on his tongue, and a flicker of his own uncertainty darted through those winter blues. “You’re not… scared of me, are you?”

“No, Arthur.” You cupped his cheek in your hand now, forcing his gaze to yours, even if yours was brimming with unshed tears. “I want you. And I trust you. I just…”

I’m ruined.

The words froze before they could even reach the back of your tongue, instead strangling your throat, your eyes bugging wide as you swallowed against them. All the while, Arthur’s gaze dragged solicitously across your face, and this time, he was the one to press his forehead to yours, his fingers tangling gently in your hair and rubbing soothingly along your back.

“Y/N,” he said, his heavy breath tangling with your short, frenzied ones. “So long as you ain’t scared of me, you don’t have to be scared of anything. I’m going to take care of you.” His lips dragged to your neck, placing a gentle yet firm kiss along your clavicle. “You don’t have to worry about a thing, love. Just let me take care of you.”

A soft moan stirred from your lips as you felt the heat of his lips on your neck, and your heart pounded in your core. Physically, you had never felt so conflicted, but his words, they were all you needed to hear. You trusted him, and that was what was important. Whether or not you deserved to be taken care of, that was a whole other demon, but Arthur Shelby had a way of making you want to submit to his every whim, to let him do with you as he pleased. This was how you would take care of him.

“Is that a ‘yes’?” he said.

You licked your lips, and said, “Yes.”

“Good girl.”

His hands lowered you to the bed, his stronger, sinewy frame looming over you and making your heart pound wilder in your chest. You licked your lips again, mouth dry, and swallowed back your fear as you felt his fingers begin to undo your blouse, revealing more of you until you were certain he could see what you had so desperately tried to hide. But his kisses were trailing between your breasts, and you helped shrug the garment off as he was absorbed in his work. Had your heart not been beating so fast and had your stomach not been turning so much in fear of what he would soon discover, you would’ve enjoyed the attention a lot more.

And there it was. He hesitated, the bristle of his moustache lifting from your skin and a hot breath exhaling across the scar, still fresh, still burning from the other night.

Your heart practically stopped.

“Y/N…” he breathed, the stubble of his chin brushing your skin to indicate that those blue eyes were on you. You peered back at him reluctantly, expecting horror in those eyes.

And they were filled with adoration.

“Is this what you were scared about, love?” he murmured against your stomach.

“Yes.” Your breath came shattered from your chest, still not quite able to believe your eyes.

For a moment longer, he held your gaze, with a pity you weren’t sure you wanted, but a love that eased your frenzied heart. And then, saying nothing, his lips brushed the scar ever-so-gently, as if to pay it reverence, and though the wound stung, you didn’t care in the slightest.

He still wanted you.

Once he had spent time on the first scar, he let his lips trail all across your stomach, with a surprising tenderness, his fingers gripping your hips tightly but in such a way that felt as if you were safe within his touch. He laid kisses across older scars, that had been slashed across your stomach, and as his lips grazed the lowest, you rocked your hips against the bulge in his trousers, drawing a moan from him and casting it hot against your belly.

“Don’t stop,” you murmured. “Please don’t stop.”

“Y/N, you’re fucking perfect. Have I ever told you that?”

“No,” you laughed, a tear pricking your eye but your anxiety and your tension all dissipating in wake of the sensations that the heat of his lips and the firmness of his hands and the tickle of his moustache sent racing along your skin.

“Well, you’re fucking perfect,” he said, as he pulled your skirt from your waist, and you helped kick it off, your legs instinctively crossing over to shield the scars along your thighs.

He seemed to notice this, and cast you a reassuring look before prying your knees open with strong fingers, and saying, “I’m going to have my way with every bit of you, love. Gonna kiss you everywhere because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had in my bed.”

Your head rolled back into the sheets as he began kissing and running his hands along your inner thighs. Chapped only slightly, his lips were hot as hellfire but soft as heaven as they explored each scar in a way you never had. In a way that was loving rather than shameful.

“Arthur,” you moaned, bucking your hips impatiently as his lips fell in the crook of your thigh.

“What’s the matter, love?” he asked, coming up between your legs and cupping your cheek in his hand.

A streak of a playful grin pulled at your lips, and you whispered, “Fuck me.”

That devilish grin that you knew so well plastered itself across a handsome face, and as you felt him shift his trousers down, he murmured into your ear,

“Told you wouldn’t have to worry, love. Because if that wasn’t the plan for even a goddamn second…”

---

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed to any of my taglists and notified of new works!

TAGLIST: @eclecticwildflowers @emotionalcadaver @evita-shelby @minaethrym @shelbydelrey @zablife @midnightswithdearkatytspb @poisonedtruth

#arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby smut #peaky blinders imagines #arthur shelby imagines #angst #peaky blinders #paul anderson #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #fanfiction #writing #my writing #fanfic #oneshot #requests #x reader #dark #dark story #asks

[xarrixii]

"Cinder" Masterlist ⸺ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━

a story following the lives of pyrokinetics Harlow Collins (Urban) and Alph Roy (Raiden) set in a modern "scientific" fantasy where people possess kinetic powers. they're recruited into the under-the-law organization known as "Cinder," sent out fighting for their lives, and follow each other to the ends of the world (and kinetic sciences) in search of making a better one

it's mildly, if you squint queer, covers issues even i am afraid to write about, and is currently the second love of my life.

spoiler: shit hits the fan.

ARC ONE ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ▼

01— Arcade Lights 02— Debt 03— Acquisition 04— Withdrawal 05— Going Home 06— Acid Rain 07— A Brief Reprieve 08— Dawn 09— Crack 10— Rerouting 11— Good Guy 12— Pyrokinetic Rehabilitation 13— Pancakes 14— Met You Again 15— Stitched 16— Awaken 17— Double K.O. 18— Life + Lemons 19— Trust Fall 20— Law of Electricity 21— Gravel 22— Anything and Everything

ARC TWO ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ▼

23— Conscious 24— Jackstalk 25— Ten Minutes 26— Home 27— Room of Liars 28— Benches 29— Strike 30— Lemonade 31— Insiders 32— Pickup 33— Raiden' 34— In the Nowhere 35— Flash Fire 36— The Setup 37— The Gray Area

#masterlist #fiction #original story #science fantasy #original character #magic #fantasy #dystopian #sci fi #science fiction #story #stories #storytelling #creative writing #creative inspiration #writing #writeblr #writing on tumblr #writers #reading #literature #spilled ink #spilled writing #angst #dark story #lgbtq #lgbtq literature #original characters #wow you made it to the end of the tags #goood on you lad

[supernaturalcharlie11]

Am I the only one who thinks that the bishop did not kill someone with that clove tea, but either helped some woman to get rid of an unwanted pregnancy or used it to cause a miscarriage to prevent the birth of an heir in one of the kingdoms?

Or perhaps to make sure no one knows who the father was since the child‘s looks are a dead giveaway in this realm? Perhaps the woman was even raped?

#maybe this is too dark #but it would be an awesome twist #would explain why this is his secret #The bulbian church sure wouldn‘t allow something like that #my imagination is just running wild now #dimension 20 #the ravening war #brennan lee mulligan #bishop raphaniel charlock #clove #clove tea #dark #dark story #dark story idea #d20 trw #matt mercer

[pretentiousgayguyidk]

I know I've been gone forever, but it wasn't all for naught! As i have started making progress on a big ass project. Point is I've started writing a fanfic for the ENTIRE Walking Dead show. Yes, it is a Daryl x Male Reader. Yes you might cry, as I will go through as much for the show in fan fic form as I can. So far i have solid ideas all the way up to the start of season four!

That being said please keep in mind that The Walking Dead is a violent and gory show, my writing will reflect the story as exact as I can with an additional character. There will be graphic content, so if you are triggered by mention of death, suicide, gore, assault, abuse, drugs, and more. PLEASE DO NOT READ. I don't want anyone to be harmed by my works.

City of the Dead

Prologue

----------------------------------------------------------

“Vera-shka, I need a screwdriver.” The young man called out, wiping sweat from his brow as his younger sister aided him. She scoffed, aggressively handing over the tool making him wince in pain as it pressed against his growing blisters. He had been working on his father’s old Apache for almost six hours now, his hands were aching, and his mind was tired. He sighed, carefully replacing yet another piece of the heli’s dash.

“You know, as much as Papa loves his Pititsa he really let it go.” Vera grumbled, leaning against the Apache’s hull. Her older brother grunted in agreement, screwing in the last piece of  the helicopter’s new gauges.

“Da, Papa’s too busy drinking to be bothered with his favorite child. Why do you think he practically raised us on this bird?” He laughed with no feeling, he couldn’t even muster the energy anymore. With yet another sigh he climbs out of the helicopter, carefully cleaning oil and grease off his hands with his rag. “Vera-shka, you should probably get back, he’ll raise hell if dinner isn’t fixed by the time he’s home.” She crossed her arms, raising a brow and pursing her lips sassily.

“Seriously? Do I really have to? I mean what's the point! You know I suck at cooking, he’ll be pissed no matter what! You do it, you’re the golden child. Suka.” she raged, waving her hands around rabidly. He sighed, nodding with a weak smile.

“Okay. You win Vera. I’ll do all the work, not like I’ve been covering your ass since birth.” He muttered, turning for the house. He knows he shouldn’t be hard on Vera, she was only fourteen. She shouldn’t be at home fixing dinner and helicopters. He stopped for a moment, sucking in a deep breath before turning around. “I’ll only cook if you-”

His heart hammered in his ears. His body running cold with goosebumps as a string seemed to snap inside him. A man with pale skin and stringy hair had grabbed Vera - pulling on her ponytail - his teeth digging into her arm as she tried to pull him off. He stood frozen in fear and shock for a moment as the man ripped apart her arm, making it go limp… exposing her neck.

(Name) grabbed the nearest tool, a wrench. He gripped it tightly, tight enough to pop some of the blisters. He raised the wrench, ignoring the liquid coating his hand and the wrench as he swung at the being. “Слезь с нееб, сука!” He screamed ferally, his eyes wide with rage as the sickening crunch of the man’s skull filled his ears. The man fell to the ground, part of his skull caved in. The older tossed his tool aside, rushing over and cradling his limp sister in his arms. She gurgled, blood gushing from her neck and spilling from her mouth as she choked. He stifled a sob, gently hugging her.

“Мне жаль! я так виноват…” He wailed. She silently cried, only able to respond with soft gurgling and sighing. He pressed his forehead against hers, gently cradling her wound. He fumbled for a bit, his mind going blank as he reached for his phone. The blood caking his fingers made it difficult to hold onto. He swallowed hard as he called 911.  The phone picked up after a few seconds, the woman on the line sounded fearful as she asked “911 what's your emergency?” He blubbered for a bit, mumbling in Russian manically. The woman on the line started to speak, only for her sentence to be cut off by a scream, and the steady beeping of the call ending. Was the line cut?

 She choked and gasped one last time before falling limp and cold in his arms. He trembled, pulling away slightly to look at her face. Slowly shaking his head, he shakes her a little. It wasn’t the first time he lost someone, and it wasn’t the first time someone died in front of him. All the same, seeing someone so much younger than you die, die so brutally in your arms. 

He cried out, coughing and choking as he dropped her body to the ground. He stumbled backwards, his stomach catching in a knot as bile was expelled. “No no no…” he whimpered, his (light/dark) hair falling into his face. His body pulsed with strain as more acid spilled from his mouth and nose. The burning sensation in his throat and sinuses made him cry harder as he clutched at his hoodie, smearing blood all over the fabric. He gripped at his hair and pressed his face to the ground, hyperventilating as he pulled. Small clumps of dead hair fell onto the ground before him. Gagging again he slowly sat up, wiping his face roughly. He sniffed hard, pressing his palms into his eyes - trying to stop the flow of tears.

Soft groaning was covered by the young man’s sobs, he didn’t notice the growling and moaning behind him. He didn’t notice the footsteps, and he didn’t notice that his sister was reanimated. 

He yelped in fear at the feeling of delicate, cold, and clammy hands against his scalp. He threw himself forward, ignoring that he just fell into a puddle of vomit as he turned around. Slowly he shook his head, his head pulsing with pains in sync with his heart. Hard fast thumping, pumping adrenaline and fear through his body.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His sister stood before him, groaning softly with pale red-yellow eyes. Her fingers twitched erratically, and he could see drops of drool running down her chin. He was almost fool enough to speak up before realizing, realizing that his beloved Vera-shka - the little sister he raised since she was a baby - was dead. He let out a breathy whine, shaking his head as she lunged forward. He kicked out, holding her up with his legs as he held onto her hands. 

“Vera! Vera, stop!” He wailed. Her only response to his begging was more growling and hissing, mindlessly snapping her jaws at him. He let out a shaky breath, kicking her to the side with great force, he panted, struggling to crawl away and towards the tool box. The tool box had been knocked over during the first fight, spilling the tools just out of his reach from his current position. He gasped, feeling Vera grab at his ankles. He flips onto his back, watching as Vera bit at his boots savagely. He hesitated for only a second before kicking her, she didn’t budge. “Please, Vera-shka please.” He begged weakly, fumbling behind him for a tool. He kicked her again, throwing her from his feet and breaking her nose in the process.

She growled loudly, standing with a wobble. That's not Vera. Vera is dead. He thought harshly, watching her dead eyes for tears yet none came. She was always a cry baby when it came to pain, she would have passed out on the floor in tears if it was actually her. The thought cleared his mind and his vision blurred as he grabbed a tool from the ground. A pipe wrench, he could only tell by the wight and the weapons red color. Weapon. That's right, it’s his weapon. He grunted with effort, raising the tool - feeling the weight press into his shoulders and arms. It was heavy, heavier than it should have been. He grunted with great effort, his chest tightening painfully as the weight caved in Vera’s skull. 

He dropped the tool, breathing hard. He swayed a little with each step, stepping around the body and stumbling back to the house. He wheezed, coughing hard as he stepped into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and quickly threw off his clothes, throwing them across the small room with great anger. Slowly, he turned to his reflection, watching as splattered blood dripped down his chin. He pressed his forehead to the glass, trying to even out his breathing as the room filled with warm mist.

Squeezing his eyes shut didn't help, the image of his undead sister seared his mind's eye like a hot iron. He let out a loud wail, smashing his face into the mirror as hard as he could. The glass shattered, slicing across his forehead to his left eyebrow in one jagged gash. He fell back, holding his face as he whined in pain, immediately regretting acting on his intrusive thoughts. 

Scoffing at himself he hobbles his way into the shower, laying back in the tub and letting the burning water pelt his body. He looked up at the ceiling weakly, one eye slightly closed - his vision blurred red. He let out a shaky sigh, running his hands through his (h/c) hair; slicking it back with the water. How was he supposed to explain to his Mama that Vera was dead? How was he supposed to tell his Papa that he had to kill some crazy person? How would he hide it? Could he even hide it? 

“I’ve done it before… no, that was different. This is my sister, not some fucking rat.” He muttered to himself, his throat tightening as fear and dread wrapped around him like chains to hell. How was he supposed to fix this?

An hour later, the water had run cold and he had finally mustered the energy to clean off his skin and hair, wincing as the soap got into his blisters and cut. He lazily turned off the water, watching as the reddened water drained. With a huff he slowly climbs out and opens the cabinet, grabbing some gauze, gauze pads, and butterfly stitches. He carefully placed the butterfly stitches along the cut, pulling it together slightly before placing some of the gauze padding. He carefully wrapped the injury, making sure it's nice and tight before tucking the loose end. He took any excess gauze and wrapped his blistered hands, probably best to keep blood and dirt out of the injury.

“I hope this is some fucked dream…” He whispered to himself, wrapping a fluffy towel around himself as he awkwardly waddled out of the bathroom and to his room. Based on the silence, his Mama and Papa weren’t home. Maybe he would have time to bury Vera.

With that idea in mind he was quick to get dressed, wincing as he pulled on his clean shirt and pants, the fabric rubbing against his bandaged hands. He was sore, nauseous, and exhausted; but all the same something inside him told him, he has to bury her. She was his little sister, a literal baby only 14 years ago. He could remember vividly taking care of her when he had just turned eleven and she had come home. It’s only right to bury her. There's no way to contact the police with the line cut.

He grabbed a pair of gloves and carefully fitted them over his bandages, then ran to the garage to grab a shovel - but not before grabbing his pocket knife to be safe.

The shovel rang out a metallic noise as he dragged it behind him, making his way to the heli and his sister’s body. His other hand was occupied with the knife, flipped open and ready to use. He was half expecting those things to be up and moving, he’s seen dead people walk, and at this point he doesn’t even know if that's what he saw. 

Once close enough to his sister’s body he was hit with a foul sour odor. The stench of death hung around the heli like a thick fog, he gagged a little, covering his face as he inched closer. Once closer he took a good look at the ‘man’. He was definitely dead, hell he was definitely dead before (Name) got to him. The young man shook his head a little, his eyes burning slightly - whether it was from the smell of rotting flesh or his sister’s death he didn’t know. 

“This shit can’t be real.” He muttered, walking a little farther than the heli. He sighed, trying to ignore the smell as he put away his knife and gripped the shovel. As he plunged the tool into the dirt the weight of what went down today rested against his consciousness. His sister was dead. Silent tears burned his eyes as he continued digging, tossing the dirt to the side.

#male reader #the walking dead self insert #the walking dead #male self insert #self insert #slow start #zombies #twd x reader #male reader only #dark story #content warning #warning ⚠️ #gay #gay love #mlm only #daryl x male reader