Tom Holland

𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: A betrayal causes both you and Joel to fight for your life.

Word Count: 5.1K!

CW: In order: Horror themes. Bodies. Gory imagery, fighting infected. Wearing Joel’s clothes. Fluffiest, softest, sappiest, most tooth rotting smut. Orgasm denial. Fingering. I have been a fan of the game for YEARS, given it is the first episode of TLOU TV I am basing most of Joel’s character off game Joel. Gif credit unknown.

Tease: “… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers.

The static firework-like display of spores ejecting from the corpse slumped against the opposite wall had captured your attention despite the delicate situation you found yourself in. The tendrils of fungus creep up the walls, painting them with streaks of muted peaches and reds, not unlike human flesh. It bursts from the fruiting body as violently as a bomb going off. You suppose that’s what it is, a bomb detonating slowly, killing those that breathe in the cordyceps spores.

Your gas mask sits tight on your face, digging into the skin of your nose to effectively create an airtight seal to prevent the malignant disease from entering your lungs and turning you from the inside out. Even through the dirtied visor of your mask, you can see that the corpse has fused to the ground and wall it was once sat up against, calcifying to the brick and plaster. It’s reaching its final stages of the infection: complete takeover, encroaching upon any space it can find. You didn’t doubt that in 6 months it would fill the whole room.

Despite the crawling sensation that itches across your skin at the idea of fungus creeping from your body in the cover of darkness, you couldn’t deny the morbid beauty of the scene before you. It oddly reminds you of different breeds of coral, like the kind that clings to the Great Barrier Reef. There are tan-coloured, fan-like protrusions, long strands of crimson and tubal fungi that bust directly from the chest of the deceased. Silvery dust spores glisten under the beam of your flashlight, giving the abandoned house you had entered an almost glittery effect.

“Oi. C’mon.” Your smuggling partner's Texan typically cold baritone cuts through the uneasy hush in the room. “We stand in this shithole any longer and we’ll be ambushed.”

Peering up from the putrefied body, you find Joel Miller gazing back at you, jerking his head to the door in a silent order to urge you out of the rotten room. Stepping away from the body, you walk towards the exit.

“How much longer?” You ask, studying his weary expression. The two of you had been travelling for hours, on red alert for infected or human danger alike. Outside of the quarantine zone was a death trap, and Joel always insisted you both never get too comfortable. Always be cautious.

“Half an hour tops,” Joel rumbles, holding the door open as you step through. His hands smear it with blood as you walk by, the ghost of his fingerprints leaving ribbons of crimson against the surface.

The blood had belonged to a medicine dealer called Cain. Joel had been working for him, the two of you smuggling the precious supplies into the quarantine zones in return for ration cards and weapons. You and Joel must have made ten, hell, fifteen runs for this crooked fuck, only for Cain to send the two of you on a dodgy mission. You’d both been jumped by the middlemen who were meant to hand off the medicine- when under duress, they admitted to ‘just following orders’.

It hadn’t taken you both long to find Cain and took even less time to dispatch him. Joel had taken his time and, as always, you turned your back on the shrieks of agony as Joel delivered justice. Though he had been particularly brutal this time around, the crunching of bones and cartilage was loud enough to be heard over the dying screams.

Said cries of pain and the extended period of torture had drawn the attention of several Runners and Clickers. They’d overrun the smuggling tunnels somehow, obstructing your return to the quarantine zone and safety. It had been the fight of your life, and the two of you were damn near out of ammunition and energy to battle the waves of infected.

“You okay?” You croak, almost afraid to speak into the silence between the two of you as you stumble through the darkness, navigating using only the dying light of Joel’s torch. A small reprieve from the onslaught of runners.

“Yeah,” he grunts, his eyes drifting over in your direction. “Wanna get home. Think I hurt my ankle back there, fighting the clicker.” If it hurts enough to admit it, it must be bad. Yet Joel maintains a strong pace, refusing to allow the pain to slow him down. He was stubborn like that, the two of you always arguing about his thick-headed disposition.

You nod in silence, eyes on the floor and focusing on not tripping over loose bricks despite running this smuggling tunnel with Joel for years. It was probably so familiar that you could walk it blindfolded. The walls of this small passage had seen the slow and subtle changes in the dynamics of your relationship.

It had seen the beginnings of your partnership and witnessed you constantly vying for Joel’s approval to extend the coalition you had fought so hard to convince him for. The cracks in the walls had observed the slow-growing kinship between the two of you, jokes told and three-sentence conversations shared. The shards of glass swept into the corners of the floor had heard the difficulty you both had continuing those discussions after you had stupidly gotten drunk on this old whiskey Joel had found, kissing him in the early hours of the morning when he finally carried you to bed.

That was a few weeks ago, and he still hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. Like a child unable to look into his mother's eyes when telling a lie.

Grabbing ahold of the cold handle of the metal door ahead of you, you force it down to open it. The door jams on the opposite side, not moving despite putting all of your weight behind it to the point the edges of the handgrip leave a rectangular imprint in your palm.

“Joel?” You call him, “Gonna need you to open this.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he responds, the same way he always has. He steps forward, the soles of his boots scuffing the floor as he approaches.

Joel shifts his shoulder against the flat of the door, hooking the handle downwards with his calloused, bloody palm and uses his strength to push against the blockage. The hinges of the door strain under the pressure, squealing in the silence as Joel grits his teeth.

He grunts loudly, heaving the door so the obstruction falls away from the entrance, clattering to the floor with a racket that ricochets off the wall. It echoes all the way down the corridor. You freeze, the deafening sound causing the hair on your forearms to stand on end.

The chill on your skin only intensifies with the blood-curdling groans that sound from the blackness.

“Fuck-“ you stammer, Joel’s hand quick to settle between your shoulder blades to push you forward through the open door. Adrenaline courses through you like a live wire, singeing your extremities and curdling your stomach as Joel forces his way through the door and pulls the pipe from his backpack.

Amongst the panic, you still manage to note that a metal storage unit that had once been set against the wall had been tipped on its side, forcing the door shut. Joel had used it just this morning to grab ammo before heading out for the medicine drop. Someone had forced it over- didn’t take a genius to figure out who.

“Gonna have to run,” Joel pushes you forward, causing your feet to stumble as you desperately grasp for your rudimentary shiv. It slices your fingers open as you grab for it in the darkness, terror pushing your body forward in a sprint. You can hear the thudding of Joel’s boots just behind you, and the screams and wails of the infected as you chase you down the tight corridors.

It feels as though seconds and hours pass simultaneously, your lungs burning as you suck in gasps of air through your gas mask. Your muscles are seizing, cramping up and your fingers sting with the cuts that you sustained from your blade. Over the all-encompassing sound of shrieking from the creatures and your sharp, shakey inhale, you can hear Joel urging you forwards. “Go Go Go! You got it darlin’ keep goi-“

It hits you like a runaway freight train at top speed. Thundering into you, a Clicker knocks you from your feet with an utterly horrifying scream. Pain shoots up your ribcage as you slam into the uneven floor, a discarded glass bottle shattering beneath your body and cutting into you. You’re scrabbling with the beast, its nails digging into your flesh as you stab blindly at its shoulder, your other palm on its sternum to hold it away from your throat while you scream for Joel.

“Joel, fuck!” You sob in fear, the clickers jaws gnashing at your exposed jugular, growling and snapping. In the pitch blackness, you can smell the damp, mouldy scent weeping from the fungus on its skin, the metallic, bloody twang of human meat on its tongue that wafts over your face as it heaves its breath onto you.

Your biceps scream under the strain of its weight as you feel the fungal growths on its face lightly brush at your throat as the creature goes in for the kill. Just as you feel its teeth skim your flesh, a sickening crunch sounds, and a hot splatter of viscous blood drenches your face as Joel removes the blade of the shiv he had plunged into its skull.

“Fuck, y’alright?” His gruff voice shouts over the din the approaching runners make from down the hall. He doesn’t really give you the chance to answer him, grabbing ahold of your hand and wrenching you out from underneath the limp body of the Clicker before pulling you along in a sprint.

You sob with relief as you both turn the corner to the exit. Joel wastes no time, running ahead to force the door open so it’s ready when you approach. It swings open so easily as if it senses your desperation, and you launch yourself into the safety of the building that serves as an entrance to the tunnel. Joel isn’t far behind, slamming the door shut on the hoard and bolting it shut with a thick wooden plank that you’d both been using as a stopper.

The room swims, the image of the door swirling in your vision as you lean your back against the wall, taking deep, heaving breaths in what both was an attempt to feed oxygen back to your lungs and also to alert your body to the fact you were alive.

You barely have a moment to thank God when Joel is on you in an instant.

“Good Christ,” he heaves his gas mask off his face, blood-soaked palms taking ahold of your chin as his deep, earthy irises flit over you, searching for damage with a panicked expression. You note it’s the longest he’s looked at you in weeks. “Sure you’re okay? Jesus fuck, I thought-“

He’s twisting your head from side to side, checking your throat for bites. The infected are pounding on the secured metal door, but the noise is drowned out, faded as you watch Joel tend to you. You like him this close, you can see the freckles under his eyes. You’re not sure whether it’s the adrenaline of survival or if there was a crack in your mask and the spores had driven you crazy, but you are almost certain that Andromeda lies somewhere within the constellation of the minute spots of melanin.

“Joel,” you whisper, breathless for a whole other reason than the fact you just fought for your life, “Joel, I’m okay.”

You watch your partner hesitate for a moment, checking over you one last time before setting his lips in a firm line, his panicked eyes growing protective in an instant. “Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that again. Y’hear?”

Cross-legged in Joel’s bathtub, hours after escaping the tunnels, you use rainwater and a sponge to scrub the Clicker blood from your skin. Even now, years after the outbreak, you found yourself silently pining to the walls in the bathroom for hot, running water. They were no genie, and never responded to your wishes, but your wordless complaints often made you feel better as you scrubbed cold water over your body.

The droplets are tinted maroon as they run down your legs, seeping down the drain beneath you as you meticulously work each disgusting patch of blood from your skin. Despite telling Joel that the Clicker hadn’t bitten you, it still came as a palpable relief to scrub away the grime and not see a single mark in the crescent shape of teeth anywhere.

You did, however, have some brutal cuts across your ribs from falling into the glass bottle in the tunnel. They’re like lightning slashes, open and sore as you run a fresh washcloth over the wounds. At the very least, they were superficial and didn’t need stitches. The last thing you needed was to be burdensome right now.

Stepping out of the bath, you wrap yourself in a towel, scrubbing at your face with your sore hands. At least the slices on your fingers from your blade had stopped weeping blood. You’re sore, and mildly damaged, but otherwise alive. Alive. The proof is in the reflection that stares back at you when you glance in the bathroom mirror. Though- you certainly look as though you had just stared death in the face.

You open the door of the bathroom slowly, tentatively stepping into Joel’s bedroom. He’s sitting on the bed, slowly easing his boot from his sore ankle with a hiss of complaint. It does look painful, swelling until the definition in the bone was encroached upon by inflammation, and you have no doubt it’s been throbbing with pain inside his boot the entire journey back home.

“I think you’ll need to take a break for a while,” you gently urge Joel from your place in the doorway, who nods simply in return. Yes, he was stubborn, sometimes downright pigheaded, but he would never be stupid enough to go outside hindered by an injury. There were more than enough ration cards to tide you both over until Joel was fit enough to do another run safely.

“You can- uh, grab some’a my clothes from my closet, if you need,” he rumbles, moving to untie the boot on his other foot and avoiding your gaze. “Don’t want you to have’ta put your clothes back on. They’re covered in clicker brains.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper, despite the shiver of disgust that runs down your spine. Slowly padding your bare feet across his wooden floor, you approach his closet. All of the shirts and flannels he owns are thread-bare, soft to the touch from wear. You grasp at a grey and black flannel, dropping the towel to the floor as you pull the comfortable clothing over your head.

Joel is silent, his back turned to you as you dress. Perhaps it’s from years of knowing him, or it’s seeing how tight the muscles of his back are through the fabric of his shirt, but you know something is amiss. The discontent rolls off him in waves.

Wordlessly, you climb onto the mattress, approaching Joel from behind. He seems to tense up further, even if momentarily before his muscles ease again. You stay seated firmly behind him, just outside of his peripheral vision as you attempt to breach the topic of conversation in a way that the stubborn mule of a man won’t shut down.

“Is it the pain?” You ask delicately, voice soft as a feather as you watch him feel his swollen ankle with the tips of his fingers.

“No. No, it ain’t, I just-“ he exhales sharply, as though he’s urging the words from his mouth, expelling them from his lungs. “No I just really thought that I’d lost you for a minute there, ‘n’ I just…” He trails off, leaving the unspoken words to admit what he couldn’t.

That he couldn’t bear to lose you.

You nod slowly, despite knowing he can’t see you, as the realisation sets in. He cares about you more than he shows, more than he lets on.

Softly, you lay your palm against his back, between his shoulder blades. In the low light of the bedroom, Joel’s silver hairs gleam as he turns his head around to look at you. You feel his nerves before you see them, feel the shaky exhale he lets out against your hand.

“I’m still here,” you whisper to him, capturing his gaze as you attempt to bring him down from the fear that must have seized him. You drag your palm down his back slowly, and in turn, he leans his body towards you at an achingly slow pace. Your stomach is doing somersaults thanks to the way he gazes at you, watching the nervous trail of your tongue over your lower lip.

“I know,” he answers back, his gruff voice so much softer sounding in this fragile moment. He inches towards you, and you can see the fine creases in the edges of his eyes, the constellations of his freckles even in the limited lighting. “I know I just-… Wanna feel it.”

It’s almost as though there’s a static moment, fizzling in the air as the tip of his nose brushes yours. He parts his lips softly, ghosting them over your own in a touch CW that’s barely there but sets your blood ablaze. His breath, exhaled through his nose, tickles your red-hot cheeks and you grip onto his t-shirt until your knuckles turn white. You wait for the plunge, for the powder keg of your heart lodged between your ribs to burst with his kiss.

Cautiously, Joel touches his lips to yours in a kiss that sparks up your spine. His lips are slightly chapped, his moustache and beard scraping gently against your skin as you lean into the kiss, letting out a soft moan of relief.

Your fingertips are tingling as you brush them up Joel’s neck, cupping his face to hold him there. He’s so gentle with you, like he’s afraid you’ll turn to dust in his hands. Joel has lived the past 20 years surviving, trying so desperately to stay alive. You’re not sure what that meant for him- the horrid things he had to do- but in this moment he’s so delicate with you, his knuckles brushing across your jaw as if those same fingers hadn’t squeezed triggers for two decades.

Working your own fingers into his curls, you feel the vibrations of Joel’s moans against your lips. It isn’t overtly sexual, it’s as though it’s a sound of comfort- of appreciation for being shown some tenderness. He responds to your touches by tracing his tongue over your lower lip, deepening the kiss and pulling you closer.

“Joel,” you whisper against his open mouth. He’s panting softly, hands moving to your hips to hold you in place like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Joel, lay back.”

“… Yes Ma’am,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile spreading against your lips. You find yourself relieved he didn’t argue, finding this nerve-wracking enough. It’s as though the two of you are inexperienced teenagers, fumbling with each other and fighting the butterflies in your guts. As brutal as the world you both fought to survive in was, there’s an innocence settling between you, nervous laughs shared as Joel lays back slowly against the pillows.

He gazes back at you as the crown of his head settles, holding his breath as he awaits your next move. Swallowing thickly, you watch Joel’s hand slowly reach for your knee. He swirls his thumb in uneven circles over your patella, gently coaxing you out of your shell. “You good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” You whisper breathlessly, the soft and innocent touch leaving tingles in its wake. “Yeah ‘m fine.”

Joel, the hardened bastard that he is, doesn’t give much away. However, you see the edge of his lips lilt upwards at your less-than-convincing answer sliding his palm up the bare skin of your thighs. His hands are warm, calloused from hauling ass across the country and slicing open Clicker throats to protect you.

Swallowing thickly, you loop your thigh over his hip to straddle his waist. He watches you, his dark lashes dipping low as he witnesses you seat yourself across his abdomen. As you sit, the leather of Joel’s belt bites into the soft skin of your flesh.

“… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers. It’s less of a question than it is a statement, those dark, mahogany eyes gazing up at you with a knowing expression. It’s intimidating, and you find yourself unable to answer with anything other than a slow shake of your head.

Joel responds with a low chuckle, tutting slightly as he brushes his palms further up your legs. They disappear under the worn fabric of his flannel, settling against your hip bones as his fingertips brush the curve of your bare ass.

Ever the gentleman, Joel stills his movements there and awaits your next orders, his eyelids heavy. You let a shaky breath escape your lips despite trying so hard to appear cool and collected, and you can practically feel the amusement emanating from the man beneath you.

Taking control, you trace the hem of Joel’s shirt and ease your fingers beneath it. Again, he’s warm to the touch, a human bonfire. It reminds you of the same level of comfort, the heat of the flames licking the skin of your cheeks in the cold autumnal air and providing relief from the numbing chill.

You don’t rush this, dragging the shirt from his body achingly slowly. Scars litter Joel’s skin, silver against the melanin. Sometimes large, wide and brutal across his ribs, others small and circular, barely noticeable. You notice them. You love them all.

Joel lifts his arms for you to raise the fabric over his head, and you reward him by pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin of his neck. He hums softly at the gentle touches of your lips, his fingertips squeezing into the soft flesh of your hips. You’re almost certain he can feel the way you’re smiling.

“Mhm, Darlin’” he grumbles softly, using his hold on you to slowly grind your hips down over the soft flesh of his stomach, angled perfectly. It causes you both to stutter to a halt, your own pause caused by the spark of arousal that blooms through your abdomen at the friction to your clit.

Joel slowly uses one of his hands to grab the back of his flannel that you wear, sitting you up. His irises are inky black as he looks up at you, startling you into submission. Stoic, he says nothing, but looks pointedly down at his stomach to divert your attention. Uncertain, you follow his gaze.

It’s utterly mortifying. Across the tanned, freckled skin of his stomach is a silvery-pink scar. Following the same direction, a wet steak of your slick traces where Joel had pushed your hips down onto him. Shock and humiliation flood you all at once.

“Oh my God, Jo-! I’m so sorry-,” you stammer quickly, but Joel is grabbing ahold of the collar of his flannel with both hands, using very little of his impressive strength to pop the buttons on the stupid thing. The buttons go flying, rattling as they roll across the wooden floor and banging as they ping off the wardrobe. He exposes your breasts to his eyes, drinking in the view like he does whenever he sees a beautiful sunset while smuggling across the state. He stops and stares and takes it all in, just like he does with you.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about,” he insists, not allowing you to feel embarrassed a moment longer as he uses his grip once again to push your hips against him. Perhaps it’s the shock of his unfiltered satisfaction, or the arousal he draws from you once again, but you don’t find yourself fighting with him. Instead, you lean your head back as he directs your body exactly where he wants it, pushing your cunt against him and drawing delicious swirls of pleasure throughout your abdomen.

“That’s it Darlin’. Just relax,” he murmurs, clearly pleased as you begin to match his movements by rolling your hips along with his touch. Your palms rest against his muscular pectorals, nails digging in whenever he catches your clit just right. Sometimes he hisses in pain, sometimes he groans in delight.

The muscles of your thighs clench against his waist as the walls of your cunt flutter around nothing. Your jaw is slack, your mouth falling open as you crease your brows together and feel the surge.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel curse, the gravel of his voice tipping you ever closer, “I can feel your pulse.” He sounds incredulous.

“D-Don’t-“ you gasp, teetering on the edge of an utterly devastating orgasm. Your eyes are squeezed shut, focusing on that feeling that barely holds the seams of your soul together when he shocks you completely, using his strength to lift your hips from him just as your release bubbles up.

A sound of utter anguish reaches your ears, and it takes a moment for the pulse of your heart in your ears to subside before you realise it came from you. Joel is chuckling, kissing your trembling hands in an uncharacteristically soft move. Though- you suppose all of this is out of character.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chastises you gently, in an almost mocking tone. He’s enjoying seeing you fall to pieces for him, even if it is just because you look so pretty over him. “I want you to look at me. Want to see it in your eyes when you cum.”

“Joel,” you wail, in utter disbelief as he shakes his head at your complaint. He’s not listening. Instead, he draws tight circles on the inside of your thigh. His touch is wet, your slick drenching the inside of your legs and showing how desperate you are if your impassioned whining wasn’t enough to convince him of your need to come undone.

“Listen here, Darlin,” he orders in that same tone he uses when on supply runs, the kind that makes you warm and fuzzy, “I ain’t gonna ask you to do nothin’ for me. Want you to feel good. The least you can give me is that pretty face.”

You swallow again, like you’re parched and only he can quench your desperation. Silently, in bitter defeat, you resign to a nod.

“Yeah?” He urges, wanting to hear you say it.

“Yeah,” you choke out.

“Good girl.”

Again, you moan out like you’re in pain, Joel rewarding your vulnerability by slowly slipping two fingers into your drenched cunt. You’re so worked up, so slick he doesn’t need to open you up. Your cunt takes the intrusion of his digits greedily, and your thighs begin to shake at the intense relief it grants you.

Agonisingly slowly, Joel eases his fingers out of you before plunging them back in. He doesn’t need to go fast, the drawn-out drags of his fingertips against the walls of your cunt enough to work up your arousal, but you know that he’s setting this pace to watch the micro-expressions on your face.

Your brows pinch together, and your lips form subtle shapes that indicate his technique is working. He’s watching your pupils dilate, your nostrils flare as you inhale sharply when he touches that spot inside you that makes your vision go fuzzy.

“Joel,” you wheeze, the dexterity of his fingers driving you very quickly to the precipice of something soul-shattering. The pads of his finger focus on that spot that makes your body tremble, and you’re sobbing above him, tears streaking your face. “Oh God, Joel, I can’t last-“

“It’s okay,” he urges you, so calm that he almost appears lazy as he curls his fingers inside you. “You know what to do.”

The bastard hurls you over the edge of the cliff he’s built for you, pushing the pad of his thumb against your clit. The most intense burst of pleasure explodes beneath your skin, streaming through your blood vessels as your body crumbles inwards. You’re not sure if he’s even circling your clit, if he’s moving his fingers because it’s so visceral that you can’t see, can’t hear, don’t experience anything other than the liquid heat that drips through you.

When you come to, Joel is humming softly, stroking his palm over the back of your head and easing you down from the clouds he sent you to with a gentle touch. You’re lying across his chest, his arms seemingly having pulled you against him during your blinding relief. You’re sticky with sweat, as though you’re coated in honey.

Joel smells like the apocalypse. Like earth and mud that has been wet with rain. The sharp smell of gunpowder clings to his skin, having coated the shirt he wore only minutes before. There’s the musk of his sweat, the tang that sticks to his skin despite the rain that you had walked home in after leaving the tunnels. It had washed away the smell of the blood and the grime but left every part of Joel.

“Oh fuck,” you choke out, and Joel can’t help but chuckle at the way you sound so fucked out. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple as he soothes your aching muscles from their contractions.

The rise and fall of his chest ease you down from your heightened state of shock, and your partner slowly peels the destroyed flannel from your skin. The thin bed sheets float across your body to give you some privacy, Joel wanting you to feel comfortable and respected despite him utterly destroying you literally moments before.

“That good, mhmm?” It’s said with Joel’s typically flat intonation, but you know he’s amused.

“Shut up Joel,” you whisper, still breathless. God, had he just stolen the air from your lungs? It’s as though every functioning part of your body has stalled, taken up entirely with bliss.

“Hell, you’re stubborn,” he mumbles, and it’s like he puts a spark up your ass, body jolting into action.

“Excuse me?! I’m stubborn-?!”

END

🏷️ Taglist: @hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @welcometostayingawake @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @astroboots @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @ofmortems @hold-our-destiny @xcatnapsx @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @moonnaught @cottagebunny9 @bit-dodgy-innit @peachyproserpina

i will talk about little Touya forever. you cannot physically stop me from rambling on about this little fella. he’s just a boy with big dreams. he’s just some guy. how could anyone hate this little dude he’s just there. existing. not a care in the world. he’s just there to frolic and dillydally and eat some soba. he’s just a little guy there to be held and loved and appreciated. he’s just some dude.

Mini Pink Cowboy Cat Hat by AristocatHats

I left for three seconds…

discretion

premise: there’s only so much bratty behavior ransom can allow you to get away with before he has to punish you for it.

pairing: ransom drysdale x (f)reader

word count: 1k

warnings: eighteen+ content, orgasm denial, unprotected p in v, brattamer!ransom, vibrator mention, jealousy undertones, a touch of dacryphilia, praise, dirty talk.

etc: i feel like kinktober wouldn’t be kinktober if i didn’t kick it off with a c evans character so let’s goooo, here’s to a super kinky month my darlings!

kinktober 01 | kinktober masterlist

There’s a heavy weight in your core, like a dam trying to break—that last piece of molding tight in place and refusing to waver, a blockage that makes your whole body ache and claw at Ransom’s wrist. Your nails leaving crescants in his skin that only seem to make him smirk more, go harder, torture your overworked enterance to the point of pain; each hard thrust of his cock sending a jolt of pain through your walls.

A pain that feels heavy in your lower abdomen when Ransom presses his palm to the area, the toy he has in his hand pressed hard on your clit.

Keep reading

I spent months trying to forget you. I tried to forget your musky scent that always engulfed your worn out hoodies. I tried to forget your mocha eyes that everyone swears went cold. I tried to forget your defined collarbones that were always graced with my kiss. I tried so dearly to erase you from my mind, to forget you, that I have forgotten myself. Now I don’t know which is worse - losing you or losing me.

Lexi Caccetta  (via lexicaccetta)

The Art Of Hunting || Neteyam & Lo’ak x fem!Omaticaya reader

Summary: You are interrupted by Neteyam's younger brother during your hunting lesson.

Warnings: none, just pure fluff (and Lo'ak interfering with a hunt lesson😋)

Word count: 1900

Author: Rouge

A/N: prior to reading, it’s important to know that: this is my very first attempt at writing for Avatar ✤ the reader is female Omaticaya ✤ a few things are in Na'vi language (I hope they were translated correctly) ✤ some Pandoran creatures are mentioned in the fic ✤ you'll find a glossary underneath the fic

There was no doubt that Pandoran forests were one of the most beautiful, breathtaking sights on the planet. Those forests, filled with greenery and sometimes interspersed with rivers and lakes, have been home to many creatures, both small and large. Within the darkness entwined with light, harmony, so coveted, seemed alive, bonding everything together.

It was a beautiful sight to see the river in its generous curves, glinting blue amid the leafy green. As she drummed and rustled, the clear water echoed through the canopy of trees. As a result, the river invited all souls to dance, rumbling quietly and flowing with her current. A soil rich in brown hues, along with fleshy, lush green leaves, combined to create a three-dimensional wonderland that captured the attention of onlookers willing to slow down and absorb soft rays of sunlight falling through ancient branches and flowing down to the forest floor.

Upon hearing Neteyam whisper ‘breathe’ in a calm tone, your ears perked up.

As slowly as possible, you turned your face towards him, watching how focused the oldest Sully brother was - his eyes opened wide and his nose twitched as he sniffed the wet scent of the forest floor. “Neteyam…” Attempting to whisper, you were quickly hushed by his hand being raised up in the air and his brief glance that told you to keep silent. Hunting had been one of your most difficult struggles - you weren't much of a hunter and many Na'vi told you not to worry about getting better at it, and instead concentrate on herbology. When the last sun rays kissed the forest and heathland, and when the greens and purples morphed into gray under the eclipse, yeriks went out to forage.

As Neteyam instructed, he kept his tone low, barely moving his lips as he spoke, "Remember, Y/N, bow and arrow are mere tools. You must shoot with the heart." With the last rays of setting sun, his yellowish eyes glistened with focus.

As you nodded, remembering the last time Neteyam took you hunting - because of your careless behavior, the whole yerik flock got spooked and ran before you could strike any targets.

Neteyam stood behind you and made sure you stretched the bowstring sufficiently; soon, his left hand was placed underneath your chest, on your upper tummy; your ears perked as you instinctively drew in some air - when Neteyam was close, especially that dangerously close to you as he was then, you had trouble concentrating.

Neteyam was adept at reading unobvious signs - a little grin glinted across his lips as he kept his composure, not giving you any indication he was aware of the slight change in your behavior.

While supporting your right elbow with his other hand, the oldest Sully brother whispered, "Focus now, Y/N."

Because he had five fingers instead of four, it always made you giggle when he was actually touching you - no exceptions were made this time.

The laughter of yours only lasted for a half-second, but it caused yeriks to stop grazing and look carefully around, turning into attentive mode.

In spite of this, Neteyam did not resign from hunting wild prey. As he moved his head so close to you, only an inch or two separated his lips from your cheek, he whispered directly into your ear, "Y/N, what did I just say?"

Trying desperately to calm your heartbeat, you prayed that he wouldn't feel the heat radiating from your body. “That I need to focus.”

"Focus then," he instructed you, his voice soft as a northern breeze, his tone nothing more than a whisper.

Another brief nod was given by you in response. Using all your strength, you stretched the bowstring as far as you could and aimed for the individual grazing grass on the sidelines. Your focus was the channeling of your spirit, of your true self within, so as you focused you could learn a few things about yourself - for instance, that you could hold your breath long enough to stretch the bowstring to the point where it started to cut into the flesh of your fingers.

“Fire,” Neteyam whispered into your ear.

Your shot was interrupted by another figure approaching, making such a fuss that the entire yerik flock fled.

As Lo'ak crouched against his older brother, inspecting a clump of grass carefully, he tilted his head and looked up at Neteyam, saying, "Mother was looking for you, bro. I won't lie, she was pissed you were out after the eclipse."

Neteyam's response was straightforward, as always - he hit his younger brother's head from behind, lightly enough to not hurt him. "So you've found us, brother. What's wrong with you, though? Didn't you notice we were hunting?"

Lo'ak's shoulder shifted a bit as he spoke, "I observed you for a while, and all I saw was you flirting heavily with our Y/N."

Your cheeks began to flush as you gasped a quiet 'stop’ - turning your head aside to conceal the redness you breathed out deeply.

A snarl of anger was heard from Neteyam as he displayed his teeth at Lo'ak. "Quit it, brother. Let's head home, the last thing I need is for the father to get angry as well."

The younger brother chuckled and poked your ribs with his index finger a little. "How was the hunting? No kills this time as well, huh? Quit trying, Y/N, you're not a hunter. You won't become one because you hang out so much with Neteyam.”

Your ears perked a few times quickly as you hissed at him. "Lo'ak!"

“What?!” Lo'ak leapt nimbly off a rock ledge you and Neteyam were using for vantage point. “Come on, let’s move up!”

You watched the two brothers slowly walk off, smiling gently to yourself - their relationship was so emotional, but despite the fact that they fought easily, it was so beautiful to watch them interact with one another - there was no doubt that they shared a strong fraternal bond. A wooden bow was slung over your shoulder, and you picked up a quiver filled with arrows that you adorned with some leaves and features before joining Sully brothers.

In the dark of night, Lo'ak walked first, leading the way back home. He was always the first one everywhere, always so curious, never satisfied with the status quo, always seeking for something new to discover.

The long steps you took aligned you with Neteyam, who reluctantly followed his brother, holding his bow firmly in hand. As you stared at him, you engaged him in a small conversation, "You seem angry, Net."

As the three of you crossed the large field, a group of resting kentens rose into the sky. This made Neteyam and you stop to marvel at the luminous magenta and purple discs that floated to safety on the branches of an old, nearby tree.

Taking a glance over his shoulder, Neteyam checked to make sure his younger brother was far enough. Putting on his ionar once he was certain, he turned to you. "It's not that," he replied quickly, trying to dismiss the topic.

With your quiver slung over the same shoulder as your bow, you crossed your hands over your chest, giving him a significant glance, the tip of your nose twitching a tad.

“What?” His tail wiggled rapidly.

You touched his chest with your slender fingertips and whispered, "Neteyam, I know you long enough to be sure you harbor anger within you."

Taking a deep breath, Neteyam placed his hand on top of yours that rested on his chest, then placed his other hand on your cheek to caress the smooth surface of your skin. “There was just one thing I hoped for. A few alone moments with you, Y/N."

As you snuggled your cheek into his warm, welcoming palm, you curled your lips into a sweet smile; your eyes never left his. "The plenty of occasion will come, oeyä yawntu," you said, wiggling your tail slowly.

The gaze of Neteyam was intense as he stared down at you. Your smile was the sun, it was the silencing of all the noises, it was both the cage and the ever-wide open door, leading to unknown places. It wasn't long before Neteyam got lost in the depth of your eyes and the warmth of your little grin. “Is your word a promise, yawntutsyìp?”

A slight tilt of your head indicated a nod. “Yes.”

A strong embrace encased your slim figure as Neteyam pulled you closer. After removing his ionar, he lowered his head slowly, resting his forehead gently against yours; his tail danced a bit with yours, wrapping itself around yours from time to time. "I love you, Y/N," he whispered softly.

When you slipped your palm across his chest and rested it against his heart, you replied, "Nga yawne lu oer."

After returning to check on you two, Lo'ak called out, "Guys! Are you two going to stand in the middle of the forest, like idiots, snuggling now? Seriously?”

A low growl escaped Neteyam's lips as he put his ionar back on. “This is none of your business. Get your ass back on the ikran."

"I'm not the one whose shenanigans cause us problems, bro," Lo'ak laughed, but followed his older brother's order.

As Neteyam's ikran spotted him approaching, it roared and wiggled its wings several times, lowering its head to greet his Na'vi.

Ikran's elongated snout was stroked by Neteyam as he jumped on its back, helping you up as well. Neteyam connected his queue to the ikran, and the beast was ready to fly. "Y/N, are you alright?" Neteyam asked softly as he wrapped his arms around your tummy to keep you from falling.

"Yes," you replied shortly. "Let's head home."

Neteyam ordered ikran to take off with a nod.

Before soaring, ikran roared once more, spreading its large wings.

It was fascinating to watch Lo'ak glide smoothly with his ikran in the air. The voice of Neteyam jolted you out of your thinking. “You know what?”

“Hmmm?” You mumbled, holding tightly onto his ikran’s neck.

"The thought of being back home excites me so much."

“Why is that? I thought you sought every opportunity to leave home to taste the adventure and beauty of the world," you questioned as you turned a little to look at him.

“That’s true, indeed. However, the mere thought of snuggling with you to sleep melts my heart," Neteyam replied as he moved his head slightly to kiss your lips. “Don't forget, this is just between us. It is likely Lo'ak would not leave me alone if he knows.”You knew he was right - Lo'ak was the first one to pick on his older brother, and if he only knew Neteyam had a soft side, he wouldn't give up so easily. “Don’t worry, I know.” Your palm rested on his cheek as you kissed his lips once more, a little longer this time. "Oeyä Neteyam, you mean the world to me."

Love was a protector, a defender, a ride-or-die connection that was there for you always and in every way. It had raw power and could roar, but also, you would find comfort in its quietness, if needed. In the end, the real love you were sharing with Neteyam was the greatest blessing Eywa could grant you, and so you chose to cherish it.

Glossary:

yerik - hexapede

kenten - fan lizard

ikran - mountain banshee

ionar - rider’s mask

oeyä yawntu - my beloved

oeyä - my

yawntutsyìp - darling

nga yawne lu oer - I love you