#Customized hooded sweatshirt

[veetex0]

Elevate Team Spirit with Customized Corporate Uniforms and Free Football Shirt Customization

Creating a strong, unified brand presence is essential in today’s competitive business landscape. One of the most effective ways to promote team unity and professionalism is through customized corporate group uniforms. These uniforms offer a cohesive look that reflects a company's values and ensures all team members present a polished image. On the sports field, personalized apparel like football shirts can foster a similar sense of unity. With free customization for football shirts, businesses and sports teams alike can promote team spirit and showcase their identity.

The Significance of Customized Corporate Uniforms

Uniforms play a vital role in corporate environments, setting the tone for professionalism and unity. Customized corporate group uniforms allow businesses to go a step further by tailoring designs to their brand identity. From color schemes to logos and embroidery, these uniforms are a direct representation of the company’s mission and values. Customized uniforms ensure that employees not only look professional but also feel connected to the brand they represent, enhancing both internal morale and external perceptions.

How Corporate Uniforms Strengthen Brand Identity

When employees wear customized corporate group uniforms, they become brand ambassadors. The consistent use of branded uniforms helps establish a recognizable identity that clients and customers associate with trust and professionalism. Whether in the office, at trade shows, or during client meetings, customized uniforms set the tone for positive interactions. The seamless integration of company logos and colors reinforces brand recognition, ensuring a lasting impression in every business interaction.

The Growing Trend of Free Customization for Football Shirts

In the world of sports, customization has become a key element of team identity. Offering free customization for football shirts allows teams to proudly display their unique colors, logos, and player names. This not only promotes team spirit but also creates a sense of belonging among players and fans alike. Personalized football shirts offer an opportunity for teams to stand out on the field, showcasing their pride and unity through their apparel.

Benefits of Customization in Sports Apparel

Conclusion

Both customized corporate group uniforms and free customization for football shirts serve as powerful tools for fostering team spirit and creating a unified brand identity. While customized uniforms project professionalism in the corporate world, personalized football shirts create a sense of pride on the field. For businesses and sports teams seeking high-quality, customizable apparel, veetex.us offers a wide range of options to meet all your branding needs.

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[romualdo001]

Casual Dress Shirts for Men: Smart, Stylish, and Comfortable | Romualdo

Explore our selection of men's casual dress shirts, which are made with comfort and style in mind. These shirts are great for every occasion since they have a contemporary fit, adaptable styles, and high-quality materials.

[gfsgetfastshirt]

Elevating Women's Fashion with Personalized Hoodies and Custom Tees

In the world of fashion, customization offers a unique way to express personal style. Among the most popular trends in personalized clothing for women are sweatshirts, embroidery shirts, and custom tees. Each of these items allows individuals to blend comfort with individuality, creating standout pieces in any wardrobe.

The hooded sweatshirt is a staple in casual wear, valued for its comfort and versatility. Perfect for layering, it provides warmth and a relaxed fit, making it ideal for everyday wear. Modern hoodies come in various styles and fabrics, from lightweight options for warmer climates to heavier materials for colder weather. With custom designs, individuals can add a personal touch, whether through unique graphics, quotes, or logos, turning a simple hoodie into a statement piece.

When it comes to personalization, embroidery shirt design adds a sophisticated and durable touch to any garment. Embroidery offers a classic and high-quality finish, making it an excellent choice for custom apparel. Whether for a corporate event, team uniform, or personal fashion, embroidery allows for intricate and long-lasting designs. From monograms to elaborate patterns, embroidered shirts stand out with their elegance and craftsmanship.

Custom tees for women represent another popular avenue for self-expression. These tees can be tailored to fit personal tastes and preferences, whether through vibrant prints, unique patterns, or bespoke messages. Customizing a tee allows women to showcase their style and individuality, whether they prefer a relaxed, casual fit or a more tailored silhouette. These custom tees are perfect for creating matching outfits for events, gifts for friends, or simply updating a wardrobe with fresh and personalized designs.

In conclusion, personalized apparel for women offers a blend of style, comfort, and individuality. By incorporating personal touches and unique designs, individuals can enhance their wardrobe and make a fashion statement that reflects their personality. Custom clothing not only stands out but also provides a sense of individuality and expression in everyday fashion.

[getfastshirt]

Get Fast Shirt | Custom Design Prints

Discover Your Style Game at Get Fast Shirt!

Upgrade your style game with Get Fast Shirt! From cozy sweaters to trendy graphic tees, we've got your wardrobe covered.

Discover your fashion must-haves today and get the apparel you want!

[customizedstore]

Dance Like Frosty Shine Like Rudolph Give Like Santa Love Like Jesus, Christmas Hoodie

[showyourspirit]

Exploring the Benefits of Custom Comfort Colors Full Zip Hoodies - Show Your Spirit

Embrace the monsoon with style and spirit! Discover the advantages of Custom Comfort Colors Full Zip Hoodies for outdoor activities Stay cozy and show your adventurous side.

Visit - https://www.show-your-spirit.com/blog/exploring-the-benefits-of-custom-comfort-colors-full-zip-hoodies-for-outdoor-activities-in-monsoon/

[zikarsportsinternational]

#menshoodies #mensstyle #mensfashion #sportswear #flees #fleestracksuits #sweatshirt #produts #online #branded #buisness #marketing #hood #shopping #sportswear #manufacturer #mens #custom #sportswear for buying and more information about the products please visit our site www.zikarsports.com Email Zikarsports786@gmail.com My whatsapp 0092-3086855176 https://www.instagram.com/p/CnnHPF5LYTy/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[ghost-in-the-hall]

Fall For Me (Poly! Sleep Token x Fem! Reader) - Part I

Well, it happened... After trying to evade the hype for so long they finally got me 😂😂 This story has had me in a chokehold (haha, get it?) since I started toying around with the idea of it. Hopefully you guys enjoy it, let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for future chapters and/or Sleep Token one shots!

WARNINGS: None

Part II

My Masterlist! ~ AO3 Link!

Credit to @spookyghostjelly for beta reading, ily bb 💗💗💗

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You sat with your feet propped up on the counter, one of the magazines you had yet to sell spread open on your lap. "Be fashion forward this fall." You read out loud to the empty store in a mocking tone as your eyes grazed over the pictures of chunky sweaters, jeans, and boring, brown leather boots. The bell over the door jingled as a customer entered the store, your eyes darted up, expecting one of your regulars. You were met with the sight of someone in a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over their head. 'Great,' you thought to yourself, 'just when I thought I was going to have an easy evening.' You watched the man carefully, waiting to see what exactly he was going to stick in his pockets. Now, you normally turn a blind eye to shoplifters up to a certain extent, everyone deserves to have something to eat. But, being an independently owned store you could only take so much of a loss on your inventory. To your surprise, the man didn't pick up a single item. He took his time looking over the contents of each shelf, his hands never leaving his sweatshirt pocket. "Can I help you find anything, sir?" His head turned slightly in your direction, but not enough for you to see his face.

"What time do you close?" You were caught off guard by his British accent, it was an uncommon occurrence to get outsiders in your small backwoods town.

"Eight o'clock." He nods his thanks and hurriedly exits your store, almost bumping into one of your regulars on the way out.

"Everything alright?" He asks as the strange visitor leaves your store.

"Do you know him?" You ask quietly, as if he would somehow be able to overhear you despite having rounded the corner of the building already.

"Yeah, he's one of those… those cultists that set up shop in the woods." He explains. You were a bit shocked at the realization. You had been seeing headlines in the local newspaper for months as curiosity rose around the small group of men that had built a few Cabins on the very edge of town. Reporters didn't dare venture into their camp for an interview, but that didn't stop them from snapping a few pictures from the safety of the treeline. Four cabins sat at each corner of a small clearing, a large fire pit dominated the center. From what you could make out they seemed to have some sort of root cellar and a lackluster garden, which would explain why you hadn't seen any of them in person until this afternoon. "You be careful, (Y/N). Freaks like that might just try to sacrifice you to some goat demon they worship." He warns. You can't help but roll your eyes at the outlandish statement.

"Mark, those boys haven't done a single thing to bother anyone since they got here. They've been out there for months, if they were going to take someone they would've done it by now." You argue.

He chuckles, "Trust me darlin', I hope you're right. But until then me and a lot of other folks around here plan on keeping a close eye on them. You'd do best to stay away from them."

"You think I can't take care of myself?" You challenge, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Now, Miss (Y/N), you and I both know you'd beat my ass to next Sunday if that's what I was implying." The two of you shared a laugh. "I just don't want something bad to happen, that's all. These strange men show up out of nowhere one day and no one knows where they came from, hell none of us have ever seen their faces. They all wear these black masks, least that's what the reports are saying. You can never be too cautious."

"I'll take my chances." You smile politely in an attempt to get him off his soap box. "Now, I take it you're here for your pack of Marlboros."

"Yes ma'am, and an extra one for Donnie if you don't mind." He responds with a nod as he fumbles for his wallet in his back pocket.

"You got it boss." The rest of your evening was spent rather uneventfully, save for the fact that you would practically jump out of your chair every time the door opened. You glanced up at the clock, there was about twenty minutes left until you closed. "Maybe he decided to not come back." You shrug. Moments later an old, beat up pick up truck rumbled into the parking lot. You watched as the driver got out, his head dipped low to hide his face in the hood of his black sweatshirt. He pushes through the door, the jingle of the bell the only sound to cut through the tense silence. "Welcome back." You tried to sound friendly despite your unease. He nods at you in response, not saying a single word as he makes his way quickly and directly to everything he needs. He approaches the counter, unloading his arm load of supplies before taking a step back. "You got a name to go with those big, broad shoulders of yours?" You ask in a bit of a teasing tone, trying to do what you could to lighten the mood. He remained silent, despite the fact you couldn't see his face you couldn't escape the feeling of his piercing gaze. You opened a bag, carefully organizing his contents inside. "$18.75, sir." He slaps a twenty dollar bill on the counter, not even waiting for his change as he grabs his bag and flits out the door. You watched as he drove off, not sure exactly what you were supposed to make of that interaction. You had a similar occurrence every day for almost a week. He would come in, grab an armful of groceries, put down his money, and he left. You would try and greet him whenever he would come in your store, it was always met with a curt nod.

"Vessel." You froze as he finally spoke up. You looked up, your eyes met with 6 slits on an odd looking mask. "You can call me Vessel." You couldn't think of how to respond at first. He had barely acknowledged your existence before tonight, what had changed?

"Vessel… (Y/N)." You stick out your hand to shake his. "It's nice to finally meet you." You smile as his hands clap into yours.

"You're different from the other people we've run into from town." He remarks.

"The reporters?"

"Some of them, a few others we just happened to cross paths with." You could feel him studying you. "You don't seem scared."

"Vessel, you've been coming in here for over a week now. If you were going to try and hurt me you would've done it by now." You notice the corner of his mouth quirk up in a smile.

"I guess you have a point." He chuckles. You finish scanning his items and give him his total. He places the money down on the counter and picks up his bag.

"How come you never take your change?" You ask as he's almost out the door.

"I know you run this place by yourself, think of it as me tipping a small business." He flashes a brief, brilliant smile at you. You try to hide your shy smile by fixing up your register. "Oh, and (Y/N)?" You glance back up at him. "It's nice to finally meet you too."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List: @herripinkle @mustluvecho @jumpcauseimfroggy (If you would like to be tagged for Sleep Token stuff let me know!)

[veetex0]

Discovering the Perfect Cotton Tee in Hong Kong: The Japanese Brand Sensation

In the bustling city of Hong Kong, fashion enthusiasts are always on the lookout for the latest trends and timeless classics. Among the myriad of choices, one item has consistently stood out for its quality, comfort, and style – the Japanese brand cotton Tee in Hong Kong. This article delves into why these Tees have become a must-have in every wardrobe and how they cater to both casual and sporty needs in Hong Kong.

The Rise of Japanese Brand Cotton Tees 

Japanese fashion has long been admired for its attention to detail, innovative designs, and superior craftsmanship. The Japanese brand cotton Tee epitomizes these qualities, making it a staple for those who value both aesthetics and comfort. Made from high-quality cotton, these Tees offer a soft, breathable experience that is perfect for Hong Kong's humid climate. The meticulous production process ensures durability, allowing these Tees to maintain their shape and colour even after multiple washes.

Versatility in Style 

One of the main reasons behind the popularity of Japanese brand cotton Tees in Hong Kong is their versatility. They can be effortlessly dressed up or down, making them suitable for a variety of occasions. Whether you're heading to a casual brunch, a day out shopping, or a relaxed evening with friends, these Tees provide the perfect balance of style and ease. Their minimalist design also allows them to be paired with a wide range of outfits, from jeans and shorts to skirts and trousers.

Comfort Meets Performance: Sport Tees in Hong Kong 

For those with an active lifestyle, the Japanese brand also offers sport tee hong kong fitness enthusiasts. These sports tees are designed with the same high-quality cotton, ensuring maximum comfort during physical activities. They are lightweight, moisture-sicking, and offer great breath ability, making them perfect for everything from a morning jog along Victoria Harbour to an intense workout session at the gym. The sports tee Hong Kong market has embraced these features, appreciating how they combine functionality with the sleek, understated aesthetic that Japanese brands are known for.

Sustainability and Ethical Production 

In an era where sustainability is becoming increasingly important, Japanese brands are leading the way with their commitment to ethical production practices. The cotton used in these Tees is often sourced responsibly, ensuring minimal environmental impact. Additionally, the manufacturing processes are designed to reduce waste and energy consumption. By choosing a Japanese brand cotton Tee, consumers are not only investing in a high-quality product but also supporting a more sustainable and ethical fashion industry.

Where to Buy

Finding the perfect Japanese brand cotton Tee in Hong Kong is easier than ever, thanks to a variety of retail outlets and online stores that stock these sought-after items. Many local boutiques carry a selection of these Tees, catering to different styles and preferences. Additionally, online platforms provide a convenient way to browse and purchase from the comfort of your home. One such recommended website is veetex, which offers a wide range of Japanese-brand cotton Tees and sports tees, ensuring that you find exactly what you need.

Conclusion 

The Japanese brand Cotton Tee has undeniably carved out a niche in Hong Kong's fashion scene. With their exceptional quality, versatile style, and commitment to sustainability, these Tees offer a perfect blend of fashion and function. Whether you're looking for a comfortable everyday option or a high-performance sports tee for your workouts, these Japanese Tees are a worthwhile addition to any wardrobe. Explore the collection and experience the difference for yourself on veetex.us.

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[suzukiblu]

mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees please!! the amount of identity shenanigans i can sense from that work is off the charts, not to mention the confusion! its so fun!!!

By the time he’s snatching the homeless guy out of the path of the truck, Kon’s wearing a hooded sweatshirt zipped up to his neck with the hood yanked down over his head, he’s restyled his hair with his TTK underneath it, and he’s yanked on a pair of sunglasses and a pair of track pants over his suit pants and button-down. It’s not exactly an ideal disguise, considering he’s also in dress socks and not wearing gloves, but it’s definitely an improvement over showing off an extremely expensive custom suit tailored for an arm candy boyfriend and a face that’s already been mistaken for two different locals who are both apparently alive and active in this reality. 

Especially since even showing up presumably significantly younger than those locals doesn’t rule out being them, given the whole . . . multiverse-ness of the multiverse. 

Yeah, definitely especially since that. 

[from-the-clouds]

bad liars (savior complex ii) - joel miller x f!reader

part one | masterlist | song inspo |

Baby, you're a vampire You want blood and I promised...

summary: It's been a month since Joel has last seen you, fully healed since your last interaction. But you haven't spoken...at all. Your radio silence becomes cause for concern when he hears about an outbreak of Infected at the hospital where you work. There's enough explanation in this part that you could read it on it's own, probably, but I'd highly recommend reading part one first to get the full experience. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7.9k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. (porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap. dom/sub dynamics.) Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, canon-typical suffering! Blood mention. Both reader/Joel are insanely emotionally unavailable, and love to lie to themselves and each other! (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: Ya'll loved savior complex and I'm so happy! Literally don't think I've had a fic get that many notes before, i had so many requests for a part two and because it felt like i left things open-ended enough, this came to me pretty easily! It might be the horniest thing I've ever written and also very angsty (what's new?)....but I think you'll like the ending <3 Special to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about my writing and to @zbeez-outlet for the wonderful idea.

Joel exhales and runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair – the tips of which were frozen together from standing outside for so long. It had gotten cold out. Very cold. Boston always did this time of year, and because of it, people stayed in, and crime in the QZ dropped, making it a safer place - though that wasn’t saying much. 

Of course, the cold didn’t stop him from dealing. It did make his job a hell of a lot more difficult, since FEDRA was bored, out looking for trouble, and didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Although today, he must’ve been in luck, because the only sign of FEDRA had been helicopters and tanks that were clearly on a mission, driving to the opposite side of the QZ. Good, he had thought. A distraction. 

Joel leans back against the brick wall of the alleyway, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his ears, stares at the ice in the cracks of the pavement. When he hears the crunch of gravel underfoot, he straightens.

The man approaching looks nervously over his shoulder, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his flimsy sweatshirt. Dave, a customer of his for some time. 

“You’re late,” Joel doesn’t bother with a proper greeting.

“I know, I know, I got held up on my way here,” Dave answers, immediately beginning his excuse. “They cleared out the hospital because of an outbreak, that whole area was locked down so I had to take the long way.”

“Outbreak?” Joel tilts his head.

“Infected. I guess a bunch of hospital staff got bit. FEDRA had to go in and put them all down.” 

Joel feels a distant pang of concern somewhere in the back of his head. “How many?”

Dave shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man, that’s all I know. It’s not like they’ll ever tell anyone what actually happened.”

Joel can’t help but think of you. He knows a couple people who work at the hospital, most of them through smuggling, but you’re the only one who he’s really able to bring to mind at the moment.

“So, can we, uh…”

Joel pulls the plastic baggie out from his pockets, fishing out the pills. On his end, Dave produces a wad of credits, his shoulders sagging in relief once they’ve made the trade and the drugs are in his hand. He takes one immediately, shoves the rest in his pocket. “Thanks man, I’ll see you next week?”

Leaning back against the wall, he nods, and watches his customer disappear down the alleyway. 

The second Dave is out of sight, Joel’s chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath. There’s no reason why news of Infected at the hospital should concern him. If FEDRA had been called in – they would’ve gunned down anything that moved until it was under control. He knew, better than anyone, that they would do unspeakable things in the name of keeping order. Innocent people probably died, but the dead can’t get infected.

It had been about a month since Joel had last seen you, after he’d gotten beaten within an inch of his life and ended up on your doorstep, and you were the only person that could help. It hadn’t gone at all how he expected it would – at the end of the day, he had been surprised by your tenderness. 

Still, despite that you’d let him take you on the edge of your bed, legs wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock, he wouldn’t really say that it changed anything about your relationship. He had actually been kind of afraid that it would, that your attitude towards him would shift to something more amicable.

But you hadn’t spoken to him in a month. Joel had told you he owed you one after you stitched him up, and had anticipated that you’d take him up on his offer pretty quickly. There were so many things he could do for you to make your situation better. Maybe you’d need credits…. Medicine…. Food…. Booze… Pills, something, but you haven’t reached out. You could just be biding your time until you really need the favor.

Still, the radio silence takes him aback. He should be relieved that you aren’t talking to him. But nothing? Even if it’s not about a favor…he wants some kind of confirmation that you’d both made a mistake. After all that, did you really expect nothing from him?

It dawns on him there’s now a chance you’ll never speak to him again, because you’re one of the ones that FEDRA killed. Or worse….you had gotten bit. 

Joel passes by the hospital, taking the long way home. Everything is locked down, taped off. There’s a crowd around the place – family members, he assumes, pleading with FEDRA agents for information and getting nothing in return.

“Go home. I’m sure they’ll turn up,” he hears one of them say to a weeping woman. It’s useless to ask for an honest answer, for one of them to actually care. 

Joel could go home. He could crush a couple pills, snort them, and quell the burn with a couple drinks. He could fall into restless sleep and wake up the next day as he always did, go about his business as usual. Survive. One day at a time. 

Would he ever get confirmation that you’re alive? Because at this rate, he’s not sure he’ll ever know either way. 

The feeling is going to linger. He hates it. Were you gone? If you are, he can handle knowing. Its somehow worse not to. 

He tries to justify it to himself. You’re one of his solid connections to the hospital, you’d traded with him for medical supplies before. This is business, really, if he thinks about it that way. If you’re dead, he and Tess need to find someone else to work with. 

Joel decides to take a detour on the way back to his place.

It’s past curfew when he arrives at your apartment, the sun has long since dipped below the horizon and with that comes an even harsher cold. Boston winters, he thinks to himself. If he is capable of missing anything, he’d say he missed Texas. Before all this, the last place he’d be caught dead was on the East Coast. 

Joel raps on your front door. He forgets how shitty your building is, that you sleep here alone every night, listening to your neighbors arguing through the thin walls, shady characters slinking out of shadows in the dimly-lit hallway,

A few seconds pass. When he hears nothing behind your door, he knocks again, a little louder. 

More time passes. He knocks again, louder. Maybe you didn’t hear him. 

Nothing. He does it again. Could you be asleep? His jaw clenches.

Still nothing, and Joel knocks even louder. Maybe you’re not even here, and you work nights, and he’s just missed you as you head out for another shift. But he knows that’s unlikely. Since he’s known you, you’ve never worked nights. So where the fuck were you?

Joel’s pounds on your door, yells your name into its chipping paint. He listens for something, anything, on the other side, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, but he keeps going The side of his fist starts to hurt, but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he hears one of your neighbors yelling from the end of the hallway. 

‘Shut the fuck up!’

Joel doesn’t hear exactly where the voice comes from, but it’s enough to snap him out of it. He halts his movements, his forehead falling against hollow wood, and in the silence, hears his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Fuck!” he kicks the wall just outside the frame of your door so hard the drywall gives, leaving a hole behind. “Fuck.”

He stares at the result of his outburst for an undetermined amount of time. You were all alone. To his knowledge, you had no immediate family to inform. Who would be around to remember you? He’d never really know for sure what had happened. 

“Joel?”

He looks up, his hands still clenched tightly into fists. When he sees that it’s you, standing at the end of the hallway, they loosen. 

You look horrible - haggard, tired, your hair tangled and matted. As you move closer to him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders are hunched underneath the weight of your backpack. But once you’re standing in front of him, you straighten, lift your chin. 

“What is this?” you ask. “What are you doing here?”

There’s no animosity in your tone, he thinks. You might be trying to put some in there, but you don’t have the energy to do so, so it just comes out sounding very flat.

Joel realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have a reason. A real reason that wouldn’t….give him away. He puts his hands on his hips, thinks desperately. You do nothing to help.

When he settles in silence, offers you nothing, you just sigh and shake your head. Your teeth are chattering, lips cracked from the cold, and you seem desperate to get into shelter, twisting your key into your lock and opening the front door. Once you step inside, you flick on the lights. He follows you, closes the door behind you both, and locks it.

“Oh, yeah, come on in, I guess,” you say over your shoulder. 

Joel crosses his arms, standing in your kitchen. 

“What, am I in trouble or something?” you ask. “Because if I am, you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve showered.”

“It can wait,” Joel says, and sits at one of your kitchen chairs. 

You shrug off of your backpack and leave it on a chair, then unbutton your coat, tossing it on top. Joel swallows hard when he sees the damage it’s been hiding. Your scrubs are dirty, tattered in some places, one of the sleeves hanging, partially ripped off. And they’re covered in dried blood. It’s smeared on your arms, on the back of your neck. Not yours, he hopes. 

What the fuck happened to you? You don’t turn to see his reaction, don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s going to ask about it. It’s almost like he’s not even there, and you clearly wish he isn’t. 

He realizes then, that he has the confirmation he’s looking for. You made it out alive. He doesn’t actually need anything else from you. And you’ve given him a perfect out. He can leave while you’re in the shower. 

But he doesn’t. Not when he hears the shower start, or the screech of the curtain across the metal rod, the sound of water hitting the basin. He stays there, motionless, until you duck out of the bathroom with your arms wrapped around yourself, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair damp and teeth chattering. 

You pad with bare feet onto the tiled area of the kitchen, brushing past him. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks. 

You finally look at him, like you’re surprised he spoke up, or even asked the question. A choked, bitter laugh leaves you, and you shift your attention away from him, reaching into your cabinet for a bottle of bourbon. “Pass.”

You pour yourself a whiskey, and Joel watches you throw it back in one go, your nose scrunching up, your hand clasping into a fist as you take the shot. The taste doesn’t stop you from pouring another drink and gulping that one down, too, without as much of a reaction as the first. It’s only when you start pouring the third that he intervenes, standing and crossing the room to cover the glass with his hand before you can grab it. 

“Slow down,” he says.

“I know you’re not telling me what to do in my own home.” Your mouth opens as you look up at him, incredulous. 

Joel looks past you, shakes his head. He supposes your right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch the self-destructive behavior, which is funny considering how often he engages in it himself. He gives in, removes his hand from your glass. “At least…pour me one. You shouldn’t drink alone.”

Your expression softens slightly, and he’s able to see all the pain you’re hiding, just for a flash, before you turn to retrieve a second glass from your cabinet. 

Once you hand him the whiskey, he sits in the middle of the tiny loveseat you’ve got in your front room, expecting you to sit in the armchair across from it. Instead, you approach with your own drink, nudge his knee with your own, and Joel slides over to make room so you can fall onto the couch beside him. Much closer than he’d expected. 

It’s surprisingly good bourbon, and he wonders how many times you’d wasted it by downing it like you just had, instead of taking your time, savoring. He waits for you to get settled before he speaks again.

“What happened to you?” he tries once more, a little softer this time. 

There’s some contemplation on your end, you look at him for a moment, then at your glass, then back up at him again. He can almost see you trying to figure out how much you’re going to share, but he wants to know everything.

“There was an accident at the hospital,” you answer, finally. 

Joel slings his arm over the back of the couch, angles his body towards where you’re curled up, legs tucked underneath you. I’m listening.

Your voice stays even, blase. “A guard at the border broke protocol…and someone who was infected was brought in. By the time we realized, it was too late….”

“Were you hurt?” 

“Almost.” you say. “I mean, yes, actually, I’m a little scratched up, but…it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

Your teeth start chattering again. Joel wonders if it’s because of the cold, or your nerves. Figures it’s probably both.

“My coworker turned and I uhm….I had to…” you say into your glass, your free hand flexing like it’s trying to shake off some unpleasant muscle memory. “I had no choice.”

“I understand,” For whatever reason, he spares you from telling the story. To him, taking down Infected was nothing. But to you…“What else?” he presses.

You shrug, avoiding his eyes, one of your arms coming to grip at your opposite shoulder. “I can’t really remember. A bunch of people died. FEDRA came in and just started gunning everything down….” you shook your head, and straightened up.

“I heard about that,” Joel offers.

“Wait…you knew about this?”

“Yeah.”

“So then why are you here, asking m-” the rest of your sentence drops off, your lips parted slightly. The look on your face shifts, slowly. Your eyes narrow. Remorse turns into something more neutral, then into curiosity. “Oh my god….you were worried about me.”

“No.”

“Yes, you fucking were,” your lips curl slightly, it’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close to amusement. 

“No,” Joel defends himself. “I wanted to hear what happened from someone–”

“No you didn’t,” you interject, but he raises his voice to finish his thought.

“–who actually works there, not FEDRA’s propaganda.”

“No you did not. You’re checking up on me. You came over here after curfew to see if I was–”

“Enough,” Joel growls with enough conviction that it shuts you up, and he’s grateful, but its not enough to wipe the self-satisfied look on your face, because it doesn’t.

“What are we, like, friends now?”

He doesn’t answer, and slugs back the rest of his whiskey.

“Or would that be too much for you?” You don’t wait long for him to give you an answer, probably because you know he won’t respond. “I mean, if we’re both being honest–” He definitely wasn’t being honest. “–Today was really fucked up.”

You’re leaning forward now, some of the space between you is gone. And though you’re trying to give the impression that you’re unphased by everything, your hand is clenched tightly around your glass, and you avoid his eyes. It’s painful to watch you resist the urge to trust him. Not that he’s ever given you a good enough reason to – he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it anyways.

“It’s funny…” you say after a while. “I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die. At least… not like that. I’ve never felt that before…That’s something, isn’t it?” you ask him. 

Joel looks at you, and is surprised at the vulnerability in your expression, sees you looking for some kind of validation from him. “....It is.” 

You finish off your drink, and put the empty glass on the coffee table, shift closer to him.

“It looks like you healed up okay,” you say, after a spell. “How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did you take those antibiotics?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And I can’t even tell you had a black eye.”

“I’m fine,” Joel asserts. 

Another shiver wracks your body, and he can tell this one is actually from the chill – your apartment is cold as fuck, it even is starting to bother him. 

“Don’t you have a heater?”

“Kinda,” you glance over at the radiator in the corner. “Sometimes it works.”

“What do you do when it’s colder than this?” It was only November, things would only get worse. 

You shrug. “I don’t know….just be colder, I guess.”

Joel imagines you curled up in your bed alone, wrapped in a thin comforter, shaking in front of him like you are now. He winces. 

“How long are you going to stay?” you ask, changing the subject.

“I should probably go now.”

You nod, scoot closer. “But maybe…” you trail off, contemplating. 

Joel sits up straighter, prompting you when you don’t speak again. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could stick around for a little while longer.” There’s a warm hand, yours, that lands on his thigh, and he recoils like you’ve touched him with a fire iron. He rises to his feet. 

“Hey,” you stand along with him, step in front of him to block the pathway to the door. He could easily get past you, obviously, but it’s not as simple as that. 

Of course he’s fucking thought about what happened the last time he was here – his arms around your waist, his mouth on your neck, your chest, your hands on his shoulders, whining his name. A freak accident, a glitch in the matrix, a statistically improbable thing. 

“What?” he asks as you step forward, the fingers on your free hand sliding into the belt loops of his pants. He feels blood rush to his cheeks, to other places. And you’re still fucking shivering. You look so fucking miserable, he wants to yell at you to put on a coat, to wrap yourself in a blanket, in his arms. 

“Joel,” you say his name softly, tilting your head up, leaning close. And then your hand is on the side of his face, and he realizes you’re fucking pleading with him. He knows what you want, but he has a feeling this isn’t just about sex. You’re looking for comfort, as if he’s capable of giving it. 

“We made a mistake…once,” he tells you. “We’re not going to make it again.”

He says it to hurt you, but it doesn’t work. It’s like you knew it was coming all along. “I knew what I was doing,” you answer, earnest. “Didn’t you?”

Yes. You glance down at his hands, which are squeezed into fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. If he’s not rigid, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to resist. He wants you. God, he wants you. He never thought he’d be able to have you again. 

“I could help you loosen up.”

Joel’s walking on the edge of a one-thousand foot cliff and hoping his foot slips. He wants to surrender. The only thing he thinks might save him is to say the meanest thing he can. Maybe you’d get turned off.

“Listen to yourself,” he says, finding the strength to meet your eyes. “You want me so bad, you sound pathetic.”

“Asshole,” you step closer, your mouth twitches, your lips are inches apart. “Do you think I care what you think about me?”

Joel realizes his plan has backfired. But he really only has himself to blame, he should’ve known better. With you, he’s never in as much control as he wants to be, and deep down, he likes it. 

“Go lie down on the bed.”

It’s the only thing that seems to shock you. “What?” 

“I won’t ask you again,” Joel steps backwards, crosses his arms. “Go lie down.” 

──────

If you told yourself a couple months ago that one day you’d find yourself pinned down by Joel Miller, you’d think it’d be because he was about to kill you. Maybe because you cheated him out of something, maybe because you did something else to piss him off – it didn’t really matter. Regardless of how fucked up it was, that idea would seem more dignified than what was happening now. 

Your back is being pressed deeper into the lumpy old mattress, and he’s on you. His mouth is warm, hot, wet, and dragging down your neck, nipping, sucking, licking. Your hands are itching to reach out, to skate down his torso, trace along his jawline, tug at his hair, but you can’t because he’s got them pinned above you with only one of his own. Anytime you try to fight him, his grip only grows stronger. 

It was shameful, really, but you had asked for this – begged for it, basically. There were a number of reasons why – one of which was to blow off some steam after a near death experience, the other because you’d fucked him before and it had been good, much to your dismay. There was also a third reason that you weren’t interested in acknowledging now. 

After the night Joel had gotten jumped, and you’d taken care of him, everything has changed. It’s a cliche, but true. You’d known what you were doing when it happened, and had no regrets. But it was probably not supposed to happen again, and you tried to keep it that way, more for his sake than anyone else’s. But….he was the one who showed up tonight after he’d heard what had happened. It wasn’t nothing.

Joel pulls away from you so abruptly that you gasp, shivering in the wake of his impossible warmth. 

“Sit up,” he instructs, and you turn to find him at the end of the bed, arms crossed. 

You obey, mostly just for the view. You hope to admire him, fresh from kissing you – flush skin, wet lips, tousled hair. Only he’s frustratingly stoic, unsullied – like he hadn’t been touching you at all. 

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. 

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s nothing,” you agree. 

“I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Good,” you watch his shoulders loosen, just a little, and he takes one step backwards, his eyes tracing down your body and then back up. “Strip for me….” 

You aren’t dressed sexy at all, you remember, a sweatshirt and sweatpants. If you had thought this through a little more, you might’ve tried to make it nicer for him. “....Okay.”

“Start with your shirt,” he says, and you grab at the hem, but he snaps at you. “Ah-ah….slower.”

You swallow, nod, and carefully lift the fabric, dragging it up over your stomach, over the swell of your breasts, revealing your tight, thin white tank top. 

“That’s it, nice and slow.” 

Joel’s voice is soft but stern, a low rasp that makes your cunt clench around nothing, and he’s not even touching you. The sweatshirt is pulled over your head, falling somewhere on the crumpled bedspread. 

Languidly, you lean back, shifting your weight to get off the mattress, and Joel palms himself through his jeans. You can see where he’s straining against the denim, and you find it hard to tear your gaze away as you go to pull off your sweatpants. Joel stops you again. 

“Turn around.”

You do, and you’re sure he has a nice view of your ass as you slide them over your hips, bending over to let the fleece pool around your ankles. Slowly, you rise back up, looking at him over your shoulder for approval. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. Your stomach flips. A month ago, you would’ve done anything to get him to stay away from you, and now, you’re terrified to disappoint him. 

That’s the problem. You’d spent most of the day fighting for your life — literally. But even after standing behind a barricade of heavily-armed FEDRA soldiers outside the hospital, you didn’t feel as safe as you did when you saw Joel at your door. You need him. For now, at least.

“Now the shirt,” he tilts his head towards the mattress, nodding encouragingly.

You get back on the bed, sitting back on your heels, and begin to pull the tank top up. It’s your last layer up top, you’re not wearing a bra, and you’re feeling a little vulnerable with him just watching you, fully clothed and composed, your gaze falling down to look at the threadbare linens. 

“Eyes up,” he instructs. “Look at me.”

Taking in a shaky inhale, you do. It’s not easy. Everything about him looks dark, animalistic. A coiled ball of energy, waiting to pounce.

But, even when you’re bare before him, he doesn’t. 

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

Of course, you don’t refuse, settling your head against the pillows. 

There’s a sound of a belt – his belt, unbuckling, the snap of a button, the dip of the bed where he kneels when he comes to hover over you. Two hands land on top of your thighs, pressing the backs against his denim-clad knees, thumbs pushing your legs further apart. 

And then…nothing. He’s still. He’s still for so long, that you actually think that something’s wrong. When you open your eyes, you’re met with a view of the underside of his jaw. You can just make out the pinched expression he’s wearing as he looks down upon you. Disdain, maybe…but it’s not meant for you, it’s for someone else….him.

“Joel,” you murmur. Instinctually, you reach for his hand.

The second it makes contact, he smacks your hand away so hard your whole body jolts. “I told you to close your eyes.”

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing them again. 

You are well aware that he’s actively working through shit, probably doing some kind of mental gymnastics to rationalize why it’s okay to fuck you again, which, when you really think about it is kind of….pathetic. It’s the only thing that makes you feel any sort of power in a situation where you’ll surrender everything else. It’s a fair exchange. 

Maybe, on a different day, you would want it softer. You’d like to think he’s capable of that, even though he seems determined he isn’t. Luckily, you don’t want it softer. After today, you want to be so far gone you can’t think. 

Joel answers by leaning down and catching you in a bruising kiss. Finally. You press yourself against him cause you’re freezing and he’s so warm, and you frantically begin to unbutton the flannel he’s wearing, making it about halfway down before he pins your hands above you again.

“Slow down.”

You whine, a little frustrated because all you want to do is touch him. The fingers on his free hand hook around the elastic of your underwear, and he starts to drag them over the curve of your ass. 

He’s got to be joking with how deliberately he’s moving, anticipation only building underneath his featherlight touches.

When he’s got your panties around your ankles, you slide your legs together so he can pull them off entirely, keeping them closed as his weight shifts, and your thighs are pulled back apart.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he doesn’t need to feel you to see it clear as day, with you spread open in front of him. “So fucking desperate.”

He’s all-but glaring at you, like you’ve done something wrong, and for a minute, your eyes flick away, just for a second of relief from the tension.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he asks. 

“N-no,” you stammer, though it was supposed to sound confident. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you, his head dipping down to press his lips to your knee, then an inch higher, then an inch higher, then higher – keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time, an arm winding around your thigh.

“I wanted to do this last time.” A confession. 

“Yeah?” you sigh, trembling. It’s maybe the nicest thing he’s said to you, but you can’t even acknowledge it, because you’re buzzing.

He turns his face, his beard scraping along sensitive skin. “Mhm,” his deep rasp vibrates directly to your cunt, and when his head dips down, you close your eyes – it might just be better to focus on only one sensation at a time, you’re not sure you can handle seeing what he’s about to do.

Joel’s mouth is on you the second you do, and you gasp. He licks up the seam of your lips, mouth latching around your clit, swirling with his tongue, and back down – firm, determined, practiced. You try to buck up, but he has an arm locked around your hips. 

He removes himself from you just enough to utter two words. “Stay still.”

You want to protest, but you realize that he’s let go of your hands, and it gives you the opportunity to thread your fingers into his hair, while you dig your heels into the broad expanse of his back, and he groans, tongue curling into you. 

“I’ve thought about this,” you gasp, answering his earlier admission.

“When?”

“At night. More than once.”

“Fuck,” Joel growls, and you wheeze when he works one finger into you, forcing you to take it along with his next words. “You know how fuckin’ bad that is? Dreamin’ about a man nearly twice your age?”

“I d-don’t care, I want you anyway. Y-you can do whatever you want to me,” It’s too early to be past the point of speaking coherently, it really is, but you’re already there. 

“F-fuck,” Joel repeats himself, and pushes another finger inside you next to the first, the stretch almost uncomfortable, but quickly fading to pleasure. “I’m going to.”

You’re not the going to tell him, though, that he’s the first man whose ever gone down on you, because you’re a little fucking scared for some reason. It’s intimate, very intimate, more than you expected. 

The truth is, you weren’t actually very experienced at all. You could count on one hand the number of partners you’d had, and still not use all of your fingers. While some of them were good enough, they all paled in comparison to Joel. There had never been anyone like Joel. 

His fingers curl as his tongue swirls around your clit and you cry out, inhale sharply. Minute by minute, you’re getting wetter and wetter – can hear yourself with each twist of his fingers inside you, bearing down on him. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, and your eyes flutter open just for a second, just to see his forehead, dark eyes staring back at you, and his hips dipping, rutting against the mattress. God he’s getting himself off to this. As hot as it is, the thought of not getting to feel him inside you causes a rush of anger. 

“F-feels so good,” you’re right there, already, and it’s pitiful.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, you just nod, gasping. Joel works you right up to the precipice, hands tightening in his hair, hips lifting off the bed – and then he slows a little –  just enough – to pull you back off the edge, and you let out a humiliating sob.

“Shhh!” he hisses with his mouth still on you, resuming the steady pace he had going. A little sigh of relief when you feel your release approaching again. He just lost his rhythm for a moment, it was nothing.

Again, he’s got you right there, you’re so close, hips jerking, breathing in short, sharp pants, something molten working its way up your spine. “Joel, that’s it, please I-”

He falters again – just enough. And it’s gone again.

You realize, with dismay, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He hadn’t lost his rhythm. He’s doing this on purpose. 

If someone asked – not that anyone would – you wouldn’t be able to recall how long he keeps you in that state, being dragged and dangled, but denied the privilege of falling. It’s torture. 

And at first, you try to be patient. You figure he’ll grow tired, desperate, and eventually want to move on. But apparently, he doesn’t want to move on. He’s content to keep you this way for as long as he sees fit, and you can’t handle it any longer. It’s starting to hurt.

“Please, Joel, let me-” you gasp.

“Let you what?” he pulls back from you, frustratingly too soon, once again.

“Let me come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please, please-”

“Just a little longer,” he dismisses you.

All you can do is pant and writhe, completely at his mercy. He keeps going like that, and you’ve stopped trying to filter yourself, the sounds he makes as he laves at you are obscene, you can see yourself glistening on his chin, and can feel the sheets damp beneath you. At this point, he’s enjoying this more than you are.

“Joel,” you plead with him again. “It’s too much, I c-can’t. Just, please I really need-”

“You wanna come for me, baby?” he asks. You nod ferociously. 

“Yes, please, please,” 

“You’re so fucking sweet when you beg, you know that? ” he murmurs. “Wish you were like this all the time.”

“Fuck off,” you manage, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You should do this to me more often. 

Joel chuckles, and it vibrates just right, his fingers curling again and you moan, hands tightening in his hair. He’s focused now, you can tell because the constant stream of filth he’s been whispering has finally stopped. He’s persistent.

You’re unable to stay quiet, continuing to whimper just like that and please don’t stop over and over. And then all at once, every muscle in your body grows tense and you cry out, cunt pulsing around him so tightly that his fingers slow. “There you go, pretty girl, that’s it.” 

You whisper his name as he continues to fuck his fingers into you, riding you through your orgasm and licking up the mess you’ve made. 

At some point in the aftermath, Joel withdraws from you, and you hear the sting of his zipper. It takes a moment, but you’re able to see him through heavily lidded eyes, kneeling in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned all the way, pants around his ankles, jerking himself slowly in his hand. God he’s fucking huge, how had you forgotten about that? He’s a vision, beard still wet with you, looking down, watching your chest rise and fall. In that moment you realize two things. One, even though you’ve already come, you somehow want him even more than you had before, and two, you’ve never wanted to suck a dick so bad in your life. 

So you sit up, crawl towards him, and reach out with one hand to take him in your palm. He lets you, sighing, closing down his eyes. First, you have to kiss him, so you rise to your knees, and he pulls you into his arms, one of them winding around your waist, the other coming to rest at the small of your back. “You take such good care of me,” you whisper. 

He grimaces at the words like they’re an insult. You expect him to retaliate, to tell you that you shouldn’t say that sort of thing, but he never does. So you kiss him, gently, bringing your free hand to the side of his face. Once again, he lets you, and you taste yourself when his tongue presses into you mouth. You run your thumb over the head of his cock, and he hums against your touch, almost contentedly.

You’re doing whatever you want to him, and you’re shocked he hasn’t put a stop to it. It could be satisfying enough, you think, just to keep kissing him like this. Still, you sink back towards the bed to test things further. You’re about to wrap your mouth around him, but he pulls you off by your hair, so quickly, so hard that you yelp.

“No.” he says firmly. “Lie back.”

“But I just wanted to-”  

“No.” 

You consider trying to reason with him, but decide it won’t be worth whatever he’d do if you continue to argue.

Joel braces himself with one hand above your shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock, slowly teasing you by rubbing himself up and down a few times, before he gives in, finally pushing into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp at the stretch, reaching out grasp at his bicep, arching your back. He’d prepped you, and it was still too much. 

“You can take it,” he says, pressing deeper into you. His hips are all the way flush with yours, he’s to the hilt, and he still snaps them even further, once, holding you there, so deep, you feel like you’re choking on him. “See? There you go.”

It seems like you can’t quite catch your breath, and you squirm underneath him for some kind of friction, some kind of relief from how intense it all is. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel how badly his own body is begging him to move, but he doesn’t. 

“Joel,” you cradle the back of his head, look him in the eyes. “Move, please.”

He doesn’t answer, he just brings his hand to grip your jaw, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks. 

“Please?” you murmur again, and his thumb slips into your mouth, silencing you. You suck on it obediently, and after you do, he finally gives you what you want.

──────

Joel told you he wouldn’t be gentle, and he isn’t. 

He hadn’t been able to do this last time. Taste you, spread you open, fuck you properly. His hips snap against yours – ferociously, unrelenting, over and over. You’ve been going at it for awhile now, and he actually wants you to break. He wants you to tell him to slow down, to be a little more tender, not press into you so deep, so hard, so that if he listens, it wouldn’t mean he’s breaking his own promise. He’s got to be rough with you, because he’s afraid of what could happen if he’s not.

But you don’t break. You fucking take it, take him, each time, again and again, your nails digging into arms, your legs locked around his hips. Each time he delves into you, you’re getting wetter and wetter, and yet, you’re still so fucking tight. He doesn’t understand it. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s been with a woman like you – and you might be the best he’s ever had. 

You’re not even making any noise – you’re just panting, gasping in Joel’s ear as you cling to him, and that’s all. He can’t even look you in the eyes. If he does, he knows you’ll see everything that’s wrong with him, and still beg for him to give you more. 

Two hands land on either side of his face, turning his head so you can kiss him. Despite how he’s treating you, you keep trying to connect, to ground yourself. For as much as he wants to refuse, it feels too cruel to deny you. He lets you lock your lips with his own, feels your cunt clutch him even tighter. It’s impossible for you to kiss for more than a few seconds at a time without it getting broken up by a whimper here and there. You’re getting close again, he’s started to get better at recognizing it.

“You’re fucking so perfect on me, baby, you feel that?” he asks, and you nod, breathless. “Taking me so well, such a good fucking girl-”

A gasp from you cuts him off, your eyes squeezing shut as you are taken over by your climax. Joel groans and does everything he can not to come when you start pulsing around him, holding him closer, since there’s nothing else to do. It’s way too intimate…because it’s missionary, and he should’ve known better than to start off like this. 

Pulling out of you is the hardest thing he’s had to do in a while, and he ignores your noises of protest now that he’s left you empty. Then, he flips you onto your stomach. He takes a moment to admire the curve of your ass, how it dips into your waist….to him, your body is perfect, and you’re young, your skin still supple and smooth. There are still places he hasn’t gotten his mouth on, and it’s a shame, he thinks, but tonight his patience is wearing thin. Joel pulls you back until you’re on your knees, and slides back inside. There’s a little resistance, you whimper, but it’s easier than the first time. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other across your chest, and starts to jerk his hips upwards, into you. 

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you sigh in relief.

“I know, I know.”

You drop your head back until it falls against his shoulder, winding your arm back so you can pull at his hair, which kind of fucking hurts, but he likes it. 

Ultimately, you’re pretty easy to please, and it’s not long before he feels the telltale flutter of your walls as you drip down over him, soaking his lap. 

“You’re making a fucking mess, baby. You gonna come for me again?”

All you can do is plead with him. “I can’t, Joel. I can’t do it again, please just-”

“Yes, you can,” he interjects. “I know you can, baby, don’t worry…I’ll help you.”

“O-okay.’ 

He slows the roll of his hips just a little, focuses on deeper, longer strokes, and lets the hand that’s currently squeezing one of your tits fall to where your bodies are joined, finding your clit immediately.

You whine, arching back against him, the swell of your ass packed against his lower stomach. He sees a single tear leaking from the corner of your eye and feels a little guilty for what he’s doing to you. Only a little, though. 

Without any warning, for the third time, you’re coming around him – easier than the last time, like always – and he uses the feeling of you throbbing around him to chase his own release, his hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your moans as he becomes increasingly frantic. 

He turns his head, rakes his teeth along your exposed neck, and sinks them into your pulse point with a groan. Your breath is hot against him when you whimper in response. 

“Just a little more, honey.” He’s so close. You bob your head, though you’ve nearly gone limp in his arms.

Like last time, Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s not going to pull out. The thought of deliberately coming inside you is actually what sends him over the edge, and he’s cursing and moaning your name. You whine at the feeling of him pulsing inside of you, arching back for more, even though he can tell you’re exhausted. 

It’s fucking freezing in your apartment, and yet, his skin is damp with sweat when he finally regains some awareness of his surroundings. He’s panting, you’re sniffling, a weak smile on your face as you catch your breath. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips to your cheek. 

Joel tilts you both forward – very tentatively, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist. At some point, your hand settled over top of his, and you threaded your fingers between his own, holding his hand across your stomach. You keep it there, even after you’ve settled onto the bed.  

It takes a few minutes before either of you move, but it’s you who gives in first, wriggling out from where he’s got you trapped partially underneath him. 

You retreat to the bathroom, like you did last time. Somewhere during your coupling the linens have slid down the bed, and Joel settles back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head.  Now that he’s stopped sweating, he’s just cold, and he reaches to pull the bedspread over him. He should leave, he thinks, before you come out and ask him to. Beat you to the punch. Maybe while you’re still in the bathroom. 

A few minutes later, and you return from the bathroom, dressed again in sweats. He hears you pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down. You flick off the lamp on your bedside table, and fall into bed next to him, lying rigidly on your back. He should reach out, pull you against him, let you settle in his arms. Instead, Joel rolls over on his side. 

It’s terrible how beautiful you are, he thinks, watching you stare up at the ceiling, hugging yourself. So beautiful, and fucking smart. You’re strong, too, but not as strong as he wishes you were. Of course, no one could ever be that strong.

He whispers your name. You turn your head, pupils still blown wide with lingering lust.

“You need to learn to defend yourself, to shoot a gun, to fight,” he says. “After today.”

“What?” you roll to face him. 

“You said you didn’t want to die,” Joel continues. “So you need to learn. ‘Case something like that happens again.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme guess, you’re gonna teach me?” your voice is a little hoarse after what he’d done to you, and you smirk at him.

“Yes.” It sobers you up, that he’s not fucking with you, or giving you a hard time. “I owe you, remember?” 

“You do.” 

“So…. I’ll teach you.” 

“....Okay.” 

“Alright.”

Joel rolls over to his opposite side, and you’re left staring at his back. Arms wrapped around 

himself in a tight hug, he waits for you to tell him to go.

You never do. 

Instead, he feels the heat of your body as you curl up against him, slotting one of your legs between his own. Your hand grazes up his ribs, over his bicep – a gentle, quick massage – before you tuck your arm underneath his own, your palm flat against his heart. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, frozen at how tender the embrace is. It’s a foreign feeling, he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this. 

The tip of your nose hits the nape of his neck, and he can feel your shuddery exhale.

“I’m cold,” you say, like it’s obvious, lips brushing featherlight against his skin. “And if you’re staying, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He can’t roll over and wrap his arms around you. He can’t kiss your forehead or play with your hair or murmur into your ear. He can’t offer you anything in return. Joel decides, though, if he’s going to accept comfort from anyone, it’s going to be from you.

──────

taglist (basically if you asked for a pt 2 on the last part i tagged you): @bbyanarchist @dlwrish @imaginewrites24 @captain-yellow-96 @daisyintheskyewithdiamonds @sludgec0r33 @c0wb0ym3nace

[terri479]

✩•.My cute little psycho.•✩

(yb Peter x (f) reader)

☆.。.：*・゜☆.。.：*・゜☆

Another Tuesday of me working at the local coffee shop. Could be better, could be worse, I always say. It keeps me going. My friend T/K keeps me company here. We've been friends for some time now and I can't imagine how my life would look like without him. He was the first one to take the first step. We eventually started to talk more and more, building great friendship between us as coworkers. It's good to have someone by your side when costumers can be quite rude. Somehow we always tries to make fun of it.

This day was pretty busy at the shop. High temperature from the sun shining outside made everyone sweat and me with T/K as well. Of course that almost no one ordered a hot coffee, that would be a suicide in this weather. Instead people wanted milkshakes, lemonades and cold stuff like that.

Mine and T/Ks part of the job was to take orders from costumers and deliver their products to them. The rest of the people working here were hidden at the back, making desserts, drinks and other stuff we sell. Lucky them, there was air conditioning in the back, so they didn't sweat there like we did. Sometimes T/K and I also went to the back to cool off, but today there was almost no time for that.

It gave us both a shock when we saw a guy walking into the store wearing a dark blue t-shirt with a black sleeveless hooded sweatshirt. I was terribly hot for him. I was almost unable to breathe from the heat in my light blouse and work apron. There was no way he could be cold! I exchanged glances with T/K and went to attend to the customers at the register while T/K went to serve the veiled man.

After a while he came back saying that the man had not yet chosen what he wanted. I shrugged it off and both of us went back to work. In two minutes he went again to try to ask what the guy would like. Just like before, no answer from him. So I offered to try to serve him myself.

As soon as I got to his table, he took off his hood and looked up. The fact that he was bald didn't scare me in any way, I calmly and smilingly asked if he knew what to order now. „Strawberry milkshake, please." he spoke quietly, maybe even shyly. „Right away, sir." I wrote his order down and left. T/K watched me with his mouth open as I returned with the order. „Ain't no way." He said with a look of annoyance. It made me chuckle. „Did you see that?! He said what he wanted to you without hesitation-" „Well I guess I am much more trustworthy and certainly nicer." I teased him playfully. „Yeah right, miss trustworthy." he rolled his eyes and kept doing what he was doing.

I made the decision that I would bring him the milkshake myself too. When he finished it, he paid and left me a tip before he left. It was my first tip of the week, which made me truly happy. But by the end of the day, I was still asking myself why he was wearing such warm clothes in this terribly hot weather.

☆.。.：*・゜☆.。.：*・゜☆

Another hot day at work, sweating like crazy and slightly getting pissed off by irritating people. Me and T/K were passing out from the everyday heat... Yet there was this guy in a sleeveless hoodie who seemed unbothered. As he sat down to his table like yesterday, I made a bet with T/K, that he's not gonna be able to serve him again. He accepted the bet, probably out of boredom, and went to the bald customer. Exactly as I expected, T/K returned defeated and without his order. "Watch and learn from the master," I said and confidently left.

„Good afternoon, sir. What will it be today?" I took out a pen with a paper to write on. „Good afternoon miss, I would love to order another strawberry milkshake." a warm smile appeared on his face while he was talking. „Alright sir, anything else?" I returned the warm smile. „Uhh... I.. um.. Well-" He looked stunned and started stuttering. I didn't want to make it worse for him, so I spoke to his embarrassment. „What if I get you your strawberry milkshake and when you finish it, you can decide whether to order anything else? " After a moment of silence and staring at me, he spoke again with a smile. „Ah yes, that would be wonderful."

Once I got back behind the counter to T/K, I set my hand. After a while he handed me five dollars without a single word and went on to work again defeated once again. 'easy money' I thought for myself.

Just like yesterday I gave the guy in the hoodie his milkshake and kept concentrating on my work. That wasn't easy though. There was this old aggressive man who purposely made troubles for his entertainment. I suspected he had dementia, but I think almost everyone around me has lately. He liked to drag his family to our cafe and apparently liked to show off in front of them. He thought that he probably owned the cafe and that he could afford almost anything.

„Hey! you- maid or whatever you are.. Milk!" I slowly turned to him with disbelief in my eyes. „Excuse me? Is there a problem, sir?" I asked diplomatically stepping forward to him. „Someone's deaf, huh? I. said. MILK." How arrogant I thought... But I'm about to keep my cool. „I see, okay sir. Now please tell me what you want me to do with the milk." „The fuck you mean? BRING IT, MORON!" his yelling made me jump and step back. T/K helped me out of the unpleasant situation by bringing a glass of milk. After that he pulled me to the side so I could calm down from the shouting. I hated to deal with him almost daily, but it's what I get paid for.

After a few minutes I felt good enough to work again. At that moment, the man wearing the sleeveless sweatshirt appeared at the register and handed over an empty milkshake glass. „Thank you very much for your services. The milkshakes you make here are lovely!" His words somehow made me happy and put a smile on my face. Blood began to rush to my cheeks, making my cheeks slightly red. „Anything else I can do for you?" I asked politely. „There is actually one thing, yes..." I strained my ears to hear his wish. „Y-your name.. May I know w-what your name is?" He scratched his neck at his question. His handsome smile didn't fade for a second as he was looking at me. I took his glass from his hand and answered. „It is Y/N L/N, mind telling me your name?" It seemed that he shivered a little, it took him about two seconds to answer, but he eventually did. „I'm Peter." „Well, I'm glad I could serve you Peter, again today! Will you visit us tomorrow too?" „Depends if you'll be here as well." „I'm here from Monday to Thursday." „Well, that answers my question. Oh and I almost forgot..." Suddenly he showed me a red rose. I have no idea where he kept the rose the whole time. „Here, Y/N... This is your todays tip." I accepted the flower with open lips. It was beautiful. „I love it, Peter! Thank you very much, this made my day!" If we weren't separated by a counter, I would have hugged him for sure. I had a reason to look forward to the next day.

☆.。：*・゜=time skip=☆.。.：*・゜☆

Thank god that todays Thursday is a bit cooler than the days before. Pleasant wind flew through my hair when I was heading to work. I was there first surprisingly, it doesn't happen very often. I put on my work apron and turned on the ice cream machine. And because I deserve it, I made myself latte that I of course paid for. I quickly wiped down the tables and eventually the rest of the staff arrived. I greeted T/K with an offer to make him coffee, but he refused, saying he was saving money for a new joystick or something like that.

The cafe was quiet today. Suspiciously calm. Then I realized that the old man didn't come today. I was relieved that I didn't have to deal with him today. I didn't even wonder where he was. I didn't care as long as he didn't make trouble around me or insult me.

This afternoon none other than Peter came in, the hooded man in the black sleeveless sweatshirt. As soon as he sat down at his table, I went to serve him. „Good afternoon, Peter, let me guess... Strawberry milkshake?" I smiled, caughing him off guard. Blush appeared on his cheeks as he stutterly spoke. „Ah, hello Y/N! H-how did you know?" „Well.. You had the same twice so I figured out you'd go for it again?" „Well, you are absolutely correct. I would love another strawberry milkshake!" and so I made one.

„Would you mind joining me?" He asked, pointing on the seat opposite to him. „Sorry..." a said „I'm still working, management wouldn't like it." „I can pay for whatever you'd choose." „That's kind of you, really.. Still I gotta say no." He looked so upset I pitted him. „But um.. Tomorrow's my day off. We could maybe..." that was the moment where his eyes almost popped out of his head. He looked like a child on Christmas day. „YES!" he unexpectedly yelled and drew attention on both of us. „UHM I'm mean.. I'm sorry heh.." looking embarrassed he apologized. „So.. tomorrow? Afternoon?" He agreed and started to drink his milkshake happily.

The only thing that startled me was T/K, piercing  me with his gaze. „What?" I asked confused. „What, you ask?! What was thaaat-" „What was what?" still not getting the point of his. „Are you seriously going out with this creep?" „Who are you calling a creep, huh? He's actually nice." I pouted at him. „Wow, I didn't know you are into guys that look like they are addicted to drugs or alcohol." „Hey, you can't say that when you don't know him!" 

I stood up for Peter. „And you do know him?" T/K argued back. „Well... I'm about to." T/K broke the silence between us. „Be careful, Y/N." „I will T/K, thanks for caring. Just remember, I'm adult too."

Meanwhile Peter drank his shake and went to the counter to pay. „There you go, pretty lady. See you tomorrow." Peter handed me the money and smirked. I took the money with a kind smile. I also noticed that T/K and Peter stared at each other almost deadly. Hmm, I wonder why, or not? „Whatcha staring at, man?" I couldn't believe my eyes that T/K was the one that said it. „You wanna know what I'm staring at? I'm staring on idiotic face, blocking my view." „Oh yeah? At least I have some hair, bald head." They roaster each other for like a whole minute that seemed like an hour. I was just standing there, watching like a female doe looking at two stags fighting with their antlers. I gotta admit it was quite funny to watch them till they involved nudging and physical signs of pushing. A few things fell of the table separating them, which made me act. I pushed them both away from each other, giving them warning glares. „I better go." Peter looked at me with apology in his eyes. „Yeah, sorry for T/Ks behavior." I replied, not meeting T/Ks eyes at any cost. „Then Peter turned and gave me a smile in the entrance door, walking round a corner.

„I'm disappointed, T/K." I said, picking up the fallen things off the ground. „Whatever... You'll thank me later." He scoffed, going to serve someone just to show he doesn't care about what happened. While picking up the things that fell I noticed a black lighter with a picture of a black and white colored heart. I thought for a moment... Wait up, PETER has the same heart on his dark blue T-shirt! He must've dropped it while trying to hurt T/K. I rushed out of the shop, running the way I saw Peter going a moment ago.

Peters pov:

That bastard makes me look stupid and dangerous to Y/N. Funny, he ain't wrong by saying I'm dangerous, but I would never hurt Y/N. And I wouldn't let anyone else hurt her. Or insult her, just like the old man on Thursday did. Good thing I dealt with him, he's not going to say shit to anyone, including my darling, again.

I went to an alley between some shops a few meters from the cafe. That jerk was getting on my nerves, always hanging around my Y/N... And so I pulled out a cigarette to calm myself down. But- oh shit.. I can't find my lighter. Then, an angel appeared in front of me.

Y/Ns pov:

„Peter! There you are..." I gasped for air, happy that he didn't go far. „Y-you forgot your lighter, um.. There you go." I handed it to him and watched his shocked face. „Wow- you chased me just to give me my lighter back?" „Yeah, I guess so." a tiny moment of silence appeared, however it wasn't feeling awkward at all. „Thank you Y/N." Peter smiled at me and lighted up his cigarette. „Oh." I said slightly socked, „hm? what?" „N-nothing! I just.. didn't know you smoke, that's all." I didn't want it to sound like I was being disgusted. „Oh- sorry." Surprisingly he put out his cigarette right away. „You didn't have to do that! I mean, we all deal with our problems somehow, one way or another." His eyes widened and I kept on talking. „I don't care what T/K says about you... I will make my own opinion on you and I'm looking forward to it."

Peters pov:

I couldn't believe my eyes... Y/N was so perfect. They are willing to get to know me. They are so kind. They are so precious and pretty and... Oh god. I'm mumbling to myself again. „Ehm- thank you, darling." „Darling? Well, that's new." Crap- I called them 'darling'- I mean, they are, but- Shitshitshitshitshit-!.. „I like that nickname." they said right after. Wow. Did I mention I fucking love them?! CAUSE I DO!-

„I gotta go, I still have stuff to clean and people to serve. See you tomorrow, Peter!" That was the last sentence they said to me today.

Fuck I'm obsessed.

[gfsgetfastshirt]

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[andreas-river]

Hey i hope you're doing good, i was wondering if you could write a oneshot where könig finds out reader harms herself? If your not comfortable with this it's totally okay

König X Fem!Civilian!Reader

Words count: approx. 1.5k

Disclaimer: this is a fictional piece, but talks about difficult themes. Read at your discrection. If you are experiencing this, please, please, talk to someone, or seek professional help. Pain is a subtle enemy; don't underestimate it.

Warnings: mention and description of self-harm, blood, cuts and blood, hurt/comfort, fluff, mention of bullying, self-destructive thoughts, angst.

════════════════════

You don't remember exactly how you ended up back in your room: your legs moved on their own, and your hands trembled, pushed by the unhealthy desire that hovered inside your head.

You knew it was wrong, but you kept doing it. Ever since you were a teenager, you had felt the need to forget years of bullying and insults, which led to various episodes of self-harm until it became part of your routine.

It wasn't just a desire, it was a need. The red liquid that slowly poured out of the cuts was the only relief as everything else lost its meaning, your body was out of touch with the reality around you.

You no longer felt anything, your emotions erased one by one with each cut on your skin.

Even though you could see the bloodied arms in front of you, it was as if they were not there.

You could even taste the metallic taste on your tongue, but you paid no attention to it, not even the smell alarmed your nose: it was okay, it was your routine.

And it went on for so long that you lost track of time, day after day you found yourself sitting on the floor of your bathroom, letting go of the self-destructive instinct that had now taken total control.

The clock on the wall struck midnight, and you let your eyes wander without focus, like a distant spectator.

Through the open door you could clearly see the hallway leading to your bedroom: you remembered well all the sleepless nights you had spent in the past weeks, your eyes fixed on the empty side of the bed, often occupied by König.

That was your almost boyfriend? No, best friend - not even. You were both something abstract, unspoken: the relationship had no definite form or meaning, nor did the way you met. It was in the airport, while you were working in one of the cafes in the airport.

You were distracted by too many customer orders, organizing yourself among the various demands, when the trace of a man had obscured your view. He had his head covered by the hood of his sweatshirt, the military pattern clearly visible in the fabric: in fact, he looked like a soldier, his posture confident and determined.

But when your eyes landed on his blue ones, it was like seeing a frightened boy: he showed confidence, but you could clearly see when he was tense, as one of his clenched hands rested on the counter.

"Hi, what can I get you?" you had said with a smile, and as if he had woken up from a daydream, he gave you his full attention.

"A hot chocolate..." You saw him struggle as a small smile formed on his lips. "...please."

You had simply nodded, and for the next twenty minutes he stood there, motionless, drinking his hot chocolate, only occasionally letting his eyes wander elsewhere - his attention locked on you.

It was not the first time someone had looked at you; many men passed through this airport.

But you were surprised when, in the weeks that followed, you saw him every day sitting at the counter at the same time, always ordering the same chocolate.

That's how it all started, but you weren't sure it was anything concrete. He had given you his attention and time so many times, and every time he could leave the military base, he was back at the door of your apartment. And now he even had a copy of the keys.

It wasn't bad to have someone, but even though your feelings for him were clear, everything else had stopped making sense to you.

A phone call you received the next morning was the last straw: your boss had fired you for not showing up to work the last few days.

But you didn't really care. Not anymore.

And as you absentmindedly listened to the ticking of the clock, you heard the one sound you were not expecting at that moment.

It was the very distinctive sound of the lock on the front door, followed by footsteps that you immediately recognized.

You tried to get up, but with your hands slippery from the blood and your form trembling, you fell back down: the loud thud immediately alarmed König, which made him hurry to the source of the sound.

That's where he found you, lying on the bathroom floor with your arms covered in blood.

You almost didn't feel his hands lift you from the floor and bring you to your feet, even though you put all your weight on him.

He doesn't speak when he washes and cleans your wounds, nor when he wraps them up: his gaze is fixed only on you, he doesn't even care that he has his uniform or plates or even his knives with him.

He makes you walk slowly to the bedroom, makes you sit on the edge, crouches in front of you and between your legs: you can clearly see his worried eyes and on the verge of crying, which makes your heart sink. It happened that you saw him in the middle of an anxious moment, but he never cried in front of you.

He takes your hands in his big ones, wrapping them in a comfortable grip. "Liebling?"

"Hey..." you try to say, even though you have no more words: you never expected him to discover your secret.

"Since when?" he asks, trying to pull you out of the deep abyss your mind has been sinking into for so long.

"Years..." you sniffled, realizing that you were crying. And feeling an emotion for the first time in a long time.

"I was bullied at school... even insulted by a teacher. I can't even remember the reason," a sad smile appeared on your face, memories of those years flashing through your mind.

You heard him sigh and let go the grip in one of your hands to remove his helmet and hood: you had seen his face many times before, but you could never really get used to it: his blue eyes stood out against his black hair, which had grown a little longer than usual, with a hint of stubble on his chin and along his jawline.

"It's not easy to talk about," he begins, looking at you intently. "I... was bullied when I was a kid. And it didn't stop when I joined the military." He laughs slightly, trying to break the tension in the room.

"Why did they..." you tried to ask, afraid to invade his privacy.

"I wanted to be a sniper - it turned out I was too tall, and I can't sit still even when I eat." His smile is contagious, and you find yourself giggling along with him. In fact, you remember a time when the two of you were eating Chinese food in your apartment: he was changing positions every five minutes, whether it was his legs or his posture.

The room was silent again, and you looked into each other's eyes: you felt lightheaded, but you didn't know if it was from the cuts or from the fact that König was watching you from underneath, or both.

"I came here to stay," he says, his hands reaching up to your face, completely covering it, making your face completely flush. "I'm not going to leave you again until you feel better. I don't care if you wake me up in the middle of the night because you feel the need to hurt yourself again, or if you want to go for a walk at four in the morning. You are not just " someone" to me." König feels like a flood as he admits the words in front of you, unable to stop as he watches your eyes tear up again.

"I want to be with you and for you. I want to protect you and..."

You don't let him continue, throwing your arms on his shoulders, hugging him, letting his scent envelop you completely, his big body swallowing your small one. You both let out a relieved cry, holding each other as you sit on the floor of your room, letting everything you had buried come to the surface.

Even though you don't know how long you both stayed in that position, his arms and his voice lulled you to sleep, repeating the same words in your ear over and over again.

"Ich bin dein.." *

* I am yours.